I’ve been playing around a bit, with colour temperatures for prints created using photographs and digital manipulation as my practice place. This cool hued image above represents the early morning of a day that turned out to be the most delicious Indian Summer day in early October. But I stood in the exact same place searching for a breeze in the midst of the summer heatwaves. Looking at the actual photographs there is not a huge amount of difference but by changing the colour of a future print version I can get the essence of oppressive heat in an open space.
Similarly on a very hot day on our recent trip to Brittany. We sought refuge in a bookshop with a cafe.
This is what we got, but what we hoped for was more like the image below.
But sometimes there is no escaping extreme heat. And as October wends its ponderous way towards November I will be dreaming of those over-hot moments soon enough.
Without too much of a surprise I explore anywhere new with an urban environment, by heading to an area known locally for being arty and supportive of independant shops and cafes. If a visit can only ever be brief I feel closer to the heart of a place where Street Art, quirkiness and originality are the the first impressions. It is there, through conectedness, that routes into the more interesting facets of place can be identified. I am never interested in slavishly ticking off the top ten tourist destinations unless I am genuinely intrigued by something or someone connected to the top ten destination.
Somewhat more controversially I like to explore places after dark or in the really early mornings. There is nothing to beat watching a place wake up or to vicariously experience other peoples night lives.
Regular readers will know that some things will always interest me. Empty outdoor seating in beautiful places and colours. This picture represents two loves, an old style deckchair and an acidy yellow green, mist commonly described as Chartreuse. Rather cute that I found such a chair on a beach in the Gulf of Morbian. I also found a fairy tale castle/ chateau. Chateau du Suscino. The heatwaves of 2026 have scorched and parched the greenery around the chateau. All the publicity shots suggest lush and verdant greenery, but yesterday I could use one of my favourite colours to suggest greenery that is in bright recovery.
All made entirely possible by having such a packable sketch box which can easily make its way into essential packing for a camper van.
On a hugely positive note Google Lens recognised my painting as Chateau Suscino rather than any other beautiful old French Chateau. I will take that as a huge vote of confidence.
If you had to switch lives with a fictional character for a week, who would you choose?
Absolutely and without a doubt, a privelidged and well educated male spy or diplomat. I want the connections, an elegant apartment in central London and most importantly I want an extensive tailored wardrobe. If possible I would like my week of being a privelidged sort of fellow to be a week off , so no actual spying or diplomacy are being done. Just a week of hanging with my equally elegantly dressed chums, doing chap stuff like watching a top level sports match in an exclusive box, whilst sipping or quaffing a drink or two, and still have a razor sharp mind for a witty or erudite conversation, about my latest motorbike adventure and the pitfalls of a damaged sprocket. I would take my mother out to dinner and actually spend time talking and laughing with her.We would travel on a London night bus in our beautiful clothes to prove how in touch we both are with all levels of society, and we would go to a delightfully retro all-night cafe, to top up on unsophisticated calories because our dinner choice was so beautiful, exquisite even, that it failed to fully satisfy us.
At the weekend I would go to the countryside wearing tweed or to the coast wearing quiet luxury, and meet more well connected friends.Mindful that I would be running out of time as an extremely lovely and likable Alpha Male impersonator. My Saturday and Sunday would be spent talking about anything other than myself, in order that my week-long research into being a very lucky man has been as well used as it possibly could.
Would a week be enough? Could I become addicted to a life of testosterone and privelidged living?
Would my vocabulary alter to use words like rusticate or flunk instead of chucked out and fail.
Could I possibly wear waistcoats more often in daily life? Calling the garment a ‘weskit’*
Obviously before my week away as a chap or chum I would do some homework. The Guardian article above would be invaluable.It is well worth a read even without a fictional adventure into manhood. Pull up a chair and relax.
What would be my takeaway from this tiny adventure. Without it ever likely to happen, it would absolutely have to be the clothes. I worry that the combination of privilege and testosterone might quite turn my head, and no self respecting woman wants to run the risk of being a knob. Thank goodness for all the lovely men in the world who prove that that outcome is not always inevitable.
I have had a surprisingly arty week. This should not have come as a surprise because 2 days were set aside to fill in an on-line application for an arts grant, that included a budget proposal. I was always going to find other things to do rather than knuckle down to admin of that sort.
Betond normal life my procrastination of choice was two pieces of preparatiry work for known future projects. A huge and colourful watercolour with fantasy fruits and flowers and a coven of laughing, giggling women. Neither of which have anything to do with the Ocean based, arts grant, I was filling in.
One so colourful and the other monotone.
In other painting news, I bought some nice fat figs to pose on a favourite plate.
Which in turn took me down, or up a very tight aperure in a fig and to the tragic story of Fig Wasps. Another known procrastination technique
Mentally entering a Syconium via an Oristole. Two words new to me yesterday which led me to a third new word, the utterly delightful ‘Foundress’ meaning female founder.
I suppose I am the foundress of theoldmortuary ponders and it is illustrated with my mistresspieces.
We should reclaim these lovely female- centric words.
Looking at these particular mistress pieces I sense that although my heart is hanging on to the scrag end of summer my head is definitely turning towards autumn. If I look at a few images created this week there is a definite autumnisation to my colour choices.
One last piece of arty news for Sunday. We went to a play about the Artist Beryl Cook. The actress Kara Wilson delivered a one woman show/monologue while painting a man in a turquoise thong. All in the fruity colours of autumn.
Not a particularly arty day, 3 meetings. 1 veterinary, 1 arty, I tennis and 1 time sensitive proposal to submit before midnight tonight. On time for the vet, tennis and the time sensitive proposal. Only actually late for the arty gathering. Of all of these things the proposal was hanging over my head and was certainly what caused so much creative procrastination this week. Form filling is not a favourite pastime but needs must.
Feeling mighty proud of beating the midnight deadline by six hours. I just hope the creativity keeps flowing now I have no reason to procrastinate.
The picture above is street art found in Plymouth featuring nine lighthouses.
I just stuck them together digitally and made the colours bleed a bit . Of course what I should have been doing was filling in a form to be more than 6 hours away from a deadline that I have had for 3 months!
Sometimes life and art collide in the most unexpected places but also in the most timely way. I have a few projects on a gentle simmer. At surface level they are all quite different. At a granular level they have many similarities.
The image above is made from 3 photographs taken in the same location at about 7 am this morning.
A SunriseA rust stain on concreteSome glass bricks at Tinside Pool
What inspired the header image was a beautiful stained glass window at a Thanksgiving service for the life of a friend.
Stained Glass by John Piper at St Andrews Church
Having this beautiful window to concentrate on was so comforting when words stopped flowing. Grief robs eloquence and quietly waiting for words to stream again was made a little more comfortable by having this previously unseen church window to explore with moist eyes.
Rolling forward to 6:30 this morning and my eyes were dryer, thank goodness, and darting about a 90 year old Lido. One of my simmering projects.
I love, love, love a glass brick and the crazy abstract patterns they create. Today I wanted more. These glass bricks face the south. What I wanted was the limpid sunrise to be seen through a glass brick.
Armed with some digital skills I popped outside to catch the sunrise. In catching the sunrise I found the rust stain on concrete. I stuck them all together and made a stained glass window which pretty much fulfills my mornings wish list.
It is not every day that a large lorry rocks up in our neighborhood and opens its doors as a mobile art exhibition.
Our life here is shaped by the sea, our day was shaped by the needs of a three year old with a limp. The two situations fitted together perfectly.
The exhibition was curated from the Government Art Collection.
My favourite piece was one that has to be seen to be believed . It doesn’t photograph easily. In my, not so humble opinion, my photograph is better than the one in the brochure.
Brochure.My photo of Bengal Tiger Van by Chila Burman.
I love it because it is a composite image of a seaside ice cream van transposed onto an enlarged image of a ten pound note. Printed and then hand embellished with South Asian patterns created with glitter which is actually tiny,tiny Swarovski Crystal. Every time the door to the gallery opened and allowed sunshine in, the Crystal lit up in much the same way as inbuilt holograms do in actual £10 notes.
The absolute joy of this image is doubled or trebled because it is printed on my favourite named Somerset Velvet printing paper.
Oh to live in a world where I could roll around on Somerset Velvet and be embellished with Swarovski Crystal.
Meanwhile the 3 year old with a limp did the serious business of listening to an artist talking about their work on some head phones. Just as she did in a recent blog.
After a summer of entertaining 3 granddaughters in arty pursuits it is time to put my studio in order.
I found a fabulous triple width pencil box in the bathroom. Previously it had held lovely beauty products.
Pencil cases are such a September thing. Never in a lifetime of September’s has there been quite such a useful pencil case.
Just organising it gave me the urge to get on with creativity rather than the procrastination of sorting out the studio. Not only Procrastination but this week I need to get an application for a commission submitted before anything truly arty happens.
For clarity the rather grubby tissue in the pencil box is actually a putty rubber.
An earlier blog mentions putty rubbers and my origin story with them.
I like the idea of art that knocks you off your feet. Gillian Ayres
Early September is my time to catch up with Summer exhibitions. This year notably because heatwaves made me less inclined to do anything much. I very much like to be knocked off my feet by art.
Gillian Ayres is an artist whose work explodes colour. Colour is absolutely my favourite thing about both art and life.
Due to a climbing frame injury, I had a three year old ,with a limp ,as my gallery escort. She loved the sensation of huge canvases of bright colours.
We paint the essence of something. I don’t know how to be very clear about it in words. I suppose that is why I paint. Gillian Ayres
Me too, my work is more representational but the essence is always important and I have to be very careful not to be too wordy or literal in my thinking and vision for an image.
Visiting an exhibition with a three year old is like doing so after a couple of glasses of Fizz or some other perception enhancer. There is both giddiness and instant joy. The colours and scale of the works we looked at were both monumental and vivid.
Wise nana-ing limits actual art appreciation to about an hour. Another hour is spent creating our own mistress pieces in the hands-on gallery.
Then lunch in a nearby student cafe with more colour and texture than the ubercool sophisticated gallery cafe.
The gallery gift shop allowed a small person to see herself reflected in colour.
Drenched and submerged in all things colour my delightful guest asked to go back to the gallery. Music to an arty Nana’s ears.
This time she chose which exhibition to visit. She couldn’t have chosen better. I met an old favourite painting by George Shaw.
Meanwhile she studiously listened to the artist describing his work.
And together we chose the work we would most like to steal from the gallery.
I find the idea of theft from an art gallery is the most wonderful creative thought process. When I used to work in an art gallery I used it as a conversation starter not only with children but also with grumpy old curmudgeons , who were being mean spirited about the art they were viewing. To be honest I use it on myself when art or anything visual is not to my taste. A little crime fantasy focuses the mind on positivity I find.
What did we do after all this colour drenching?
We pottered off to an allotment and found yet more colour. Just enough to fill a small hand.
