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‘When the flower blossoms, the bee will come.’ Srikumar Rao.

27 Sep

Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

And not only the bee—apparently every other bug, grub, creepy-crawly and eight-legged beastie known to man as well . . .

antsIt’s early in the season yet but it’s already starting to feel like a scene from ‘A Bug’s Life‘ at my house. It started on Saturday when I was cleaning out my pantry (oh joy).  All was going well until I noticed a packet of oatmeal which seemed to be taking itself for a walk towards the back corner of the cupboard.  Looking more closely I realised said packet was being carried aloft by hordes of tiny black ants.  Sigh.  What should have been a fairly easy tidy-up job turned into a major ant-eradication program.

And it didn’t end there.  While out walking the girls I had my first sandfly bite of the season, which means I am now going to have to slather myself in ‘Rid’ from head to toe every time I go out to the letterbox or hang washing on the line for the next six months.  So much fun.

scaredMabel also encountered this year’s first ‘blowy‘ which sent her into complete tailspin.  (Mabel got stung by a bee when she was a tiny puppy and she has never gotten over it.  Her little face blew up to twice it’s normal size and she looked a bit like a freaky cartoon character.  (I didn’t tell her that though, she was traumatised enough as it was.)  Now any time anything buzzes past her she has a bit of a meltdown. Spring and Summer can be very exhausting times for Mabel.)

Add, to that the fact that we have now come into ‘tick season’ which means I will have to be hyper-vigilant with the dogs medication and daily checks and . . . wait for it . . . best of all . . . I am now also anticipating (with barely concealed terror, I might add) the arrival of the first monster spider (and I say first, because I can guarantee there will be others), which is bound to appear in my bedroom any day now.

Ah yes, the joys of Spring.  It’s just as well the flowers are so pretty . . .

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Hibiscus rosa-sinensis

 
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Posted by on September 27, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Art is too serious to be taken seriously.’ Ad Reinhardt.

20 Sep

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

I really think I am going to rename these posts ‘Struggles with my Sketchbook‘  . . .

writers-block-cartoonOver the last couple of weeks I have had a very hard time getting anything down on the page.  It isn’t as if I haven’t tried—I have—but I just haven’t been making any headway.  I have spent more time sitting staring at my blank sketchbook pages than I care to admit and then getting cross with myself when I failed to produce anything.  I kept telling myself ‘I want to draw something’ —but obviously not enough to actually draw anything.  Sigh.

doldrumsThis isn’t the first time I have hit the doldrums when it comes to sketching and I daresay it won’t be the last.  (Sketching and I have a bit of a history.  See ‘As my artist’s statement explains. . .‘ )  To this day I still can come up with all sorts of lame excuses why I can’t (shouldn’t, won’t) get any drawing done.  Fortunately, I have learned enough about myself now (and it’s about bloody time) to know I can also find answers to all these excuses too . . . 

There’s nothing to draw (the house is full of things to draw) . . . It’s raining (not inside the house it isn’t) . . . That new ink I ordered hasn’t come yet (so use a biro) . . . There are other things I should be doing instead (there will always other things to be doing instead) . . . 

inner-criticLike I said—lame.  Happily, it’s no longer all that easy to just walk away from it like I have done in the past.  And the truth, is I really don’t want to walk away.  I have loved getting back into sketching and drawing and meeting fellow enthusiasts online (although not so sure I should include myself as an ‘enthusiast’ at this moment in time).  Now I realise that this slump is more about my ‘inner critic’ giving me a hard time than it is about my sketching skills. I thought I was getting better at not worrying so much about the end result, but it turns out I’m really not.  I’m still worrying more about the outcome than I am about the process.
That’s something I really have to work on.

But I am determined my inner critic is not going to get the better of me this time.  Last week I decided if I was going to constantly berate myself about the quality of my sketches I was going to have to go back to basics and learn some fundamentals, so I signed on to an online ‘Foundations’ course with Liz Steel.  Liz is a Sydney-based sketchbook artist (and an architect in a previous life) who was also one of my previous teachers at Sketchbook Skool.  Coming from an architectural background rather than an artistic one, Liz has a very analytical approach to sketching which immediately attracted me.  (And, bonus, this particular course is self-directed, which means I can progress through it in my own time, with no pressure to upload weekly homework assignments.  Yay!)

spatterI had a look at the first lesson this weekend.  It was all about getting to know your materials, deciding what you you were comfortable with, what you liked using, and what you didn’t like using.  I spent a happy couple of days (with the stereo turned up loud)  ‘playing’ with my watercolour paints and pencils, mixing colours and textures and generally making an all around mess. (I have decided I am still much more comfortable with my watercolour pencils than with watercolour paints and that I really, really like sketching with my fountain pen. Who knew?)  And, guess what?  I had fun.

There was no ‘assignment’ as such.  But there was a ‘prompt’.  Do a sketch of alI the materials I would like to include in my ‘field kit’.  Mmmmmm.  I think Liz’s idea of a field kit and mine might be slight different.

Below is a sketch of the only bag at home that I found that was large enough to carry everything I decided I might need for a sketching foray out into the big wide world.  I’m thinking this might be something else I might have to work on . . .

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Posted by on September 20, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree . . . ‘ Marion Sinclair.

13 Sep

Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

There is a bit fat beautiful kookaburra that comes to visit my house most days.

Rather than the gumtree, he prefers to sit on the birdbath just outside my living room window.  The window is a large one and on the inside there is a little sill where the dogs like to sit, leaning up against the warm glass, watching the world go by.  The bird bath is about 2 feet in front of that the window (as the kookaburra flies) and sits almost at eye-level with the girls.

He’s clever, this kooka.   He knows the dogs can see him  . . . and he also knows they can’t get at him.   He will descend gently onto the rim of the birdbath, fix them with his beady eye, and then, when he has their full attention, he will begin his ablutions, carefully primping and preening his feathers until he has them just right—and then, suddenly, he will bomb the birdbath, sending water splashing all over the window.  It sends the girls into a mad salivating frenzy every time.

And when he has them all wound up and running back and forth along the sill, barking frantically, he will become bored with their noise, slowly turn, give them one final look over his shoulder and with a throaty chuckle, he’s gone.

It then falls to me to spend the next 10 minutes trying to calm down three agitated, steamed up and completely over-excited little dogs.

Thanks for that mate . . .

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 Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree,
Merry merry king of the bush is he.
Laugh, Kookaburra, laugh, Kookaburra,
Gay your life must be!

Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree,
Eating all the gum drops he can see.
Stop Kookaburra, stop Kookaburra
Save some there for me!

Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree,
Counting all the monkeys he can see.
Stop Kookaburra, Kookaburra stop.
That’s not a monkey, that’s me!

Marion Sinclair’s Kookaburra Song won a competition run by the Girl Guides Association of Victoria and was first performed at the World Jamboree in Frankston, Victoria in 1934.

 
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Posted by on September 13, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Sunset is still my favorite color, and rainbow is second.’ Mattie Stepanek.

06 Sep

coloursStories from my Sketchbook . . . 

I love colour—which, I admit, is a bit of a strange thing for me to say considering I am always more comfortable wearing black—but even so—I really do love colour.  I am drawn to it in all it’s many forms, from the subtlest and palest of washes to colours so vivid they make your eyes water.  And, for the most part, I have a pretty good eye.  I know which colours will work with others, and which won’t.

But knowing isn’t always enough.  It doesn’t always translate onto the sketchpad or canvas.  There are so many techniques to be learned (and practised) especially when it comes to mixing colours, and I still have so much to learn.  (So far, when it comes to mixing watercolours at least, the colour ‘mud’ I have down pat . . .)

biroThankfully, mixing colours was not an issue for me this week.  This week’s SBS tutor was Andrea Joseph, well known for her fabulous ball-point pen sketches, and our homework was to produce a ‘one-colour sketch’ of one of our favourite things.  This was a bit of a step back for me, but not in a bad way.  I am very comfortable working in black and white.  I just settled myself on my couch with my sketchbook and my Classic Fine Bic ballpoint pen and drew.  I didn’t have to have pencils, or sharpeners, or erasers, or watercolours, or brushes . . .  just a biro.  I had forgotten how meditative and relaxing it could be (at least until I got cramp in my hand and had to stop for a while . . . )

But something has also shifted within me after all these classes I have been taking.  I am getting a little more adventurous.  Although I was happy enough with the black and white sketch when I had finished, I just felt I needed to add a tiny spot of colour somewhere.  So I did.  My sketchbook . . . my rules . . .

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Mabel is one of my favourite black and white things.  The other is her sister Maude
(although Maudie is like a flea in a bottle and can’t stay still for a moment, even when she is sleeping,
which makes her much harder to draw.)

 
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Posted by on September 6, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Please kindly go away, I’m introverting.’ Beth Buelow.

02 Sep

grasshopperThe tutor in my online art class this week was ‘artist / writer / naturalist’ Cathy Johnson.  Before I had even read anything about her, or seen any of her work, my first thought was ‘Oh Oh.  Naturalist.  Does this mean I have to take my sketchbook out-of-doors again this week . . . because I am still not really comfortable with that.  At all . . . ‘

bighatSo I was pleasantly surprised to see that the first part of Cathy’s video class was all about how she, a self-confessed-dyed-in-the-wool introvert, handles going out and about in the big wide world to do her sketching and painting.  (She wears big hats and sunglasses, uses earbuds so people will think she is listening to music or a podcast, and positions herself in corners or with her back to a wall so that ‘no-one can sneak up behind me’ . . . )

At first I shook my head at her suggestions as it all seemed a bit silly but then, quite unexpectedly, I caught myself seriously considering whether that old hat I bought at the markets years ago would be big enough for me to hide under . . . and, you know . . . I’ve got some big sunglasses . . . if I wore that hat and those sunnies . . . and kept away from the main walking paths . . . then maybe I could go out and about with the sketchbook and no-one would bother me or even know who I was and . . .

OMGOh.My.God!  Hi.  My name is Sally, and I think I am an INTROVERT!

Gasp.  No, I must be mistaken.  I have never, ever thought of myself as an introvert.  I like my personal space, that’s all.  And, sure I’m not really a party person, or into the pubs and clubs scene . . . and I don’t like to be in the cinema when it gets too crowded  . . . or sketching where anyone can see me.  And some weekends I wouldn’t bother to go out at all if the dogs didn’t need walking.  Okay.  I can see where this is going.  Perhaps this does merit further investigation.

The dictionary defines an introvert as ‘a shy, reticent person’.  Pfffttt.   Well, I am not in any way shape or form ‘a shy, reticent person’ so there has to be more to it than that. Time to do some extensive research on the subject (i.e. ‘google’ it).

introverts-unite-mens-premium-t-shirtThe terms ‘introvert’ and ‘extrovert’ were originally used by psychologist Carl Jung in the 1920s to explain the different attitudes people use to direct their energy.  Extroverts were generally determined as being outgoing, having a wide range of friends and being comfortable working and playing in large groups. Introverts were seen more often as reflective, preferring to know a few people well, comfortable being alone and liking to do activities they can do on their own.

Well, I guess when you put it like that . . .

But I am not just going to take Jung’s word for it.  There are loads of on-line personality tests out there. Let’s shake it up a bit and see what they think.

The Quiet Revolution indicated I was definitely an introvert. Okay.  Let’s try that again.  Lifehack. Different questions, same result.  Introvert.   Mmmmm.  One last time. The Psychologies test stated I was a ‘public extrovert but a private introvert’.  (I do believe that is what is what is called ‘hedging your bets’.) 

So there you go.  Introvert.  (Not even an ambivert, which, considering I had never even heard that term before today, is no great loss anyway.)

Fire-Escape-Plan-Fire-Chiefs-of-OntarioBut seriously—although I have never associated myself with the word ‘introvert’, I can’t say I am all that surprised at the personality test outcomes.  I have always needed to spend a lot of time on my own.  My social energy definitely has an expiry date and I often spend an inordinate amount of time deciding whether I want to go out somewhere or not.  And then, more than likely, I won’t go.  (And if I do go, I usually have an ‘escape plan’ already in place . . .)

And it seems I am in good company.  Depending on where you get your information (i.e. which google search you believe) about 25% of the world’s population are introverts . . . or maybe it’s closer to 50% . . . or (my favourite)  ‘a minority in the regular population but a majority in the gifted population.’ (Gallagher, 1990; Hoehn & Birely. 1988.)

So now that I know, and (grudgingly) accept, that I am (probably) an introvert (at least that sounds better than ‘socially retarded’) what difference does it make?  None at all really.  I’m pretty happy being who I am and doing things the way I do them and I have no plans to make any drastic changes.

grouchoExcept maybe I will take some of Cathy Johnson’s advice.   A rummage around the house for a quick ‘disguise’ and I might just go and find myself a quiet corner out in the world (preferably with a brick wall behind me) and try a little outdoor sketching.

It could be the start of an all new (quiet) adventure . . .

 
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Posted by on September 2, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘It is not only fine feathers that make fine birds.’ Aesop.

30 Aug

Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

birdsI have spoken before about the surfeit of birds in my garden.  On any normal day I see dozens of them—magpies, noisy miners, wrens, sparrows, and pigeons along with their more colourful brethren—rosellas, lorikeets, galahs, King parrots, and even the occasional cockatoo.  And those are just the ones that frequent my garden.  If you go down to the end of the street and on to the river, then you have all the water birds—the waterfowl, the pelicans and the gulls.  There is just no getting away from them.  (I wouldn’t recommend you settle here if you suffer from ornithophobia . . .)

So when I found out that my art homework this week was to do several studies of birds I thought ‘You beauty . . . ‘ as I knew there would at least be plenty of subjects to choose from.  I didn’t expect the actual assignment to be easy though.  I have never even attempted to draw birds from life before for the simple fact that they are so beautiful, and so complex, I was sure I would never be able to do them justice. (That and the fact that they move too fast, and, of course, if they know you are watching them they move around even faster, just for spite.)  But I was willing to give it a go, and went and filled up the bird-feeder as enticement and sat down to wait . . .  and wait . . .  and wait . . .

So much for expectations.  I should have known better.  The word had obviously gone out that Sally would be out and about, sketchpad in hand, and so the birds had all got together and decided it would be a bit of a hoot (no pun intended) to stay away in droves.  Sigh.  I spent most of the weekend hovering by the kitchen window, peering out at the birdfeeder, waiting in vain.

Late on Sunday afternoon, just as the light was fading, one of my little rosella friends finally showed some mercy and came and sat for me for a while.  He even had the grace to look a little apologetic . . .

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Eastern Rosella

 
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Posted by on August 30, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Blessed is the man, who having nothing to say, abstains from giving wordy evidence of the fact.’ George Eliot.

26 Aug

nothing to sayI have nothing to say this week.  How sad is that?  (Well, sad to me, possibly not to you . . . )  Seriously, I have been sitting here for almost a full week (although at the moment it seems much much longer) fingers poised over the keyboard, determined to start my next post and . . . nothing.  Nada.  Not a single idea.  (Well—not a single idea that I think anyone else might be interested in reading.  I have been tired and cranky all week but I didn’t really want to write tired and cranky things here—there is enough of that in the world already.)

So, rather than berate myself, I am just going to acknowledge the fact and give myself a break (you could probably use a rest from me anyway) but I thought it only polite to let you know that nothing would be forthcoming today—just is case you thought I was being rude and ignoring you all.  (You don’t really think I would do that . . . do you?)

I don’t even have any new ‘artistic insights’ to share with you (I haven’t done my art class homework this week either—sigh—head drops to chest) but, by way of compensation (although I am not sure that is the right word) here is a quick sketch I did last weekend, before the malaise descended.  I hope it will suffice until I can drag myself out of the mire.  (A slow weekend of chocolate, wine and cuddles with my girls will work wonders I am sure . . . )

See you all next week.  X

P.S.
‘Word Count’ has just informed me that it has now taken 289 words to tell you I have nothing to say.
George Eliot must be turning in her grave . . . 

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Posted by on August 26, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Sometimes it’s best to hide in plain sight.’ David Estes.

23 Aug

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

How cool would be it—to be able to change colour to match your surrounding like the chameleon?  

I could be in the office, getting on with my day, answering the phones, working on the database, dealing with the paperwork . . . but nobody would know I was even there.  

I might even be able to get just one job finished . . . 

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Posted by on August 23, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Everyone has two eyes but no one has the same view.’ Wael Harakeh.

16 Aug

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

mr magooLast week’s homework from my ‘Seeing’ art class was to highlight the differences in how we see, what we see—and also what we don’t see—when we look at something really quickly as opposed to looking deeply and intently at the same object.  It was a ‘quick, quick slow’ exercise.  

The idea was to pick a ‘fairly complex’ object and to do a quick one-minute rough sketch of it in whatever medium we chose (I chose watercolour, just because it seemed easiest.  HA!  Shows you how much I know.)  Once the initial sketch was completed we were then to slow right down and to spend the next half an hour, longer if preferred, to really look at the object and to add in the detail on top of the original sketch—correcting it as we went. Sounds easy enough doesn’t it?  Mmmmm.  

Well, first of all I don’t really do ‘one minute sketches’, in pencil, watercolour or any other medium. Nothing I have ever drawn in one minute has ever looked even vaguely akin to what I was attempting to copy.  And this was no different.  In hindsight I didn’t really think through attempting to sketch a green plant in a green pot and I guess I shouldn’t have been all that surprised that I ended up with a fuddled green blur and not much else.  

But that was okay.  I had the detail to add yet and detail is what I like, so this should be easy—right?  Not so much.  Turns out that I actually found it quite difficult to look past my original sketch and not just ‘follow the lines’ that I had originally set down.  (Anyone else out there always taught to colour within the lines?  It’s a hard habit to break.)  

It took a couple of false starts but I eventually started to get the hang of it, although, as usual, the hardest part was knowing when to stop.  (Even now I want to go back and work on it some more.  I don’t like the pot . . . I’m not happy with the pot . . . Step away from the pen Sally—step away . . . )

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Posted by on August 16, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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‘I always like toast in a crisis.’ James Goss.

09 Aug

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

toast2This week one of my art homework exercises from SketchBookSkool was to draw toast.  Seriously. Toast.  But not just any old quick sketch of toast.  This was an exercise in slowing down.   (The class I am doing at the moment is called ‘Seeing’.)   We were to really look at that toast. Take our time.  Draw ‘every fissure . . . every nook and cranny . . . every peak and valley’.   Mmmmm . . . .

It turned out to be an interesting, and difficult, exercise.  The first problem I encountered was that I discovered it was extraordinarily hard to focus on drawing toast when all I really wanted to do was eat it.  I don’t think I had noticed before just how mouthwateringly good raisin toast smells.  I wasn’t even hungry when I started the drawing, but by the time I was finished (and the toast was cold and hard and horrid) I was ravenous.  Sigh.

Toast-B&WAnd then, as I progressed, I found that as I drew more and more ‘nooks and crannies, valleys and peaks’ the drawing started to look less and less like toast and more and more like random scribbles on a page (see right).  The teacher’s example of their black and white drawing was entirely recognisable as toast—mine less so.   (Although I admit, It looked a little more like toast when I added colour, and a lot more like toast after I added the lettering . . . )

Nevertheless, in spite of the result, I think I am going to try this approach again.  I really enjoyed the focus that it demanded—to really looking ‘inside’ what I was drawing.  I liked getting lost in the process.

Although perhaps next time I will try drawing something other than food.  I found looking up from the drawing and having my gaze drawn relentlessly to the three tiny little black noses stretched up and sniffing along the edge of the table really screwed with my concentration . . .

RaisinToast

 P.S.  The ‘toast in a crisis’ quote struck me as quite apt as the  SBS server crashed over the weekend and they have been madly scrambling doing upgrades and fixes trying to get it up and running again.

 
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Posted by on August 9, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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