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‘Doodling is the brooding of the hand.’ Saul Steinberg.

04 Apr

 Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

I have only recently taken up doodling again.  Or at least I should say, I have only recently ‘consciously’ taken up doodling again . . .

I used to doodle a lot, especially when I was working at the University where I seemed always to be taking Minutes for the (terminally dreary and seemingly endless) departmental meetings.  I never let anyone see my notes for those Minutes before they were all neatly typed up and distributed—partly because they were covered in elaborate doodles and scribbles—and partly because I tended to add my own thoughts on the conversations to my draft pages (some of which may well have got me sacked if anyone else had read them . . . )

Although I wasn’t aware of it at the time I think I used doodling as a way of keeping myself ‘present’ in those meetings.  I found if I just sat and listened my mind would invariably wander off (no doubt looking for my ‘happy place’) and I wouldn’t hear a thing that was being said (or I would become so bored I would find it a real struggle to not run screaming from the room) but oddly enough, if I drew on my pages as I listened I was more able to attend to the talk, remember who said what, and note down all the salient points.

It seems I knew what I was doing.  I recently read that research has now determined that people who doodle during meetings or through phone conversations can recall up to 29 percent more information afterwards than those who simply take notes.  It is also believed that the seemingly distracted scribbling also aids creativity, helps us to mull over problems and promotes ‘thinking outside the box’.  Who knew?

Although I don’t need to doodle my way through meetings to keep my sanity any more, I have started using doodling to ‘kick start’ me when I am in a sketching slump.  When I am tired or tetchy or in one of those I-really-want-to-draw-something-but-I-can’t-decide-what-to-draw kind of funks, I  just pick up a pen and a sketchbook and start scribbling.   And it works.  It gets my creative juices flowing, there’s no pressure to create a ‘final piece’, and it’s fun.

Nor am I alone in my enjoyment of this simple pastime.  Check out this Doodlers Anonymous website to see some seriously fabulous and artistic doodles.  

Or better still, spend some time doodling yourself and upload one of your own . . .

 
9 Comments

Posted by on April 4, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Do not count your chickens before they are hatched.’ Aesop.

28 Mar

Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

. . .  because you may not even get a chicken!  🙂

 
6 Comments

Posted by on March 28, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree …’ Emily Bronte.

21 Mar

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

Before I moved back to the coast about 13 years ago I lived for many years in Armidale, up high on the Northern Tablelands.  Armidale is a beautiful place, and unlike much of the rest of Australia, it also has four distinct seasons.  My favourite season has always been the autumn and I especially loved those Armidale autumns.  The nights would be getting cooler and the early mornings would often be foggy, but when the fog burnt off the days were bright and sunny and still quite warm . . .

. . . and the city itself was gorgeous—everywhere you looked there were corridors of trees all dressed in the most magnificent autumn colours . . .

(I realise I might sound a little nostalgic here but I would like to point out that I am very happy living here in the Camden Haven and I am not remembering Armidale entirely through ‘autumn-coloured’ glasses.  Armidale autumns were gorgeous, that’s true—but the winters were downright vicious.  It was those long . . . long . . .  long . . . icy winters that eventually drove me away and back to more temperate climes . . . )

 
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Posted by on March 21, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘A sure cure for seasickness is to sit under a tree.’ Spike Milligan.

14 Mar

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

I live in a coastal town.  The Camden Haven River runs right past the end of my street and North Haven Beach is only a short walk away.  I really like living so close to the water.  I like the sound of it and the smell of it and the beauty of it.  Even on a crappy, overcast, rainy day our river is beautiful . . .

And because we are a coastal town, everywhere you look there are people in, on and around the water.  People paddling, swimming, surfing, kyaking, and boating.  Especially boating. There are boats all over the place.  They are on trailers parked in driveways (and on front lawns), and in queues lined up at the boat ramps, and idling about in the lagoons, and chugging up and down the river, and moored in any one of our small local marinas.

I like looking at all these boats too―there are so many different shapes and sizes and styles (and names―there are some hilarious names out there . . .’Ship for Brains’―HA!) and it always looks like everyone on these boats is having a simply fabulous time (except perhaps those still parked on the lawn or in the driveway . . . )

But that’s as far as it goes.  Looking.  I like looking at boats.  I have no overwhelming desire to actually be on one.

To be perfectly honest, even sketching these boats from my nice, stable, dry spot (under a tree) was starting to make me feel kind of queasy . . .

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12 Comments

Posted by on March 14, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadows. It’s what the sunflowers do.’ Helen Keller.

07 Mar

Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

Our summer this year has been a real scorcher, even here around the mid-north coast where we are used to a much more temperate climate.  But thankfully (at least I am thankful for it) the summer heat is finally starting to wane.  The days are still sunny and warm but they are getting a tiny bit shorter and there is something in the air that smells just a little bit like autumn—and autumn is my favourite time of year . . .

But before the summer finally leaves us I thought I would do one final quick ‘summer’ sketch . . . and there is nothing more summery than a sunflower.  I like sunflowers. They are big, bold, happy ‘in-your-face’ flowers.

And, it turns out, they’re even kind of fun to draw . . .

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8 Comments

Posted by on March 7, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Save the trees? Trees are the main cause of forest fires!’ Billy Connolly.

28 Feb

Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

treehuggerThe trees in the park at the end of my street took a bit of a battering last year.  They were set on fire (deliberately it would seem) in two separate incidents, both times in the very early morning . . .

As you can imagine, it is somewhat unnerving to open your front door in the early morning to see bright orange flames climbing skyward and what appears to be a whole park on fire.  (As it turned out the whole park wasn’t actually on fire—it just looked that way from where I was standing . . . )

(For the benefit of my overseas friends . . . The trees in this park are nearly all gumtrees (eucalypts) which although native to Australia can now be found all over the world.  These trees have adapted to survive—and even thrive—after a fire.  When their leaves fall they create dense carpets around the base of the trees and the trees’ bark also tends to peels off in long streamers, adding to the flammable ground cover.  The eucalyptus oil contained within these trees is also highly flammable.  When these trees catch fire, they really catch fire . . . )

We were lucky.  Both times our local fire brigade had the fire under control very quickly and very little damage was done.  The scrubby undergrowth was completely burnt away (hopefully whatever little critters were in there managed to get well away too) and the trunks of the trees were seared and charred  . . . but they were all still standing.

Months later the undergrowth has completely regenerated, the little critters have returned and the only reminder of the fires are the blackened scorch marks reaching high into the trees.

I am happy the firemen saved the trees. I’ll be even happier if they catch the bastard that set them on fire in the first place . . .

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7 Comments

Posted by on February 28, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Time’s Fun When You’re Havin’ Flies’ – Kermit The Frog.

21 Feb

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

frog-under-leafMy garden is home to a number of frogs.  I know this because, although I don’t actually see them very often, I hear them all the time . . .  (although, maybe not quite so much lately.  This summer has been so hot perhaps they have been, literally, keeping their heads down and staying where it’s dark and cool . . . )

But the temperature dropped slightly over the weekend and we even had a bit of rain . . .

(. . .  by the way, commiserations to all those of you who have recently had ‘more than a bit’ of rain. A nice cleansing shower is one thing, but no-one needs the biblical deluges some places received . . . )  

frogandmegaphoneAnyway . . . back to the frogs.   The front door was open to catch the fresh breeze and the girls and I were enjoying a quiet moment.  I was reading (and enjoying the sound of the rain pattering softly outside) and the girls were dozing in their favourite doggie spots.  Suddenly, and totally unexpectedly, our peace was shattered by an almighty bellow which brought us all immediately to our feet.  (Poor Molly, woke up with such a fright she actually rolled off the sofa!)  It took me several minutes to realise (and several more minutes to calm the dogs down) that the sound was actually coming from a frog . . . and that frog was right outside my front door . . .

tinyfrogAlthough initially a bit wary about confronting any creature that could make a sound like that, I ‘manned up’ and went outside to look.  I was astonished (gobsmacked!) to find that the loudest frog I had ever heard also turned out to be one of the teeniest, tiniest, itty-bittiest creatures I have ever seen—a tiny green speck of a thing, perched contentedly on my front porch and happily telling everyone who would listen (like the whole neighbourhood) how much he was enjoying the rain.

I admit it.  I did spend some time ferreting around in the bushes close by searching for his godzilla-proportioned older brother (who was obviously also a practising ventriloquist) because . . .  well . . . no way!   I just could not get my head around that sound coming out of that frog . . .

But it did.  It really did.  And it kind of made my day . . .

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Posted by on February 21, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Everyone complains about the weather, but nobody ever seems to do anything about it.’ Willard Scott.

14 Feb

Stories from my Sketchbook . . . .

Before coming to work this morning I tuned in briefly to America’s ‘CBS This Morning’ and watched the reports of the massive winter storms that have been sweeping certain parts of that country.  People were being warned to stay inside, take extreme care when going out of doors, try to stay warm . . . .

too hotWe here in Australia received almost identical warnings last weekend, with one major exception—we were told to stay inside, take extreme care when going out of doors, and to try to stay cool . . .

Last Sunday the temperature in Port Macquarie reached 47 degrees Celsius (116.6F) which is extraordinarily hot for almost anywhere, but especially so for us here on the New South Wales mid-north coast.  We rarely get extremes of weather around here—hot or cold (one of its many attractions as far as I am concerned . . . )

dogwithfanAs you can imagine my little household took the warnings very much to heart and our weekend was spent doing as little as humanly (or doggily) possible. Mabel and Maude’s only discernible movements were in staggering back and forth to the waterbowl in the kitchen or occasionally re-aligning themselves in front of one of the several fans which were running at full capacity around the living room . . .

Molly did even less than that.  Not known for over-extending herself at the best of times, Molly made it perfectly clear from very early on in the day that she was literally going to die if she had to get up and walk all the way into the kitchen every time she needed a drink of water.  Eventually, after much puffing, panting, groaning and beseeching looks cast in my direction ( I am such a sucker) a water dish was obligingly laid at her poor hot little feet . . .

Thus ‘molly-fied’ (ha—couldn’t resist that) she then spent the rest of a very trying day ‘resting’ under a cool wet towel . . . reapplied at appropriate intervals by her favourite chump of a hand-maiden, of course.

It’s a hard knock life . . .

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7 Comments

Posted by on February 14, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Old houses were scaffolding once and workmen whistling.’ T.E. Hulme.

07 Feb

Stories from my Sketchbook  . . . maintenanceman

I have heard people say ‘Old houses have soul’ and I am sure they do.  They also have squeaky doors, leaky plumbing, no built-in wardrobes and lots and lots of spiders.  Having said that, I really do like old houses, although, if renting one, a landlord ready, willing, and able to do a spot of maintenance every now and again might also be in order . . .

I know nothing of the history of the ramshackle house in my sketch below. I don’t know what country it was in, who lived in it, or why it had been abandoned.  It was just a photo on the internet that I saw and liked and decided to copy (and I was desperate to try out a new pen).

But, you know, drawing is a funny thing.  It also sets you to thinking.  While studying the angles and the shapes and the colours (and struggling with the perspective) I also found myself idly pondering on how old the house was, who built it (perhaps whistling whilst doing so), who slept behind that dormer window  . . . and who planted that fabulous climbing ivy now growing with wild abandon both inside and out (and probably the only thing still holding the house up).

I’ll never know of course, but I like to think that somebody out there in the world knows—someone who still has memories of the house and the lives that were lived here—someone with some stories to tell . . .

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6 Comments

Posted by on February 7, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘The first time I see a jogger smiling, I’ll consider it.’ Joan Rivers.

31 Jan

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

I have been thinking lately that I should be doing a tad more more exercise . . .

It’s not that I am entirely sedentary.  I walk the dogs every day (except when it is over 35 degrees(C) outside because . . .  well that’s just silly . . . )

I ride my exercise bike every day (although, I admit, some days I ride further than others . . . )

I even do (a tiny bit) of weight training every day.  (Sometimes these sessions do get interrupted though, because any time I lie on my living room floor (regardless of whether I am hoisting a barbell or not) it seems to be an open invitation for the girls to play silly-buggers and lick my eyes, or tickle my feet or nip my ears, or, in Molly’s case, sit on my tummy and supervise from above.  Last week Maudie even came over and laid her ball, ever so gently, onto my right eye socket . . . )

Anyway,  I have been feeling that I possibly could . . . should. . . . maybe . . . kick it up a notch?

In the spirit of that thought, I decided that sketching my trainers might be a step (see what I did there?) in the right direction . . .

What do you think?

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11 Comments

Posted by on January 31, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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