Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
My take on recreating an old sepia photo . . . well, except for the stamping part, that wasn’t on the photo, that was just for fun . . . and the biro I used was black, not brown . . . (I have enough arty paraphernalia in my home to start my own shop and while searching through it I discovered I have every colour biro made by man—except brown. Sigh.)
So, if I am totally honest, I didn’t really recreate anything truly sepia at all, but it was fun anyway. . .
Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
I was going to begin this post by telling you all what a very ‘ordinary’ gardener I am. However, after reading Janet Kilburn Phillip’s statement, I have decided to rethink that. If you look at it from her point of view—I am actually a gardening-experimenter-extraordinaire!
I have always liked gardens—other people’s gardens—but I never really had much luck when trying to create one of my own. It seemed to be all about keeping the lawns mowed, the paths swept and the weeds at bay. It was also true that, over the years, I have had very, very, many (failed) gardening ‘experiments’ . . .
Happily, those days now appear to be (mostly) behind me. Since I discovered the fabulous ‘succulent’ my garden has been totally transformed. I never even try to grow anything else any more. I don’t need to. Honestly, once a succulent is planted it mostly looks after itself (at least mine do). In fact, it’s just as well the majority of mine are actually confined to pots because if some of them got a foothold outside of those pots I am sure they would simply run amok. This became even more apparent to me last weekend when I went outside to do some general ‘tidying up’ and found that, almost overnight, most of my plants had begun spewing ‘succulent babies’ of every colour, shape and form imagineable all over the place . . .
So it appears that a good deal of my upcoming Christmas holidays might now be spent out in the garden—separating, thinning-out and repotting.
You never know—I might even get the time to sketch some of them too . . .
Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
This week (drum roll . . . . ) I finally filled my first sketchbook. YAY!
(Okay—I had already begun another before I filled the first one up. In fact, I had already begun several others (different sizes, different shapes, different papers—who knew buying sketchbooks could be so much fun?) but that is beside the point. I actually finished one. Go me.)
So I know it’s not really that big of a deal to anyone else, but when I first opened that first lovely new pristine sketchbook I never really thought I would get to the end of it. I was so hesitant to make a mark in it, and every time I finished one sketch I was scared to start another—just in case I spoiled the whole book. (I still have issues with that but I am slowly getting used to ‘looking past’ the sketches I am not happy with. I am also discovering all sorts of sneaky new ways of covering crappy sketches up . . . )
That nice, new pristine sketchbook isn’t quite so pristine any more. It has a couple of torn pages, a couple of nibbled pages (although none of the girls have owned up to that yet) and a lot of wrinkly, blotched and smeared pages. But now I find, surprisingly, I am quite fond of those wrinkles, blotches and smears. Who’da thunk?
Now please excuse me. I have a couple of other sketchbooks to fill . . .
Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
I admire people who use colour well in their artwork. Some people really seem to have the knack for it. I love colour (especially as it is so non-fattening) but I always seem to use too little—or go to the other extreme and never know when to stop.
Last week, in an effort to force myself out of my comfortable little box (which was hard, because I actually like my comfortable little box) I decided to go back to an exercise I had in one of my Sketchbook Skool classes (also I was desperately trying to think of a way to cover a completely failed sketch, but that’s a whole other story). So I splashed a couple of coloured washes onto the page (only two colours though—I wasn’t ready to launch myself too far out of my box . . . ) to see what would happen.
And then I sat and looked at it . . . and looked at it. . . and looked at it . . .
Okay. What the hell am I supposed to do with it now? Sigh. Honestly I have so little imagination at times it scares me . . .
So I closed the book and walked away.
After a couple of days of (unsuccessfully) trying to ignore this page in my sketchbook I decided to crawl back into my box, retreat to what I know best and do a biro sketch over the top of it. Et voila!
So, trying to look objectively at it, I don’t entirely hate it—but I am not sure I like it very much either.
But that’s okay. I’m glad I persevered. There was a time (not all that long ago) when I would have just ripped the page out of my sketchbook in disgust at my ineptitude.
Perhaps that means that I am actually a little bit further outside my box that I thought I was? I’ll take that.
Now I can turn over the page and try something else. Baby steps . . .
Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
I have been really slack with my sketching over the last couple of weeks. I know. I seem to be saying that a lot lately, don’t I? But it’s a constant struggle and I am still not really sure why.
I did great for a while, sketching (almost) every day. Even if it wasn’t much of a sketch, at least I was picking up the pen and doodling a bit. But lately days and days go by without even an attempt. Sometimes I pick up my sketchbook and flick through it, thinking it will inspire me . . . and sometimes it does, but often it doesn’t. Oh, I have all sorts of excuses (I’m too tired after work . . . I don’t have enough time today . . . I really need to finish sorting that other thing out first . . . and that old chestnut—I can’t find anything interesting to draw) but I know they are only excuses. I have heard (made) them all before. I am in the drawing doldrums. Again . . .
But I am trying to see it for what it is and trying not to get down on myself about it. I reckon I just have to get into a bit of a rhythm again and I will be fine. And, you know, it’s not all bad. One thing I have come to realise is that since I took up sketching again earlier this year (even if somewhat sporadically) I have definitely become more observant.
It’s not like I wandered about looking down at my feet all the time, because I didn’t. I still noticed my surroundings—the houses, the water, the river, the birds—but now I find myself really seeing things in a different light—the way the branches of a certain tree hang over right down into the water along by the riverwalk . . . the ‘sticky things’ growing up through the mangroves . . . the ricketty old verandah on the house on the corner. (Has that always been there? How have I never noticed that before?) It’s surprising to me—and, to be honest, a little bit freaky. It makes me feel like I have been walking around in a bit of a fog for years . . .
So really, all I have to do now is work out a way to transfer those new-found observations onto the pages of my sketchbook . . . on a regular basis . . . and I’ll be set! Right?
How hard can that be?
Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
Pomegranates are amongst the healthiest fruits on earth. They are nutrient rich, can have incredible benefits for your body, and may lower the risk of all sorts of diseases.
So you would have thought that if someone made them so good for us, they might also have thought of a way to make them easier to eat . . .
Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
The most popular drink in the world, bar none, is water. The second most popular drink in the world, depending on which set of on-line statistics you believe, is either tea or coffee. (I don’t quite understand how red wine is not in the running, but there you go . . . )
Anyway, during the day at least, I am (unapologetically) a tea drinker, and green tea at that. I drink vats of the stuff. That doesn’t mean that I don’t like coffee, I do—my special treat when I go to the movies is a large flat white coffee (and a bag of maltesers)—but, to me, coffee is coffee is coffee. I am, in no way shape or form, a coffee aficionado. It doesn’t make much difference to me what kind of roast or blend my coffee is. As long as my coffee is hot, it’s fine. (I can hear coffee-lovers heads exploding all over the place after that comment . . . )
However, it appears that even my special once-in-a-while coffee treat could now be in jeopardy—apparently there is a coffee crisis looming. In September 2016 the Australia’s Climate Institute released a report which predicts that by 2050 global warming will have made at least half of the land currently used for coffee production unable to produce quality beans. And by 2080 hot temperatures could make wild coffee plants completely extinct.
As I am only an occasional imbiber (along with the fact that I will be 91 years old in 2050 and 121 when wild coffee plants eventually become extinct) such a coffee crisis is unlikely to affect me much personally, but I thought I should probably make mention of it . . . just a kind of ‘heads up’ to some of my coffee-addicted friends and colleagues to let them know that their beloved brew is in peril, and they might need to do a little forward thinking—a little pre-planning (start hoarding now folks) if they want to ensure they continue to receive their daily hit of their favourite beverage . . .
Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
Do you want to know what I did last weekend? Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. Naught. No.Thing.
Well—when I say nothing, I mean nothing ‘productive’. I didn’t do any ‘chores’. I didn’t do anything I ‘should’ have done. I didn’t do anything I didn’t have to do. And I enjoyed every minute of not doing any of it.
There, I admit it. I’m a lazy, lazy person. I know we aren’t really supposed to admit that sort of thing about ourselves, but there it is.
I walk the dogs every day, twice a day, because they need the exercise, it is good for them and because, quite honestly, they make me crazy if I don’t. Would I bother to go out walking twice a day if it were just me? I very much doubt it.
I also exercise myself every day—but only because I would be the size of a house if I didn’t. (How do I know? Well, I’ve been there folks.) Do I enjoy exercising every day? Nope. I would 100% prefer not to have to do it. (I do enjoy not being the size of a house any more though, so it’s a means to an end.)
I go to work because I need to pay the rent, and the bills, and feed myself and the dogs. Would I give up working full-time tomorrow if I could afford to? Absolutely. (Don’t worry. My boss and I have already had this conversation and she knows it isn’t personal. She also knows I can’t afford to give up working any time soon.)
So, if I had my choice I would be ‘resting before I got tired’ much more often . . . and I’ll bet I’m not the only one out there. Why don’t you put your feet up and join me? Go on. You know you want to . . .
Stories from my Sketchbook . . .
This was my week.
If Henry David Thoreau were still around I would happily slap him . . .
Well I am not sure what that quote says about my future . . .
I admit I like my routines. I always have. And I’m pretty sure the dogs like them too. We all know where we are meant to be, what we are meant to be doing, and when. We can handle the odd disruption of course, life tends to get in the way sometimes, but generally the girls and I are creatures of habit, and our routines are kind of comforting. Well, they were . . .
I have had a three day-mini-break this week. Three days off work to get some jobs done at home that needed doing, to do some writing, some sketching, (some shopping—ssssshhhh—don’t tell anyone), and, hopefully, some relaxing before the new school term kicks in.
Sounds great, except that today is Friday already (how did that happen?) and I haven’t done any writing, or sketching . . . (okay I did do a bit of shopping) . . . I still have those jobs to get done . . . the nasty head cold that I have been fighting off for the last week has again kicked in with a vengeance and . . . oh yes . . . the girls and I are currently playing host to a 4 month old (absolutely adorable) Cavoodle pup called ‘Cinder’ . . .
So routine? I don’t think so. Not this week . . .
Sally says . . . eat, sleep, work, read, play, draw, bark . . . 