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‘Why fit in when you were born to stand out?’ Dr Seuss.

09 May

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

Have you ever changed the way you’ve done something . . . or the way you’ve thought about something . . . or even changed the clothes you were wearing purely because you were worried about what someone else might think?  I have.  Not much these days, I admit, but certainly in the past.

When I was younger I spent a lot of time worrying about what other people thought of me—were they talking about me? . . . were they judging me?  . . . what did I need to do to ‘fit in’?

So I did all the things I thought I was supposed to do.

I went to parties I didn’t particularly want to go to because I thought if I didn’t I would never be asked again (even though I probably wouldn’t want to go the next time either).

I spent late nights out at pubs and clubs listening to music that made my head ache and drinking whatever was put in front of me, when all I really wanted to be doing was sitting at home with a nice cup of tea, wearing my fluffy slippers and watching a really bad sci-fi movie on the telly.

I bought clothes that were bang on trend but looked awful on me (thank God there was no Facebook back then) hung around with people I had absolutely nothing in common with, and was careful to whom I expressed my honest opinions in case I was thought of as difficult or uncool or not ‘normal’.

Well, they say that your true colours will always show through eventually and I guess it’s true.  After all that energy expended in trying to match my own colours to those around me it turns out that I am indeed difficult, uncool . . . and normal? . . .  well, that’s all relative isn’t it?  I reckon I am my own very special kind of normal—just like everybody else . . .

‘ . . . Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?”

Actually, who are you not to be? . . . ‘

(Marianne Williamson)

 
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Posted by on May 9, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Sometimes the best hiding place is the one that’s in plain sight.’ Stephanie Meyer.

05 May

Stories from my Sketchbook  . . .

Out on an early morning walk through the park last weekend I stopped for a moment to take in the quiet and stillness.  The girls were puddling about happily in the undergrowth (school holidays, although over now, had brought lots of new visitors and their dogs to the area so there were still plenty of new smells to investigate), the river was ambling silently by and the sun was just coming up.  We were the only ones out and about.  Or so I thought . . .

Calling the girls to me so we could begin to wend our way home I had to do a quick sidestep to avoid tripping over Maudie who, as usual, had tried to charge ahead of me.  In doing so I pirouetted (gracefully, as you might imagine) and found myself looking directly at a low slung tree branch.  What I did not expect was to find was that low slung tree branch had bright orange eyes—and was looking directly back at me!

Once I got over the initial ‘ . . . what the . . . ?’  I realised I was looking into the eyes of a large Tawny Frogmouth.

What a treat!  The Tawny Frogmouth is  a fabulous bird but although they are quite common around here and I hear them a lot (they make a deep ‘oom-oom-oom-oom-oom’ sound) I hardly ever get to see one close up—not only because they are nocturnal, but also because they are so damn good at camouflage.  After their nightly hunts, when they are ready to settle in for the day, they like to roost on low bare branches (as in this encounter), tree stumps, and even shady patches of ground.  I must have come across this fellow just as he was bedding down and probably surprised him as much as he surprised me.

I stood back a bit to get a good look at him.  He had already frozen in place and now closed his eyes and I swear if I didn’t already know he was there I would never have seen him.  How many of these incredible birds do I walk blindly past every morning I wonder?

I said hello to him, and told him he was a beautiful bird (one does these things when no-one else is watching) but he was having none of it.  He moved not a muscle.  Not even a peek under his eyelids to see what I was doing.  I watched him, fascinated, for a couple more minutes but, as he seemed determined to pretend he hadn’t seen me, I reluctantly decided I should leave him to his rest.

Looking around to see where the girls had got to (they had all gone suspiciously quiet) I found them all sitting at my feet, exchanging nervous glances and looking worriedly up at me.  I imagine it could be bit alarming for any child, even a four-legged one, to watch your mum engaging in what appears to be a one-sided conversation with a rotten old tree stump . . .

 
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Posted by on May 5, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Don’t reject a shoe because you can’t run in it. It’s OK not to run.’ Christian Louboutin.

02 May

Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

I don’t think the question ‘Can I run in these?’ was one I ever asked myself when considering the purchase of a new pair of shoes (except maybe for sneakers, although possibly not even then if they were really cute).  In fact, looking back at some of the shoes I have worn over the years I am not sure that even being able to walk in them was much of a consideration either.

I’ve always had a thing for shoes and I’ve pretty much had them all—flats, ballets, heels, boots, sandals, clogs, platforms, wedges, strappy, buckled, lace-ups and peep-toes.

And why not?  Shoes really are a necessity.  No matter what else you are wearing you do still need shoes.  Flats, ballets, or sneakers for everyday wear, heels for work or special occasions, sandals for the summer, boots for the winter.  And of course you have to think about different colours and styles as well because they have to ‘go’ with the clothes that you already have.  (Unless of course you buy the shoes first and then buy an outfit to match them—but that’s a whole other thing . . .)  Anyway, it has always seemed entirely reasonable to me to have (at least) a dozen or so pair of shoes to choose from.  

(One set of statistics I saw states that most women admit to owning at least 10 pairs of shoes, and one in every 12 women claims to have over 100 pairs.  I imagine the words ‘admit to owning’ allows plenty of wiggle-room here.)  

I haven’t actually counted how many pairs of shoes I own at the moment but I can tell you it is more than 10 and a lot less than 100 (remember I have been downsizing lately) but it is absolutely sure and certain that I do not need to buy another pair of shoes any time soon.

It also absolutely sure and certain that when it comes to the purchase of a new pair of shoes need has very little to do with it . . .

 
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Posted by on May 2, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘The limits of your language are the limits of your world.’ Ludwig Wittgenstein.

25 Apr

Stories from my Sketchbook . . . 

I’ve just started another course at Sketchbook Skool—‘Exploring’.  This week’s homework assignment was to explore the use of hatching (cross-hatching) to define light, and shade and shape . . .

Once your sketch is completed you are urged to upload it to the course site so that other students can see your work and you can see theirs.  This is by no means compulsory but I have found it to be a valuable exercise.  You see so many different styles and mediums and interpretations—and you get great feedback.  (There is only one rule—constructive criticism is allowed but if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all . . . )

On seeing my homework sketch of this small metal owl this week one of my fellow  Sketchbook Skool students (Leah) asked me what it was.  Was it a toy or a ‘tchotchke’?  A what?  I had never seen or heard the word tchotchke (pronounced ‘choch-kee’) before, so I looked it up . . .

tchotchke (Origin—Yiddish) a small object that is decorative rather than strictly functional; a trinket

Well okay then.  Yes—I guess a ‘tchotchke’ is exactly what this is . . .

When I replied to Leah’s comment I did fess up to the fact that I had never heard the word before which then prompted Leah to also look it up as she said it was a word she had used all her life without really knowing where it came from or why she used it.  (I wonder how many times we have all done that?)

So because of my homework this week I learned a number of things . . .

I learned that ‘hatching’ a spherical object wasn’t as simple as I thought it was going to be.

I learned I like adding colour to a drawing after all the shading has already been sketched in.

I learned a new word (from another language).

I learned a new word (from another language) which I really like saying . . . tchotchke . . . tchotchke . . . tchotchke . . .

. . . and I learned that I have a house full of all manner of  tchotchkes . . . .

Who knew?

 
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Posted by on April 25, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘Strength is the capacity to break a chocolate bar into four pieces with your bare hands—and then eat just one of the pieces.’ Judith Viorst.

14 Apr

Chocolate.  Mmmmmm . . .

Over the years I have done the old ‘I’ll-buy-myself-the-‘family block’-and-make-sure-I-only-have-a-small-piece-(or two)-after-dinner-and-it’ll-last-until-my-next-big-shop’ dance more than once.  It never ended well.

I would start with the very best of intentions.  I would eat one small piece of chocolate (slowly, slowly, savouring it, letting it melt in my mouth) and then another . . . and maybe just one more. Then I’d ‘be good’ and put the rest safely away and go do some reading, or work in the garden, or get out my sketchpad and pens and . . . nope . . . no good.   How could I possibly concentrate on anything else when there was chocolate in the house begging to be eaten?  It was beyond me.  I would invariably end up eating the whole block and then spend the rest of the day castigating myself (‘. . . this is the  very last time  . . .  I will not be buying any more . . .  no more . . . ever . . . ‘) while also madly trying to exercise my latest indiscretion away.  (Where was Dr Phil and his ‘How’s that working for you?’ when I needed him?)

Moderation does not come easily to me.  For some people it is perfectly sensible to have only one piece of cake, or one glass of wine, or to buy one pair of shoes at a time.  I am not one of those people.  I struggle against ‘wanting’ things all the time.  I want another sketchbook (although I still have a stack in my office that I haven’t used yet).  I want that lovely red sweater I saw on-line the other day (I already have a red sweater, although, in my defence, it’s not the same kind of red)  . . . and I want another puppy (sssshhhh, don’t tell the girls . . . )

I don’t need . . . but I want.

I am (slowly) getting better at wanting less.  Wanting less ‘things’ at least (although, puppies . . .  sigh . . . ) but I still struggle hugely when it come to food.   Especially sweet food like biscuits  . . . and cake . . . . and lollies . . . and chocolate.  I (usually) manage to keep these constant cravings at bay—at home at least.  I just don’t keep any of those lovely sweet, sticky,  yummy things in my house.  Out of sight out of mind.  Right?  (Fair warning: if you come to visit me you will need to bring your own cookies with you.)   Most of time this strategy works . . .

. . . but not at Easter.  Easter eggs are my downfall.  The first Easter eggs appeared in our shops here right around New Year.  I remember thinking, ‘Well, that’s just rude.  It’s pure commercialism and I am not going to buy into it.’  And I didn’t.  I made sure to quickly avert my eyes every time I came across them (or hot cross buns) in the supermarket aisles—I was not going to get sucked in.  Not this year.  I felt all very virtuous and pleased with myself.

And then two weeks ago one of our college students presented me with a great big scrummy chocolate Easter Bunny.  He was gorgeous.  I took him home promising myself I would not touch him until much, much closer to Easter.  Who was I kidding?  I don’t think he even made it to tea-time.  Sigh.

Since then other lovely friends have also gifted me with all manner of glorious festive Eastery treats.  So that’s it.  I’m done for.  Chocolate coma, here I come . . . 

Happy Easter All!

This is an example of what can happen when Sally is let loose with her kiddie paints while on a chocolate high.
It got a little messy . . .
🙂

 
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Posted by on April 14, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘If it’s your job to eat a frog, it’s best to do it first thing in the morning. And if it’s your job to eat two frogs, it’s best to eat the biggest one first.’ Mark Twain.

07 Apr

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

I feel like I have been eating frogs all week.  Honestly.  One frog after another after another . . .

And it shows in my writing.  Everything I tried to write this week has sounded grumbley, whingey or whiney so, as I believe there is enough of that in the world already, I have decided not to add to it (not this week anyway . . . )

Instead, I have decided to post a sketch of a frog—one that I didn’t eat—and I promise to be in a more cheerful frame of mind next week.

Have a great week everyone . . .

 
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Posted by on April 7, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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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 . . .

 
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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!  🙂

 
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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 . . .

img121

 
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Posted by on March 14, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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