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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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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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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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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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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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Posted by on January 31, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered.’ Ralph Waldo Emerson.

24 Jan

Stories from  my Sketchbook . . . . 

Last weekend I thought it about time I got out into the garden and did a little ‘maintenance’ (other than just the usual mowing of the lawns and sweeping up of the debris of the last storm kind of maintenance) . . .

It wasn’t long before I had begun to wish I had just been content to do the sweeping.  It seems my back garden is a virtual cornucopia of ‘plants whose virtues have not yet been discovered’ . . .

Methinks I might perhaps be out there ‘maintaining’ again next weekend.

Sigh.

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Taraxacum officinale
(Dandelion)

 
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Posted by on January 24, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘The only way to see a movie is in a big theater, on a big screen, with a big bag of popcorn.’ Dan Glickman.

17 Jan

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

maltesersI agree with almost all of Dan Glickman’s statement . . .  everything except the bit about the popcorn.

How anyone, given the choice, could choose popcorn over a big bag (oh well okay then—a big box) of deliciously-chocolatey-honeycomby-creamy-crunchy-Maltesers is, frankly, a bit beyond me.  But, there you go—there’s no accounting for taste . . .

Allthough popcorn is not my movie snack of choice (it’s not even anywhere on my list) I do admit to a having a certain kind of fascination with the popcorny-popping process.  I have often stood and watched (while clutching my coffee and maltesers and waiting impatiently for the cinema doors to open) the shiny little machine at our local Plaza Theatre do its popcorn-birthing thing.  It’s kind of mesmerising to watch . . .

I can only imagine how much more mesmerising it would be to me if it were churning out yummy-scrummy Maltesers instead of popcorn . . .

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Posted by on January 17, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘I have had a holiday, and I’d like to take it up professionally.’ Kylie Minogue.

13 Jan

holidayoverFriday kind of snuck up  on me this week.  I mean, I knew it was coming, but it got here way before I was ready for it.   Another thing I was also not ready for was the realisation that today is the last day of my holiday (the coming weekend doesn’t count).  Sigh.  (Oh and hey!—it’s Friday 13th too, which also seems kind of fitting . . . )

The plan for this holiday was for me to spend it being ‘busy doing nothing’, and I have pretty much succeeded—so much so that I haven’t even prepared anything for today’s post.  (Seriously—the last time I looked at the calendar it was Tuesday!)

So, rather than post nothing at all, I thought I might just show you a couple of homework sketches I’ve done for the ‘A Drawing a Day‘ course I enrolled in on 1 January. (‘Start as you mean to go on’—isn’t that how the saying goes? )  

Over the last two weeks we have been working with different types of pens, pencils, brush pens, sharpies etc, and focusing on working with thick, thin and sinuous lines to show substance and texture . . .

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Fallen tree

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Stack of patterned fabrics

Drawing something every day has always been a bit of an issue for me.  It’s not that I don’t enjoy it, I most definitely do, it’s just that on a normal working day time just gets away from me and drawing always seems to drop to the bottom of my ‘To Do’ list.  I am hoping that starting this course when on holiday (and have no excuses) will help me cement the habit.  Ask me again at the end of next week how I am faring . . .

13thBut it’s not next week yet—and I refuse to think about going back to work until I absolutely have to!

Have a great weekend everyone—and enjoy your Friday 13th too . . .

 
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Posted by on January 13, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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‘In order to see birds it is necessary to become a part of the silence.’ Robert Lynd.

10 Jan

Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

dangerzoneAt this time of the year one of the very first sounds I hear when I wake in the morning is the screech of a black cockatoo.  (There is no not-hearing it actually.  I have read that a cockatoo screech can reach up to 135 decibels.   Multiply that by a a flock of about 30-40 birds and that will give you some idea . . . )  

So used am I to hearing them now that, on a normal working day at least, the early morning cacophany barely registers.  I am hardly on my feet before my head takes over and immediately starts reeling off lists of chores and jobs that I need to get done that day.  A bunch of noisy birds don’t usually get much of a look in . . .

This morning the girls and I were out and about even before the birds were up.  We were walking along the sea wall just as it was starting to come light, and it was cool and calm and quiet.  Peaceful.  At least until the silence was pierced by one lone cockatoo announcing she was now awake, thank you very much, and everyone else should be too!

Within seconds there was a answering screech from a nearby tree, and then another and another until the air was filled with their raucous din.  I stood and watched as the whole flock slowly began to lift, one by one, from the trees and into the air, wheeling in lazy circles and stretching their wings (and their lungs) as they made their way across the river.

Pretty spectacular.  It’s not like I haven’t seen it before, I have.  But this morning I paid attention, really paid attention—to their colour, their sound, their joyful silliness . . .

I need to remember this morning. Next week, when I am back at work after my lovely holiday, before my head becomes full of things I have to do and places I have to be, I am going to remind myself to take a moment each morning to just think about how lucky I am to live in a place where I get to see (and yes, even hear) gorgeous black cockatoos every morning.

Surely my working day can wait just a couple more minutes for that . . .

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Posted by on January 10, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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