The Face of Christ in a knot of Wood

Late to rise. Short walk. Long day. Checked emails. Just stuff from amazon stuff from various illustrative advertising sites. Tax form filling. Washing up late breakfast debris. Lighting two fires. 2013. Auld Lang Syne and now the end is near..........Sinatra sings I've lived a life thats full I did it the wrong way, regrets I've had too numerous to mention.  Dinner on the go. Another whiskey. I've had my fill, my share of boozing? What an earth is he on about? I've just been asked how to spell vindictive. She's blaming her phone. It's changed everything to Spanish. It's doing her head in. It's dark now. The log fire is warm on my back. The tree lights transport me back to fake trees and watching Some Like it Hot  for the first time in the front room in a back street terraced cottage in Twickenham. My daughter is cooking the last meal of the year. I feel quite relaxed, the whisky has been pumped round the circulation. Probably not a good idea at six oclock in the evening to be in 40% proof state of mind. Worse idea is to be typing this drivel (can't help my sentimental self?) so my 50 odd on a good day blog followers follow the stream down to the cellar steps and to the coal pile. Time for a refill. Dexter is at my feet staring into the log burner. His eye sight isn't so good these days. Light some candles. Trivial Pursuit board games and Jools Holland. Sausage Casserole cabbage and brussels I'm goin' back to Legnica....  and now it's The Kaiser Chiefs - whatever became of them nannananananaana? Now it's Nadia by Nitin Sawney, the songs playing in alpabetical order probably a New Years resolution not to be random. Saw him at the Royal Albert Hall a few years back, just magical. Magical? Inspiring-maybe? Better way of describing the feeling. New Years Resolution? To try and keep away from this blog site? My bloody work is all over the place like a disease because of it.
My friend James has just arrived baring gifts of an extremely generous nature - it's going to be a good year. Happy New Year Readers bleeders good deeders. God Bless us All.

Sorcerers.

It is Christmas. Next through the slit in the door is this impressive looking childrens book catalogue from ALADIN. It features non other than Birgitta Sif's beautiful debut book Oliver. Birgitta developed the idea while she was a student on the Cambridge MA course in picture book illustration. I feel privileged that I witnessed Oliver from inception........I see she's in good company. I met publisher Klaus Humann in Munich last year, fittest publisher in the universe, I mean fit as in healthy and athletic.

Lionel Messi is my favourite artist.

Surprise. A second book delivered by air mail from Paris. Maybe I won't attempt to learn the French after all. Sergio Aquindo's sinister looking volume in these frenzied witch hunting times make my doodles look like Mabel Lucie Attwell.....
This is an obsessive work. Classical drawing/engraving of the beer bellied cross hatching technique dredged from a museum of dried skin and reptiles. Merry Christmas one an' all. Thank you Mr. Aquindo for your gift. My personal librarian is currently squeezing you in alongside the aquatic section, your neighbour is a turtle.  

Beatrice Alemagna. Chapter 2.

Time to learn French. Time to get my tongue around another language. Mime is embarrassing. See if your're kind, good things come to you. Presents by air mail from Paris. An autographed portrait. I am very fortunate. I am inspired to draw trees.

Salisbury, Cambridge.

Happy Birthday Professor Martin Salisbury. This drawing, in retrospect has a hint of a bad Searle impression. It must be a chemical discharge in the Cambridge water supply. 

Beatrice Alemagna:Trees are easy.

Drawn from memory of the night before.......

The bi-lingual Beatrice Alemagna speaks this afternoon and I've broken my promise that I would be there to ask a question. My copies of her books remain unsigned. No lion. 

P A R I S H N E W S....

B O O K M A R K:

What happened? You are in A & E. You fell from the top of a ladder. Down under. Might have to keep you in for observation. 

Observation: 

As they say be nice to the people on the way up. You might need them on the way down. Bit sudden. Just an observation.

Spoiling a book. Spilling the ink. Splashing the compliments. Soaking it up shirtsleeve stained. Sign on the dotted line. Read the small print. Skip the formalities. Witness witless.

Draw a little picture.

On the beach:

Dymchurch Steam:

Open House: Welcome to come and have a look. He said he had lived there since the last century. Well he would say that. His father lived there. His father was a headmaster. It was an expensive place to live. He was working in the 'little studio'. The little oil paintings were mediocre. Cosy. He had two Jack Russells. He admired Dexter's posture. The paintings were for sale. I didn't buy.I liked the Nuclear Power Station. The redundant hum didn't register straight away. The pylons marching back home in an orderly procession.

ROCKSALT Restaurant:

96 Comments! HEADLAND.

Serious. This blog site makes me laugh. 96 comments. I mean I love John Cuneo's art. 96 comments. Intermission. The ice cream girls will be coming round shortly. Or alternatively enjoy a delicious hot-dog in the foyer. Need to get out more. Saw Mumford and Sons last Thursday in Folkestone in Kent at The Leas Cliff Pavilion. One of the best live shows in my history. Very hot. Very boisterous. Very good. I can only name one of their songs. Winter Winds? But they were very impressive. Their mum's must be so proud. I can only remember the first line of a song. Can't play a banjo. Failed at the piano. So I went and knocked at the door of Prospect Cottage, Dungeness. No one home. Respect the neighbours. Please don't look through the windows.  Pretty garden. Dexter was at my side. Dungeness is a headland on the coast of Kent, England, formed largely of a shingle beach in the form of a cuspate foreland.  I've been out and about. Reflecting the bleak, windswept landscape of the peninsula, Derek Jarman's garden is made of pebbles, driftwood, scrap metal and a few hardy plants. A book, Derek Jarman's Garden, is available. After the show how about trying a delicious meal at the Vindohon Tandoori in the high street just 5 minutes walk from this establishment.I ate a Chinese. 
Saturday:Taken for a treat. Lunched at Rocksalt Restaurant. Very tall waitresses. Very thin. Very thin skinned stretched across their frames. They obviously don't eat the chips. Be wonderful to draw. Red Arrows fly past. What's it all about? 96 comments. Remaining under observation.

George Wyllie

Just read in this morning's Guardian Obituary page the death of George Wyllie last week. I remember seeing his work for the first time at Manchester's Whitworth Art Gallery sometime in the late 80's early 90's and being seduced and inspired by the wit, artistry, ambition and ideas. 
Also noticed in the birthday column the great photographer Martin Parr is 60 today.

Sebastian Walker

Tuesday already. I'm a gardener. With a bad back. 6:45pm. The emptying of grass cuttings is interrupted by a phone call from Brian.  He enquires if I'm scribbling. Am I working on some marvellous commission. No just mowing the lawn. Cutting a hedge that borders insanity. During the conversations he mentions a programme he'd listened to earlier on BBC Radio 4 about the life of Sebastian Walker founder of Walker Books. In my opinion the radio broadcast didn't give enough credit to co founder Art Director Amelia Edwards, well at least Maurice Sendak mentioned Amelia which prompted Sebastian Walker's sister to. Walker had complete faith in Amelia's choice of illustrator, as was the case with Strat & Chatto not to mention Bully. I met the man on several occasions usually in Walker Books canteen. I got the impression that he wasn't really interested in what I was doing as long as Amelia had faith in my work, fine. But as the programme suggested Sebastian Walker changed the face of childrens books in this country and valued the illustrator. For once the illustrator wasn't treated as an after thought.
Illustrations from Strat & Chatto by Jan Mark. pub 1989. It won The Mother Goose Award the following year. And as I predicted in my acceptance 'speech' well you could hardly call it a speech more a resigned grumbled monologue...."is this it?"... As I clasped  an oversized metal egg coated in imitation  gold leaf sat on a olive-green velvet cushion... "It's the kiss of death." Sebastian Walker winced in the background.  

P E N T A G R A M 40:

Went to Pentagram's 40 birthday bash last night. It was a toss up between that and staying in to watch Chelsea. Ben Casey invites me. Notting Hill. West London. Near enough to Chelsea, not so close to Munich. The sketch is all I can muster, dredge up summon . It falls short. I'm through security. We are greeted by John Rushworth. Preston. Ben says this is David. Shakes my hand. He hasn't a clue who I am. A brass button on a length of red cord is hung round each guest's necks by a tall glamourous girl and we all say the same. Ooh just like an Olympic Medal. A Pentagram Brass Button. A tsunami of faces and shoulders gin and campari champagne martini cocktails with floating flowers. This drink is not camp enough. A ringing in the ears. It's hard at the coal-face. How's the dog? We met once in Manchester at a bar. Gums. You looked at me and said 'Gums'. You remember that? In fact I've been to your house.....I was at your exhibition here Dexter was with you. Pentagram Award. Pentagram Pentagram Pentagram. Can you hear me at the back?Pentagram Pentagram Pentagram. Theo Crosby was there looking down Alan Fletcher was there...looking up. Ken Grange needs to improve his microphone technique. He politely nodded at me. Who is this? I know you from somewhere? I stayed at your house once. You gave me an original Milward Courier Cordless Electric Shaver. Winner of the Duke of Edinburgh's Prize for Elegant Design 1963. I did another drawing. It's been in a drawer ever since. Just a simple portrait. I took a million photographs that day. Send it to me. Promise. Taiwanese crab. Do I know you from somewhere? I am from Milano. I work in Paris. I've come with my boss. Like the artist Raffaello-Raphael. Do I know you from somewhere? We worked together once? One-one. Extra Time. Pub? 3 Halves of lager times three. Corner pub heaving. Spilling. Drogba clinches it. Legend. In West London. Outside in the air she says to Ben where you from? Preston. She's from Burnley. Ray Pointer . John Connelly. Adam Blacklaw. Ben has a word with a drinker in a West Ham shirt. Burnley's colours. He can't forgive West Ham for beating PNE in the 1964 FA Cup Final. Return to Pentagram. Fail to reach the pizza on offer. What am I doing here? What you doing here? Do you work here? I'm a gatecrasher. I've had my eyebrows done today. Edinburgh. Full works. Underarm hair the lot. Follow me. Nova Scotia. Newcastle. We're all here. David Pocknell's here. Mrs.Pocknell is here. In 1984 David Pocknell told me he sensed I was holding back. Kenneth Grange is here. Spirits. And the interior designer who remembered Dexter is here. An architect from Croydon who resembled Einstein was there. We tried to engage in conversation. Work picked up since the riots then? What was I doing there? Gin and Campari. Lager. Chips. Cheesy dip. The chips were delicious.

MON DIEU!

Twenty One ways to thrive as an artist? Sex alcohol and drugs. Blake makes it look easy? Does he? I didn't really watch. Well I guess he's been practising long enough. I can't remember when I last used a light box. Maybe it might be a good idea to dust it down and and try it again. 

Quentin - How I Draw.

Dear Mister Blake, Jaw dropping. Eye popping. Organised. Christ come round and sort my junk out. Speedy too. The musical sound track is just not my cup of Earl Grey. Anyway I must get on and try and draw these nine illustrations. 3 months and counting. Counting down the days. Blood letting.

TECHNICAL DRAWING: 2

The apprentice. Trying too hard.

A commission from The Partners Design Group 1985. for the 3i Annual Report. These are directors of The Frazer Nash Company. I remember visiting their HQ with the designer and stepping into a very sterile, clean, environment - so I guess that's why I got chosen to be the illustrator. A feeble attempt at humour infiltrates the drawing. We were being shown round by one of the directors and he was showing signs of agitation and impatience with me and the designer, whose name escapes me, (Bill someone?) as we kept falling behind and being distracted by god knows what and Alan (his name) was constantly ushering us to and fro hence I split Alan's portrait in two. It was all very top secret and hush hush. The chaps are standing around a missile launcher...And the little floating yellow square is my nod towards Grattan's or a Littlewoods catalogue in homage to their crisp shirts and neatly pressed suits.

Some clean hands for another Annual Report (1986) also commissioned from The Partners. My Albrecht Durer period...........

A couple of pieces for the Radio Times circa 1985/86 commissioned by Tim Walmsley after the so-called 'golden age' of Radio Times illustrations the Eric Fraser, Robin Jacques, Leonard Rosomann, Ronald Searle, Ralph Steadman, Peter Brookes Tony Meeuwissen years, see designer Mike Dempsey's excellent Graphic Journey blog

For a while I was Eric Fraser's postman 1975-77. His was a very fancy letter box.

From the vaults. The museum archive. 1985-1986. Miles Davis a bit later, a hint of free- form? 1989/90. for The Observer Newspaper, before my stint at a Doctor Writes 1990-1992 for the Magazine. Still that was then, all part of the learning process. All very tight. All very methodical.

S E N D A K:

2.10pm: Tues. Just seen the sad news that Maurice Sendak has died.

Who The Fuck's That?

I'm tying my shoelaces. One foot to go. The telephone. The landline as it is known by these days -rarely rings now. If it does, it is usually someone telling me that my computer has a fault. Has it? The telephone rings. I swear under my breath. Why I don't swear out loud, I don't know I am alone I won't offend anybody. It is such a monumental effort to answer the telephone. "Hello." "Hello." the voice answers back. Pause. I don't know if you can help me. I got your name from the internet.......Do you do technical drawing? I answered, that No I didn't. Not to worry he said and hung up. He sounded crest fallen. The conversation was aborted before the first paragraph was delivered. I placed the receiver back on it's perch. I did worry. I completed tying up the right shoelace. Vans. Black and white to wear for work. Bit conservative. Bit M & S. Technical Drawing? But I do. Don't I? I measure things. I put numbers in. I sort of do perspective. I draw in line. I draw freehand. I use a ruler. A set square. I keep my pencil sharp. When I draw with a pencil. Today I am attempting to use a pen. How come the landline number is on the internet? Bloody Yellow Pages I bet. Listings . Technical Draughtsman see Local artist. Art shops. Greeting cards designer. Portraits. Caricatures. Your horse painted in oils. Be-Spoke Framing Service.

Out early. Sodden brown landscape. Extra green hedgerows. Two fields. Fifteen telegraph poles. Three hares. Two Skylarks jousting tumbling soaring falling deep in conflict. Deep in communication. Making a pretty racket. (I give up on exhausting more cliches). Blackbirds conflicting. Mud caking the soles of my boots. One wagtail. Wagging. There was a point to this but my head has turned to mush. Maybe it's just putting off the moment.I have work to do. Lets get technical.

The featured illustration has been excavated from the garage. From the Ark. A commission from The Partners Design group. 1986. An illustration in charcoal and pencil with a ruler to illustrate a page in a company report. It was the eighties. My youthful pretentious effort was just one among a bouquet of the talented and great illustrators of the day - I think I recall efforts from Gary Powell and Sue Huntley and Donna Muir and maybe Brian Grimwood.

I never read reviews:

Monday morning. My daughter has cleared her worldly goods from the garage. Well, it's a neat stack the height of a cotton mill waiting to be transferred for transportation to a new life blocking the stepladder to the loft (it's a tall garage). As I shifted one of the cardboard boxes to climb the stepladder in search of cardboard to pack an original drawing in, to send to a client, a newspaper fell out of this flimsy open cardboard box containing a an old pair of black boots and padded with a review section of the Observer. I haven't seen this for a couple of years. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.....and I'm sticking it on here, after all this damn blog was set up originally in a pathetic attempt to raise the book's profile. I confess to checking it's Amazon ranking at infrequent intervals - a habit I am less inclined to practice nowadays as this groundbreaking book floats around the three hundredth zilllion mark...anyway the dog is getting impatient.

Little Robert:

Brian tells me, informs me you can still find copies of Little Robert published by Alibaba Verlag many moons back,1996 actually on the AbeBooks website. I have had many requests for this little gem of my illustrative past but I have been unable to oblige. Buy it now it has become a collectors item. I can remember being halfway through a complex scene of a hundred odd boys playing and the news coming through of the dreadful Dunblane school massacre.........