THE PILLBOX: NEW STATESMAN

A review in this weeks issue of the New Statesman by Neel Mukherjee.... 

'Hughes has captured something ineluctably English in the combination of seediness, violence, sensationlism and humour; the book's biggest effect, however is the resonance of the present-day story, which will leave at least one haunting question ringing in your head.'

One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest

Latest project for the Folio Society an illustrated version of Ken Kesey's novel One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. I was very fortunate, no damn lucky to land this assignment and I expect that there are many others who will find fault with my interpretation. I imagine there will be a good few, in fact, hundreds of illustrators out there who would have given their right arm and leg to tackle the Cuckoo. I was the lucky one. Now on seeing the beautifully produced book I feel that I may have done it some justice but not completely. There is so much material, so much that I could've developed, to narrow it down to 12 illustrations or thereabouts was a difficult shout. Anyway here is one of the more sensitive pieces, not that I don't treat every piece with honesty and hopefully sensitivity. Chief Bromden speaks. The edition comes in a very elegant golden yellow slipcase/coffin. Commissioned by Sheri Gee.

The Pillbox: The SFX Review

The Pillbox: THE REVIEW!

Sunday Bloody Sunday. A John Schlesinger film, Murray Head. Peter Finch, Glenda Jackson...I saw it at the cinema in 1971. I am that old.

Sunday papers thing of the past? Not today. Unexpected and wonderful review in the Observer by Rachel Cooke. Thank you. Rachel Cooke. 

6:30am Monday bloody Monday. Reminder to self keep drawing. Don't give up. You should be working on a sequel.

The Pillbox:The Herald

The Herald. Scotland. Ask six questions. 

Comments: nil. I'm asking myself some questions...

THE PILLBOX: IT'S OUT!

IN THE EAST OF ENGLAND.

CREEPY. CREEPY SELF -PENNED PICTURE BOOK IS ON THE BOOK SHELVES FROM TODAY IF YOU CAN FIND IT IF YOU WANT IT THIS NASTY BUT TASTY GOOD SMELLING PRODUCT IS AVAILABLE. POCKET A COPY TODAY SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL CARTOONIST DOODLE-IST  DESPERATE LAST THROW OF THE DICE DEATH RATTLE INK SPLURGE COMIC BOOK SURVIVAL DEPENDS ON IT. JUST FIFTEEN MINUTES AND POUNDS STERLING(APPROX)OF YOUR LIFE.  

IS THIS IT?

THIS IS IT......REALLY THIS IS ALL THERE IS PEGGY LEE? ANOTHER DAY JUST AN ORDINARY DAY ANOTHER DAY NO ONE ELSE ABOUT, THE COMPUTER HUM. JUST SOME BLACKBIRD SQUAWKING NOT SINGING. 

FOUR YEARS LATER. A BOOK - SO WHAT?  

WHOSE FUNERAL NEXT?

The Pillbox: The hangover.

Full page from the 'graphic novel' - which I believe is published tomorrow Thursday 2 July, in the UK at least, 

by JONATHAN CAPE/Vintage. 

Based on truth. 

A distraction from the tennis maybe, it's too damn hot to be hitting balls with a racket, all that grunting.

Excerpt from The Pillbox.

Published this week, Thursday, 2nd July. 

JONATHAN CAPE/Vintage Books.

It smells good. Quality paper.

No roughs were made during the creation of this story. 95% of the drawings were first goes. The story evolved as I drew. The pen took me for a run. I followed the line.

The Pillbox: Picture book for grown-ups.

To be published 2nd July 2015 by JONATHAN CAPE/Vintage. For a book, it smells good. 

The Pillbox.

GHOST RIDER:

 Sketchbook detail from Walking The Dog:2003 published 2009.

 Sketchbook detail from Walking The Dog:2003 published 2009

 Walking The Dog sketchbook circa 2006. Published 2009

A sultry summer's Friday evening I bicycled to The Swan at Lawshall for a reunion with an old friend. A cycle ride in honour of  Dexter the stoical, my side kick, my co driver. All the way in first gear steady as she goes, owing to my disintegrating right knee that jolts in spasms at unexpected intervals. Thirty five minutes pedalling down Suffolk B roads and lanes. Passed by maybe six cars and two suicidal Suffolk white van drivers scorching rubber on the tarmac as they zip past at 70. I wobble physically and emotionally. The bike's basket is empty, the last time I completed this ride Dexter was sat there, navigating, clocking up the miles, ears flapping in the breeze. At the final knee, cartilage, gristle, ligament, bone jolt I looked briefly down at that pumping ancient knee to check and as I fixed my eyes back ahead, I just in time caught sight of the most impressive fox flashing across the lane in front of me and the magnificent brush vanishing into the hedgerow. I haven't spotted a fox in Suffolk for some time - I know they are a common sight around London, but here in Suffolk it is still an event.  A fox for Dexter. Dexter would've lived up to his pedigree and given chase at the sight of the fox. The SAS of the hunt. At The Swan, my friend recognised the poignant symbolism of the empty basket, a bike ride as tribute. We sunk three pints each in the name of the Wire Fox Terrier, mind you Anthony was already two or three pints of Guinness ahead of me. One of many alcoholic tributes to Dexter these last few days. Ironic really, to think the National Health  had recommended I get a dog in the first place, to help in cutting down my alcohol consumption. Fuelled on beer the bike ride back was knee, gristle, cartilage episode free and as the storm clouds dramatically formed and huge globules of rain spat slowly down Dexter was coxing me home in record time. Sir Bradley Wiggins in three gears and a basket would've been hard pushed to get home before the storm. I must find my cycle clips. Dexter hasn't come home yet and until that day I guess we will continue to be ambushed with episodic spasms of emotion.  I make no apology for spilling my grief here.

D E X T E R.

Dexter and author Audrey Niffenegger and journalist Rachel Cooke.

May 16 9.30am. Beautiful sparkly spring sunshine. Dexter trotting up the lane. Heading down the lane towards us the old lady cyclist in full polyester zip up outfit on a razor thin drop handle bar framed bike, she slows down. Dexter directly in line continues his chosen path until at the last moment he checks his route in surprise, it's amusing it's pathetic it's sad. The stationary cycle blocking his path, the old woman cyclist uttered some sweet greeting to him but he just continued on his way.

Earlier Dexter catching me up, sprinting like a puppy through the long grass - it is the season of the tic. It is the season of the spiked grass shoots that can blind a dog. In Dexter's case it hardly matters as he nears us he flinches suddenly and dodges to avoid an imaginary obstacle................he dodges his own shadow...............

That was written just over a year ago. Over the last week or so Dexter's eyes have almost clouded over completely, his hearing is shot. Becoming ever more insecure and staying close to me Dexter is more than ever my shadow.

Thursday the sun was out the temperature finally nudged it's way to resembling a summer's day we went for a walk. I wasn't to know, it was Dexter's final 'walk'.

Dexter died in Stowmarket, Suffolk at ten past three on Saturday 6th June 2015 on another fine summer's day. 

I was privileged to have known such a dog as Dexter. Long Live my Fox Terrier! I cry as I type. This is too difficult.

DEXTER: (Sarendon Texas Ranger) 
Born 16th November 2001 - Died 6th June 2015.

Joe Ciardiello's Dylan....

....is a mature controlled drawing of genius.

The Hughes is a sketch. Beside I'm too lazy to do an up to date model.

and then there's John Cuneo's take on the legendary minstrel, antique collecting with the bard of Kingston Upon Hull, Philip Larkin. They fuck you up, these illustrators........

Perhaps there should be an illustrated 75th birthday tribute book to Dylan next year. 

And here's another. This is by Gary Wing. 

and another, from the late 80s, drawn by yours truly for the Observer newspaper. Big charcoal face.

The Pillbox: Angel's Ice Creams

 Two opening spreads from the 'graphic novel', The Pillbox.  Jonathan Cape/Vintage Books 2nd July 2015. 

The Pillbox:1,885,791 in the amazon bestseller chart.

Hot off the press, there's a cliche, hot on the desk, anyway two copies of the book delivered today. It looks pretty damn fine and  it smells good too. I get nervous. I opened the parcel in a state of mild anxiety. As the originator it takes getting used to the final product, it takes time to come to terms with it's finish. The Pillbox a comic book a graphic novella will be published by Jonathan Cape/Vintage Books on 2nd July.

TITLE PAGE: PROOF

THE PILLBOX: A comic book, but not in the sense of comic funny haha - to be published by Jonathan Cape later this summer.

Downtown Toronto.

This effort Priya Sebastian? Well it can only be this piece. Thank you for your generous encouragement it was a pleasure to receive your message. I shall try to keep on drawing then.

Portrait of Karl Klaus 2014, satirist, publisher of his own periodical Die Fackel. Died 1936 Vienna. The Baffler Magazine.

The PILLBOX: PROOF.

Title page 1:  Sketch. Proofs sitting on the scar faced desk top of an unemployed commercial artist for hire. The Pillbox. A 'graphic novel' to be published this August by Jonathan Cape/Vintage.
Practice makes perfect, as the piano teacher used to point out with her sharp yellow pencil with a rubber tip.

Yesterday on a sunny day I painted two large panels of garden trellis - my paint brush dipping and dabbing took four hours. A buzzard circled and swooped high overhead. Today it is cooler. One more panel. I have cramp in my right thumb.  

Standing Ovation.

Mediocre photo credit: David Hughes.

Saw song writer Jimmy Webb in concert last week in Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk, England for God's sake! He talked a lot about his life and performed a selection of his classic songs - Galveston, Wichita Lineman, By The Time I get to Phoenix, MacArthur Park. He reminded me of myself, I like to think, good humoured but under pinned with bitterness on his history in the music industry, the record companies, the rip offs, the crooks  the missed opportunities perhaps, but interlaced with great stories featuring Richard Harris, Glen Campbell, Dylan, Leonard Cohen, Willie Nelson. Two hours in the company of a genius. An honest beautiful performance. Shame the hall was only two thirds full. Webb and just his piano produced an incandescent operatic version of MacArthur Park, a record that I've both loathed and grown to like in a kind of ironic fashion but seeing and hearing the composer playing like his life depended on it was an unforgettable and privileged experience. Goose bumps and hair raising shivers. 

Here endeth my humble opinion.

I know. I know. I said this blog was dead.

1991: The Observer Magazine: I wouldn't know where to begin these days.......... conceptually, technically, artistically, etc - just saying. Driven by lack of time, juggling the clock, fuelled by adrenaline. Backed by an art editor who kept the faith  - Graham Mitchener. Used to get mail asking if I was on drugs. High on fumes. 

The Pillbox: Proof.

Endpaper 1: The Pillbox 

Mixed media.

From my next picture book, The Pillbox. The next instalment exclusive from the publishers of Walking The Dog, Jonathan Cape.  In the shops later this summer already on Amazon. Set in the East of England. 

PROOF: THE PILLBOX

BILL CAN GET OUT OF BED TODAY. 

THE PILLBOX.COVER.

COMING SOON. OUT IN ALL GOOD BOOK STORES LATER THIS SUMMER. BOY MEETS GHOST. TRUE STORY. PUBLISHED BY JONATHAN CAPE. HARDBACK. LOTS OF PICTURES. MANY IN COLOUR. EASY TO READ, DIFFICULT TO FOLLOW. OR EVEN TO SWALLOW. X CERTIFICATE, IF IT WAS A FILM. IT COULD BE. IT OUGHT TO BE. BUT NOT AN ANIMATION. OH NO. REAL ACTORS. REAL LIFE. PROPER MOVIE. 'MOVIE?' I NEVER EVER USE THAT WORD. FILM. THE PICTURES. JUST BECAUSE IT'S DRAWN WELL IT DOESN'T MEAN IT HAS TO BE AN ANIMATION. 

TOXIC: FIN

This Blog is now closed. It has been hijacked... 

Sketchbook pages:

Scratching a face. Desdemona as in Othello. Except this Desdemona isn't.  Ink. Nib. Dip dip dip ...........

How to use The Sketchbook:2011

and you listen to the radio. There is a test match cricket broadcast. And you draw. I don't remember exactly what came first but it was more than likely the hare in the hole with the fish swimming through the eye sockets. 

January 23rd 2015: On reflection I think I would have started drawing the boy first and then King Neptune Father figure emerging from the North Sea behind him.........and then the horizon line spreading eastwards across to the other page followed by directionless animal nonsense, and there you have it.  

And you dip the pen in the bottle at intervals and you draw. Like scales, not fish scales. Practice makes perfect. Like playing the piano. Like bowling a cricket ball. Because I'm scared. And the ink spreads. The line marches outwards. Invades the cheap rag paper. Draw from experience. Recent history. Two days in Cromer.Why are you doing this?  Because the commissions have dried up. Because people don't get my ironic humour in print? Because Americans don't get my sarcasm?  Because my past has caught up with me. Because I became complacent.  Because my brain is a pea? I'm attempting the impossible. I'm trying to dig up, I'm trying to find an idea for a childrens book. Huh. Hysterical. Hilarious. Git! So why don't I scribble with a wax crayon? 

Day 1: 2015

Mediocre weather. Dog chewing himself to pieces. Un-required hangover drawing loaded onto here for passing rubber neckers with a passing fascination with illustration maybe. It's a start. Pen and ink on cheap paper, with a little colouring in by pencil on the blanket and a bit round the man's eye.  I'm in two minds how to proceed with this blog, for now. 

Silence. The dog has sunk into dreamland and capsized his basket in the process. Just the hum in the wires or is it a head stuffed with catarrh, bit of both. Wind's getting up. Bird call, at intervals, one, two. One two, one, two, three. Like two slices of slate rubbing together?