These are my sketches from the weekend given the Image Trace treatment in the desktop version of Adobe Illustrator as I was after a lino-cut or woodcut effect. It gives my pen and watercolour natural form a graphic chunkiness.
So how about the grapevine I drew yesterday? Would lend itself to the sort of woodcut-inspired design that you see on a wine label? No, it doesn’t have the graphic presence of the bluebell stem, I’d need to draw it again with the context of the design in mind and make it a bit bolder.
This wood pigeon feather works better as it’s a simpler form. I could imagine using it for a logo.
At Cannon Hall garden centre, this bumblebee was busy visiting the flowers of a salvia but instead of entering the flower in the usual way it was using the back entrance, checking out those holes nibbled in the back of the flower and bypassing the stamens and stigmas. It occasionally paused, apparently to do a bit of nibbling itself, perhaps to enlarge an existing hole or start another.
Grapevine
At Hilary’s Village Store in Cawthorne we sit under a vine laden with bunches of small green grapes. We’re told that this vine is a cutting from a desert grape grown in a large south-facing greenhouse in Scotland. There the grapes were edible – although they were best eaten outside in the garden so that you could spit out the seeds – but here, outside and north-facing, they’re not going to ripen enough.
However we didn’t come here for the grapes, in a village tea garden it had to be cream scones with our lattes.
Newmillerdam lake, 10.15 a.m., 62℉, 16℃, 90% alto-cumulus: Looking in the net after a sweep beneath the nettles and alder, I appeared to have caught nothing but debris and a single pond skater but when I transferred my catch to the old washing-up bowl that I’d brought with me, I saw a tiny black water beetle swimming around and an equally small water mite, trundling around like a character from a speeded-up silent film.
Most intriguing was an irregular fleck of plant debris crawling determinedly towards the edges of the bowl: a caddis larva in its protective case, just over a centimetre long. With this cumbersome camouflage, to change direction it had to do a three-point turn.
Skaters
Pond skater’s eye-view.
There’s a slight anticlockwise current swirling around the bowl, and I’ve noticed that the skater has decided on a favourite spot and is making little hops to stay in position. Looking closely, this little pond skater is accompanied by four even smaller companions. All of them favour this side of the bowl.
The largest skater pauses to groom its longest limb, brushing it with its shorter back leg. Its two short front legs resemble antennae and it keeps them in contact with the water surface to detect the vibrations of potential prey items, such as a small insect trapped on the surface film. It also keeps tabs on its companions, zipping forward to chase a smaller rival away, the pond skater equivalent of the dodgems.
On the opposite side of the bowl I notice a little group of water fleas, each smaller than a printed full stop. They bob up and down individually but seem to favour keeping together in a in an irregular cluster.
My sketchbook spread of found objects picked up on a lawn has an autumnal feel. We’re not quite there but on a dull August day there’s a feeling that the end of summer is looming.
Fine rain this morning picked out orb webs with glistening droplets.
I started this page at a family get-together yesterday afternoon in West Melton, near Rotherham, in a garden with several lime trees, planted in Victorian times. There were hundreds, probably thousands, of the limes’ helicopter seeds strewn over the lawn but so far not many leaves. This green heart-shaped leaf may have been torn off the tree in recent high winds but, because of the prominent damage, I wonder if the tree deliberately jettisoned it in an attempt to rid itself of whatever herbivore was starting to nibble holes in it.
The robust bluebell stem with upward-facing seedpods is probably Spanish bluebell, which was often planted in gardens but which has naturalised and in some places threatens to oust our native species.
The oolitic limestone of the North York Moors was laid down in a warm tropical sea about 160 million years ago in the Jurassic Period. In close-up, oolite resembles tiny round white fish eggs, hence the name.
The spiral shells are, as you might suspect, molluscs, but the thick mussel-shaped shells are brachiopods, also known as lamp shells because of their resemblance to Roman oil lamps.
View from Beech Farm Cottages
I spotted them in the walls of Beech Farm Cottages, Wrelton.
Calcite crystals have replaced the original material in this fossil mollusc shell.Shelly limestone: these brachiopod shells are mostly aligned concave side upwards, probably because of a current sorting the sediment and depositing them on this part of the seabed. Because this block has been built into a wall, we can’t tell which way up it was when the shells were deposited.
Entrance to Beech Farm Cottages. These corners stones or quoins are traditionally made from sandstone in the North York Moors because limestone isn’t as suitable for cutting to a sharp edge. In the absence of suitable slate or flagstones, pantiles became the preferred material for roofs. The stone bracket at the corner of the roof is a kneeler.
It’s our British summer and people are wrapped up against the wind and the rain in Ossett. I used a man in blue from my sketches as the walking character in my Clip Studio Paint animation, drawn on my iPad Pro.
It’s a very basic animation and I can see plenty of bits that I need to improve on but it’s a way to get familiar with the process so that I can go on to something a bit more expressive.
As the lockdown eased at the beginning of February, I couldn’t resist buying a packet of Spencer Mixed sweet pea seeds to sow indoors on my desk in the studio. I set them off in toilet roll tubes but as I was using garden soil from the greenhouse they had a bit of competition from seedlings of chickweed and sowthistle growing up amongst them.
The sweet peas were drawn with an Apple Pencil on my iPad in Clip Studio Paint, using the ‘Wet Blotting Ink’ brush for adding the colour. The brothers above (one morphing in a Pokemon character) were drawn in the iPhone version of Fresco, using a Bamboo stylus, as, so far, you can’t used the Apple Pencil on an iPhone screen.
The house across the road is another iPhone Fresco drawing, this time using Fresco’s appropriately named ‘Grungy Inker’ pen. I wonder if a matt-surfaced screen protector would make drawing with a stylus on an iPhone more controllable.
The ripening berries of the cuckoo pint look like bunches of party balloons. These were growing in a small group by the roadside but in the wood, where it grew with tropical luxuriance in the spring, we don’t see any berries.
For English school children, it’s just the beginning of the long summer vacation but there’s an end-of-summer feeling as we negotiate an overgrown footpath between the seedheads of shoulder-high false oat grass, stooping to avoid overhanging stems of bramble.
This meadow brown, enjoying the honey-scented flowers of creeping thistle alongside the footpath, looks a bit the worse for wear. One theory is that the eye-spots save the butterfly from serious injury because a bird would peck at them but it looks as if whatever attacked this butterfly went for the hindwings.
I’m reading James A. Michener’s The Hokusai Sketchbooks, so this morning at Newmillerdam, as a change from pen and watercolour, I’ve gone for Chinese brush and Noodler’s Black Ink.
Lying in the lakeside mud beside me, was a freshwater mussel shell, so I used that as a suitably oriental-looking palette to mix my grey ink wash. I dipped my cup in the water and, as I started to paint, realised that I’d caught two small water creatures – water beetles perhaps – which I released unharmed at the end of my session.
I wonder if the granular quality of the wash is a characteristic of Noodler’s, or whether it was debris in the water.
In England, our school holidays have now started and the lakeside path was a bit busier than usual however, in this willowy backwater, I had this corner of floating world to myself. Just me and a few passing mallards and a coot that came ashore within a few feet of me, apparently oblivious of me until I moved.
It’s there in the bottom right-hand corner of my drawing.
