Category: Drawing

But is it Art?

pink-footed goose

Have you ever come across the idea that natural history illustration “isn’t art”? I remember you trained in design and illustration rather than fine art – have you ever had to defend your work against this charge?

My friend, writer Richard Smyth, in an e-mail today

Interesting question. It’s not anything that anyone has ever challenged me on but, like most creatives, I wouldn’t want to use ‘artist’ as a job description. I’d always describe myself as an illustrator/writer. Although I’ve had exhibitions of paintings, probably 99% of my work is illustration and intended to be seen on a page or screen with text. My sketchbooks are part field notebook.

It’s a relief to be off the hook as far as art is concerned. When I draw a flower, bird or snail, I love the idea that the creature has the right just to be itself. I can’t avoid being an observer and therefore having an implied presence in a drawing but I don’t want to burden the poor creature with how I was feeling that day, or with my views on Life, The Universe and Everything.

I feel that when Picasso draws a dove, a monkey, a horse or a bull, the critics have to scramble around to tell us what that symbolised at that stage in his career, whereas if I, as I did this morning, draw a pink-footed goose, I’d like the actions, appearance and personality of that particular goose on that particular day, to be the main subject: not to mention the energy and mystery implicit in said goose simply being a goose.

I know this is impossible, as I’m not a camera, but that would be my aim.

Dozing Drakes

drakes

There was plenty of action on the duck pond in Thornes Park this morning but these two mallard/farmyard drakes were a more appealing subject, dozing in the sun amongst the ferny cow parsley by a woodland path.

sparrow and wood pigeon feather
Male house sparrow, wood pigeon feather.
three snail shells
A ramshorn snail shell (a pond snail) and what I think are two brown- or possibly white-lipped snails.

We’ve been in a high pressure area for a while now, which means sunny days but cold nights. So far our tomato plants in the greenhouse had survived unscathed but an extra heavy frost last night has shrivelled most of them. There’s still time to plant replacements.

Barbara’s birthday today and last year, still under the first lockdown, the highlight of the day was a click-and-collect visit to a supermarket, the furthest we had been since our previous click-and-collect. This year we can entertain a limited number of guests in our garden.

Garden snail shell

A Taste of Normality

lls

It must be over a year since I’ve had a coffee and scone at Blacker Hall. Good to be able to linger a little with a sketchbook without feeling that I’m breaking some rule. The Courtyard Café is now literally in the courtyard.

West Yorkshire Mayoral Election

candidates

You couldn’t ask for a better bunch of candidates for the final line-up for next month’s West Yorkshire mayoral election, my only regret is that we can’t be in an alternative universe where Tracy Brabin’s predecessor in the Batley and Spen constituency, the ebullient Jo Cox, could also have a crack at it.

Therese Hirst

Therese Hirst

Therese Hirst is our candidate for the English Democrats.

Green Park

honesty

Green Park, South Ossett, 10.45 am, 10℃, 50℉, sunny

A jingling orrent of song from a dunnock in an adjacent garden. Three blow flies gather around a tiny naked chick that has been taken from its nest. A male blackbird perches on a tangle of honeysuckle stems cascading from a larch lap fence.

A robin perches on a branch, watching intently, then spots something and swoops down to the ground to pick it up.

Apart from a few quick sketches in the co-op car park, I’m out of practice for drawing on location, so I decided that I had to be kind to myself this morning and not to worry if, for instance, I get the flowers of the honesty out of proportion with the rest of the plant.

Peter Ustinov

Peter Ustinov
title page, Dear Me

In 1977, during my lunchbreak, when I taught illustration at Leeds, I walked into Austicks’ Headrow Bookshop and was surprised to see Peter Ustinov at the back of the shop with the manager. The ideal opportunity to get a signed copy of this autobiography, Dear Me, for my Mum’s birthday.

“Who should I sign it to?” he asked.

“That’s a problem, she hates her name, Gladys.”

“That’s just like the Gladyses that I know.”

It wouldn’t look very friendly signed ‘To Mrs Bell’, so we went for:

‘Happy Birthday
to Richard’s Mum’

My Mum finally found a way around this. When she found herself far from home in the West Country, having broken her leg during a holiday she gave the nurse her middle name Joan, as she didn’t want ‘Gladys’ on the notice above her bed, so when she’d recovered enough to be transported by ambulance back to our local hospital, Pinderfields, in Wakefield, she stuck with her new name. From then on her friends called her Joan.

Topkapi

I’ve drawn this, as with previous sketches, from the Radio Times. This week the 1964 comedy heist movie Topkapi gets a showing. Ustinov won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor for his role as Arthur Simon Simpson, a small-time crook who finds himself out of his depth.

Jonah Hill

Jonah Hill

A man carrying a box: it says something for Jonah Hill’s talents that he can conjure up a character – in fact a little short story – in one expressive pose. In Rupert Goold’s True Story he plays real-life New York Times journalist Michael Finkel acting ‘on well-intentioned-schlub setting’, as Radio Times film critic Andrew Collins puts it in his review (schlub is North American derogatory slang for a ‘talentless, unattractive or boorish person’, so definitely not like Jonah Hill).

Michael Rosen

Michael Rosen

Good to see Michael Rosen smiling again in last week’s Radio Times. This time last year, he was in an induced coma with a 50-50 chance of surviving Covid-19. In his latest book, Many Different Kinds of Love A story of life, death and the NHS, he recounts his near-death experience, illustrated by Chris Riddell.

this is a beautiful book about love, life and the NHS that celebrates the power of community and the indomitable spirits of the people who keep us well.

Waterstones’ website