Into Aladdin's Cave

So what did the Steamgoth think of Frankenstein? She loved it. As we walked out into the bright Summer sunshine, she said "thanks, Mum, for bringing me to this". She even held my hand as we walked along the Quay through the ever present throng of tourists. My teenage daughter! That it had been a film of a stage production seemed a bonus. She particularly liked the ingenuity involved in the props and the Spartan settings, conveying so much with so little. We had a lengthy talk about Mary Shelley and her parents  as we made our way over to The Rocks and the tightly-packed Aladdin's Cave of wonder that is Parker's Fine Art Supplies.

I love Parker's, and unlike last time, it was open. It smells glorious. Turn your head to the left as you walk in and it is the heady scents of linen and cedar from the canvas and stretchers. Turn to the right and it's the metallic tang of pen nibs. There are racks and racks of handmade paper, leather-bound sketch books. Old Holland oil paints (the best paints in the world, and that is written without any exaggeration). I have to admit, I stand in the oil paint aisle and shut my eyes and breath in and am transported to other times and other places.

We drifted around for a while just gazing at all the beautiful things. The Steamgoth found a rather nice retractor pencil and a pack of 2B nibs, and I found chalks that were buttery-smooth and glode onto the test scraps of paper.

Did you really think they wouldn't come home with me?

There was a little stand set up with various coloured ink stones and a calligraphy brush. The Steamgoth had a great time writing Kanji while I got some serious looking done. Honestly, I could spend thousands in that shop without blinking. But I don't have thousands. So I contented myself with my chalks, her pencil and leads, a beautiful new sketchbook (heavy cream paper) and... a silverpoint stylus. Yes, finally, a silverpoint stylus.

Such a contrast to Eccersley's. "Do you have silverpoint supplies?" "Yes, but it's only the silver at the moment. I think we are out of the gold". Oh, bliss. He showed me what they had (they even had lead. Nice, but no thanks). And then he apologised because they are out of prepared paper. Before I even asked (I wasn't going to, but still... impressive).

The day in Sydney was rounded out with afternoon tea at a cafe and then an hour or so in Kinokuniya, with the Steamgoth waxing lyrical over the manga while I looked through the art books and the Japanese Steampunk magazines (they had a new one, but having been to Parker's I couldn't afford $40 for one magazine, lovely though it was).

And we just made it home before the exhaustion set in. Sunday's activities got severely curtailed, but after feeling like I was made of lead for most the day( and still I had to wash the children's school clothes), I took son shopping for his year 6 farewell outfit and then sat down and did these from memory, because they wouldn't let me rest.

The Train, Megan Hitchens, trois crayons on buff paper, 2014

The Creature, Megan Hitchens, trois crayons on cream paper, 2014

Worker, Megan Hitchens, white chalk on black paper, 2014

They tumbled out of my head. There are more, and I have found a stack of photos this afternoon on the National Theatre live website, so I can fix up some I am not happy with and maybe do some others. It's odd, drawing from memory. A very good exercise, but not easy. They aren't perfect but I am quite happy with them, given what they are.

The one of the creature I got too caught up in musculature and wounds, and forgot about proportions. His arms are hopelessly long, or his legs too short. But I showed it to the Steamgoth and she knew exactly the moment I had drawn - his bottom-wriggling joy at finally mastering walking.

I have included the Rachmaninoff because I like it, and it is melancholy, and I am knackered.