Monday 29 May 2017

Setting the Right Tone

Yet again a long time between drinks.

A lot has been going on, most of which I won't blog about. Private matters that are not entirely down to me to disclose. Suffice it to say things have been hectic and quite stressful. I have, however, managed to keep drawing and painting throughout. Nothing of huge consequence, more to keep me sane than anything else.

I did get a week off (it was that or go under. I've never got to that point before so that was quite confronting), and went to my brother's farm at Murrumbateman. Took a stack of drawing pads, and also my paints, some canvases and a travel easel. I would have loved to have taken my big wooden easel I made, but it came down to that or clothes for the week, and common sense won out. Barely, but hey...

Some painting did get done, although nothing I am willing to show yet, as they are just underpaintings, and for non-figurative abstracts at that, so not terribly exciting to see at this early stage. There was a lot of drawing, quite a bit of Zentangle in the evenings when we all sat down to watch television - I am one of those people who cannot just sit. If I do you can bet I'm coming down with something. Otherwise, no, I have to be doing something. 

It was great to get away on my own, to pootle into Canberra on the odd day to see friends, to hang around the farm, go for walks down to the sheep or out to the cows. Betsy had a calf while I was there. I missed the birth by about an hour. That's what I get for not being vigilant. Nellie, because it's an N year for naming. Unbelievably fluffy, even for a Belted Galloway calf, which are normal fluffy when they're young. A-Spot is due soon, but no movement on that front yet.

By the time I got back I was on a bit more of an even keel, and better able to be the support the family needs. Funnily enough (or not so funnily), as things have improved here, I have found it harder to cope. Not with everything that needs to be done, but with everything else. My presence online has become fleeting, because feeling like you have a huge weight on your chest because of some horrible piece of world news, or because someone has sent you an email or a message that needs a reply, it sort of takes any joy out of the whole exercise. I'm also not keen on socialising as I am finding that very difficult. I was never the most social of animals as it was. Parties are my idea of personal hell, social lunches are stressful, etc., (I love seeing friends, but I worry all the time about what to say and then beat myself up afterwards about what I did say. So... fun. Not) and right now it's much worse. So I've been keeping myself to myself socially, while making sure all the medical appointments are met and school meetings are done and everything else that is required.

I know I've missed birthdays and news and other people's lives, and I'm sorry. I'm especially sorry about missing a friend's 40th. I had a drawing planned and it's only half happened because yet another crisis hit while I was working on it. It will get done. It will just be very, very late.

So what the hell am I doing on the blog today? This will make you laugh, albeit wryly. After things going well for a while and me consequently freaking out, yesterday we spiralled back down into one of the deeper levels of hell. So here I am today, writing on a blog. I know, it's crazy. Yet, it is what it is.

Where's the art in this? Are you asking that? Is anyone even out there?

My eldest is in the final year of high school and has a number of major works for subjects, including art. She wants to do a series of portraits in graphite on paper, but wants to do something a bit special. I am introducing her to the wonderful world of coloured paper and graphite with white chalk. Add a bit of drama, do something most other high school students won't even have an inkling of. Old technique, but technique doesn't seem to be something taught anymore. What do I mean anymore? It wasn't taught when I was at high school, too, too long ago. Luckily I learnt later, and I'm getting my child onto it a darn sight earlier than I did.

I grabbed about half an hour on the weekend to sit in my work room (while everyone else was asleep) and do a quick pencil sketch in a grey sketchbook. The colour is a little warmer than I'd like. There are flecks of red fibres through the paper that just kick the temperature in the wrong direction, but as this was for demonstration purposes I wasn't too bothered (it is not one of my favourite books). It was supposed to be Evangeline Lily as Tauriel from The Hobbit, but the jaw and mouth aren't right. Some days a likeness just doesn't happen, but that wasn't the point of the exercise, so again I wasn't too bothered (well, I was a bit, but I put up with it).

Tonal Study 1, Megan Hitchens, graphite on grey paper, 2017

The colour isn't quite accurate, but you get the idea.

Once everyone was up and about and breakfasted, the eldest and I sat down together and I took to the drawing with a white chalk pencil while we talked about using the paper for your midtones, how very old and very young subjects should always be on cool colours while those in between are fine on warm and cool, and why that is (it's to do with body temperature. Draw a child on a warm paper and they look older than they should), what to do with darker mids (light application of graphite) and lighter mids (light application of chalk).

After a couple of minutes (the conversation took longer than the chalk did), we ended up with this:

Tonal Study 2, Megan Hitchens, graphite, white chalk on grey paper, 2017

The paper colour is pretty much right in this one. Same camera, same room, same desk, just later in the morning. Amazing the difference a few hours can make. And amazing the difference the chalk makes too. That really is the only difference between the two - this one has highlights in white chalk.

The offspring was suitably interested and now has a pile of coloured papers from my stash and one of my chalk pencils. I tend to use actual chalk sticks, but starting out with the pencil is probably a little more familiar.

By the way, the pencil used is a Blackwing. I love my Blackwing so much. I have a stack of pencils from 4H to 6B, but I tend to use the ultra hard ones for fine sharp lines and otherwise just go with the Blackwing. I can get line variations that match everything from an HB to a 6B with the one pencil, and it is heavenly to draw with. So all that tonal variation you can see in the graphite is the one pencil.

And finally, because I can never leave well enough alone, and because I love trois crayons (although technically this isn't because it's graphite rather than black chalk), I went back into my work room for a couple of minutes and whipped out the sanguine.

Tonal study 3, Megan Hitchens, graphite, white chalk, sanguine chalk on grey paper, 2017

The hair really benefitted, but the face not so much. I'll try to do her again, because the lack of likeness is bothering me after all. And I'll do it on warmer paper. It will be interesting to compare the effect.

Sunday 26 February 2017

Getting in a Bind

Not art, but art related. I have actually been getting some drawing done, but not nearly enough, so I embarked upon a clever plan to completely distract myself (I'm very good at those. I can stay off track for days).

Despite not drawing enough, I tend to run out of sketch books, particularly small ones. Large sketch pads I have a surfeit of, but small ones get used up quickly. And finding replacements can be tough. I am very particular. They're the wrong shape, or not small enough, or too small. I like hard covers - well, they are hideously expensive. So I have decided to solve the problem myself. I'm making them.

There are about eight at the moment all cut and folded, sorted into signatures, with sewing holes sawn. I made a make-shift book press some time ago and the books have been gradually put through it, sitting for a week or so to flatten the folds.

I was making do with my old tapestry frame and my woodwork table as a sewing frame, but frankly, this was a pain and it meant I had to do all my sewing in the garage, which with the hot weather hasn't been really viable.

As of yesterday I have this:

My sewing frame. Joint effort. I love it even if it is just MDF

It's a proper sewing frame. Not a deluxe wood one, with wooden threaded screws, etc. They are very hard to come by, often broken, and often quite pricey when one does turn up. It's only MDF and threaded rod with some hexagonal nuts and wing nuts, but it will do the job.

I had seen ones similar to this on the internet, so I went through my supplies to see what I had. That's why it's MDF. The rods were for another project about which I have changed my mind (more to come on that), same with the nuts. The wing nuts were the only supplies bought specially for this.

The whole thing was going to be assembled in an afternoon, but then I made the disappointing discovery that the drill bit I needed wouldn't fit in my little hand drill. The flange was about 1mm too thick. So I took the whole thing up to my father-in-law, who is an excellent carpenter with lots of equipment. I had intended to get advice and ask to use his equipment, but he got really interested in it all, and I get uncomfortable asking to use his tools, because I know how I feel about people using mine (even though mine are really crappy and I don't look after them well enough at all).

We ended up talking through the whole thing, me drawing plans and putting measurements on them, and then I left it with him.

The hot weather has delayed this. Working in a garage in the heat and humidity is not a good idea. But finally it has cooled down. Father got a piece of scrap MDF out of his supplies to make the top bar (I'd forgotten to take mine up, but it was thicker so this has worked out nicely). And he cut the slot with the router - I'd have had to hand drill holes and then used a handsaw. I could have done it, but it would have taken ages. It's because of the slot that I was happy with MDF rather than real timber as it's fairly soft. Plus, I had it to hand, so no extra expense.

Father brought all the pieces back yesterday and I assembled them, and then I spent yesterday afternoon making keys for the cords. Again, they're just out of MDF scraps I had lying around.

The keys. I am quite pleased with these.
I thought they might not be strong enough, but so far so good.

This afternoon I spent a pleasant few hours in the dining room, sewing in comfort. Hooray!

This afternoon's efforts.

Next up is a lying press. I have the blocks all made, and my father-in-law sanded them and got them all the same length and height for me. You buy timber from Bunnings (there was my mistake in the first place) and the planks are all supposed to be the same, yet there is a difference of about 2mm from one plank to the next. And I don't own a plane, which I should, so Father to the rescue again.

The press is on the French design rather than the English, so I am looking for a veneer press screw. Once I track one down, I'll send the blocks back up to Father to get the needed holes drilled and then, with backing boards and finishing plates I can do every aspect of the covers and spines.

Distraction done and starting to get drawing ideas again.

Monday 16 January 2017

Hard Endings

I first found Terry Pratchett about 1985, when I was 17. I picked up a copy of Strata from a newsagent because I thought it sounded interesting, and then had to hunt down Dark Side of the Sun (the newsagent near my work carried all sorts of books, including Tanith Lee. Not what one would expect). A year later I found The Colour of Magic and fell headlong into the world of the Disc.

The first two books were, by Mr Pratchett's own admission, an opportunity to tell lots of jokes, the story mainly serving as a platform for said jokes. But then it switched. From Equal Rites onwards the story was the focus and the jokes served it. Served it so well, but still served rather than ruled.

I have loved those stories. I would wait (sometimes not very patiently) for the next one to come out, and would disappear into the new book until it was read. My kids have grown up with Mum periodically doing everything while reading. Amazing how much of dinner can be prepared one-handed.

Each book was deeper than the one before, and in the meantime others would come along. The Johnny Maxwell books (Only You Can Save Mankind And If Not You Who Else, Johnny and the Dead, Johnny and the Bomb), The Unadulterated Cat (never was a truer book written about catkind), Truckers, Diggers, Wings. Good Omens with Neil Gaiman. And just recently the Long Earth Books with Stephen Baxter. But always there was the Disc, and Great A'Tuin and the Elephants. I have a copy of Where's My Cow? which I read to my youngest when he was younger, so by the time he was old enough last year to start entering the Discworld on his own he was well acquainted with Sam Vimes, and Lord Vetenari ("Please, don't let me detain you") and Foul Old Ron.

From 2000 the stories became darker, well before his 2007 diagnosis of early onset Alzheimer's, and ,in my opinion at least, the darkness made them even better. Most, but not all, of my favourites date from this time on.

I was lucky enough to meet Mr Pratchett several times over the years and always found a generous man willing to talk to fans and play in games (see? It pays to be a con nerd) and to share his love of language and observing people. The last time I met him (many years ago now), he remembered me, which still fills me with wonder to this day.

And the books kept coming, and the Disc was part of my life.

And then, about eighteen months ago (so long?), Terry Pratchett died. He had so many stories still to tell, at least 20 years' worth. We were robbed, but not so much as his family were, for whom the loss must have been devestating.

I got a special edition of the final novel, the Shepherd's Crown, in a slip case. I got it out once, to look at it and then put it back on the shelf. When the paperback came out I got a copy of that, but it has only been in the last few days that I have screwed up the will to read it, and could at first only read it in small doses. Once that was done, there would be no more.

Paul Kidby, cover of The Shepherd's Crown by Terry Pratchett, 2015, Doubleday
There had been a few unfavourable reviews "you can tell he was going downhill", "the weakest novel", "lacking", etc. Gods, people can be shits. When Mr Pratchett wrote, he wrote in pieces and then put it together, and then polished, and then wrote extra links, and then went back and reworked parts, and then added new notes, and then wrote some more. And finally was forced to give a book to the publisher even though he felt there was still more to do. And admittedly, there are a couple of passages in the Shepherd's Crown where there was a little bit of polish missing. But other than that, there is no difference in quality, and certainly not in the story-telling. Tiffany Aching is one of my favourite characters, and Granny Weatherwax another. And he did not disappoint me with either of them.

I have to admit, I cried a lot in this book. At the beginning, because I was starting the last book, and then near the beginning because it was deeply moving. Then at several places in the book because it too was moving. On the train this afternoon, coming home from a day in Sydney, the woman beside me must have thought I was a nut because I was in floods. The end of the book was beautiful and sad and uplifting. And then it was the end of the book. And truth be told I took off my glasses, put my head in my hands and tried very hard not to sob. That was it. Done. The end of it all. And a good end. A good one to bow out on. But he was made to bow out. And when you look at the shits in this world who go on and on and on, it is wrong and unfair that people like Terry Pratchett are gone. Douglas Adams too. The week Adams died, some stupid security guy saved George W. Bush from choking on a peanut. Could we not have swapped that?

I had one longstanding gripe with the Discworld books, and that was the covers. A friend of mine was commissioned to do some book covers some time ago, so I know how it works. The artist is given a brief and has to do their best to interpret it. Sometimes, if they are lucky, they have read the book, but usually not. I never liked Josh Kirby's covers. They were sexist and overloaded. Granny particularly pissed me off. In Wyrd Sisters, Granny was very well described. She was not a haggard old crone with a hooked nose and crooked back, and there was not a wart to be seen. Yet, how did Kirby draw her? You guessed it. Complete witch stereotype. What was the publisher thinking? Since Paul Kidby took over, the covers have been much more satisfying. Folklore of the Discworld has a much better version of Granny adorning its cover. Kidby clearly read and loved the books and the amount of collaberation he did with Pratchett speaks volumes about how the author felt regarding the new interpretations.

Josh Kirby, cover of Wyrd Sisters by Terry Pratchett, 2008, Gollancz books. Had he actually read the description of Granny? I can't believe so
Paul Kidby, Granny Weatherwax from Maskerade:Patron of the Opera by Terry Pratchett, 2012. While the clothes are atypical (there are reasons for that. Read the book), this is otherwise Granny through and through. A man who knows the Discworld characters. Granny would bridle if I added "intimately", and Nanny would leer.
I think The Art of Discworld is the one thing I am now missing. Don't know how that happened. Time to pick it up.

There are drawings of Great A'Tuin upstairs somewhere, done over the years. But I shan't share them. They were drawn by me, for me, not as fan art. And anyway, Mr Kidby has done the definitive paintings of the Star Turtle, so that's that.

I wish I could say thank you to Mr Pratchett for thirty two years of wonderful stories. I really wish I could say thank you to him for many many more. As usual, Tiffany Aching helps to take the pain away. Time to go back to the beginning.