Without checking back, I think this little series of sketches, again from a decade ago, started with looking at an El Greco painting.
He distorted his subjects a fair bit, in a series of ever more stylised manners, as his style evolved. Taking his distortions as a starting point, I have, from the get go, been distorting further.
Manolo, Spread #2.
In the second spread, at left, I went back to the source again, but this time with a slightly more cartoonish feel. The one on the right is devoted solely to the background, in particular the cloudy sky; extrapolating shapes and colours. The yellow in this image is lost a bit in the photograph.
Manolo, Spread #3.
The third spread combines further abstraction of ‘Manolo’, at left, and an homage to (or poss’ even a straight copy of) either Picasso or Braque. Picasso’s my main man. Braque much less so. Though having said that, I do like the latter’s work. Just not as much as Picasso’s!
This little series of miniature abstracts was born of spell of mental ill health. I hate that phrase, and I don’t think it really accurately captures what I was going through. But anyway, whatevs, as they say these days!
I was, rather amazingly, prescribed a short series of therapeutic art classes. As is so often the way with me, ornery curmudgeon that I am, I didn’t play by the rules – adopts Saxondale manner – this lone wolf rides to the tune of a different drummer (face-slap!).
My raison-ing was that, given I’m already a trained, even professional (occasionally!) artist, I didn’t need to do the ABC type stuff my group was doing. I just needed a quiet corner in which to pursue already established trajectories. Fortunately I was allowed to do just that.
The net results were this little serious of four mini-abstractions. They began life as an evolution from sketches of a stained glass window. In fact somewhere I’ve got an image I really like, showing how these little artworks evolved. I’ll stick that up here if I can find it!
To those with a bit of art or art history knowledge, some of my influences might be discernible? Perhaps ironically the single greatest influence on my own art isn’t really obvious in these series. That’d be Picasso. More on his influence to follow!
Some of the major influences on this approach, however, are Willem de Kooning, Philip Guston, and to a much lesser extent, some of Brice Marden’s linear stuff. There’s even a bit of Georg Baselitz in there (thanks to the influence of an old – and much missed – pal, Ben Carter). And then there are less obvious folk, like Turner, and even Caspar David Friedrich.
These aren’t the best photos. You can see the shadow of my head on them! It’d be nice to have much better lit and positioned photographs, but these’ll have to do for now!
Whilst doing the initial sketches for this recent commission from Abbie and Dan, yesterday, I came across some black and white ink drawings, or sketches, that are, rather shockingly, now a decade old. That’s what this post is comprised of.
The first spread is two images that I think are actually derived from the same source. The left hand one is, I think, better/stronger, compositionally. And I’ll come back to it later in the series. The right hand one is further explored in the next spread.
2nd Spread.
I’m not sure what’s going on with the left hand image, in this second spread I think it’s still derived from the same source, but possibly, flipped or rotated? Either way, it takes the whole thing in another direction.
Both of these belong to the more diffuse all over abstraction I’ve struggled with for years now. I somehow feel they have something. Something I like and don’t want to lose. But something I can’t quite put my finger on, and that’s all too easily lost amidst ‘too much information’.
3rd Spread.
Spread three sees two ‘new’ things: the left is inspired by the drawings of Tove ‘Moomin’ Jansson, whose work I love. And it’s much more obviously representational. The right hand image, on the udder hand, sees me successfully distilling some of the preceding stuff into a stronger more succinct image/composition.
I love the sixth image of this series, and intend to do a series of prints, using it as a starting point. It’s the most reductive and simplified image to have come out of a number of related series of ideas, some of which are black and white, others (to feature in another post soon) are full colour ‘miniature’ paintings.
4th Spread.
The fourth and final spread in this series is an exploration of a different source image. This one comes from the painting below, which belongs to but is also separate from the series alluded to above, that I’ll be posting about next.
These two share an imagery antecedent that is part head and shoulders ‘portrait’, part tree, part mountains, and simultaneously wholly abstract (pictured below). Once again, I think there might be grounds for or mileage in a print series coming out of this?
This one’s up on a wall at home.
For absolutely yonks – about ten years! – I’ve thought all this stuff was ok as ‘research’, but not good enough to share. Teresa has consistently said I ought to share it. I’m finally coming around to her way of thinking. So here it is!
Some of this stuff would up framed and on display, albeit only in our home(s). As of right now, only the image above is currently adorning our walls. Though I do plant I put up more original art around the house.
My sister Abbie and her husband Dan have commissioned me to paint an artwork for their home. That’s so lovely! Thanks, guys.
I’ve been given some photographic reference. I won’t say what that is, nor will I show it. For me the idea with the abstract side of my work is to work from the real world away, into something more dreamlike, and poetic; evocative yet imprecise, difficult to pin down.
Sketch#2, 1/4/23.
Sketch#1 was a first overall reaction to the photographic image. Whilst a lot is left out, it’s still quite dense and busy. So the next three sketches unpack certain elements.
Sketch#2 catches some of the organic green growth, a very small but visually potent or significant element in the overall scene.
Sketch#3, 1/4/23.
Sketch#3 is the lighter stuff, the air and the water, the sun making strange reflections. This view is probably a second layer, to be rendered over Sketch#4.
It seems odd in retrospect that I’m ending where one might have thought I should start, with the hard, solid architectural stuff; the landscape itself, and the straight lines of the man-made stuff.
So it is that Sketch#4 might well constitute the basal architecture of this painting? It might be the first layer?
Sketch#4, 1/4/23.
Here are the same four images as two double-spreads…
Sketches #1 and #2 …… and #t3 and #4!
I like seeing these four images together… or should I be saying juxtaposed, for the cognoscenti? They are, after all, derived from the same source.
What might prove tricky – and it ought to be, frankly – is amalgamating (what a word that is!) all these extractions. Can it be done? Should it be done?
Anyway, these sketches are a first draft response to a recent commission. I’m hoping that this process will bring my art practice back to life. It felt good to be sketching again today!
To my mind, the short answer to the question posed in the title of this post is a short and resounding yes!
However, apparently much of the science says otherwise: ‘Fundamentally, the idea of a general addictive personality is a myth. Research finds no universal character traits that are common to all addicted people.’ [1]
Anyway, I’ve suddenly collapsed into a near vegetative state of depression, over the last few months. Some of the reasons are perennial (lack of money), others more singular (least said, soonest mended).
Amidst all of this, I’ve relapsed into few behaviours (I’m sounding like an amateur naturist, er… naturalist, now) that seem, outwardly, very aulde. One of the common denominators to all these behaviours, is addiction.
And some of the things that characterise the kind of addiction I’m talking about: firstly they compel one to act in ways one knows are foolish and high risk, and two, there’s a kind of hollow joylessness to whatever the indulgence might me.
On that latter point, it has to be said that things aren’t really as cut and dried as that idea might imply. Pleasure can be and is taken in the addictive behaviours. But there’s an underlying sense, sometimes even when unquestionably enjoying the addictive behaviour, that one is acting foolishly.
Why should it be this way? And what makes certain things so compelling that they hijack one’s better judgement? This post isn’t an attempt to really answer such questions. In truth it’s more the sudden realisation that I’ve got some possible addiction ‘issues’ I need to acknowledge and work on.
Looking at all the textual images in this post, which I pulled from the Google image search results for ‘addictive personality’, they almost all apply. Perhaps unsurprisingly?
I’d say that for me there are two or three chief drivers when it comes to most of my addictions: pleasure, relaxation and escape. And the leaning into these behaviours is exacerbated in times of high stress – such as presently – by the desire to reduce or mitigate it.
I like to use my blog as a somewhat candid journal. But it’s neither an outright confessional, nor the best place to air dirty laundry that might best be addressed professionally.
On this last topic, however, I feel I’m being let down in a pretty big way, by the alphabet soup of acronym-heavy mental-health organisations I’ve been alerted to. It’s all pillar to post Groundhog Day assessments, and nary any actual support!
Whisky…
Having inferred above that here is not the place to go into the gory details of specific addictions, I will use one relatively innocuous seeming but actually very insidious example, namely spending.
My re-formulation of Descartes famous dictum, for our times, runs thus ‘I spend therefore I am’. One of histories’ greatest dictators, the unholy axis of capitalism and materialism, has marched into and annexed almost every conceivable aspect of modern life.
And I will often attempt to spend my way out of obscurity and depression with anything from a Gregg’s pizza slice to a book, CD, clothes or shoes.
Be prepared to be shocked and amazed as Count Arthur channels the spirits (not the ones he keeps in his dunks cabinet, mind). Mind-blowing psychic powers! Just be sure to have a tissue handy, in case nan’s pesky parrot threatens to mess on your sailor suit!
Disturbingly hilarious!
Learn all about Clean Queerpatra, and the sarsosagoose of Gordon Rameses. Just be careful the camels don’t get your potted meat sarnies.
And just in nut-case you wrongly surprise that The Count is some kind of Stegosaurus Rex, here’s proof he can move with the rimes:
And, far from resting on his impervious laurels (hardy millennials that they indubitabubbly are), he’s continued to hone his ventrilaquastick, er, ventricle-elastic… um, sod it, the art of squeaking with you mouth shut. Don’t believe me? Let The Count and his little red-hatted friend testifry:
It’s an incredibly rare occasion that I’m aware of snooker events before they occur. As I become more of an ardent fan of the sport – a veritable green baize junkie? – perhaps this first will become more of a norm?
Anyway, whilst catching up on my FB news feed (Paul O’Grady has died, aged 67!), I learned that the next snooker World Championship ‘takes place from 15 April to 1 May at the Crucible Theatre in Sheffield.’
It seems, according to the article that informed me of this, that this year we’ll see an influx of geriatric male stars – Hendry, White and Doherty, specifically – and several female contestants.
Could be interesting. But I’m glad that for once I’m aware of the event before and not after it’s started (or, at best previously, whilst it’s on). In the meantime my quest for the classic matches of yesteryear continues.
I kind of fancy going really old school, and watching a ‘Hirricane’ Huggins match, or maybe even that Davis vs. Taylor black ball one… Hmmm!?
‘Oozing class’, ‘a marvellous match… a Crucible classic’, ‘one of the best matches we have ever seen’. So sayeth the pundits, of this match. And i’sooth, it’s all true. ‘Twas absolutely fab!
Trump opened up a blistering and dominant 12-5 lead, only to have Williams, ‘the Welsh potting machine’, come roaring back at him. Some sublime snooker from both of them took us to the brink.
At 16-15 in Williams’ favour, the humbly eccentric former boxer looked poised to deliver one of the greatest sporting comebacks ever. But Trump dug in, or went to the well as they say, and took it to 16-16.
A standing ovation prior to frame 33.
The decider was a terrific frame, by far the longest of the match, clocking in at about 45-50 minutes. Both players had chances. And in the end there was a long safety duel, as Williams tried to beat the ‘astronomical odds’; he needed three or four snookers (and he laid a good few more than that).
But in the end, Trump triumphed by potting the blue. What an epically exhausting but exhilarating match. One for the ages.
Watching this terrific little series again. What fun! as Miranda’s mum liked to say. Saxondale really tickles my funny-bone. And laughter is great medicine when you’re wrestling with a St. Bernard’s sized black-eyed dog.
The ageing quite clever and quite articulate ex-roadie turned pest controller is a great creation. Struggling with anger issues, and having to deal with the excruciating Vicky (Morwena Banks) to get jobs.
He encounters a Top Gear presenter, his ex-roadie pal Deggsy, animal rights protestors who object to his pest control methods, and a plethora of other characters, from the occasional appearances of hapless shopping centre-salesmen (Tim Key), to regulars, like Vicky, Raymond, his girlfriend, Magz, and his anger management counsellor, Alistair (James Bachman).
Vicky, Raymond, and Tommy.
In a similar yet different way to Coogan’s sublime Alan Partridge, the whole attention to detail thing with Saxondale’s music-obsessed character is a real pleasure for those who, like me, share similar interests.
And, again, as with Partridge, we love him as much for his myriad foibles and failings, as for his ‘good qualities’ – be they his ‘Stang, ready wit, or ‘classic rock’ schtick – all the while squirming in embarrassment when he goes off on another misplaced tanned-genital rant.
The scenes with his daughter and her beau are great, as Saxondale battles with his responses – whether natural or conditioned – and piles mistaken assumptions on top of angry prejudices. And all the while Focus or Tull, and similar ‘70s sounds, pump up the irony of the disparity between an ageing rocker’s dreams and visions of himself, and the humdrum reality.
Vicky, perma-tanned denizen of a Stevenage industrial estate.
The rapport with Vicky, via whom he gets his pest control jobs, is truly and deeply and excruciatingly excellent. Indeed, all the relationships are really well observed, teetering between very broad humour, and finely nuanced observation.
There are just so many moments that resonate: the comfy old slippers, the lines of coke with Deggsy whilst lamenting the follies of the world, the inadvertent self-harm at the gym (and the hilarious drive home after), and the struggles with ageing.
These latter range from Saxondale’s quirky facial tics and odd snuffling noises, to his inability to hoist himself into a loft (as his young assistant Raymond does), the glasses scene with hooker, the need for Viagra, and limitations on sexual positions due to a body that’s gradually wearing out.
Another dimension to all this, besides the 70s rock thread, is the general cultural milieu, with Tommy quoting Zulu, and frequently harping on about everything from Isambard Kingdom Brunel to Barnes Wallis. A set of … eugh! tropes (spits and washes mouth out) that fit a certain demographic, to which I belong, like Cinders’ glass slippers.
It’s humour that cuts pretty close to the bone, for some of us viewers. And, I think, is all the funnier for it.
Tommy smoking a dolphin bong. Brilliant!
A fab scene from Tommy’s anger management group.
Several fab scenes from Tommy’s anger management group.
I love the scenes at the anger management group that Tommy attends, at the local library. His humour and sarcasm are tragicomic, and, as with much comedy (also very much so with Partridge) he says out loud what many might think, but either then think better of, or at least choose not to say out loud.
Teresa isn’t so keen. ‘It’s a boy’s thing’, she says. And maybe she’s right? Still, I love it!
We just finished what was probably one our quickest games of Scrabble a moment ago. And it marks a trio of triumphs for Teresa! Three times straight in a row, she’s beaten me.
We both love Scrabble, and mostly for the fun of finding the words, as opposed to winning or losing. Which makes it very relaxing and pleasurable.
That said, I think Teresa’s head has grown a bit since scoring her triple trouncing of yours truly.
