My sketchbooks are all discreet, black, run-of-the-mill W&N ones, (am I the only person in the world to have developed an allergy to the word "moleskine"?) dog-eared, battered and small, (pocket-size for preference) and their content is often illegible to everyone but me, not at all like the swish beautifully arranged creations with highly worked up images, all clean and smudge-free, I sometimes see and envy on other artist's websites.
Mine bear traces of rain, wind, the sea, tea and wine, have particles of sand in the spine, the ghostly remains of squashed insects here and there and are generally, I suppose, a reflection of their disorganised owner. Blimey, perish the thought. Bag-ladydom beckons. Another case of art reflecting life, perhaps?
Anyway, I have been immersed in some more recent old ones of late using impressions from them them or even bits of impressions from them to assemble quite small mixed media pieces on paper which stand on their own (or rather eventually, when mounted, will lean against each other in gallery browsers). The results are quite pleasing and in some cases will lead to larger works. Though what they have led to right now is a bigger than usual mess and masses of bits of clipped paper trailing through the house.
When I have my new camera I will put some up, in the meantime - a few leaves from one of those messy sketchbooks of mine.
No comments:
Post a Comment