Tuesday, 16 August 2016

Why Paint? Why Not?

My art exhibition has ended. There were forty paintings. Two paintings were sold. Fortunately they were two of the more expensive paintings. I can afford more canvases and paint now. That is all that really matters.

Here is a portrait of Mia the German Shepherd I recently painted. I am quite pleased with it. Not entirely though. I never am. I once explained this lack of a satisfaction in my work to someone who asked, by telling her, if I thought my work was perfect I might give up trying. I am not sure if this was an honest answer. I have never found a reason to explain why I paint except that I enjoy it. I have heard some artists explaining their work and it almost always leaves me feeling confused.

Mia German Shepherd Bain
Oil on canvas
16in x 12in
I once painted a still life of a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine and a tin of sardines. That's all it was. A still life. Someone remarked that it reminded him of Jesus and the feeding of the five thousand. So that is what it became; an allegorical (I hope that's the right word) painting. But truthfully it really was just a still life. Others paintings I have done have also taken on a meaning only after they were finished. As far as I was concerned they were just paintings I wanted to do.

Of course I have painted scenes that meant something, such as moments from my childhood for example. But in the main, as I say, I paint because I want to paint.

This painting is the first one done on the 'new' easel I made from off-cuts and an old table. It worked well. Saved myself a lot of money too. New studio easels are expensive.

Mia is fed up with posing.

Tuesday, 9 August 2016

George's Wildlife Pond.

Monday, 8 August 2016

A Poem.

Like the Gipsy danced
Who noticed not nor cared an audience saw
And danced her heart content.
And when you sing
Sing loudly to the sky
Where words soar far.
And when you love
Love like the poet 
Says love is.

Tuesday, 2 August 2016

Ramblin' On.

This is one of those days when I want to write but for some odd reason cannot get started. So I am going to ramble on and see what develops.

Err.. Erm.. Umm..

There is a programme on TV tonight about a factory where they make crisps. I can't wait! By the way if you are in the U S of A crisps are what I believe you call potato chips. Chips here in England are what the Americans call French fries. I like potatoes but not too fond of crisps. Too fatty. Although I love chips (French fries) which are fried in fat. Weird eh?

I was supposed to be holding an art workshop tonight, but as no-one could confirm they would be coming I decided it would be quite pointless. Maybe people are staying home to watch a programme about crisp making? Blogger think I am spelling programme wrong. That's how we spell it here in Blighty. At least I think so. I know Americans spell it differently. I have mentioned Americans a few times already in this post. That is because the stats show mostly Americans read this blog. I am pleased to have you along. I like Americans.

I read somewhere recently that we Brits don't like Americans. That is nonsense. Most people I asked in my recent poll love Americans and America. It was quite an extensive poll comprised of a group of six American tourists. Four of them loved Americans

We also don't like the French. That too is nonsense. I haven't conducted a poll this time. But this is based on the feelings I used to get whenever I saw Bridgette Bardot.

Tricia has given me a pair of large, lined curtains (American call them blinds I believe). I am going to use them in my showman's wagon instead of doors. The doors take up too much space in here. I will need to cut the curtains up and do some sewing to make them the right size. I hope there will be enough to make some for the windows too. Here is a picture of the curtains. They are on the washing line behind the tractor. I don't know when I shall start cutting and sewing. Actually, I can see through the window that they (the curtains) are dragging on the ground. I am going out to lift them up a bit. Excuse me a moment....... That's sorted.

Here is another picture after I stopped the curtains dragging on the ground. No, it is not the same photo. Please note the small football on the ground near the tractor.

 The crisp programme has probably started. I wonder if I am missing any useful knowledge? The final of Child Genius is on at the same time. I am not much interested in watching little children driven to breaking point for the purposes of entertainment. Oh well, perhaps I shall just have a look to see who wins. A little girl called Rhea won. A little girl called Saffy was second.

Sapphire the crow is a big girl/boy now. If there is a way of telling the difference I don't know it. Sapphire is free to come and go as she pleases and has spent the occasional night away from home. Where she goes we know not but so far she/he always comes home. There is often a potential suitor in the trees nearby. Saying that makes me think Sapphire is a female. Not that I know anything about crow romances but presumably the male does the pursuing. Here is a picture of Sapphire, also known as Saffy, (By strange coincidence the same name as the Child Genius runner-up) outside my kitchen window. She likes toast.

Sapphire waiting for toast.

Last night I did some quick portrait drawings using photos from the internet. There are two of Jimi Hendrix, one of which I did without looking at the paper as I drew it. Can you guess which one? This has given me an idea for some abstract paintings. The other two are Paul McCartney and David Bowie.

This took a bit longer and lost some of it's spontaneity. Profiles are notoriously difficult.

I think I have rambled on for long enough. I expect you want to get off to bed.

Good night and whomever your God might be, may He bless you.

Those Days When I Was Young.

The fields were crumpled sun-kissed hay
The sky had just begun
Swifts and swallows were the clouds

Those days when I was young.

Trees touched the edge of heaven
Corn shone like golden sun
Grass hoppers clicked, crickets whirred

Those days when I was young.

Bowers made from wild flowers
Couches honeysuckle slung
Kiss the girls in secret dens

Those days when I was young.

Let me return just one more time
Set foot upon the upward rung
To taste again sweet innocence

Those days when I was young.

Monday, 1 August 2016

You Talking To Me?

I did not write my book to make loads of money.

Yes you did.


You thought you'd get famous.

Did not.

Such a liar.


You thought it would get made into a film and you would be famous. Rich and famous.

Don't be ridiculous.

Get interviewed on the telly.


I know that's what you hoped would happen.

No I didn't. What, are you a bloody mind reader?

I am your mind mate.You don't fool me.

Just bugger off. Leave me alone. Go on, Get out of here!