A commission I finished a while ago – this is Jeremy Storr’s father learning to sail. He was the only one in the class, so he had all his lessons in the boat! I wanted to show his face – I had a photo where he had a lovely smile – but I thought it would be a shame if you didn’t see the whole boat, so he and his instructor are in the foreground, and at the same time sailing past in the background. Art is useful like that…
Commissioned portrait that I painted last week – an underwater swimmer – Hilary – with gold leaf fragments for bubbles. Unlike most of the swimming commissions so far, this is in paint, not a digital creation. The gold leaf doesn’t show up very well on the scanner, so I’ve photographed it as well, which catches the light on the gold better. The size is about 5.5 inches square.
Cat-of-the-day has been rather neglected of late, in favour of artwork I actually have to get on with, so this weekend visiting my brother’s family in Norfolk I made an effort to draw things: people and dogs, specifically. The modern tendency to stare into a screen for long periods of time is not a great social habit but it is quite useful for portraiture, since the screen-viewer tends to be immobile for long periods of time with their face gently lit by the screen. Babies and dogs, however, cannot use smartphones or ipads, and so are a lot more difficult to capture in this way.
I’ve walked to the top of Helvellyn an uncounted number of times over the last 30… 35… years, but I’ve never swum in Red Tarn, although I’ve often wanted to. I am usually with people who tell me this would be ridiculous, or it is freezing, or I do not fancy walking home in soaking wet pants, or I have taken other ways up to the peak which have afforded a bird’s-eye-view, but do not take me actually past this tarn, one of the highest in England, Google tells me.
This time I came prepared, not only with costume but shoes to swim in (so as to avoid this sort of scene). But it is one thing to want to leap into the clear, cold, deep and gloomy-blue waters of the tarn; and quite another thing to actually be there, staring into her inky depths.
I did one loop of the edge and it was a glorious cool kilometre or so, but I wouldn’t cross the middle, not on my own. I never did discover why she is called Red…
It is the new look. It stops the aliens reading my mind.
In the summer I had highlights brought on by gardening in the sun, now they are growing out and I have never had highlights put in by human hand before. I have been sat in front of a mirror looking like this, there was really only one thing for it.
A fine and lively evening in the Ring o’ Bells at Moorlinch* last night – the Chalice Morris men came, and sang carols. I have never seen so many feathers in so many caps! On top of that, it being a Thursday, it was Pie Night which is cause in itself for celebration, on a weekly basis.
*The village is of course more properly named Moorlynch, in the opinion of about half the people who have one. Spelt Moorlinch here merely for the benefit of Google, and Ordinance Survey, and other such sticklers.
Up the ‘Dinosaur’s Back’ to the top of Blencathra, with nieces/nephews, siblings/in-laws, and Mum who with hindsight may not have fully appreciated what she was getting into! Of such misjudgement are the best stories made. All back safe and sound. Not everyone is in the picture – this is as much as l could scribble in the moment, then a few outlines strengthened and shading added back at the cottage. The other pic is Georgia, sketched from across a wide table when she was moving around all the time, which accounts for it not looking very much like her. For a 6 year old she can’t half scramble up mountains though!