Mau's Wall

Mau’s Wall
(Acrylic on block panel, 20 x 20.15 cm)

As is often the case, I’m finding it difficult to pick up paintings I was working on before our holiday in Crete, so this little piece is by way of hopefully getting things going again. 

Back to Chania

 

It's four years since we were last in Chania; three since we were out of the UK at all. It's great to be back. Rather than choose somewhere to visit that would make us feel we'd have to explore, we decided to go back to Chania (definitely our favourite place) to just amble about and soak up the sun and atmosphere.

Trulli Houses, Alberobello

 Trulli Houses, Alberobello.

(Acrylic on linen panel, 30x30 cm)

Another painting capturing holiday memories past, in anticipation of those to come. These dry stone buildings in Southern Italy were fascinating.

My Dad's Diary : Sat 26th July 1947

"[1st WEEK HOLIDAY]

Heavy rain.

Left at 11 am. Still raining.

Got taxi from Central."

My Dad's Diary : Fri 25th July 1947

"[1st WEEK HOLIDAY]

Sunny day. Lazed about."

My Dad's Diary : Mon 21st July 1947

"[1st WEEK HOLIDAY]

Dull today with light rain.

Lily & Ken arrived with baby."

That's Aunty Lily, Uncle Ken and Little Ken. Names in the family could be confusing, so we used to refer to Big Ken (Mam's brother-in-law), Young Ken (Mam's younger brother) and Little Ken (my cousin).

My Dad's Diary : Sun 20th July 1947

"[1st WEEK HOLIDAY]

Beautiful day for first day.

Lay about all afternoon.

Bill's people came at night."

My Dad's Diary : Sat 19th July 1947

"Telegram from Bill. Coming 20th.

Left for Cresswell in taxi - 3 pm."

"Bill" was Bill Prior, an old family friend who, I think, had by this time moved to New Zealand.

Until I was at least 50, I was able to say that I'd had a holiday every year of my life, and this was the first. Cresswell is a little seaside village in Northumberland with a lovely beach|:


© Richard Dawson and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

The Malta Sketchbook

View of Malta, 12 Sept 1995 
(Pencil and watercolour over two pages of 6 x 8 in sketchbook)

OK, let's try to get this blog back on tracks.

I've only been to Malta once; I didn't much care for it. I know many people like the island and there are certainly quite a few artists who go there regularly to draw and paint, but though I've toyed with the possibility of returning, I've never been able to persuade myself that it would be worthwhile. Unless it were with the sole purpose of going back to Tigne Battery (more of which later).

If you're a Malta fan, let me put my case before you throw up your hands in horror. When I was considering a trip there, I asked a friend at work who had been there what he thought of it. His reply was succinct: "It's beige," he said. And so it proved to be. The island and all the buildings are made of limestone which, unlike the limestones of the Greek islands, is not white but, well, beige. I did this drawing of the capital Valletta, on the first day there and found the buildings just blended into one another such that I eventually gave up trying to sort it out. It's not a bad drawing (not very good either), but it didn't satisfy me at the time and still doesn't.

We were staying in Sliema on the northeast coast of the island and a bus took us to the hotel from the airport. On the way there, we fell into conversation with a couple who told us they had been holidaying on Malta for 25 years. They loved it. But it soon became clear they never went out during the day, not because they were vampires but because they were something much more exotic - sequence dancers.

It seems sequence dancing clubs are very big amongst a certain section of the British population and wherever British servicemen have been stationed, there you'll find a sequence dancing club. To cater for their passion, package holiday companies take them on holidays all over the Med - Cyprus, Gibraltar, Malta and the usual bits of Spain. It being too hot during the day to trip any light fantastic, They Only Come Out at Night.

So dancing in the dark is obviously one reason for Malta's attraction. The beer is pretty good, too, being British styled but lighter for the climate. However, when we were there the pubs and even the cafes stuck rigidly to an afternoon closing schedule which made life quite difficult. One day while sitting outside a pub finishing off a pint, they came and took away the umbrellas and left us in the fierce heat., yet there was still a good half hour of opening time to go. Sitting in a cafe we'd just got our sandwiches before 2 pm; five minutes later, other customers were turned away.

The buses were wonderful old machines, beautifully painted and decorated with rosaries and religious icons but all of them went into and out of the main bus station, which meant that if you wanted to go anywhere other than Valletta, you still had to go into Valletta bus station, change buses and out again. I understand there's been a shake-up of the transport now: the old buses have gone and Arriva has taken over. My experience of Arriva in this country doesn't make me any more cheerful to hear that.

Oh, let's finish on the food. I had the worst pizza of my whole life in a restaurant in Sliema. The wait for it was considerable and when it arrived there was a huge bubble in the pastry which had made the topping slide off to one side, leaving a dry lump of pastry bubble at the other side. I was so astonished and so very hungry that I didn't bother to complain.

So there you have it: not what I hoped for from a holiday. I was on the point of giving up on the idea of getting any drawing done when I discovered Tigne Battery. More next time.

Empty Headed

Sitting on the little balcony above our apartment in Soller, I looked out over the sun-splashed Mallorcan landscape and sipped a small glass of local brandy.

"Pat," I said, "my head is completely empty."

Far from being a worrisome condition, I realised that this was a very desirable state. In the weeks before flying out to Mallorca, my head was full of stuff: worries about money, things that needed doing in the house, the way my work was heading, ... just stuff. And now here I was recognising the absence of all that stuff. Where it all went, who can say, but it had gone and for the two weeks we spent ambling around in fantastic sunshine, my head remained happily empty.

What this inevitably meant was that I did no work in my sketchbooks, so for now I have nothing to show you; but I've mentioned recently that I felt my ways of working were becoming stale and now I can sense the seeds of new ideas settling into the welcoming emptiness of my brain.

In a little while I suspect my long-awaited shake-up may make itself felt. Could be fun.

Rob & Caz

On the beach below Highcliffe Castle

Sometimes, painting just has to take a back seat. Over the weekend, Pat's younger son, Robert, married his fiancee, Caroline, at Highcliffe Castle. Pat and I flew from Newcastle to Southampton to join them and a thoroughly wonderful time was had by all. They're a great couple and I wish them all the very best.

Only a few days and we're off again: back to Croatia for a week. A drawing in a sketchbook may be made there, but I'm not overly optimistic that many more pages will be filled. But we will have a good time.

And then it's back to work in real earnest.

Siesta on Boogie Street

It's been quiet enough down on Boogie Street, but it'll be absolutely silent over the next two weeks. Tumbleweed may even blow past the cantina.

Pat and I are off to Croatia today for what I hope may be some sun and relaxation, although some forecasts predict thunderstorms for tomorrow. Whatever, it'll be a break.

Be good to one another. See you soon.

Memories

Le Merlet (Pentel mechanical pencil, A5 sketchbook)

This is for Illustration Friday's brief, Memories.

In June 1992 I went on a walking holiday in the Cevennes. The previous year I'd been walking in the Tarn and the Pyrenees and had enjoyed it so much, I was looking forward to doing it again.

When we got there, it had been raining for 18 days straight and it never stopped longer than an hour or two the whole time we were there. One of the stops was at the farmhouse at Le Merlet, where we should have been able to rest up and take a gentle stroll round the area, before setting off again the next day. The rain made it impossible, or at least too uncomfortable to leave the farm, and since it was supposed to be Summer, there was no heating and it was terribly cold.

To console myself I took out my sketchbook and spent an hour or so escaping into wherever it is I go when I'm drawing. The lack of anything much outside the window is due entirely to the rain.

The Annual Dilemma

The Great Moss (watercolour, sketchbook)

I'm no great shakes at watercolour; something which I think is adequately demonstrated by this example from my sketchbook. I'm not much of a plein air painter either. I think I turned to the sky over the Great Moss in desperation. I couldn't face looking into the wood behind me, so I looked out onto the peat bog. And watercolour seemed to be the only medium to hand to deal with the dramatic sky. I have little practice with it and I don't think the result is terribly good.

But it's come to that time of year when I start going through my materials wondering what to take on the annual Compo & Clegg Painting Week.

Last year we went to Grasmere in The Lakes, but there was little to show for it when I came back The best was a drawing I posted here.

The Great Moss watercolour sketch was done in South West Scotland in 2005. I also did this:


Dead Tree, Duntrune (4B pencil, sketchbook)

I think this is a much more confident piece of work which probably benefits from having no colour. But colour isn't always a problem. A few years earlier I did this in an old quarry:

Rock Form, Ford Moss (coloured Conte, sketchbook)

I suspect what it all comes down to is the subject matter and my old enemy, Green. Difficult to get away from Green in The Lakes, though. This year it's Langdale. I expect that, at the last minute, I'll just throw my usual drawing materials in the car and do what I always do, but it would be nice to push the boundaries of what I do, just for once.