Alternative Skegness 2. Plastic Pollution.

 

 Finished today. I was going to hold this one back from social media for a while in the hope it would have more impact come exhibition entry time, but I’ve weakened. No exhibitions during lockdown.

I made an ink drawing of this scenario in November 2018, then started this painting at the end of 2019. It’s my second painting about plastic pollution. It does make me angry when every I see at least a dozen different children’s comics along the supermarket shelves, each with a plastic bag containing about 6 free plastic toys. And that’s every supermarket across the UK, every week. Do the maths.

Not currently having a model to pose for me I took a very iconic pose from a very famous black & white James Mason movie and developed the girl from that. Those plastic toys in your grandchildren’s toy box will serve as teaching aids when they want to know what elephants and tigers once looked like.

All text, pros, poetry & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.

Alternative Skegness 1. Plastic Pollution.

 

 Top: First drawing from 2018.

Below: “And Then the Jolly Fisherman Was Not So Jolly”, due to plastic pollution. Oils on canvas, 46cm x 56cm. 

In reality Skegness is a very well maintained resort and, as is apparent from my blog, a place I have much enjoyed on day-trips. No derogatory implications are intended when using the resort's famous mascot as a setting for imagined plastic pollution.

All text, pros, poetry, photos & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.

Accepted in June.

 

My "Skeggie Day Trip" painting on show this month in Patchings Gallery.

 All text, pros, photos, poetry & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.

The white heat has gone from the iron.

Sat on the Grass. (poem).

 

Like Winston and Julia Underneath the tree,

That wasn't her, And it wasn't me.

 

Currently reading Scott Fitzgerald's The Beautiful and the Damned: “The white heat has gone from the iron and the glow from the coal”. This month's sketchbook diary reflected that mood:

 

In spite of the art award, in spite of being exhibited, I'm actually bored with painting now. I need something new. Is it too late to change my career options?

Below: Went to Skegness on my own for my annual day trip. Didn't stay very long.

 

 

Below: Sketching on Robin Hood’s Hill:

Below: Clumber Park:

 

 

All text, pros, poetry & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.

Out of Season.

 

I made my annual trip to Skegness but, having now painted all I wanted to about the subject, and visiting the town so late out of season, it was maybe one visit too many. Sunny and quite warm, but more familiar than fun. Video of the day on Skegness Day Trip.

 

Above: One of my paintings, Colston Bassett Church (c.2009) SOLD from Christie’s Framers.

All artwork & text copyright Ian G Craig.

Skegness revisited. "Skeggie Day"

 

 About six years ago I had an idea for a painting. It was about a girl on a deserted beach. I wrote about it on THIS LINK, but never made the painting I envisaged. Instead, I painted Tower Cinema, Skegness, and although I was very pleased with that result, I regretted not sticking to my original idea. So, this month I asked a friend to pose for my original concept.

We had to cheat. Rather than travelling to the coast I got her to stand on a fence in Clumber Park, it presenting the right perspective of the figure against the sky. For the pier and the breakers, I had enough resources already from previous trips. After completing the painting I also wrote a poem about the day trip which would be published in my book "46 Contemporary Poems".

All text, pros, photos & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.

Skeggie Day.

 Skeggie Day.

A railcard ticket
To Lincolnshire’s coastline,
“Which way are we facing?”
We’re going back in time,
For a day beside the seaside
The rain did not stop play,
On Skeggie day.

Snakes and ladder fingers
On the backseat of the train,
Slipping her the whiskey,
She slipped it back again.
In a place of cloudless fancy
Only kite strings blocked the way,
On Skeggie day.

Under the Boardwalk, Up on the Roof,
“Above the age for drinking?”
The landlord asked for proof.
Photographing footprints
All along the beach,
So close to the salty edge,
But always out of reach.
Walking away,
On Skeggie day.

The ice-cream van stood frozen,
 The bandstand had no band,
Just Betty Boop mementos
For a Jolly Fisherman.
He thinks he’s on a promise,
A saucy postcard date,
But Betty left too early,
And the Clock Tower’s always late.
Time ticks away,
On Skeggie day.

A penny for the arcade
Soon comes to push and shove,
As four and twenty seagulls
Refrained from making love,
Swoop down on deep fried chickens,
Their favourite fast-food prey.
Cheap Take-Away,
On Skeggie day.

The tin skinned street art lady,
Trapped in her pantomime,
Waves secret hand-sign signals,
That passion is no crime.
She pays for rusting tea breaks
With small change from her jar.
Her day job is a statue,
By night she works the bar.
She has no time to play
On my Skeggie day.

The cinema on the High Street
Is showing “G.I. Blues”,
They haven’t changed the programme there
Since nineteen sixty-two.
A balding breathless doorman
In braided uniform,
Has a look of recognition,
Thinks he’s seen me there before.
He checks the tickets at the kiosk,
Checks himself out in the glass,
Checks the sidewalk for a certain girl
Who’s way above his class.
Perhaps a lack of judgement?
It’s not for me to say.
I leave him to his fate
On Skeggie day.

Returning to the station,
The train is running late,
The driver’s in his swimwear,
Been on a heavy date.
I take my seat inside the carriage,
Take a moment to reflect,
Take a photo for a memory
Not finished with me yet.
In the pages of my sketchbook
The pencils from my trips
All draw upon the good times,
Plus all the empty bits.
I’ve said too much already,
There’s nothing left to say
About Skeggie day.

Now plastic Disney figures
In fairgrounds long shut down,
All chat about the summer
When I still came around.
There’s no-one left to heed now
Their wind metallic voice,
They stand there for no reason,
They do it out of choice.
Before a wintry snowman
Took them all away,
On Skeggie Day.


All text copyright ian g craig. See also THIS PAINTING.

Note: "Skeggie" is a common nickname for Skegness.

An updated version of this poem would be published in my book "46 Contemporary Poems".

Sketchbook Summer.

 

 

Although very disappointed to find that access to Thoresby Lake has now been fenced off, this has been the summer of the sketchbook, involving several visits to other favourite locations in which to laze, chat and sketch in the sun: Clumber Park, King John Palace, a Papplewick pub, and of course good old Skegness.

All artwork & text copyright Ian G Craig.

Skegness is So Bracing.

 Skegness is So Bracing.

Once, every working class family
From Nottingham town UK,
Come summer, emerged from their factories,
Impatient to get far away,
And spend the pennies they'd been saving
To be beside the seaside for a day.

In clattering steam train carriages,
Industrial packages, all looking the same,
Third class tickets and yesterday's sandwiches,
Ciggie stains on the window frame,
Communal singing, all knowing the lyrics,
They shook, rattled and rolled their way.

Their agreed destination?
A holiday camp for the nation,
Billy Butlin’s first site,
Red coated persuasion.
“Skegness Is So Bracing!” said the slogan,
And it was So true.

Donkey ride magic,
Sticky candy floss chew,
Food cartons of plastic,
Caravans just for two.
In rock n roll bunk-beds
Radio Luxembourg phasing through.


All text copyright ian g craig

 
An updated version of this poem would be published in my book "46 Contemporary Poems".

Elvis in Skegness & Cheese and Chalk.

 Elvis in Skegness.

They're selling postcards of Elvis
All across new Skegness,
Alongside Betty Boop trinkets
In a state of undress.
And where "Kiss Me Quick" hats
Were the sauciest fad,
Now hang day-glow beach towels
Reading "Fancy a shag?”

Cheap Cherokee Injuns
Cast in plaster and brass,
As if their tepees were pitched here
In long ages past,
Replace Fisherman mascots
And lifeboat appeals,
Southern fried chicken menus
But no jellied eels.

And did those blue suede feet,
In ancient times,
Walk upon England’s
East coastline?
And was the King
Of shake rock and roll,
Along our Skegness Pier
Seen out for a stroll?

I did not come for Jerusalem
Just the England I know,
Stick rock candy and chips,
Not USA Tupelo.
Saucy postcards, cramped caravans,
Plastic sandals, salt sea,
Tin bucket sand castles,
How things used to be.

Cheese and Chalk.

I sit in silence
Whilst you always talk,
Defining the difference
Between cheeses and chalk.

All text copyright Ian Gordon Craig.

 Updated versions of these poems would be published in my book "46 Contemporary Poems".

Tower Cinema, Skegness.

 

After collecting my painting of Skegness’ Tower Cinema, from Thoresby Gallery's absurd idea of a “Salon des Refusés”, I have made some changes. Originally it featured a second figure walking towards the front of the composition. It’s much better now with just that solitary girl.

The painting is about the passing of time, as symbolized by that sunset going down behind a building that has looked much the same through the decades.  I do think my reason to start visiting Skegness for annual day-trips, was something to do with looking for old England, a country I would recognize from childhood, or at least those years before full time employment took over my life.

 All text, pros, photos, poetry & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.

A Figure on the Beach & The Gift.

 A Figure on the Beach.

The sun is low, the summer season passed.
Pale knee reflections in multiple rock pools,
Are caught and left stranded by the retreating sea.
Headscarves, hitched-up hem lines, and much stooping,
Peering into puddles, whilst lover's cuddles
Cast lengthening shadows across seagull screech beaches,
Their toes pressed in cold sand.

Everything feels distant on an out of season shoreline.
White-grey light shimmers from the ripples,
The coastal breeze sketches the edges
Of her autumnal silhouette against the skyline.
Colours fade as the amusement arcade falls silent
Behind padlocked shutters, to return next summer,
Like a much-favoured toy from its box.

Circus posters in the streets are fading.
Local residents are now reclaiming their town
From departing holiday makers, dodgem car shakers,
As she leaves the sea's breakers for the comfort of a cafe.
And then, tea for one, maybe a warm scone
“With a small jar of jam on the side?”
“I shouldn't really, oh go on then”.

She sits alone, looking beyond the window glass,
Her mind focused on something past,
Another season, long ago.
On an out of season seaside beach,
A solitary figure and a silly dog.
The kind of dog that seems to belong to everybody,
Just for one day.

 

 The Gift.

Tick tock from the mantelpiece
Measuring time,
A gift from the council
At the end of the line.
Forty years loyal service,
Giving his best,
A gift from the council
Now measures what's left.

Chimes through the household
Punctuate every hour,
A gift from the council,
Mini mantle clock tower.
The day passes slowly
To its soap opera end,
A gift from the council,
A clockwork cold friend.

 All text copyright ian gordon craig

These poems would be published in my book "46 Contemporary Poems".

Skegness, first trip.

 

 

There was a real sense of exhilaration upon leaving full-time employment. Partly in the realization that freedom extends beyond the weekend; partly in the challenge of what to do next; partly in thoughts about those times and places I once knew before adulthood took me away, wondering what they must be like today.

As a child I never went to Skegness, but I think it might now become a place for annual day trips. I am lured by the sense of nostalgia which permeates all British seaside resorts. These sketches are just the preparation for a painting I am considering.

All text, pros, photos & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.