Above left: July. Right: August.
In July you should “make hay while the sun shines”.
“It’s 8.45…” I have a built-in body clock. No need to set the alarm. I now sleep and paint in the smallest room in the house with everything is close by. I roll up the blinds, open the window, drink the last drop of last night’s water and check my phone, all without leaving the duvet. Yesterday’s jeans and t-shirt are within arm’s length on the floor beside. I only change work clothes between paintings. It helps preserve the mood. Such closeness is working for me. Hashtag "prolific". Breakfast is juice, porridge, coffee; Sky news, second coffee, then back upstairs to stand and survey yesterday’s artwork. The year is half over. Am I on course?
July Oak, the eighth in a series of one-per-month acrylic paintings, sees my target for the year well ahead of schedule. Like the others, this oak has depended on fleeting visits into Sherwood Forest, avoiding the current rain. For this one I want to convey a more typical summer. I am pleased with the outcome, the dense green foliage almost obliterating all shape and form in the forest, yet failing to completely disguise the fact these ancient oaks are ageing and fading. My energy for art has not faded.
In August you “reap what you sow”.
It’s still summer, the leaves are still lush and green, but gone are the blooms and blossoms of June and July, and out in the fields the harvesters are busy at work. So, I decided my August Oak would be about the sun setting at the close of a warm summer evening. The holiday season may not yet be over, but the anticipation of its ending is there.
All text, pros, poetry, photos & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.
Above left: April Oak. (It looks like showers).
April Oak is the 5th in a series of 12 planned acrylic paintings featuring a selection of oak trees from along the path which leads to Robin Hood’s tree (the Major Oak), Edwinstowe. I am pleased with progress and the idea of making 12 paintings all adhering to a common theme, composition, size, and materials. I like having defined parameters to work within.
It is too early in the month to see any significant foliage on the trees, but look closely and you can see blue bells amidst the bracken. I wanted to capture that moment on an otherwise sunny afternoon when one anticipates April showers. Being no stranger to the rain falling on my parade, I think I pulled it off.
Above right: May Oak. (The modest buds of).
The oak tree I selected for my 6th painting of the series has a rather auspicious presence about him. He’s probably the oldest of the twelve I have chosen to depict, and bears many scars. Nevertheless, come the month of May, he still rises to the challenge of the new season ahead, producing fresh buds, stimulating new ideas. I like to think I can identify with that.
As one might expect from such a cantankerous old character, set deep in his roots and his ways, his “portrait” didn’t come easy. Oak trees would seem to show their foliage later than most, and extra visits to Sherwood Forest were necessary to monitor that growth. However, in the end it’s safe to say we were both happy with the outcome.
All text, pros, poetry, photos & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.
Above left: February. Right: March.
Apart from Valentine’s Day, February is something of a forgotten month. The frosts and snows of winter might have passed, but the dramatic winds of March and the light showers and buds of April are yet to come. Me and February have much in common: We’re both expecting rain.
In February the sun is still low, but the yellow hues it makes along the horizon are more “lemon” than cadmium. The high clouds vary from silver grey to slightly lilac. The low clouds which bring the rain are fast moving, and much darker, almost silhouettes.
I chose this particular oak for February because of its form, distorted from straining to reach the sunlight between the surrounding birches. It’s quite a dark painting, and proved a bit of a struggle, but it is the painting which emerged from that struggle. I’m always a little disappointed my landscape paintings don’t look like everybody else's in the arts and crafts gallery shops, but if they did, I’d bin them.
I thought the colours for March should address those subdued shades as the month sees the green hues of Winter tree trunks take on a browner aspect. My chosen oak tree for this month, shaped by the strong winds of March, continues to reflect the demise of Sherwood Forest. There are no fresh buds on the branches anticipating the coming Spring. That’s true for me to.
All text, pros, poetry, photos & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.
I wonder what normal folk do on New Year's Day? I spent mine painting, making a start on the second of my series of Sherwood Forest oaks. This one has no particular personal message, I simply wanted to have a go at painting snow. The secret would appear to be not in the colour but in the rhythmic patterns it defines along the branches. Although I love painting, it's always really hard work for me. It's like I'm always struggling to find a graphic solution for what's in front of me, as if simple observation isn’t enough.
I visit Sherwood Forest often. At this time of year it is an even more enchanting spectacle than usual. The snow highlights every small detail, whilst turning the sound-scape to an eerie mixture of silent and still. But I have to confess, there was no snow this year, so I had to work from previous resources. “January Oak” is the second in my ongoing series of acrylic paintings.
All text, pros, photos & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.
All text, pros, poetry, photos & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.
Last month’s renewed motivation continues with a walk every morning around the block, regular breaks in the studio, and a frozen pack of peas on my shoulder at the end of the day’s session. I also gently exercise to stretch the tendons. The only thing I don’t like about making art is when I have to stop. The only cure for the post-painting blues is to start the next one. At present I have two on the go, both continuing with a Sherwood Forest theme.
In both works I am wanting to express something about Time; The mangle and the farm equipment rusting away whilst the forest is sleeping, awaiting Spring.
All artwork & text copyright Ian G Craig.
Thoresby Gallery had the ridiculous idea of using the end section of their gallery as a Salon des Refusés. In mid-19th century France that term heralded a revolution in Art, here it's just an area where they've placed all the entries they've actually rejected. All of my submissions this year were rejected, one to be propped up on the carpet, one hung on the wall. If they are showing them to the public, then they are surely accepted. It makes no sense to me.
All artwork & text copyright ian g craig.
I have the first of my planned oak tree paintings accepted by Patchings Gallery, and subsequently sold to an internet friend in Canada. So that's one piece shown last year at Thoresby, and one this year at Patchings. Promising!
All text, pros, photos & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.
Oak in a clearing.
Her life spans centuries. In death she provides sustenance and shelter for a myriad of creatures. Her timbers once put roofs over English halls, and the keels of galleons which carried both the literary delights of Shakespearean culture, and the terrible blood lust of Crusading soldiers, across the globe. All beauty is scarred.
Now she stands alone, isolated within a forest clearing created by a lifetime of casting shadows on those close by. We could learn from her example.
Late night thoughts.
Tick, tock.
It's worth being up late just to hear the ticking of the clock, unspoiled by the constant soundscape of urban life. It's the big white one through the square window above my head. My mother once said I would never be alone as long as I had the tick of a clock to listen to. I suspect that was a voice of experience. But my child's Timex wristwatch had a very short life span. Now, being alone is fine. Feeling alone would not be fine. Thankfully there have been very few times I've felt the latter.
Tick, tock.
Creativity is like a companion of sorts. It occupies your thoughts like a cerebral conversation, your mind exploring the possibilities each idea presents. And then at the end of it all there is this whole new creation, occupying a space where nothing previous existed. "A companion" is the closest I could ever get to a description of "doing art". It's like you were born with a double, but that double is only there, making you feel complete, when you’re creating something.
Tick, tock.
I bet the two old ladies in the white cottage opposite my childhood home, who had button boxes and tin tea caddies on the mantelpiece above their log fire, listened to the clock of an evening. Or maybe the radio? We only ever listened to the radio on a Sunday lunch time: "Round the Horn", consisting of double entendres I was far too young to understand, but which sounded hilarious just the same. Radio was mostly a holiday event for us. Me and big sister in caravan bunk beds, with Radio Luxembourg phasing in and out: "When the mist’s arising and the rain is falling, and the wind is blowing cold across the moor, Johnny Remember Me”.
Tick, tock.
All text, pros, photos & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.
