21 Jun 2015

Hayride through Thoresby Park.

17th June: Finished an acrylic painting, “Thoresby Fields Forever”, based on a sketch I made in January of last year. I really like the sketch, not so much the painting. I can never get the same feeling a second time around.



19th June. Thoresby Hayride: I was a little disappointed the hay ride route didn’t go past Nelson’s Pyramid as it has in the past, but thrilled to see my old home The Woodyard, and delighted to spend some time afterwards in the Village Hall and bar, where I was surprised to see an old primary school photo with me in it on the wall.

It being impossible to hold a sketchbook steady on a trailor I made some sketches from the video I shot.



 Above: The original Duke's carriageway clearly visible through a line of Silver Birches.





Video of Thoresby Estate Hayride on THIS LINK.

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

26 May 2015

Sketching on Thoresby Estate.

Currently hooked on Staedtler Mars Micro mechanical pencils and the small sketchbooks I won in an award in 2013. (THIS LINK). And of course I’m always hooked on Thoresby Park as a location for sketching. It is my constant muse.








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

20 Dec 2014

Still (life) December #stilldecember 2.

Is it really a year since I last did this Twitter theme on still life? My choice of subject here speaks for itself. Merry Christmas.



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

29 Nov 2014

David Hockney: “Hockney” documentary DVD & Live from LA event. Review.

 

“What do you think of it?”

The voice came from the woman in the otherwise empty row behind. The one I’d been chatting to in the foyer whist waiting for the Savoy’s Screen 3 projection room to be relieved of its mass of hyperactive children more than a little excited by an afternoon of “Annie”. Mercifully, the cinema’s air con dispelled the subsequent stale odour of pop and popcorn with equal efficiency.

I pondered her question: What did I think of it? Asking me what I thought of Hockney’s remarkable artworks would have been easier to answer. But the Randall Wright documentary, and subsequent Live from LA interview we’d just watched? Not so sure.

“I thought it was okay. I expected a bit more. But I’m not sure of what”. She felt the same, and we both tried to formulate and express our opinions as the sparse audience around us listened in, attempting to do the same. It was a discussion with more space than statements. Later reviews in the press would be similarly challenged in their critiques.

David Hockney was and is something of both icon and idol to former art students of my generation. His media savvy predates and anticipates the later Britart activities of Emin and Hirst. It ensured his work reached the attention of the public eye, and not simply for a fashion sense which rapidly escalated from bowler hat and brolly to blond bespectacled beach boy. With few obvious exceptions, to have art books published about oneself in the early 1970s one usually had to have been dead since the end of the 19th century. So in 1971 Hockney’s own “72 Drawings” found little competition from his contemporaries, and soon found itself onto every self-respecting student’s bookshelf, whilst miniature first editions of the Grimm’s Fairy Tales he illustrated, protruded from Levi pockets as a symbol of cool.

This ready access to his work beyond the gallery walls of London helped establish him as a kind of saviour to those of us who felt the possibilities of a previous generation’s Abstract Expressionism had been exhausted, and the ready-made imagery of Pop Art of limited substance. Hockney’s work was at one and the same time contemporary and traditional. It put observational drawing back on centre stage. It still does. So, sat there looking up at the now blank cinema screen, why my lukewarm response to this documentary? Why my difficulty in answering that woman’s question? What did I think of it?

We live in an age when the works and lives of artists, musicians, writers, can grow in estimation in direct proportion to either the tragedy or excesses of the lives they live. An early death via car or plane crash is seen as a particularly good career move. Failing that, a serious drug habit can prove a marketable alternative. Nothing quite like a cocaine confession to give a teenage pop star a little credibility. Never mind the quality, feel the notoriety.

Paul Simon once said, with a commendable honesty not usually associated with the entertainment industry, that after one achieves a certain level of success it is no longer appropriate or convincing to write angst ridden songs about “sitting in a railway station with a ticket for my destination”. His solution, responsible for the longevity of his success, has been to explore the technical aspects of the medium itself (in his case music) as the motivation. The African rhythms of “Graceland”, not typical of a Jewish rock star from New York, would be one such example.

David Hockney can be said to have pursued a similar course of action. Since graduating from the Royal College of Art, leaving his solitary student tea breaks behind, he has been a hugely successful, famous artist. He’s done this by exploring his chosen medium via a series of technical challenges: Depicting water in the pools and sprinklers of California; the photographic collages and composite Polaroids; stage set designs; and the changing seasons of the Yorkshire landscape depicted across multiple canvases, to name just a few, and not to mention his theories on the use of mirrors and projections in classical art. At the time of writing (and the documentary reviewed herein), his latest fixation is “reverse perspective”. It won’t be his last.

“Hockney” showed the majority of these projects in chronological order, with an impressive digital clarity not experienced on the printed page. Home movies and photographs punctuated the proceedings with appropriate biographical detail. But that’s it. And why should we expect more? Hockney’s life hasn’t involved any greater tragedy or notoriety than most people reading this post. Accordingly, it is simply his passion for and exploration of the painting / printing medium, and the possibilities by which it can depict his mostly contented environment, which fuels his quite remarkable work. The paintings resist any political or social context. There is strong personal style, but not necessarily personal statement.

So that’s what I thought of it: A perfectly fine journey across the surface of an impressive range of beautiful canvases. The hero of the piece is not going to cut off his ear, choke on his own vomit in the back of an ambulance, or shoot himself in a drug fazed game of Russian roulette. In short, Ken Russell would never have made a film about David Hockney. The skilfully applied surface colours and textures are dazzling, but there is no revelation regarding deeper waters, if indeed deeper waters exist. That’s not what "Hockney" does. But what he will do, at age 77, is appear briefly “live” at the end of a documentary about his life, totally (and exclusively) excited about what he’s doing in this moment, (“reverse perspective”), and attempt to convey to us what this latest artistic challenge he’s set himself is all about.

Copyright Ian G Craig. All opinions expressed are the authors own.

16 Oct 2014

Inside and out.

Still on my observational drawing kick, both inside the house and outdoors. Never much cared for charcoal in the past, but these hard grade charcoal pencils are impressive.





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

30 Sept 2014

sketchbook landscapes.

 Top: Trees and Rhododendron bushes in the grounds of Newstead Abbey. Below: Landscape around the Oxton area of the county.



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

30 Aug 2014

Drawing August 2.

Twitter's art theme / challenge comes round again. Last year I think I was into coloured pencils. This year I'm into pound shop gel pens. In a big way.




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

29 Aug 2014

The Selfie. Self portraits.

 

Above: 10th January, 1963. “Love Me Do” moves up to number 17 from last week’s 24. Elvis Presley’s “Return to Sender” at number two has already made me a music fan. The Beatles ensure it will remain a lifelong passion. My art teacher has set me the only worthwhile homework he manages to dream up in the seven years I will know him. His problem is he doesn’t dream. Maybe two years National Service took that away. I am a grammar school boy, identified as an arty type, but only ever directed to copy from books, add some lettering, and contemplate the painting of roses on tea trays at the nearby Metal Box factory as a better career option than the coal mines. I don’t know why. It pays far less. But for this one Thursday evening at least, studying my face in the mirror, it felt like I was doing Art. Assessment rating: Seven out of ten. Very fair.

So why do artists’ make self-portraits? Certainly not for money. The general public are not keen to purchase the portrait of a complete stranger for their home. One answer to the question can be found in the work of the two greatest masters on the subject. Rembrandt and Van Gogh both used the painted selfie to document their respective journeys through life. Rembrandt ageing with dignity, tinted by sadness; Van Gogh striving against mental instability.

For infinitely lesser mortals like myself the motives are usually much simpler. As long as one has a mirror one has a model; a challenging subject on which to develop the skill of recording from observation. However, no matter how simple the intent, can capturing a likeness ever be the sole outcome of a self-portrait? Or is some other aspect always destined to show through the surface image and disclose more about the person inside? Recently, as I use my own life experiences to inform a book I am working on, I looked back through my sketchbook selfies and was surprised at how much they reveal.

Above: July 1972. I am living below street level in a basement flat. Liverpool’s Anglican cathedral is so close its shadow merges with those of the feet passing by my window. The feet are all I can see and, as I’ve developed the fatal art student practice of “staying at home to do some work”, life is decidedly subterranean. This month nineteen bombs will explode across Belfast in eighty minutes, Gary Glitter will begin his abuse of the pop music charts, and I am on a poorly tutored graphic design course rapidly losing all enthusiasm for art let alone the ability to draw. I'm sure it was all foretold in Revelations somewhere.

Above: August 1979. The Yorkshire Ripper is afoot. The Trade Unions refuse to listen to their own Labour Party Prime Minister and make the ensuing Thatcher Years inevitable. Former Liberal Party leader Jeremy Thorpe is cleared in court of allegations of attempted murder, whilst Syd Vicious dies in his prison cell before reaching trial. I am living under a pitched roof high above it all. It is a time of much after hours drinking and introvert music. Ironically I teach myself more about art and its history whilst working as a full time teacher than I ever learned as a student. After a couple of years in the profession I feel confident enough to devote more time to my own painting. To my amazement my first serious artworks gain a one man showcase in Nottingham Castle. I may have peaked too soon.


For obvious and understandable reasons a full time teacher adopts a kind of alter ego, and I see now in retrospect a clear division between self-portrait sketches made during classroom lunch hours and the more expressive, perhaps more personal studies produced at home. This was also the time when rejection slips started coming thick and fast, as the political landscape turned art galleries which once took risks into formulaic commercial craft shops.

Above: 1990. Glasgow is awarded Culture Capital of Europe whilst London streets are beset with poll tax riots. I am the son of a carpenter. Our relationship is not close, and I can’t walk on water. But I can modify my approach to self-portraiture. Less raw, hopefully no less expressive, the result is exhibited in the Bonnington Gallery, Nottingham.

Above: January 2006. James Blunt and Coldplay win Brit Awards. Thinking this must surely herald the “end of times” I resign from full time employment and, as a bonus for never buying their records, award myself a five year playtime.

Below: 2013. The ghost of Mrs B returns to tell me playtime was long since over. I must not have heard the bell, having been accepted by ten Open Exhibitions, published twice, and awarded a truck full of sketchbooks which still spill from the loft. She leads the way back to class.

 Below: 2014. Twitter becomes a good place for feedback and further experimental self-portraits. According to Rembrandt, “Life etches itself onto our faces as we grow older, showing our violence, excesses or kindnesses.” If that’s the case I really should smile more.


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

16 Jun 2014

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.

14 Jun 2014

Pastels in Newstead.

I haven't wanted to get involved with any serious painting projects for quite a while now. But I do seem to be rather prolific when it comes to observational studies. This month's favoured medium was oil pastels, the location Newstead Abbey.



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

6 Jun 2014

Nottingham Musicians.

 During recent years depicting musicians performing live in various Nottingham venues was a recurring theme in my work. Suffice to say I didn’t paint any subject whose performance I didn’t enjoy. 

Spending the early 70’s in Liverpool it was commonplace for me to see rock bands and beat poets sharing the same billing, as the preceding decade’s Mersey Beat morphed into the Liverpool Scene. It was a city where the Arts informed everyone’s way of thinking, assisted in no small measure by its Irish and West Indian links. Simultaneous to this, the steel works of Birmingham were forging sixties beat music into Heavy Metal whilst, before decade’s end, disillusioned youth in London gave vent to Punk.

By stark contrast, whenever I came home to Nottingham during the 70s, one’s social life was very much about Night Clubs. No wonder then that our city’s greatest claim to musical fame became Paper Lace of “Billy, Don’t be a Hero”. Such show bands thrived and made a good living on the chicken-in-a-basket circuit of Tiffany’s and Working Men’s Clubs across the Midlands. Punk and post-Punk bands were all happening elsewhere. We got the ones still in flared trousers with feather-cut hair.

Happily, today one can see any number of fine musicians in Nottingham, often in pubs utilizing their (usually unpaid) talents as a prop against the recession’s diminishing customer count. Listening to Nottingham bands today one is more conscious of the content of their individual record collections than any communally shared musical agenda, but that is more a comment on the city than the artist themselves. “Madchester” was never going to happen here.

Johnny Johnston Quartet at the Bell Inn:

Trad Jazz was never a favourite of mine, but the Johnny Johnston Quartet at the Bell Inn were always superb entertainment. The first band I ever thought of painting, it established at the outset how I would proceed with future similar subjects. Sketchbooks in the dark were almost impractical, but I could watch closely to memorize typical poses and expressions, and take small cell phone type snapshots, without flash, to cut up, arrange, and work from back in the studio. The background here is an impression of sound rather than an imitation of the interior.

Pictured are Johnny Johnston (left), sadly now deceased, and Brian Bocel. The band were amused and excited to see the final piece, and I enjoyed sharing it with them. The manager of the Bell Inn asked if he might put a copy on display. Fine. But I had not envisaged it would be reduced to sepia tones and pinned next to the gent’s toilet. The painting was more successfully exhibited in the Thoresby Open Exhibition of 2012.

Stuck in 2nd at the Jam Café:

The Jam Café Nottingham, functions as both licenced coffee bar, and live music venue. Pictured here are reggae band Stuck In 2nd. I remember the lighting on that occasion was particularly dark, so more than ever I relied on a liberal use of shadows to disguise my lack of information, and think some of the final painting a little too static. But I was happy with the way I captured the movement of the conga player on the left, his entire body swaying and playing the instrument. If you can play an instrument yourself (I can manage about four chords), it helps when trying to convey rhythm pictorially, or having to make up small details in the final piece.

Will Jeffery at the Malt Cross Inn:


As readers will know from previous posts, the Malt Cross Inn was a music hall in eras gone by, and the small stage is still used today to present live entertainers. What obviously caught my attention in this scene was the very dramatic lighting from the spotlights, making pools of light on the stage and casting large shadows on the wall behind. An opportunity to paint an upright bass in such a setting was not to be missed. Never successfully exhibited publicly, this one remains my personal favourite.

Jonathan Beckett at the Guitar Bar, Hotel Deux:
 

 When Jonathan Becket performed a retrospective of his songs at the Guitar Bar I was especially taken by one called “The Midlands”, a recurring theme in my own work. Once again I returned to my studio with some very hazy snapshots from which I could produce a “likeness” of the two musicians involved, working from blow ups on the computer screen as if they were seated before me. But this time I created a background based on images associated with the Midlands. One can see references to miners, Sherwood Forest, and factory building skylines. The painting was successfully exhibited in the Patchings Open Exhibition of 2012.

Rosie Abbott, singer songwriter:


 Between 2006 and 2010 I made a series of music promos for Rosie Abbott. This portrait came from an image made during one of those video shoots. Rather than depict a public performance, I wanted to convey more of the creative spirit of the songwriter. The painting was successfully exhibited in the Patchings Open Exhibition of 2011.

Thee Eviltones at The Maze:


 My last musician painting to date. The Maze is an especially dark venue, and certainly one of Nottingham’s most popular. Once again it was a matter of crawling about below audience eye level, not distracting from their entertainment with an intrusive flash, taking small snapshots. Back in the studio I chose and arranged what seemed like a typical “pose” for each band member. I knew I wanted a dynamic setting for such a high energy band. The solution was inspired quite simply by the band’s striped t-shirts. If it was such an important motif to them that they each wore one, then it was important enough to incorporate in the painting.

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

1 Jun 2014

The Malt Cross Inn, Nottingham.

 

It was more by chance than design that I started making so many sketches of the Malt Cross Inn, Nottingham. This was where my ever-present sketchbook met with other creative spirits as a good place to meet and chat.

The daylight as it streams through that antique arched glass roof, to then sweep steadily across the room as the hours go by, creates a visual effect akin to being inside a huge sun dial. Or, if you’re on your third pint, maybe a kaleidoscope. The atmosphere is an interesting juxtaposition of contemporary events, against a respectfully tended backdrop of red and green 19th century music hall ironwork. The harmonious result offers sanctuary to those of us not particularly enamoured with the garish multimedia lights and fast fry delights of menus elsewhere in town. If I want to look at a TV screen I’ll stay home.

It’s impossible to do justice to the Malt Cross in a photograph. There’s too much visual information for the lens to digest. One needs to edit. Are my sketches any more successful? A little.

Some of my sketches come from the times I sat here engaged in half sober conversations imagining we were perhaps the Ginsbergs at the San Remo, the Dylans at the Café Wha?, or even the Lennons and the Henris at Ye Cracke. Until we sobered up and had to accept we were not.

Malt Cross Inn has much in common with other favoured subjects in my portfolio: A dramatically lit scenario where history still lingers in the shadows.


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

Above: A later piece from 2018.