Random photography.

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

Drawing & Deer, Victoria Embankment, Nottingham.

 

Warm enough today to go sit beside the River Trent for some sketching. It proved eventful. I had no idea there are actual deer living in the City of Nottingham. Couldn’t believe my eyes until I got home and checked with the internet. Got in touch with Nottingham Wildlife, via Twitter. Then at their request filled out the following report:

Species:
Small deer. Looked like a Muntjac.

Date:
19th April, 2018. c.11.30a.m.

OS grid reference:

SK570381
Latitude: 52.937889 / Longitude: -1.1529979

Location name:
Victoria Embankment, NG2 2JS

How identified:
I was sat sketching on Victoria Embankment, about 80m east of Wilford Toll Bridge. The animal suddenly sprang from (or dashed through) a cluster of Daffodils behind me and ran at great speed, heading west, down to the riverside steps, dashing under the bridge and, keeping to the steps parallel to Riverside Way, didn't drop the pace until it was soon out of sight beyond the bend. I identified it as a small deer from the way it ran. (I grew up in Thoresby Park). The short legs looked very much like the pictures of a Muntjac. It was certainly not a dog or a cat.

How many did you see?
One.

All text & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.

#thedailysketch on Twitter.

 

Sketchbook pieces for the Twitter hashtags have been my only art activity of late. The mixed media / collage approach to these sees them also function as a pictorial journal.

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

Something for nothing.

 

I got a request today which had a familiar tone. They are not uncommon:

“I found a picture of your painting on the internet and wondered how much you charge for one of your paintings? I think it would look nice framed on one of the walls in the pub”. (The Bell Inn Nottingham).

I know the establishment well, it being a one time favoured haunt of mine. I asked which painting it was they were enquiring about, there being several studies of that building in my portfolio. The one they wanted (above) is a sketchbook piece, probably destined to obscurity in my studio drawer. So, I tell them they can have the painting itself for free, but I will get it framed (not wanting it just pinned on the wall). To this end I got a reasonable quote from a framer of just £28, and inform the Inn that if they are willing to pay that, I will personally deliver the finished item it to them.

That is, of course, the point where silence always descends.


 All text & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.

All in good time. Thoresby Hall.

 I usually plan on a painting taking two or three weeks to complete; a time scale born of necessity during the years I was a full-time teacher relying on the school holidays in which to concentrate on my own art. Started in the late 90s, Thoresby Hall was probably one canvas too many of my Thoresby Estate themed paintings, obviously inspired by my childhood there. As the painting progressed my enthusiasm diminished and, never sure of what to do with the bottom right-hand corner, it was soon abandoned.

The rectangles in the composition were a probable result of my video making with a group of students in the 90's. It was all about what was in the viewfinder. Those rectangles also provided a way of putting a sense of time-lapse into the picture, something I’d been doing years previous when depicting the Primary School on Thoresby Estate.

During these recent weeks of January 2018, strolling around Thoresby Park, I noticed for the very first time how profuse the growth of mistletoe is on the uppermost branches of those trees nearest the Hall and the River Meden. There was my solution as to how to fill that right-hand corner! After c.18 years I finished the painting.

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

Clockwork Mary & the Stone Circle 5.

 In December 2017 I had thought this painting finished, but I returned to it this month, repainted much of the lower section, and now consider it a 2018 piece. My original intention (as seen in the drawing) was to have much more white space, and so this amended version is much more successful.

It may seem like a big departure from the forest paintings of recent years, but several features can be found throughout my portfolio: The collage approach of assembling images with no regard for perspectives; the origami objects; the Nine Ladies Stone Circle, Matlock, which I painted in 2006; not to mention a girl in a polka dot mini-dress...

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

Sketchbook.

 A few sketch book pieces as we reach the end of another year.

 

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

Put it on a Postcard 2

 

 

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

Summer Solstice

 There is something both sad and slightly disturbing about the Summer Solstice: Just as you thought the warm summer season had arrived at last, the longest day is nevertheless now over. Imperceptible at first, the sun has started taking its tiny backwards steps towards the far fence in my garden from whence it came last December.

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

February, not enough days in the month.

It's been a busy month. Or is it that I kept myself busy? There is a subtle difference. Whichever, there's been more than enough work to keep me happy.

My main art activity has been the making of an animated music promo for a musician friend of mine who I’ve worked with in the past. Watch the finished video on THIS LINK.

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

Back to Life.

 

My first life drawing class since c.1973. I’ve drawn friends and girlfriends in the years since, but never taken part in a formal group session. So, I approached this “return to class” with some trepidation. For two reasons: Firstly, I’m not enthusiastic about making art in the company of others unless it is as part of a collaboration. Secondly, would I be any good? Would I measure up to the “competition”? In the event I am well please with the outcome, and thoroughly enjoyed the intense three-hour experience, and the challenge it presented.

 

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

The Duke’s Graves.

The Pierrepont and Manvers graves, Perlethorpe Church, Thoresby Estate.

As a 1950’s child I was christened and Confirmed at the appropriate ages. Hence my links with the above location. An integral part of a Church of England village education was the Sunday school classes. To be honest, the only attraction of Sunday school for me was simply collecting the exquisitely illustrated attendance stamps, no doubt an early pictorial influence.

My intention above was to avoid all sense of Gothic gloom or melodrama. This is a very peaceful, quiet place. The sunlight really does stream across from the South like that. The ducal gravestones adhere to a well-planned formation which must have been conceived centuries ago. A real sense of pride in their accomplishments lingers here, even though the subjects are long since gone. The most recent stone is that of Lady Manvers (third from right), her husband having been buried on that spot in 1955, she in 1984.

More information about Thoresby Park and Perlethorpe Village can be found on THIS LINK.
More information about Lady Manvers on THIS LINK and THIS LINK.

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

 

 

 

Stopping Distance.

 

For those who don’t drive, the “stopping distance” is the space between the point one applies the brakes and the place one actually comes to a halt. If I hit the brakes at 30 m.p.h. on a dry surface my car will stop 75 feet (23 meters) down the road. Elsewhere in life I’ve always been convinced I can come to a dead stop. But I’m always proved wrong. Stopping is hard.The most effective way to apply the brakes is by applying, releasing, and applying them in short bursts. My 2016 was a little like that. Personal matters I thought had stopped preoccupying my mind long ago, lingered still. Dedicating myself to a strict regime of one-per-month paintings was like trying to apply the brakes on my thoughts in short bursts, hoping to bring them to a more effective halt.

 Today is the Winter Solstice. Tomorrow the daylight will last that little bit longer and the dark nights that little bit shorter.

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

November Oak.

 November Oak brings me to the end of my one-per-month series of twelve paintings. I’m really pleased with the result. A time honoured subject with a contemporary approach.

Importantly, I can lead you to any one of these trees and you would recognise it from the painting. Unlike the vague “one size fits all” tree paintings of the gallery shops, these function more as portraits, and I hope I’ve captured the character of tree and season alike in each case.

Above: Not the nicest of ways to end my one-painting-per-month year. A heavy cold. I reckon nature has a way of making one stop occasionally, creating a space in which to lie back on the duvet, rest up, and have a think.

All artwork & text copyright Ian G Craig.

October Oak. “When shall we three meet again?”

 October is the Halloween month, a sinister, "witchy" time. It is also the season of autumn shades, leaves falling, and the darker nights advancing. There will be lengthening shadows, Nottingham Goose Fair doughnuts to be eaten, pavement leaves to be kicked and conkers to be picked.


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

Of Cats and Trees

 Of Cats and Trees.

 Before the days of social media, stories would occasionally turn up in the main news about a fire brigade having to rescue a cat from a tree. Surely just an urban legend, a “feel good” item bringing the broadcast to an end. As far as cats are concerned, trees are about as desirable as the nearest river bed. But put aside the thought someone might be stupid enough to call the emergency services for a cat, and consider how it got there.

Maybe the cat gets itself tempted into that tree. He hears those birds high above him, catches a glimpse of them fluttering amidst the leaves and, before he knows it, he’s up there. The birds of course don’t altogether flee from the tree. Why should they? It’s their tree. Instead they skip and settle to where the branches can’t support the cat’s weight. It’s a tease.

So now the cat can’t go any further up, but neither can he come back down. He’s confused, that’s all. Those shapes and sounds so appealing in their clarity from the ground, are now all mixed up inside his head with the rustling movement of leaves and the sunlight flickering between. To make matters worse, just as he’s trying to get a grip on his situation, someone below starts banging a spoon against the edge of a plate of processed horse meat, whilst a guy in uniform with a ladder creeps ever closer, addressing him as Pussy.

No way is that cat coming down now. Couldn’t if he tried. What started out as a frisky morning prowl around the neighbourhood has turned into a ball of confusion. In that moment, if you could speak Cat, you’d know his cries are not for “Help” but for everyone to just “Back off”. Sure, it’s risky up there in such a mesmeric situation, but it’s maybe more exciting than the realities of paws on terra firma. He has my sympathy.

Text copyright ian g craig

September Oak. The days grow short.

There is a famous song lyric: “The leaves of brown came tumbling down, September, that September in the rain”. Great song, but it’s not actually true, or least in the U.K. it’s not. Here I am a couple of weeks into the month, and the leaves on the trees are both abundant and decidedly green. So, whilst still adding a little sienna to the mix to take the brightness out of that green, how best to represent September in this the tenth painting of my series of twelve oaks?

My painting depicts one of those days when the sky is evenly overcast and the air is still and a little humid after the occasional passing shower. Colours are a little more sombre. One of those days where one now knows for sure that, if the sun does make its presence felt again this year, it will probably be only a fleeting visit.

“Oh, it's a long, long while
From May to December
But the days grow short
When you reach September”.

“September in the Rain” Harry Warren and Al Dubin.
“September Song” Kurt Weill lyrics Maxwell Anderson.

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

July and August Oak Trees, Sherwood Forest.

 

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.

My Poetic Performance. (My first poetry reading).

My Poetic Performance.

 
“They look like a comfy pair of shoes”.
“Yes, and so clean”.
“And shiny”.
“I bet they’re new”.
“Do you know you can buy a pair just like those down the market for about ten pounds? It’s the brand you pay for you know”.

I am seated in a cave two or three floors below street level, in one of Nottingham’s most noted pubs for the performing arts, and I haven’t yet spoken one word. The cave itself, carved out of the sandstone, is a characteristic underground feature of many buildings in the city centre. Above me is the one-time Victorian Music Hall the Malt Cross, a venue I’ve variously sketched, dated, and drunk in, often watching local musicians perform. Somewhere in this pub’s files they have, at their request, copies of sketches I’ve made of the interior. But I’ve never performed here. I can’t remember the precise date I was last on a public stage anywhere, but I have done it, even going so far as to sing my own songs. Tonight, that’s about to change. A couple of weeks ago I saw a poster announcing the venue’s Spoken Word Open Mic Night and thought, “Why not?” So, I’m here to both test my mettle and the worth of the words I write.

I have always enjoyed writing, and taken it seriously. I have had some bits and pieces published in magazines. But I’ve never yet really put my words to the test. Painting is very different. I send the paintings out beyond my walls to be judged by others within their walls. In return I get a slip of paper which reads either “rejected” or “accepted”. No further explanation than that. Tonight, I am presenting my words to strangers for the first time, face to face. I put my name down at the door, number 14 on the list of tonight’s performers. If my words prove to be no good at least my shoes have been a big hit.

When I was a student in Liverpool, poets like Adrian Henri and Roger McGough were not yet widely known across the U.K. The Merseybeat groups of the sixties had all followed the Beatles south, to be replaced in the seventies by the Mersey Scene, predominantly one of poetry and improvised music. So, it was not uncommon to both sit alongside and experience such talent in the local pubs. I cannot pretend I was ever a member of that in-crowd, but it was an inspiring atmosphere for a young student to witness. Tonight reminds me a little of those days. The sandstone benches along these underground walls are rock hard, but the people are supportive, in good spirits, and raring to get started. Importantly, they are all listening attentively to each other’s works.

I’ve spent much of the day rehearsing out loud in my studio. I think, of the dozen or so acts which precede me, I must be on a par with a fair percentage of them. One notable exception being number 13, a youthful, passionate performance in rapid contemporary rhyme and without notes. Not an act I would have chosen to follow. Nevertheless, one pint into the evening, number 14 “Ian” is called to the front…

I am expected to read two poems. I'm happy to say both go down really well. The audience laugh with me at my brief introduction to “The Gift”, which relates how my years as a teacher was rewarded with a simple book token, before they then became totally involved with the poem’s pathos, catching them off guard.

 Similarly, the “four and twenty seagulls” and “balding braided doorman” of “Skeggie Day” elicit giggles of appreciation, before the poem’s sombre conclusion makes its mark. I like using this well-established literary device, mixing opposing emotions in the same piece. (“It’s getting better all the time. – It can’t get no worse”). I shall be using it again. Perhaps in this venue.

This night gave me the confidence to consider self-publishing a collection of my poems.

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

June Oak. More loon than bloom.

The month started cold, dark and breezy. I’m in tune with the cold dark bit. Perhaps not the breezy. On days like that my motivation is low, as if painting wasn’t hard enough at the best of times.

I completed “June Oak” within the first week of the month. Such pieces normally take two or three weeks, working reasonable hours. I think the result is a good one, but one has to question the pressure and isolation caused by such self-imposed deadlines.

 A lot of my resources for this series of paintings were gathered in the winter months, and didn’t address the problem of depicting foliage; a pictorial challenge I find quite daunting. However, I am happy with the solution I came up with and look forward to July and August presenting more of the same. 

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

My Intended Novel: The illustrations.

Above: Illustrations for the first two chapters of my intended novel

I’m typing this on a rather cold, dark, breezy, first day of June. But I’m in good spirits, having just completed the first two illustrations for my intended novel. I shall refer to them as illustrations, although they don’t literally depict events in the story as much as accompany it. And I shall keep referring to the book as “my intended novel” as a means of taking off the pressure. Completion might well be a long time coming.

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

April and May Oak Trees Sherwood Forest.

 

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.

Artist Lady Manvers, my dad, and Coquette.

Those familiar with my Thoresby Park blog, or the piece I wrote for Nottingham University Art History Department, (see THIS LINK), will be aware of my respect and admiration for artist Lady Manvers. I accept that my opinions are in part due to sentiment, having spent my early life on Thoresby Estate, but I do like to think my years of teaching and lecturing in Art, give my opinion about her canvases some credence.

I refer in particular to those which depict the interiors and grounds of Thoresby Hall. Her outdoor studies are excellent in their own right, mostly water colour sketches documenting the seasons as they pass through the estate, its employees in peace time, and the military presence of the war years. But it is the interior canvases which she was able to leave undisturbed on her easel at various locations within the hall, returning to them at will over a period of days, which exhibit her true skills and understanding of the colourful palette she acquired in France. That said, I should set my story here within a little biographical context.

In 1947 my father, William Craig, had recovered from the head wound received in the Battle of Arnhem, and the tuberculosis he subsequently contracted in P.o.W. Camp Stalag 9c. Having then begun his married life in nearby Edwinstowe, his skill as a carpenter and joiner soon found him gainfully employed by Thoresby Estate.

 
The Woodyard was essentially the place which processed the timber from the forestry department, turning out everything from telegraph poles and fence posts, to items needed by the pre-PVC building trade. Thoresby workers were also responsible for the maintenance of the estate, and in this respect my father was frequently involved in repairs to Thoresby Hall and its contents. My father's team hung the  blue wallpaper in the Blue Drawing Room, and items of antique furniture would often find themselves transported to our kitchen whilst he tended to their upholstery. Such work of course had to meet Lady Manvers’ standards and, although a lady of sweet disposition, she could be rather fastidious in her demands. For example, all the firewood for her bedroom, sitting room, and dining room, had to be billet wood, 9” (23cm) long and 3” (8cm) diameter, and totally free from knots. Nothing short of these specifications would do. Happily, dad’s skills and general work ethic soon won the Ladyship’s approval. During their encounters she would always enquire about his family’s welfare, and in 1962 she would even ask him to pose for one of her water colours. (THIS LINK).

Sometime in the late 1950s dad came home from Thoresby Hall with a broken figurine in his pocket. Smashed might be a more appropriate description. (I count ten pieces). Quite possibly it was a favourite ornament with Lady Manvers and so, rather than relegate it straight to the bin, dad was asked if it could be fixed. Not surprisingly the outcome was rather unsatisfactory. One elbow was missing, and lines of Evostik adhesive were unavoidably visible. As a consequence, the “Coquette” figurine remained on our family sideboard, often commented on through the decades, though its origins all but forgotten. Until now.

In March 2016, Thoresby Courtyard Gallery exhibited a selection of Lady Manvers’ still-life paintings, the majority of which had quite possibly not been seen anywhere since Thoresby Hall closed to the public in 1979. (THIS LINK). So you can imagine my surprise and delight upon seeing the painting above. It is probably an unfinished piece, or perhaps abandoned; the leaves are somewhat heavy handed and the background left rather unresolved. But there in the corner sits “Coquette”. The very same one.

Last thoughts on Lady Manvers.

In 1963 the estate’s management of the time decided our family of seven should move out of Three Gables and back to a much smaller house on Perlethorpe Village Green. One afternoon before that move took place, the news of which had only just reached Lady Manvers, her chauffeur driven limousine pulled up outside. She expressed much concern at what had happened, and even offered us the flats in Thoresby Courtyard as accommodation. It was a sincere gesture, and typical of her character. But it was time to move on.

I was born into Thoresby Estate, and left there as a teenager. Everyone I’ve spoken to who once lived there says the same thing: When they left, they left a little piece of them behind. It’s true. Just like Coquette’s little elbow, as she now resides on my shelf.

 Top painting copyright Thoresby Estate. Text copyright Ian G Craig.