#growjune 2020

 

 #GrowJune was a Twitter art challenge.

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

#movemay 2020

#MoveMay was a Twitter art challenge.

 All artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.

May sketchbook.

 

 

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

M-m-m-My Corona part 10.

 “Are you drawing Thoresby Hall?”

The voice comes from behind me. I am facing Thoresby Hall and obviously drawing it.

“No”.

She doesn’t get it. Or maybe it’s a sh*t likeness.

Now the lockdown has loosened its grip slightly on some of my favoured regions for sketching and strolling, my sketchbook opted for Thoresby Park as first choice. There are few visitors today.
Since UK TV has started to include several art programmes in its lockdown schedule, I am finding more and more people wanting to approach me with questions about what I’m doing, no doubt trying to imitate the judges and commentators they’ve seen on TV. Normally this would drive me nuts, but in the present circumstances the company is rather nice, albeit socially distant and possibly unsighted.

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

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.

M-m-m-My Corona part 9.

 I couldn’t understand why the covid infection rate for the East Midlands (153.9), is higher than that of Nottinghamshire as a whole (145.3). The East Midlands does not have the overcrowding, the international student population, the high immigration, nor the poorer quarters that the city itself has. Then I looked down the list of the East Midlands’ towns and villages most affected:

Gedling – 199
Broxtowe - 222
Rushcliffe - 155
Newark and Sherwood - 129
Mansfield - 109
Bassetlaw - 176
Ashfield – 206

I saw in a heartbeat what links all those places. They all had a colliery. Indeed, in some cases more than one. A significant proportion of the retired male population now living in those areas would have been coal miners; employment which took a toll on their lungs, affecting many for life. (An uncle of mine spent his final years with oxygen tanks constantly on hand).

I have no idea if anyone has considered this as a so called “underlying condition” when assessing chances of infection or fatality, nor if it would be of use to do so anyway. But it perhaps does explain what I thought to be a curious statistic.

(Note: All above statistics are official as published on-line by the Nottingham Post).

 All text copyright Ian Gordon Craig.

M-m-m My Corona part 8.

 This is how it works: The pandemic doctor calls first. As if the diagnosis has already been diagnosed. That’s why the BBC is careful to say died “with” Corona virus rather than “of”. Keeping it legal. And don’t forget the all important “underlying causes”. Or is that simply under lying.

Either way I’ve stopped applauding the NHS on Thursday nights. It’s not just the dance routines in empty wards, wearing expensive protective clothing we are told is in short supply. It’s the knowledge of how many hours those routines take to rehearse when they could have been doing something more useful.

The pandemic doctor had no bad news. She just wanted to clarify details: Yes, mum's DNR notice is correct. (Do Not Resuscitate). Yes, if the tests are positive, we think care in the care home would be better than care in the hospital, whether full of strangers or empty.


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

#buildapril 2020

 Build April was a Twitter sketchbook challenge.

M-m-m My Corona part 7.

 Mum’s care home suggested a Skype chat might cheer her up during this lockdown when visitors are not allowed. Okay, I’m game. Bearing in mind mum has never understood, and obviously never will, this whole 21st century thing of internet communication.

I’m betting that twenty years ago she could still remember how to sew together a parachute in a war factory, not to mention a few pairs of knickers for herself, put together from the left-over scraps and slipped into her handbag before the supervisor saw. All the girls did that. But the concept of a two-way conversation with a family member via a screen which to her looks like a TV? No way. As the saying goes: “Does not compute”. Literally.

So, a short Skype was spent with her telling the carers sat beside her about the “nice smile” the person on the screen has (me), rather than talking directly to it. Blowing kisses was an achievement.

A few words of acquired wisdom for anyone whose parents are reaching a very advanced age; this being the time just after “there are witches in the house” and the care home opening its doors to whatever the future holds:

Firstly, greetings style cards are no good. Old fingers cannot always negotiate the envelope, nor handle the folding mechanism of the card itself, and your handwriting probably now resembles scribble to them. Secondly, to an old person, a phone ringing means a complete and absolute disaster has befallen their entire family and, walking frame or no walking frame, they must reach the phone at a pace which challenges all previous Olympic records, pacemaker be damned. Also, a phone conversation in the morning will be forgotten by the afternoon. It’s an intangible thing and cannot fill the empty space of the day.

My solution has been very simple: Using a very plain font style, and as large as fits onto one single A4 sheet, print out a letter. It need only convey three basic things in big text:

1. Your children and grandchildren are all fine and doing well…
2. Do you remember… (Mention something happy from the past).
3. We are all looking forward to seeing you soon…

On a second A4 sheet print out an old photograph from the family album. Group scenes and locations can be confusing. Close-ups are good.

And that’s it. They have something they can return to through the day, read even with well advanced cataracts, and show other people. Be humble, keep it simple.

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

M-m-m My #Corona Part 6

 

I made a quick rainbow design for my kitchen window, this being the symbol for supporting the NHS during the current pandemic.

Art copyright ian gordon craig.

M-m-m My #Corona Part 5.

 I’ve just realised what’s been nagging me: No vapour trails. Normally there is a steady flow of on-high airliners destined for East Midlands Airport. Far too high to be a disturbance; just a constant and familiar presence in a sky now unbroken blue.

This morning Twitter is telling me “He is risen”. I hope he’s brought toilet rolls and hand sanitizers with him. I was christened and confirmed at all the appropriate ages, but soon grew curious about a faith system which portrays their hero as a strikingly handsome white man, often with blonde hair and blue eyes. But one could never get a sensible answer about such things. It would be like asking Cadbury’s which is their favourite chocolate. I did enjoy going to Sunday school though. I liked the Church of England stamp albums we were issued, and the beautifully illustrated attendance stamps, encouraging us not to miss a week. No child likes an empty space in their stamp album. And I am rather partial to an Easter egg or two.

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

M-m-m- my Corona part 4.

 

Yesterday I received the call from my mother’s carer. Coronavirus has now entered her care home.

What then stayed in my mind for the rest of the evening was not so much the information; frankly that had been anticipated. No. The thing which did haunt me was the tone in that young carer’s voice. Probably only about twenty-five years old, but with a voice now trying to conceal a combination of fear, and trying to keep calm. Much like one might imagine coming from someone inside a doomed airliner, unable to get out.

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

M-m-m-my Corona part 3.

 

In light of current events one of the two exhibitions I applied for recently has decided to go “virtual”: An on-line show only. In some ways I suppose it will make little difference. That’s how most people experience art now anyway, and in greater numbers.

The other exhibition is intending to go ahead. Perhaps they can space the paintings 2 metres apart, with police barrier tape on the carpet. “Move along please, you’ve been stood there looking at that one for virtually five minutes already!"

I am reminded of the Jerome Kern song: “A Fine Romance, my friend this is, a Fine Romance with no kisses”. It’s all well and good, but it won’t make babies.

 All text and photos copyright Ian Gordon Craig.

M-m-m-my Corona part 2.

 

 “How long now?”
“Third week for me”.
“And you’re already talking to yourself?”
“No, I've been doing that for years”.

I seem to be in competition with myself as to how much coffee I can drink. I won’t win. Nobody I know drinks more coffee than me these days. Does anyone remember “Camp Coffee”? It was a brown liquid; something to do with chicory essence. No doubt more chicory than coffee. It had a “faithful servant” Sikh soldier on the label, waiting on the needs of his Scottish Major, a Gordon Highlander. (Maybe he was a “camp” soldier?) Anyway, it would have been the Gordon Highlander name that got it into our house. I was practically breast fed on “Camp" because of the kilt on the label. It was only going to be a matter of time before I hit the harder stuff.

You know how the 20th century actually started in 1914? And, on a smaller scale, the sixties in 1963? Or perhaps you don’t. Well, it feels like the 21st century has gotten underway. Twenty years after Tony Blair’s silly Millennium Tent; nine later than the loss of the Twin Towers. Remember what Jack Harkness said: “The 21st Century that’s when it all began”. Welcome.

Today I donned my purple surgeon’s gloves, pulled a scarf up over my face, and joined the line of Sainsbury’s shopping trolleys. Police tape on the ground measured out the distance between each customer, as limited numbers were allowed to enter the store. I felt and looked like a cross between Claude Rains' Invisible Man and the Lone Ranger. Have to confess, in a “dark” sort of way it was quite humorous.

Seeing anyone cough or sneeze now, is a bit like that moment in a soap opera or movie when you think “that’s it, they’re going to be written out of the script”.

White oil paint has become the new toilet roll in terms of rarity, at least that’s what it seemed like trying to purchase some Titanium White on the ‘net today. Maybe everyone is doing what I’ve been doing: Locking myself away and painting. I still have a long since unfinished plastic pollution painting, which I’ll get around to during the months of confinement ahead. Today I re-arranged my laptop and easel for maximum efficiency, enquired about a new place I might want to move to, ate far too many chocolate bourbons, and got news that relatives in London have sore throats. It’ll be fine.

 All text copyright Ian Gordon Craig.

#animalmarch 2020

 

 Animal March was a Twitter art challenge.

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

M-m-m-my Corona part 1.

 

 

This pandemic is going to be around for a LONG time, isn’t it? One is reminded of the “over by Christmas” promises of a century ago. I very much doubt we’ll reach any such deadlines.

I was out shopping this morning. The first Sainsburys I went to had a long equidistant line of supermarket trolleys around the car park, monitored by security guards. Deciding to drive to an alternative Sainsbury’s slightly nearer home, I found I could walk straight in and purchase pretty much anything I liked, in moderation. The petrol station at the end of my road has a floor to ceiling toilet roll display. In a crisis, toilet rolls always become a kind of currency in the UK.

I have enough stuff, for now. Probably more tins of beans and macaroni cheese than I’ve ever eaten in my life, but also a good stock of fresh fruit and veggies for my morning blender. (Can’t cook won’t cook). And vitamin pills.

Obviously, I’m spending time making art. I think I started on this self-isolation malarkey back in 1960. My favourite childhood weekend activity was setting out with a home-made sketchbook and an improvised specimen box for the pheasant feathers and owl pellets I collected along the way, all then to be studied and sketched beside a strictly out of bounds deer hut. No such opportunity at present. Over these past two days the sunshine brought to mind all the places I like to go sketching but can’t visit, as scenic estates and attractions across the county are understandably shut down. No complaints.

Yesterday, as I stood on my doorstep nursing my usual morning coffee, a peacock butterfly came past and settled down on the sunlit path. It seemed so out of place.

All text & artwork, copyright Ian Gordon Craig.

#LandFebruary 2020.

Above: Clipstone Colliery. Positioned at the side of the route to mother's care home, this view would be familiar to all the family.

Land February was a Twitter art challenge.

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

#sketchjanuary 2020

 From #sketchjanuary to #stilldecember, Twitter has an art hashtag for each month. As a personal challenge I am intending to produce several artworks per month through 2020 using those tags.

Just stop.

 

December 2019. I returned to writing / editing “my intended novel” with the best of intentions. The plan was to use the dark nights, not best suited to painting, for writing. At first all was well, but distractions soon set in. Some business, some personal. Whatever. So, I stopped. I just stopped.

Stopped thinking about writing; stopped thinking about painting and galleries; stopped thinking about social engagements that felt now more like appointments; stopped the delusion that social media was of any value in promoting my work. Stopped, and took a little time to think through what it is I want to do, and what the deadline might be. It’s difficult to explain, but considering how much time I spend in my own company, I never think I have a peaceful life. It always seems so cluttered.

So, I have begun clearing the clutter. Gradually I have started to get a clearer perspective on things. I look forward to 2020. I’m hoping there will be less cake and more sunshine.

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

if a picture paints a thousand words.

 

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