Monday, 2 April 2012
ipad reportage project
I sort of lost the joy of making skecthbooks a while ago. it's a sad loss, as i used to be obessessed with them and thought people who didnt use them were missing out; the joy of being outside, drawing, keeping your hand to eye thing going on. What was the point in being an illustrator if you didnt enjoy drawing? who were these people who thought it was a chore?
Years later, I am sadly unlikely to have a sketchbook like I used to have sketchbooks. They really were works of art; but that obsessional quality made them slightly terrifying to me. I didnt want to waste them! I didnt want to spoil their magical paper insides with my quick crappy drawings. So I quit them, pretty much; and the ones i still had were...patchy.
I realise that they are just as useful and necessary even when covered in shopping lists and beer stains, but I wasn't going out and drawing just because anymore.
All this changed a week ago when I managed to get my ass to the David Hockney exhibition in London. I was mesmerized. His joy of colour, the huge scale paintings of East Yorkshire as he remembered it, and then the rooms full of oils done from life. he'd fallen in love all over again with the places he'd grown up, and I felt, nostalgic, joyful and homesick all at once. I wanted to phone my dad straight away and tell him he must come and see this, and I had to go and have a cry in the loos when I realized my silly mistake. (those who know me will know I lost Dad in November. I miss him everyday) When I got back in, I was at a room of 54 paintings that were all done from life. All dated within a day of each other. I did a double take. one a day? not this size, this was silly, a feat of impossible proportions.
It wasn't though. they weren't paintings at all. They were prints. Good golly gosh. Mr Hockney as it turns out, had somewhat dispensed with his sketchbook in return for a £2.99 drawing programme on his ipad. I was horrified, gobsmacked, and then crucially, intersted, on further inspection of the room, horror and snobbish disinterest in digital anhillation of sketchbookery turned into want. I really wnated to have a go. I texted my friend Colin and told him I was buying one. He texted back and said 'work's got one. You wanna borrow?' I didn't need to be asked twice.
this then, is the first 7 drawings off my newly acquired itwat. One a day. On occassion, more than 1 a day has happened, but i'll post the best. They are Hockney like at this time, I hope to move on from this and find my own voice.
More importantly, I think this is a stepping stone back into my tradition joy of sketching. It won't be pad bound forever; but the ease of carrying it round, its non-messy and no-waiting-to-dry character, it's speed and agility even when working with a fat clumsy finger...and just getting back into drawing for the joy of it? I can't fault it. The results will end up on here. If you're interested, I'm using DrawCast, a free app; and as yet, no stylus.
You've got 4 days to go and see the Hockney exhibition ladies and gents, get there if you can.
Years later, I am sadly unlikely to have a sketchbook like I used to have sketchbooks. They really were works of art; but that obsessional quality made them slightly terrifying to me. I didnt want to waste them! I didnt want to spoil their magical paper insides with my quick crappy drawings. So I quit them, pretty much; and the ones i still had were...patchy.
I realise that they are just as useful and necessary even when covered in shopping lists and beer stains, but I wasn't going out and drawing just because anymore.
All this changed a week ago when I managed to get my ass to the David Hockney exhibition in London. I was mesmerized. His joy of colour, the huge scale paintings of East Yorkshire as he remembered it, and then the rooms full of oils done from life. he'd fallen in love all over again with the places he'd grown up, and I felt, nostalgic, joyful and homesick all at once. I wanted to phone my dad straight away and tell him he must come and see this, and I had to go and have a cry in the loos when I realized my silly mistake. (those who know me will know I lost Dad in November. I miss him everyday) When I got back in, I was at a room of 54 paintings that were all done from life. All dated within a day of each other. I did a double take. one a day? not this size, this was silly, a feat of impossible proportions.
It wasn't though. they weren't paintings at all. They were prints. Good golly gosh. Mr Hockney as it turns out, had somewhat dispensed with his sketchbook in return for a £2.99 drawing programme on his ipad. I was horrified, gobsmacked, and then crucially, intersted, on further inspection of the room, horror and snobbish disinterest in digital anhillation of sketchbookery turned into want. I really wnated to have a go. I texted my friend Colin and told him I was buying one. He texted back and said 'work's got one. You wanna borrow?' I didn't need to be asked twice.
this then, is the first 7 drawings off my newly acquired itwat. One a day. On occassion, more than 1 a day has happened, but i'll post the best. They are Hockney like at this time, I hope to move on from this and find my own voice.
More importantly, I think this is a stepping stone back into my tradition joy of sketching. It won't be pad bound forever; but the ease of carrying it round, its non-messy and no-waiting-to-dry character, it's speed and agility even when working with a fat clumsy finger...and just getting back into drawing for the joy of it? I can't fault it. The results will end up on here. If you're interested, I'm using DrawCast, a free app; and as yet, no stylus.
You've got 4 days to go and see the Hockney exhibition ladies and gents, get there if you can.
Thursday, 16 February 2012
Illustrate This hits the Daily Telegraph...
well well well, Congrats Mr Jack Harris, and that's a nice album ocver illustration you've got there... :)
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/music/cdreviews/9082580/Jack-Harris-The-Flame-And-The-Pelican-CD-rhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifeview.html
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/music/cdreviews/9082580/Jack-Harris-The-Flame-And-The-Pelican-CD-rhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifeview.html
Wednesday, 27 July 2011
Thursday, 23 June 2011
reblogged from Rosmarie Urquico. I like her.
"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes."
reblogged from Rosmarie Urquico. I like her.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes."
reblogged from Rosmarie Urquico. I like her.
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
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