Back in November I bought myself a pretty swish tin of pencils. They came in 12 different flavours ranging from 4H to 6B. It’s now the end of March and I’d still only used them once. Started a really nice picture on November 14th which I fully intended to finish on November 15th. Two days ago (4 months later), I looked for it. Alas, I have, at some point, accidentally thrown it away (if I only had a brain). “Not to worry”, I thought, “I’ll make up for it by doing another exactly like it”. Here is the picture I ended up with. It’s nothing like it at all. Not even a little bit.
“Bridley Street” By Claire Shotter. For sale @ http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/180853720229?ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&_trksid=p3984.m1555.l2649
I’ve been at the pencils again. Method to my madness? Absolutely not. I have no idea how this picture is going to turn out. Makes me feel like I’m being naughty.
And so my self-portrait (of sorts) is finished. Is it so accurate that you would recognize me in the street after seeing it? Oh I hope not!
“The Artist And Her Dog” By Claire Shotter. Up for auction @ http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/180852475606?ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT&_trksid=p3984.m1555.l2649
Thought it might be rather fun to put me walking Doodle in my next painting. I don’t usually put noticeable features on my people but, my nose, it’s noticeable. My son inherited its length as punishment for all the nose jokes he made when he was younger. Once he’d finished growing, his was longer than mine. Ha! As he says though: “We should embrace our big noses”. Son, I’d need much longer arms to embrace one the size of yours (insert infantile chuckling). He also inherited my curls, for which he wasn’t always entirely grateful. Just recently however, they really seem to be growing on him. Get it? “growing on him”? No? Still only me laughing at my jokes then.
Okay, this is torture. I have a new respect for all children whose parents won’t let them use paints. How they create whole pictures in crayon without their hand cramping or dropping off completely is beyond me. All this grumbling comes after only about ten minutes at the easel. I give it another ten before I reach for a paintbrush.