I just love to draw gorgeous buildings. Yes I know, it does sound strange coming from someone who regularly talks about how much I enjoy drawing an animal roaring, leaping and generally being beastly.
The thing is, buildings have a lovely contrast to the speed and kind of energy used in my drawings of living creatures. My style doesn’t change but I like the results I get when applied to a structure – giving a solid building a life and character of its own.
Painting of a person’s home. Private commission.
I like searching out the details with my pen or pencil, working with the weight of the line to add depth, finding which colours to bring out, and quite often when I’m taking time over these longer drawings, I find myself ‘in the zone’ happily spending hours drawing a building to life. This is true for when I’ve worked on private commissions for people’s homes, as well as various landmarks.
One of the buildings I’ve painted is St Mary Redcliffe in Bristol. This 4th July, Bristol Concert Orchestra – the oldest orchestra in Bristol – will be performing at St Mary Redcliffe as a venue for the first time. I’m very pleased to have my artwork displayed on their poster adverting the event at this exciting time for the orchestra.
Well, ‘the list part one’ suggests perhaps a follow up but I realised I’d probably end up listing everything I’ve already told you…
Returning to England was curious, not a wonderful welcome of familiarity but seemed a somewhat sharp shock of bland. All the signs in the airport were announced only in one language (of course, why do we need to have it in any other language when everyone obviously knows English, right?). This is a reminder that Britain becomes lazy with other languages because of a lack of needing to know other languages. I think that’s a bad thing.
Suddenly the conversations around me weren’t exotic and mysterious because I couldn’t understand them; they were all about parents telling off their kids, men talking business, couples asking the other if they remembered to pack the toothpaste…
I waited in the cold damp weather for the coach to take me to Bristol . After weeks of scorching heat I thought I’d be appreciative of this but it was far from comforting. Just as I was thinking (and not for the first time) that I should have accidentally-on-purpose missed my flight, the chortling friendly bus driver makes fun at my battered travel worn bus ticket in his dashing English accent (I’m sure after a couple of days of being surrounded by British accents its novelty will soon wear off!). He heaves my bag into the luggage storage and says ‘welcome back!’. I can’t help but smile.
So now I’m back, as if awoken from some crazy dream and I’m sure real life will come with a bit of a bump; but that will be it’s own Adventure.