Wednesday, 29 April 2015

Collaborative Comic at the Newcastle Zine & Comics Fair

 
 
On the day I flew out of Newcastle, there was a great zine and comics fair organised in the basement of Travelling Man by Jack Fallows (a man famous for his shapely calves). I could only stay for the first hour or so but was determined to contribute. So lovely CJ (pictured in typically smiley pose, above) let me prepare a collaborative comic for people to take part in.

There are as many forms of collaborative comic as you can think up. For this one, I created 6 panels with a little bit of text and a glimpse of Newcastle architecture drawn into the background. The 6 panels add up to make a loose sort of story, whose meaning would be fleshed out by the pictures drawn. Then folk coming into the comic shop were each invited to draw a panel - kids, shoppers, punks and comics fans, see picture above!

Because there were some very talented comics artists already downstairs, and they all took part in drawing some lovely panels at the beginning, it got underway really quickly and we were already almost out of panels by the time I left. These photos are just the ones I took before leaving for my aeroplane, but I hope to see the rest of the panels and get perhaps better photos or a more interactive way of viewing them at some point.

 
I'm really happy with how this drawing experiment worked out. People did not know what style or nuance the other panels would have, and so that engagement with others' unknown style or ideas was successfully taking place. That is what I personally find exciting about drawing with others, and I think this had just the right degree of rules to make it a fun exercise to play with.

 
I was also happy at using the term 'orgulous' in one of the panels, because it is a now archaic description once used complainingly of the people of Newcastle, meaning they were unruly, ungovernable and full of proud, fighting spirit. People tasked with drawing the panel of an orgulous crowd did not know what the word meant, but their picture instead provided the description of the word.

 
I'm looking forward to picking up the rest of the panels when I next see CJ or one of the Travelling Man crowd, and rearranging them to give different versions of the story, see which picture matches which, getting a collage-only version perhaps, a child-friendly and a sweary one.
 
And I hope to draw with you soon again.
 

Wednesday, 8 April 2015

Lundy and the Bit Between

Second visit to Devon in one month. Equally expensive to the last, it means I won't be able to afford my big summer adventure anymore, but I'm happy and tanned again and here are some of the now-standard sketchbook pictures.

I took the boat to Lundy and walked up the north end of the island and back. It was pretty idyllic and a lot of the cliffs raise your heartrate. Here are some :

 
 
The cliffy bits I was drawing here are the petering out rats' tail of island at which MS Oldenburg docks :

 
But despite my unflattering description, its rocks are also pretty lush when close-up, like this one :

 
So that's the rocks done with. I couldn't not mention them. There were also baby soay sheep, deer, ponies, highland cattle, grey seals and some falcons. Plus the birds of summer - barn swallows, skylarks in full song, and meadow pipits in abundance. I've not seen any of these up north yet.


But these next pictures were all done on the boat, and clicking through them makes a strange sort of portrait of MS Oldenburg, which was chockfull of children spewing up into paper bags :
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
And finally (I'm not boring you with what I actually did in any detail, my diary heard all about it so you don't need to) :


Friends Birke & Bjoern, being drawn on the train to Exmouth

 
And Birke's picture of me, drawing them in return:


I'm glad I draw. I think it is better than drugs for a healthy-feeling mind. And Lundy's nice, I'd like to go back with you.

Tuesday, 24 March 2015

Dolphin spotting at night.

I signed up to do a dolphin & whale survey with ORCA, from Plymouth which is nowhere near where I live, to Roscoff, which is over the channel from it. I got a night train down the coast, toured like a tourist around Plymouth, and then met this lovely bunch of people (pictured in Roscoff, waiting for the ferry back).

(Matthew, Jennifer, Mary)
 
The ferry left after dark, and we really weren't sure if we were going to see any dolphins as there was only an hour or so of morning's light before docking - and half of that would be in harbour itself when you're not allowed to survey on the bridge. They have a ship to steer, you see, and don't want to get distracted when avoiding quays and rocks and things.
 
On the return trip we would get a bit longer, but still only a few hours, so I knew not to get my hopes up for great natural spectacles. The fact we all were keen to take part anyway says more about the enthusiasm that marine mammals arouse in people than our sensibleness and logical reasoning.  A week later, and this same crossing will get more light (the clocks will have gone back), but as it is they looked into cancelling it this weekend. Apparently the fact I'd booked my night trains was a factor in going ahead.
 
We slept in two cabins, woke a bit after 5am, and Mary got us taken onto the bridge where I was put on note-taking and suddenly there was "sighting!", "two common dolphins!", "two more!" and all that being called out. I had to write down the ship's position each time (reading it off the ship's console), and also the dolphins' position in relation to us, as well as some other things like angle, distance, direction etc... It was all a bit frenetic and after half an hour when we had to leave the bridge we'd recorded 21 of them. I personally only saw 2 of them because my eyes were mostly down on the paper and the console, but Jennifer told me to look up from my scribbling especially, lest I miss the experience. 

From on high, they look smaller than you'd imagine, more delicate and neatly drawn, with pale yellow sides and that classic dolphin jumping thing going on. They like boats, unlike porpoises, and are often drawn to them just as they were that morning.
 
And then : a day in Roscoff, quiet little picturesque harbour town. Barely a town really, just a pretty suburb on the rocks with a nice harbour and a seriously major tide thing going on. It began high, clear water lapping up against the jetties, but by the time we left there were dozens of rocky islands revealed, thousands of rockpools for urchins and crabs, and kilometres of wet sand and seaweed. Good place for a daytrip if you have the time!
 
 
While Mary logged the birds, Jennifer told me the difference between the shellfish. I know nothing about maritime wildlife, and I like having vast areas of nature new to me, it's like seeing a big horizon out in front of you.
Purple thingummies (name to check!)

Painted thingummies (name also to check).


The harbour was full of these Brent geese, and we looked for other birds too, so I saw my first Rock pipit and Rednecked grebe of the year.
 
The other thing I'm really turned onto this month is the return of the bees and the butterflies. Queen bumblebees in particular awe me for how they survive all winter somewhere buried in the soil, and then at this time of year they pop out again and the whole of their species' survival depends upon them buzzing about and finding enough food n that. Wildflowers, pesticides, lawns, them's the crucial factors. And so these queen bumblebees are massive, and different species are different sizes and make different tone buzzes as they bez about. The honeybees are pretty cool too (pictured first), and all busy at the rosemary.
 

We also spent a fair bit of time in the French cafes, mangling the accent as only english tourists can (Matthew is a particular expert, and also a gastronome so really enjoyed his time in France). I drank a lot of coffee. I always drink a lot of coffee. The Roscoffians were very patient with us, and the weather was warm. Proper holiday feeling.

(Mary)
(Matthew)
On the journey back, after a wait in the ferry terminal with well behaved children singing "ten green bottles" (quite different to the Newcastle crossing, which is usually full of drink and drunks), we were up on deck for a bit longer. 
We had quite a few mysteries on the return trip. 
 
I in particular saw things that I couldn't name, and as a relative novice I lacked the experience needed to say they were definitely seal, minke whale, rocks or what have you. We saw gannets, guillemots, bonxies and kittiwakes. However the journey was sealed and delivered for us all when straight toward us came a pod of common dolphins, all tight together so probably feeding (Mary, our team leader, told us this). First one, then a dozen, then I was counting 35 individual splashes and in total Mary estimated 60 plus, with at least 5 calves. Even I saw a couple of these young ones, leaping alongside their mothers, half the size and quite breathtaking for the sheer fact they were there, in front of us, alive. They jumped around in the wake of the boat before setting off toward France. We, meanwhile, carried on into the 3 shipping lanes that divide England from the continent, and were all aglow. Both aglow with the experience and also aglow with the skin-reddening effects of proper sunshine. I'm returning with a tan.

Monday, 9 March 2015

Things I threw away last week. (part one)

I'm throwing away a lot of things that I kept.

They are things with nice memories attached. Physical reminders of times and people that were valuable to me, that I didn't want to forget. Because I do forget things, people, events I was at and all the most important things of life. It gives me an enduring anxiety, to which I respond by creating keepsakes : diary, sketches, photos, blog.

But I no longer have my own space in which to store them, and the extent of my collecting has become ridiculous. So I've thrown away things this week, including these things :

 
Torso of leaves, part of a painting I did for GCSE art.
 
 
Wall calendar without words - everything's a pictogram.
 
 
The one bottom left must mean Megadog, which dates this to 1996ish. I think my parents are next door, but who's the grinning face? My sister?
 
 
I wonder if the person top right is an old friend who chose to go by the name of Zebedee. Like everyone else in my memory banks, I wouldn't recognise you now.
 
 
The mushroom may have signified either a Mushroom ID course, or taking psyilocybin.
 
 
Balloons with names equal birthdays, I think.
 
 
I've no memory of painting this picture of The Hermit (from my tarot pack) : it's landfill now.
 
 
The undergraduate modules on this wallplanner suggest this also is 1995 - 1996. Memories of a time when my brain thought it was actually getting somewhere, and in company. That's what makes such physical memories so valuable: it reminds you that you weren't alone, but were part of a group. And the sad edge to that memory comes from the fact that that group, as all other groups, has dissipated.
 
 
I'm not sure if it's the psyilocybin or the paintbox that unleashed my psychedelic period.
 
 
Now this was the hardest to chuck of all - look at that playlist, it's still the best part of what BBC 6music puts out. And Phil and Simon were the loveliest people you could hope for to run a night. And I used to regularly vomit my spaghetti hoops up in the toilets.
 
 
You guys. I similarly have no memory of doing this picture, I guess it was over a Christmas when I stayed up longer? Waheed, Colin, James & Steve, and the foot of the other guy in our flat whose name I don't remember. 1994.
 
 
 
This also has gone to landfill. It was given to me by a Buddhist monk in Thailand as a warning against opium. 1996.
 
I could keep going at this nostalgia list for page after page after page, but you need a break.
 

Monday, 23 February 2015

Sage Gateshead

Apparently it's Sage Gateshead now, not The Sage Gateshead. Tsk.

I went to the 6music thing on Sunday. I was warned that lots of the crowd were ignorant, and Neneh Cherry was damaged for me by a group I called "club Debs" in my head: I took em to be posh youngsters more used to being in clubs than gigs, who stood in the middle of the crowd and shout-talked to each other the whole way through, backs to the stage. But apart from that, it was great. Here are some diary snippets.

Correction: that should've been "50s civil servant shtick." My friends' favourite new band. 
And Tim Burgess dancing.
So thankyou to 6music who, for the first time in my memory of Newcastle over the last 20 years. actually BROUGHT a good quality music extravaganza to Tyneside. All the effort's been in the other direction really, so it's nice to be included.