Most times I start off with an idea for a post. Then, when I start writing it can change or grow into something else. Today I haven’t got any real idea what I am going to bang on about so I have decided to post some illustrations I have been wanting to do and see what words may come.
These benches on Tramore promenade always catch my eye when the day begins to fade and the street lights flicker on, washing the ground in orange and setting the chill metal on fire. I haven’t captured that to my satisfaction in this quick sketch so you’ll have to use some imagination…
Against an indigo sky the image is quite striking and it makes me think of something I once read somewhere regarding there being no poems left to write, no pictures left to paint as it had all been done long, long ago. A poet, I think, refuted this saying something along the lines that there are always new things to see, new ways of seeing. After all Had Browning ever seen snowflakes in the headlights of a car?Or Turner been on an aeroplane?
I have become quite jaded with the idea of creating even more paintings in recent years. One of the reasons I have gone back to college is to explore other ways to create but this idea that there is always something new to see has stuck with me. Inspiration, at least, never has to be a problem.
Despite what readers of this blog might think I am not solely interested in nature, in pastoral scenes or wild animals. It is just where I live. Cities appeal too:urban scenes, car parks, concrete, neon lights, supermarkets. Many of us spend at least some of our lives in these environments and I cannot say they aren’t ‘better’ in terms of inspiration that any natural environment. In fact I often find them more interesting.
I like the contrast between what is natural and what is man-made. Look at the chrome bench and the ragged darkening clouds, one accentuates the other.
The acid orange light brings back memories of a childhood holiday, of being woken in the night to get an early start on the road from London to Cornwall. The lights on the motorway were orange too, angled overhead, looking down from the purple night on a sleepy me in a sibling-packed car as we chugged towards the sun-filled, surf-frilled golden days of the south-west. All that in a street light.
Maybe I will introduce other types of illustration here, but I will ease you in gradually. Readers may know I sort of like Telegraph Poles .These poles, though relatively modern invention, seem to be part of hedgerows now with their bright silvered wood and lazy looping cables as they tilt in the ditches.
Driving home the other day, a rare afternoon of sun lit up the rain water that had run off the cambered, pitted tarmac, edging the road with blinding light while the telegraph poles teetered down towards the bright and shining sea, all I could think was…
‘I am driving down the tin foil road to home’.
And then I thought…
‘Hah. Wordsworth didn’t have tin foil…’