Gallery

Gallery

This gallery contains 11 photos.

Here is a big compilation of all the art I’ve done in the last 5 years. If you want to use any of it, or you would like something similar, then contact me .. I’m cheap 🙂 Advertisements

Robot

robot

I found this picture recently that I drew a long time ago – black biro on a pad – it’s always been one of my favourites. I think I drew it in a Power engineering lecture. I don’t remember much about bridge rectifiers but hey at least I have the robot picture!

Sheepworld

sheepworld

I actually did this ages ago when i was beign presiding officer for the last election in a tiny hamlet where there were long periods where nobody came in.. you had to sit at the desk for 16 hours straight to make sure the ballot papers weren’t tampered with and I think I went a little odd.

I have been promising myself I will do more with this – process it and colour it either on the PC or with inks – but I haven’t decided on my colour scheme yet, so here it is in pencil.

Ink sketch

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Ink sketch

I doodle a lot but they don’t often come out looking this good! It took two gel pens to finish 🙂 (You can see I have run it thorugh GIMP and whacked up the threshold so you can’t see the lines where I shaded the blocks in – the actual sketch is not so neat.)

I really enjoyed tesallating the images – thinking about what each shape suggested to me and fitting it in neatly.

This took me 3 hours while I was working on a local election – we were in a polling office where nobody was interested in local democracy apart from about three old ladies!

Long ago comics

ImageImageImage

Hello there,

I haven’t drawn anything new this week (i have creative periods and then other times when all i want to do is curl up with a glas of wine and read).

So I thought I’d look back through my old pictures and find something interesting to share. I draw this on an old square paper pad, in biro, ten years ago while living in a rat infested one bedroom flat in London. I had the best job I’d ever had but even then London was so expensive I didn’t have much left after I got paid. I was also trying to do my teacher training at Midlands University (how did I ever think i would manage that and a full time job?)

Clearly it sent me a little loopy!

This little cartoon is also in one of my books – Miscellany of Oddities. Maybe one day I will write the rest of it!

Imagehttp://www.amazon.co.uk/Miscellany-Oddities-whimsical-foray-Peculiar/dp/1490393773

Landscape

alienworld

Ink and biro again.
This is just a doodle really. I like to make a wash and swish the ink around in it and then when it has dried I see what it suggests to me and draw it on in biro. I use coloured pencils and inks to colour the people. It reminds me of cloth covered hardback story books from the 40s and 50s I had when I was a child, inherited from my Dad. There was a different, faded quality to the ink in those books and the printing wasn’t very sophisticated, so only the main characters got their own colours and the backgrounds were quite clumsy.

Ink and biro

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Ink and biro

I love the red ink, it just pops. I am going to paint everything this colour red.

Book review

This week I finished Cory Doctorow’s “For the Win”. Cory makes the majority of his books available for free here: http://craphound.com/ftw/download/. I did buy mine, for the e-reader. It was less than £4.

“For the Win” is a sort of a sequel to “Little Brother”. There aren’t any common characters, but they’re both near-future, real world books. They both feature young, brave, uncompromising computer literate protagonists and oppressive, heavy handed governments. Where “Little Brother” is concerned with American state surveillance, “For the Win” is more global – it explores the lives of Chinese and Indian “gold farmers” – young people who play massive multiplayer online games in order to earn gold and specialist items which they can then sell, for real money, to players in the west. To make this more interesting, Cory has spun the wheels of the future round a few turns, positing a scenario where the games are now so vast that their economies are as large as those of small countries. The action happens where the work in these games intersects with real life sweatshops.

What makes these young adult books is that Cory explains in detail about the economic, financial and technical ways in which the world ticks. in “Little Brother”, he explains how surveillance gait recognition cameras work and how you could fool them, how you can encrypt messages and use the Onion Router or make your own sub-internet wifi network that doesn’t go through an ISP. He lists resources in the back of the book. This is basically a toolkit for baby hackers. In “For the Win”, the explanations are financial, but they make sense of the economic crisis. As a reasonably well educated adult reading this, I don’t feel condescended to, just interested.

Another common vein running through Cory’s books is his unshakeable optimism that whatever the ills of the world, the internet can fix them. Whether it’s bringing workers together to support each other globally, providing people with a way to communicate without being spied on, generating income for the dispossessed, Cory’s characters adapt, notch up their intelligence, and use the internet and technology at its bleeding edge to ride the scary changes the world is currently going through. They’re uplifting. I’m certainly giving them to my children to read.

ftw_uk_big

In a complete volte-face, the book I am currently reading is by “Wood Fables”, by an 19th Century naturalist called Richard Jeffries, and the protagonist is  Bevis, aged, so far as I can tell, about 5 years. He is currently deep in conversation with a squirrel.

Inspired (a bit) by Ghibli

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growing up

shipwreck

lil capitalist

mermaid dress

happy world

Short Story – Deja Vu

I awake; yawn; stretch like a cat. Light shafts in through the window, catching sparkling motes of dust like fairies stirred up by my movement. I take pleasure in the feeling of my muscles complaining as I shrug out the kinks in my body, knotted up from unaccustomed exercise the day before. Curled next to me, you tilt your head up sleepily for a kiss, and I oblige, soft lips meeting and hesitating briefly, breathing the same air. I raise my hand and trace my fingertips lightly across your cheekbone and down the smooth skin of your neck, and you purr, your eyes flickering closed, nuzzling into the clean sheets.

I brush a few strands of hair from your face, tuck them gently behind your ear, and rise nakedly, picking my way through discarded clothes to the kitchen. A butterfly beats against the window, trapped outside, soft body knocking futilely against the glass. My thoughts are dissipate as I reach for the cafetiere; the Kenyan coffee, the brown sugar, dun crystals catching the light and my eye as they tip lazily into the cup, disappearing in the whirlpool raised by the spoon. Contentment, happy piecemeal snapshot recollections of the night before: the restaurant, the club, the taxi home, the front door opening beneath your keys as we swept through into the bedroom, discarding clothes and shoes and bags and falling together into the bed, holding and moving urgently together of one mind and body, skin melting into skin, then falling apart exhausted with your arm across my chest as if you could not bear to lose the contact, and my face buried deep in your slightly smokey hair.

My gaze lands on the crumpled packet of cigarettes on the side table; shrugging on your dressing gown I crack open the window and lean out on my elbows, coffee steam and cigarette smoke coiling lazily in the slight breeze, aware of the breath in my throat and the stretch of my lungs, and the sharpness of the air makes me shiver just enough to feel my skin, feel alive, and the sun snaps through the trees at the bottom of the garden making me squint across the lines of fire to focus on the gate at the bottom, where something is moving…

..And then violence and pain and darkness and blood. Something punches me back from the window with unbelievable force, caught tearing between my ribs and even as I fall backward another blow snaps my head backwards and I am lying on the floor warm and damp and broken and stunned and paralysed with shock, and the world ebbs around the edges and my vision grows darker and smaller and less defined as I hear your voice raised in a sharp wail from the other room, and the bubble from my throat as i try to call out to you to comfort you is the last thing I hear..

*
I awake; yawn; stretch luxuriously. Shards of light shaft in through the window, catching bright motes of dust like snowflakes stirred up by a flurry of wind. I take pleasure in the sensation of my muscles aching as I shrug out the kinks in my neck and shoulders, knotted up from overenthusiastic exercise the day before. Curled next to me on your side, you tilt your face towards me for a kiss, and I oblige, drawn to your soft lips, holding the touch for a heartbeat, breathing the same air, imagining electricity flowing between our mouths. I raise my hand and trace my fingertips lightly across your beautiful face, tracing the bone delicately, and you purr, your eyes flickering, nuzzling into the clean sheets with your mouth turned into a contented smile.

I brush hairs from your face, tuck them gently behind your ear, kiss you featherlight on your brow, and rise nakedly, picking my way through discarded clothes and shoes to the kitchen. A butterfly beats against the window, trapped outside, soft body knocking futilely against the glass, and the soft thumping sends a chill of pity and apprehension though me. I reach for the caffetiere; the kenyan coffee, the brown sugar, dun crystals catching the light and my eye as
they tip lazily into the cup, forming familiar patterns as they disappear in the tiny whirlpool raised by the spoon. My thoughts follow the spiral, forming patterns of their own – piecemeal snapshot recollections of the night before: the restaurent, the club, the taxi home, the front door opening beneath your keys as we swept through into the bedroom, discarding clothes and shoes and bags and falling together into the bed, holding and moving urgently together of one mind and body, skin melting into skin, then falling apart exhausted with your arm across my chest as if you could not bear to lose the contact, and my face buried deep in your slightly smokey hair.

The tapping.. the moth on the window. A movement in the garden, masked by the snapping brightness of the rising sun. Blackness. Fear. Pain. This has happened before. Terror as i look up, and catch sight of my own hand moving inexorably towards the packet of cigarettes, ignoring my frantic compulsions to stop, to run, to call out to you in the other room, and my body shrugs into your gown and walks calmly to the window and leans outside into the danger taking deep and claming breaths while i scream and i scream and i tug at my
muscles but I cannot change a thing, not a tic of a muscle as my movements are predestined, and i know that I have precisely four seconds to live even as I squint through the sunlight to catch a glimps of a figure, a van, and, in the fraction of a second as the first bullet rips painfully into my unprotected flesh, a gun cocked against a swarthy face –

*

“Gotcha!” says the forensics specialist, hoary finger hovering over mouse button to zoom in to a blurry smudge of face. You gasp, reddened eyes widening through tears. “Recognise him?”
You hesitate, looking at the image, and frown and squint and shudder. “Its not focussed enough – I think – I couldn’t be sure – ”
“Well, I think we have a few more reruns left before the nerves decay irreparably. Maybe 10, 20… Lucky we got there so quickly, really. And lucky most of the frontal lobes are still there – we might even get the numberplate of the van..” He reaches out and resets the machinery, refining the focus, changing the search pattern minutely. “Lets try with this one..”
“Are you sure this doesn’t hurt?” you ask nervously. “It seems wrong, somehow – those last few minutes over and over again..”
The specialist smiles reassuringly. “The brain is dead, you know. Consciousness has fled. We’re simply replaying old memories from an organic chip. There’s no awareness, don’t worry.”
He reaches forward and clicks a switch.

*

I awake, screaming silently with terror as my mouth curls into a beatific smile.