Today I discovered that OMD performed Enola Gay with the Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra. I've already been behind painfully Last Month this week, so I have no doubt that most of you probably already knew this - especially given that the performance was back in June. In case you hadn't, here's the only clip YouTube has to offer:

I've been banging on long enough about my experiences with drawing, but due to a technical error (also known as 'carelessly formatting memory card') I lost the pictures I wanted to include and, as such, delayed putting fingers to keyboard to write the post to go with them. I should also admit that I haven't minded the procrastination: this isn't gong to be a pretty story, but sometimes brutal honesty is the only option.

Perhaps I need to recap the context in which this recent preoccupation with drawing has developed... Back in Week 1 of the Central Saint Martins course, the Seed of Fear was sown by the promise of a drawing brief a couple of weeks down the line. Being someone who gave up on the formal pursuit of art (creation, not critique) at the age of 14 specifically because I clearly had no aptitude for this skill - and have ever since been troubled by this failing - I was not looking forward to it. No, not one bit of me felt comfortable with the prospect of creating my own pictures using my own hands. Nevertheless, I steeled myself. I tried to temper the normative cognition I cannot draw with the more rational thought It doesn't matter, just relax, it'll be fine!   

So one Saturday morning, I set off to meet most of my fellow classmates just outside Borough Market, ready to take on the challenge of connecting eye to hand and coming up with something usable for the next week's magazine layout brief. My pencils were sharpened, my sketchbook was ready and, most importantly, I had a goddamn smile on my face. I was going to beat this demon with my newly found confidence - I might even reveal a hitherto unknown style that would wow my fellow students with its raw genius! Well I had to bolster myself *somehow* didn't I?

Over the course of the next few hours we drew and drew and drew: sketch something for 1 minute -- sketch the ugliest thing you can find -- sketch something in minute detail -- sketch something at three times its real size -- sketch everything you see so it fills one page -- sketch some scenes form interesting angles -- sketch sketch sketch!

With each task my confidence drained away: if anything, my drawing became worse than ever. I began to feel the familiar feeling of frustration at not being immediately able to do something perfectly. And then I saw the other's work. Oh my goodness. Not one of them was outwardly displaying the same inner conflict that I found myself unable to hide. Their pictures looked like stuff, not just oddly placed lines awkwardly marked, but actual real things that you could recognise. I sighed, inwardly and outwardly. I'm not proud of myself, but I could feel the emotion rising up and bubbling quite literally out of me. I had to turn around to hide the last bit of my confidence drop out of my eyes as I kept my sketchbook tight to myself to prevent the humiliation that would no doubt ensue.

It was not one of my finest moments. And what's worse is the sense of injustice I felt - Suck it up, Jenny! It's not everyone else's fault that you never put in the hours to develop your drawing skills!

Tsk.

-- What Happened Next -- 

Aside from spending the best part of fifty quid on delicious treats, inlcuding enough olives to see you through a nuclear apocalypse, in the typical shopping-cures-all-emotional-problems, I decided that enough was enough. In the short term, I needed some illustrations for the next week's brief, but beyond that I felt like I had to face this drawing demon once and for all.

I made my way to Waterstone's just before closing and headed for the kids section where, while bent with my bottom in the air - elegant as ever - tying my needlessly long shoelaces up, I asked the eager-to-get-home shop assistant if there were any good books to help develop drawing skills. She immediately picked out the one I'd secretly hoped I could one day justify buying for myself - Quentin Blake's Drawing for the Artistically Undiscovered. At the till she asked me how old the child I was buying it for was. Muttering the 'twenty' I said the 'eight' unnecessarily loudly. Perfect, she said as she smiled through the slightly troubled look on her face. Let's hope so, I thought.

 -- How the Story Ends (Part One) --

I'd love to tell you that I've now conquered all my drawing fears, that I'm now most relaxed with a pencil in my hand and can render almost recognisable forms. Unfortunately this is a little way off yet. Nevertheless, the Quentin Blake book has been a real help to me, and gave me the boost I needed to get my shit togther to go and draw some new pictures. I didn't end up with many, but you can see the fruits of my labours below. Not all were taken from life - I admit that I'd naughtily taken some snappers of the market while I was there - but I did try to salvage some of the sketches I'd taken on the day. (Though I've kept some of these for my..private collection.)

I've also decided to submerge myself in the world of drawing for a solid 5 days. It may turn out to be a form of self inflicted torture, may drive me over the edge once and for all, but I figured it was worth a shot. I'm going to spend next week under the tutelage of Guy Noble as I'm taking the Introduction to Drawing course offered as part of the CSM Christmas School. Well, at what other time of year are you allowed to be so (potentially) miserable?!

One thing's for sure - I am improving. Wish me and my confidence luck.

It's been a real long time since I wrote anything worth reading here, but I've got some pictures and links lined up and ready to go. Unfortunately a combination and work and general malaise have prevented me managing to post anything, but I'm working on rectifying that and will hopefully - finally - put the Borough Market drawing debacle up this afternoon in all its glory.

Until then, Peter Crawley pointed this out this morning. I think I am a little bit in love with his Twitter stream, he has a knack for uncovering real gems. Thank you, Mister Crawley, for brightening my days.

Now, watch this. It's fucking A. (You can even download the song for free. Thanks Jark and Mason!)

After two days in Swindon, I really need something to perk me up.

I've chosen 1988.

I've seen so much amazing work this week, but have had no time to share any of it. Massively frustrating, my head's been buzzing with thoughts and excitement. It's good to remember you feel passionate about things.

These stitched illustrations by Peter Crawley couldn't go without mentioning, though. I love the architectural ones. Pretty sweet, eh? The one above seemed especially relevant right now.

Rest assured more is coming...soon. 

[*when I was 13]

I thought this deserved a mention all of it's own.

Classic 90s Cover

And look at Rupert!

Wow, that last post was a bit long. I'll keep this one short: here's the second idea I had for the brief.

I'm missing a picture of the final piece, but it's basically trimmed down to the just one girl in her pants protruding from the other's head. Much prefer this one, but I'm still left wondering: where are my fancy pants techniques? I'll err on the side of simplicity for now.

Before I get to recalling the horrors of embarrassing myself last weekend at Borough Market, here's what I've been up to this week for the illustration brief.

-- Context --

At our first class together, we were all given a photocopied piece of paper with When I was Seventeen _ _ _ written on it.  

We were asked to complete the sentence as these would be used for an illustration brief. Anonymity was assured. I failed to catch on to the fact that this would be *our* brief, but I should have put two and two together. If I had, I may have chosen to write something a little less..telling. Anyway, two weeks ago these sentences were pulled out again, and handed out amongst us.

-- The Brief --

I doubt you've guessed this part, but the instructions were: Illustrate your sentence.

My sentence: When I was 17 I had a Saturday job in a lingerie shop.

-- What I've Done --

As usual, we were told to come up with ten ideas for how we could illustrate our sentences before we left the class. I find this a really hard task, as I'm not used to having to be so formal about creative endeavours. Ideas sort of crop up as I'm doing other things, not generally while I'm sat staring at my notebook. But as I've never studied anything like this formally - I gave up art at school because I can't draw (a topic I'll return to..) - I think it's great that I'm being forced to do this, because I normally set about a task and end up changing my mind over and over again. Maybe if I adopted this approach I'd save myself a lot of time and effort (thinking of the bits I make at work)?

Having said that, though, I have to admit that I haven't yet managed to combine these planned ideas with what I end up producing. Sure, elements remain, but invariably once I start doing something it takes on a life of its own, short as that life may eventually be. I think this is something I need to avoid doing quite so much in future projects - or rather, I should at least attempt to follow the process through to its conclusion once.

Anyway, last week was a bit of a write-off as far as doing work on this brief was concerned. I also didn't feel that that pressured as we technically had two weeks, and I did spend time thinking about what I could do. I ended up going on a lingerie catalogue mission, visiting every lingerie shop on Oxford Street and round Soho. In the end, it was a Bravissimo catalogue sent through the post that proved to be the best source of girls not wearing much. At least my mission round Soho wasn't in vain - I picked up a great frill and some suspender clips. not as fancy as I may have liked, but still.

So, the lingerie part of the sentence seemed fairly easy to illustrate - colours, materials, catalogues to cut up.. I wanted to find an edge that wasn't so obvious, but unfortunately I don't think I've achieved this. Perhaps lateral thinking isn't my strong point - any ideas how to cultivate this skill?

The other element I wanted to capture was that of being 17. In this first example, I tried to intimate it with the background and beads - though I'm kind of thinking that this might not be quite right, maybe it's a bit young - as well as with a section from the 'Smart Girl' 1964 Annual. There was such a brilliant article about the journey from girl to woman via sensible undergarments it seemed churlish to ignore it.

As is often the case, I've since had (what I think is) a better idea, but time is against me and I haven't yet produced it. That would have dealt with the 17 *and* Saturday part, so perhaps (during this mythical free time I often invoke) I'll get round to producing it sometime soon.

Here's a few pictures from Tuesday night, when I finally broke out the Pritt Stick and got going.