Friday 23rd October 2015 : “It’s Not All About Drawing…”
Why is it so hard to start?
Determinedly turning my back on pressing emails, and even more pressing washing up – I make it into my art studio, hidden away in the garden – by mid-morning. It feels cold and damp in here. In my coat, while the heater gets to work, I pull out some sheets of used watercolour paper. (If they’re already used on one side, I won’t feel too precious about what I produce on the other side!)
Musical accompaniment must be classical (-no lyrics or voices to intrude upon my conciousness!). Pagannini – violin & cello – energizing.
“back iii” Joanna Stone, 2015. Watercolour.
I seem to have created a “back” series…
I decide to take photographs of recent drawings as a record and to use online. This turns into a process of consideration.
CONTEMPLATION TIME: IMPORTANT TO GAZE AND CONSIDER.
Making notes in my A6 sketchbook (almost a diary, but with drawings & not quite a journal) and cross-referencing other sketchbooks (I have several on the go at any one time).
The music has stopped.
A flock of Goldcrests come through the garden all around the studio, sounding high, sweet, few notes. Moving swiftly, taking invisible insects from the trees.
Another “thread” tugs at my thoughts…
This studio, this house and garden, this village – we’re surrounded by acres of of ancient woodland and heath.
One A3 sketch book is becoming all about this landscape. I feel alternately hemmed in or liberated by trees…
(Merlin Coverley, but also Dorothy Wordsworth, Richard Long and many more) – walking and recording – not just how it looks but how it feels, smells, sounds. Human interaction with the landscape. My connection.
Hunger suddenly drives me back into the house for a sandwich and hot tea, still contemplating ideas, undoing and reshaping in my mind’s eye.
Afterwards I go for a walk in the woods. Ancient woodland, mostly Sessile Oaks in this part, although I can’t find any over perhaps two hundred years (?)…Maybe they were cut down to use for building…? Our house has oak beams.
Drawing and taking photographs as I go. Occasional dog-walkers regarding me with suspicion or amusement.
My favourite tiny sketchbook, handmade for me by my daughter.
A couple of walking hours later, and back to the studio to allow the day’s wanderings and wonderings to settle into some kind of vision.
I have a way