Hello again, hope you are keeping well. It has been a particularly hot week here and I am looking forward to cooler, autumn days.
I’ve made more time for sketchbooks in recent days and have a few pages to share with you. Hope you enjoy seeing. Some of these may be reproduced as printed postcards in the not too distant future, we will see.
photo: recent sketchbook pages
A note about my small stories. I’ve been sharing ‘small stories’ here for a while now and am grateful to everyone who says they enjoy reading. They are, I suppose, best described as autofiction and I am slowly working on a collection, with many more stories. I began my creative journey as a writer (mostly poetry) and whilst my visual art takes up much of my time it’s important to me to keep on writing, in whatever form that takes.
A few Small Stories
Squirrels
My son and I are enjoying a morning break in the park, watching the squirrels. This park is full of oaks, shady woodland enclosures, just the space for squirrels to thrive. I think: I must bring my sketchbook to draw them, though the result may be pages of frantic tails. On the spot, observational sketchbooks are not really my thing; I prefer to go away from a moment and fill in the gaps. Why would a page of scribbled shorthand fur be of use to me, I ask myself, and so dismiss the idea. My son is counting them up now, keeping tabs, in a way he never did as a child. It would have been me encouraging him to look - look at the squirrels! And so much depended on his mood, focus, how anxious he was to go on to the next thing. Now I ask him: what if squirrels were the same size as humans? And he looks at me with a knowing disapproval. I’ve asked this question before, as apparently I ask this about most small wild creatures. He is not prepared to give my silly question a reasonable answer and I am grateful.
photo: recent sketchbook page - birds eating elderberries
Elderberries
Walking through sunshine, a hint of gold in the trees but it is still very green and I am striding along through the park. I look ahead and I see a bird hanging in a branch, wings splayed open and twitching. Why is my first thought: Oh no it’s hurt! My mind fastens onto pain, anguish, sure the bird has had some terrible event, is a victim of prey, or is entangled in man-made danger.
Then I see the elderberries. I see the bird is twitching purposefully to eat berries, the inviting berries so dark and shiny in the morning light, purple-stemmed, bits of jewel flesh falling from the tree as the bird gobbles and why not, for this is why the berries come each year, for this pigeon and any other creature. As soon as I approach the bird it easily dismantles its hanging self and flies away.
photo: recent sketchbook pages
Cats
I’ve been missing cats. The cats I used to see back in my former neighbourhood. The large ginger tabbies that strolled through gardens and paths like they owned everywhere. A small, mottled kitty I nicknamed Tinker. A black and white cat that sat on a neighbour’s fascia, minding the street. Lazy suburban cats that like sitting under cars or the edge of a fence. So when I go for a walk here in my town neighbourhood and see a cat - albeit behind glass - I feel a small joy. It’s a pretty tabby sitting in a small and pretty window, with a closed curtain backdrop, as if waiting for admirers to make sketches and photographs. It is probably very used to being ignored in this busy town but I stop and stare, hoping to make some eye contact. But of course the cat just blanks me. This will now be an ongoing challenge: to walk about town looking for similar window cats, looking for a slow blink of their eyes.
Antelopes
Another fine September day in the park and many of us are here early. I walk by a young woman with her very small son. They are standing within an avenue of trees, but they are both looking down. He is examining a prickly beech nut shell, bravely, turning it about in his small fingers. She is staring at her loose shoelace and talking on her phone: I’ve just got to be very, very sensible. She declares this loudly and I wonder who would not agree. But sensible doesn’t really get you all that far these days; it does not feel enough.
Mummy, the boy says, Mummy antelopes are real, they are. They are not just in books! Mummy does not respond but continues her ‘sensible’ conversation. Mummy, Mummy, antelopes are not just in books. Mummy pats the boy’s head and almost knocks the beech nut from his hands. Not right now darling, Mummy says. But Mummy they are alive right now, they are!
And on I walk…. thinking of antelopes, sensible antelopes, sensible boys with their antelopes, picture book antelopes, prickly antelopes? I begin to realise I am not sure just what an antelope looks like - I know I do, but at this moment, what is an antelope, anyway?
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I hope you enjoyed these small stories and sketchbooks.
I’ll be updating my shop today (Sunday 10th Sept) at 7pm UK time with a selection of new tiny portraits.
Thanks always for reading here, for your comments and likes. If you would like to support my writing and sharing you are welcome to buy me a coffee - thanks to those kind people who support me regularly, it is much appreciated!
I so enjoy Sunday morning. I often read out pieces of your writing to my husband. This morning, it was 'cats'. While we were cat/house sitting in Sussex recently, and we totally fell under Stavros' spell and miss him, we visited Eastbourne a couple of times. There is a café there, with cat hammocks in the large window. We were delighted. Like you and your pretty tabby, we were ignored by the many cats! Sadly it was not open for us to enjoy a tea.
Wonderful post. Thank you so much for sharing your unique observations xxx
I love the idea of turning some of your sketchbook paintings into postcards!! xxx