MY TROUBLED MIND

confessions are self-serving

Tag: sketch

Field full of flowers

Field

Sorry about the terrible upload quality, Charlie took her camera to uni.

Insta
Reference

This is the game

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No hands, not yet…

 

Insta

Banana Leaves

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Continuing to practice using the references over at redditgetsdrawn.  Starting to feel more confident with women now, in the sphere of drawing anyhow …

As always, more of my work on my Instagram

ZOMBiE Juice Portrait & Update

ZIOMBVI

Hey all, just biking in to wish you all well.  I strongly encourage you to follow my Instagram if you’d like to keep up to date with my drawings.  I post there regularly as I continue to try and learn to draw.  I personally feel it’s a much better way to share images than wordpress, and as my writing has fallen by the wayside in favour of drawing, that is where you will find me! Cheers.

Railway sketch

Railway station in a country town, flagstones wide, dark and wet with rain. Cast iron bolts suffocated by thick beige paint, flaked with age.  Train delayed 11 minutes, passengers sleepy and few in number, apathetic to delay or even cheerful, ‘it’ll be alright’, lo holy British stoicism if only in this crouched corner.  Gentleman across platform studies paper, widespread khaki slacks and slightly bruised red brown leather shoes asunder, thin and aged hand peeks out of overcoat to grip paper tentatively, though firm, like a mouse’s nose out a crack in a wall.  Grey hair not too thin, combed, skin sallow and liver-spotted, chin a wreck of flesh after many years sitting reading papers no doubt, dignified in its way. Pages turn slowly as he bends to his serious study of another day’s events, quiet and watchful as a predator.

Bar sketch

two fellas, one shorter, looks worriedly over shoulder, kept dry under union jack umbrella held by taller mate. Step tip topping in and out of gutter – yellow lines smudged from long ago careless hand – headlights roll on, the road stretches every which way as a black, boiling sea.  The buses are always full of faces, stationary contortions caught like grandma used to say the wind would do – red brick, postbox, rain swashes to and fro. Blue fingered chef ahead of me, reflection, bends to preparation, responds to joke but looks serious – few customers, bar staff feign business, pigtails and maroon skirts fluttering like sail in cross-wind, or tent wall.  First floor of building opposite, large chalkboard on wall, windows tall and revealing.  Man rubs eyes in frustration, not tiredness, moves untouched dinner from one table to the next, focuses on problem out of sight – lights cigarette, standing then pacing, scratches chin. I come to as if from a cheap magician’s trick, and  full and heady sadness seeps into my underside, moving and filling till it reaches the throat.  The traffic shudders and jolts like a thing just barely clinging to life – door opens – couple around 30, late 20s, sees me, I compose myself and adapt an appropriate unglazed but also nonchalant expression – a half smile cracks on my lips like autumnal leaf.  They sit and bound into an animated conversation, she doing most of the talking.  the older couple behind them sit silent and sad, though at least not on their phones.

Another Saturday

 

bub

Digital, about 1.5 hours

 

The Old Man and the Sea

 

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My attempt at Hemingway. Nice to be drawing again after moving into a new place. A3, Charcoal

 

Love is a dog from hell

 

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I worked from about 8am until 10:30pm. Then I drank whiskey and beer and drew and talked until 3am and produced, in my opinion, one of the best drawings I’ve ever done.

 

Same old ticking

 

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Quick sketch, 45 mins.