A little preview: Jumbo illustrations

I took an unintended break from blogging, as my mom and I went to the States for two weeks to visit a friend, and Blogger wouldn't let me log in from over there because I was signing in from an "unusual location". I appreciate their efforts to keep my account secure, but the step I had to take to prove I was me involved getting a code sent to my phone, which, being of the old-fashioned kind, wasn't working either (nor was my work e-mail). I decided it was a good idea to be disconnected.

We got back today, and despite getting no sleep on the plane, I am buzzing. This summer is turning out to be a busy one, four countries within a month. I have so many plans for the next few days/weeks/months, I don't know where to start (travelling, even just the being-in-motion element of it, always does that for me: new perspectives, enthusiasm, ideas).

In the meantime, here are four illustrations I did for a children's story written by Lionel Gallagher (I have shared snippets before). This book is in the process of being printed and is the first in a trilogy about a baby (later teenage) elephant's adventures.

These are photos of the original pencil sketches. For the book, our graphic designer Conor Gallagher had the idea to colour-code the animals with subtle washes, which worked out beautifully.

from Jumbo Wants to be a Hippo

With "completeness and intensity"

"That afternoon was brimming with a loveliness peculiar to that particular place; he knew that I was appreciating it, and I knew without any doubt how profoundly he was penetrated by it. He was a man who, with the help of the right wife, had finally found himself the place and the life that fulfilled him, and lived it with a completeness and intensity more often seen in an artist than in someone who should have been a farmer, had to become an army officer, and ended by teaching people sailing, and growing oysters, on the edge of the North Sea. What filled him as death approached was not fear of whatever physical battering he would have to endure (in fact there was not, at the end, any of that), but grief at having to say goodbye to what he could never have enough of."

(Athill, Diana: Somewhere Towards the End, Granta, London 2008, p. 74)

Books about ageing and dying might not seem the most obvious choice for summer holiday reading, but nature at its most alive and abundant is an indication of the passing of time as acute, if not more, as when the trees go bare later in the year.

The extract above describes an afternoon Athill spent sailing with her brother shortly before he died. Most of the women in her family made it into their nineties, and she wrote this book in her ninetieth year (she is 95 now). While parts are inevitably depressing, it is imbued with her acceptance of old age and death and written with a lightness of touch, at times approaching cheerfulness, surrounding the subject matter. 

The quoted passage, despite its heartbreaking melancholy ("His trouble was that he resented [death] because he loved his life so passionately." p.73), serves as a reminder to live life with the "completeness and intensity" her brother lived his.

Connections (cutlery, crystal)

 

Not feeling the best, I haven't ventured out much apart from a short walk in the woods and onto the cliff beside the beach (Tolkienesque woods and beach just a few minutes apart is heaven) - and to the local swan rescue. Most of my time has been spent in bed reading The Secret History and tending to domestic things.

Amidst the chaos of moving in, my sister somehow conjured up a three-course meal (berry crumble pictured), and my brother-in-law played his first gig with his old band at the weekend - I can only marvel at how fast they are settling in.

I drove away from their house with boxes of books from my childhood room - my entire art library - that came in one of their containers, as well as fancy glasses my late grandmother had given me and the extensive set of cutlery that had been stored away in my mom's basement for 20+ years, one of those gifts "for the bottom drawer" that relatives contributed to over a few years.

I washed the glasses and cutlery and made space in my kitchen and only noticed then how dull the cheap cutlery I had been using all the time looks in comparison. There are many areas in which I still don't feel like an adult at age 30, but I am in possession of sparkly silverware that includes tiny forks for cake and crystal glasses that I am determined to use for non-alcoholic beverages, seeing how rarely I drink at home. I don't believe in reserving things for special occasions.

But more than giving a semblance of grown-up-ness* at a time of doubts and financial insecurity, these objects are a reminder of home and a link to my family and past, and my inner minimalist recedes in respect for their significance (though I do seem to have way too many books on art!).


* I don't intend to ever grow up fully - note to somebody who keeps saying I act/look like a 4-year-old!

Simplicity

Alliums on Matt's table

In a week that contained parts resembling a bad TV drama (absolutely nothing to do with my sister's first week in Ireland), I have reached Friday craving simplicity.

Apparently, I cannot even call myself an aspiring minimalist (I prefer the term Voluntary Simplicity anyway), as I show no signs of turning my house into an empty white box, but I accumulate far less stuff than the average person. However, things still have a habit of building up in volume eventually, and I spent several hours in cathartic mode - getting rid of shoes that are not compatible with my knee problem, doing paperwork, sorting through the pile of cuttings that I tend to chuck into a drawer rather than filing straightaway.

Part of me thinks I have no need to hold on to bits from magazines and newspapers, but going through them last night was inspiring, and I see the creative necessity for notebooks and folders filled with these snippets that I deemed worth revisiting. The randomness of this collection sparks connections and associations that help get me unstuck when it comes to art-making.

So I try to resist the frequent urge to throw them all out and delete all my bookmarks and my e-mail archives and give away all my paintings and drawings until everything is just pleasingly calm, empty space, because I can see how that is dangerously close to an anorexic mindset (the desire to take up as little space as possible and ultimately to disappear).

My sister and brother-in-law are waiting for the containers with all their stuff, and the whole operation makes me think how much easier it would be to own so little that moving would not be weighed down by one's possessions, but then again I am hardly planning a nomadic lifestyle, and I like being surrounded by books, art, clothes and objects that remind me of the people in my life, and as long as I stay on top of clutter and the cuttings are filed rather than jumbled together in a drawer, I feel comfortable. Outer order does contribute to inner calm, at least for anxious people like myself.

This week

 

|  The programmes for this year's Colours Fringe Festival (I seem to be using a lot of turquoise and seagreen these days, as my sister pointed out). My work-related To-Do list is getting shorter, and I can feel myself slowly transitioning into summer holiday mode.

|  Still enjoying the remains of flowers I received a few weeks ago, which now populate various smaller vases. 

|  Judith Kerr turned 90 this week. There is something special about her books and her illustrations. I have fond memories of Mog the cat, who existed in real life, and cannot wait to get Creatures, the new book. Click here for a slideshow and here for a video of Kerr reading from and talking about her work.

|  Wearing my Noa Noa balloon pants (they look better with wedges, but around the house it's mostly flip flops/ barefoot). The sun makes an appearance every few days, then it's back to wind and rain. The latter was what greeted my sister and brother-in-law's arrival, but so far they remain in high spirits. And it looks like it's a sunny day today, so it might yet turn into a weekend for the beach, like last week.

Galway Bay Folk Tales

Rab received copies of his book Galway Bay Folk Tales (published by The History Press Ireland, illustrated by me) this week, and it is so lovely to have something tangible and beautifully produced at the end of a project. Of course this is mainly Rab's work - for every simple black-and-white picture I drew (one or two per chapter) he laboured over hundreds and hundreds of words, bringing the myths and legends to life with his unique storyteller voice. And the History Press did a fantastic job of putting it all together, with everything that entails. 

 The gorgeous cover illustration is by Katherine Soutar.

 

Flowery

 Tiny...

...to tall.

Pink and yellow on paper...

...and in the garden.

The hawthorn is spectacular from a distance, but beautiful in detail, too.

"A few years ago Hockney was so frustrated at having to leave home before the hawthorn came into flower that his annual diary was re-arranged so that he could guarantee to be there for what he describes as 'action week', that moment when nature explodes from winter monochrome into spring colour." (The Guardian, 24 May 2013)

I was reminded of David Hockney's endeavour to capture 'action week' today, because the hawthorn seems to have erupted everywhere overnight, and more and more colours sprinkle the greys of the Burren.

There are fresh flowers on my table, a new soap in the shower, and the tulips in the Burren Perfumery's herb garden happened to be the colours I was using for a background I painted.

The water we drink is infused with mint, and I dream of having a lemon balm bush like the one in my mom's garden and making tea from it. Apparently it is easy to grow here, too.

All these scents and colours are an antidote to a rather stressful few weeks. I may have a seemingly endless To Do list and a woefully empty fridge, but I do make time to stop and smell the roses tulips.