Tuesday, 7 July 2015

Painting tiny houses and updating drawings

If I get even just one day a week when I complete some drawings or fix something on my website then I'm happy. Thankfully today has been one of those days! I experimented with some acrylic paint on one of the pieces of ceramic I found of Broughty Ferry beach. Just a simple street design with my favourite colour combinations. It's certainly given me some ideas, so I better get finding more ceramics soon.  

I also managed to complete four drawing clean ups which is a bit of a record for one day. The drawings were rescanned at a high resolution and cleaned up to look as close to the original as possible. They've come out a lot sharper than those I had before and it's been a large chunk out of my list I'm working through at the moment.  Bit by bit my website is looking more like the way I've been hoping for. You can have a look if you like at www.sannadyker.com 

All my drawings have stories behind them. The story usually just pops into my head while I'm doing the drawing. Other times it takes a little longer.  It just depends on the drawing.  Most of the pieces on my website have their own stories and I've included the drawings that I finished today, each with their own stories. 

'He said it was his friend. We wanted to explain to him it was just a dead fish but we knew he'd forget about it by the evening. He sat on the beach and explained to it that he was going to come and visit its house and family. The fish lay limp in his hands still and unanswering. By late afternoon he was trying to feed it part of his picnic, by which point the fish was looking a bit worse for wear and the sun was causing it to send off quite an odor. When we tried to get him to leave the fish he got rather defensive as he sometimes does and ran off with it saying that he needed to get it ready to go home. He had done similar with other objects he'd found on days out but I wish we'd paid closer attention on that day. I wish we'd listened.

He left his vest and jeans on the beach in a crumpled heap and a scrawled hand written note saying 'Away to fish home, i luv you'. We never saw my brother again.'

'He met Elvis once.
Elvis bumped into him on the street.
He told Elvis to watch where he was going in the future.'

 'She left him after it had been going on for a year. He had managed to keep it a secret but one day she heard the noises and went to investigate. 

Her husband was making thimbles into small bells. 

He had tried to keep it from his wife as she suffered intense migraines and knew their sound would cause her more pain but as his obsession grew he found it hard not to ring his completed objects and hear their sweet sound.

He painstakingly carved out the most ornate designs into their surface. Most of them came from charity shops and he was able to re-sculpt the inner sides to make them ring as though they were made for angels. It was a talent he never knew he had and the more he made the more time he spent sitting ringing them, louder and louder, more and more.

She had to leave as her head felt as though it may explode, the beautifully agonising sound rang through her house from day into night.

On the day she left, he gave her a kiss on the cheek, and handed her the most beautiful bell he'd ever made, inside no clapper was to be found.'

'For some of us it will come down to that one person at the end. When all others have gone, partners, family, pets, there will be that one person that won't have lived your life with you but will listen to you patiently about your experiences. This is Margaret and Tabitha. They are neighbours. Margaret was there for Tabitha when Fred died. Tabitha knows all about Margaret's only love who died in a car accident when she was only 20. He was 21. Tabitha told Margaret the details of her youth living in France. The romances, the heartache, the day she met Fred. Margaret told Tabitha of her devotion to greyhounds, her love of pickled eggs and her mother who sang like an angel. Everyday they meet. They drink tea and they tell their stories. No one else will hear them again and so they pour their hearts out, discussing year after year over cups of tea full of milk, heaps of sugar and a few tears.'

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