it’s not the end of the world. i hope

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So, is the world going to dissolve tomorrow in a flash of higgs-boson particles then, or what? They, those clever people who are excited to find out what will happen next, are going to recreate the Big Bang, or something, by switching on the Large Hadron Collider tomorrow. That’ll blow a few hairdryers. I don’t know what it’s supposed to do, but apparently the human race will be a little more knowledgable about some very tiny things at some point soon. Which might be a good thing. Maybe they won’t be taken in by Sarah Palin’s hockey mom rubbish. I wonder what the creationists think about recreating the start of the universe? Maybe they’ll all start worshipping alpine scientists? I wonder how long it will take us to make a useable weapon out of this? We may already have done for all I know. I hope nobody gets caught inside the beam, they’ll end up like Dr. Manhattan. Imagine that, a Swiss superhero. Kind of makes sense.

I’ve not drawn much this week; I’m moving apartment soon and the mind is elsewhere. I wanted to do a drawing for Illustration Friday, as the theme is ‘clutter’, and I always have a lot of clutter, though now much of it is in bags and boxes. Oh who am I kidding, there’s still a lot of clutter about. If the world doesn’t end, then I’ll draw something, to celebrate.

In other news, I heard that North Korea’s president Kim Jong was Il. Or something.

you do the math

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mathematical sciences building

I don’t like that expression, by the way. Plus being British I’d say ‘maths’ (though being a Londoner it sounds more like ‘maffs’). A lunchtime sketch; I’d never drawn the front of my work building before, so thought I should give it a go. since one of my other drawings will be adorning the front of the chemistry dept’s new handbook, maybe i’ll use this sketch for something one day too. Or not. There are then still things in Davis I’ve not drawn. It’s just usually too hot to draw them (he says with several full sketchbooks).

Mathematics…it must be popular in California, you always hear about all those math labs on the news, I think. At school, all I wanted was just to pass maths, no better. I quite hated the teacher of the top class, Blindty, an ancient creature who had been teaching there since before Pythagorus got into triangles, and he quite disliked me; well, me and almost everyone else. So I requested to move into the second class (and tried my best not to get moved back up), and as a result had a much much better teacher, Miss Barker, and I passed the GCSE no problem, and restored my self-esteem. I left maths behind at 16, but I’m still pretty good at the numbers game on Countdown. Perhaps I should try to become Vorderman’s replacement?

half-baked alaskan

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So what have we learnt about the Republicans this week? Well they don’t mind throwing all of their hopes and dreams and ambitions and their beloved country behind a woman who a week ago they had never heard of. Oh, sorry, she’s the Veep, not the Presidential candidate- you would never have guessed it though. Palin’s speech, which I thought a little predictable, thoroughly wowed the babies-guns-and-jesus party (or is it guns-jesus-babies? Perhaps it’s the right-wing version of ‘paper-scissors-stone’), half-baked alaskanleading some to claim they’ve found their Maggie. And oh, she blasted her opponent – sorry, McCain’s opponent – Obama’s lack of governing experience, derising his time as a community organizer in Chicago (boo! hiss! stupid do-gooder!), while lauding her own considerable experience as governor of Alaska since as far back as 2006, mayor of a tiny town of 9,000, and of course her time on the Parent-Teacher Association of her children’s school. The PTA: now that’s real government experience for you, not the stupid gotta-get-elected-into Senate! The PTA. Of course she can run the country! You’ve organized one jumble sale, you’ve organized ’em all.

But for me, all of her ‘hockey mom’ doggerel and her parading of her now instantly famous offspring (who all have strange Addams Family names) was overshadowed by some very dark notions to slip through her saucy librarian demeanour. She made it clear that the civil rights upon which America bases its justice system do not extend to certain people if we are accusing them – just accusing them – of being terr’rists. And what is all this about her and her husband having formerly been part of an alaskan secessionist movement? “Country First” is the GOP’s slogan – which country, the US or Independent Alaska?

I tell you what though, she did love promoting the mall town over the big city. New York, city that doesn’t sleep? You should come to Wasilla, mate, we have sunlight for six months of the year, try sleeping through that!

...or is it clive anderson?As for McCain, well he claims he wants to change the politics of Washington, making out as if his party, and the president he has strongly supported in 95% of votes, haven’t been the ones in charge this past 8 years. Oh, democrats run the Senate! But not for most of Bush’s presidency; before 2006, Rove and friends gave King George a free reign. Change?

We’ve also learnt that if you are hoping to attack your opponent on his lack of experiecne, it’s a good idea to choose a VP with less experience. If you are hoping to attack your opponent for being a senator and never having been mayor of a village or governor of anywhere, it’s a good idea to have your main candidate who’s also a senator and also has no such executive experience. If your opponent is campaigning on a promise of change, you too have to promise change, but just pretend you weren’t part of making that situation happen. If you discredited the democratic candidate’s military record in Vietnam last time around, use being a celebrated Vietnam vet as the cornerstone of this year’s candidate. If you accused that same guy last time of being a flip-flop, change your own position to pretend you never agreed with Bush,  and be a flip-flop yourself! If you want to show the USA how much you love the USA, choose a VP who has strong affiliations with a secessionist Alaskan party. And don’t forget your friend Joe Liebermann, the Saruman of this tale.

So one thing we’ve learnt this week is that the Republican Party are pretty good at irony.

the last day of august

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midtown, the last day of august

On Sunday, the last day of August, I caught the bus to Sacramento and walked around in the breezy sunlight, walking up to midtown, sketching a couple of things as I’ve not done here for a good while now, not since the sketchcrawl in March. Above, powerlines and some buildings and trees (for a change, eh), while below there is an old building I’ve wanted to draw for a while,  the one next to the Streets of London pub on J street. Well now I have.

big old house in midtown sacramento

deadline day

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Cor, that was exciting, wasn’t it! I don’t mean Obama’s big speech, or the rain on his parade caused by McCain’s choice of Veep (oh yeah, I hate that word, don’t I) in Sarah “who the..?” Palin, or the rain on the republicans parade caused by hurricane gustav, or the rain on that parade caused by the whole bristol palin non-story. A few days ago I’d have thought bristol palin was an office supply company or something, and as for trig palin, well there’s a name for your “babies, guns’n’jesus” candidate’s son/grandson. Now there seem to be a lot of people in the news dedicating airtime to discussing how they shouldn’t be discussing that story, and before you know it oops, we can’t talk about candidate’s policies, we’re out of time, back later for an interview with the baby’s father…

No, my American friends, my excitement was caused by something which you have undoubtedly no interest in whatsoever: transfer deadline day for the English Premier League. You do things different here, with your drafts and your salary caps, but yesterday in England it was Crazy Season. The deadline to make transfers was midnight September 1st, so clubs and agents were frantically trying to broker deals and outdo each other before midnight, when their expensive striker might juts turn into an expensive pumpkin. I was glued to my computer (midnight there being a comfy four pm here), following the updates on two sites, and was astonished at the mischief suddenly-rolling-in-it Manchester City were causing. I have no doubt that their hilarious bid for Berbatov, gladly accepted by Spurs who were keen to see the Bulgarian fulfill his dream of a move to somewhere in Manchester, helped us get the 30 million we were asking, which United begrudgingly coughed up. Now sulky Berbs has his dream move, and will be with a team that will win things for him, as opposed to one where he actually had to work for his wage packet (oh, except if he was sulking). By the way, sir Alex, four years seems to mean two years these days, so watch out for Real Madrid’s inevitable courting come 2010, and Dimitar’s sudden lifelong dream to play at the Berbateu – I mean, Bernabeu.

There were nails bitten aplenty – would anyone sign Michael Owen? Would Arsenal sign anyone? People texting in claiming to have seen [insert any footballer here] getting out of a taxi outside [insert any football club here]. City were my heroes of the day though, landing the Brazilian Robinho, beating money-bags Chelsea to his signature; he too had talked endlessly about his dream move, but in actually turning the money-grabber’s dream-team down for even more lovely wonga he truly embodies the modern shamelessly greedy money-grabbing bastard footballer of today. Hooray! 

I love staying up all night for general elections, watching as each constituency announces their result, watching as the Monster Raving Loony Party honk away at the back; I was reminded of the look on Michael Portillo’s face when he lost Southgate when I though of Chelsea, shortly before midnight, only this time the Monster Raving Loonies actually won the seat, and will apparently soon be trying to win the biggest seat of all, with a flipping hysterical and audacious bid for Cristiano Ronaldo. Oh, please please do it! Just for a laugh. I wish Spurs could get bought by some super-rich Arabs (pretty unlikely though, given Tottenham’s Jewish tradition, Yid Army and all, but you never know – it could be the first step to world peace?).

Bristol who?

never his mind on where he was

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Encore, my illustration friday entry this week: “Memories”, this time with colour. Not much colour, but some colour. I posted the black and white version yesterday. It’s an homage, or even an homage of an homage. I forget now.

misty watercoloured

Memory is a funny thing. Whole academic programs are set up around the very idea of memory, its uses, its effects on future actions, plus lots of other stuff I don’t quite know (or have forgotten). In the days before literacy, memory was of vital importance, to keep laws, to pass on traditions, plus lots of other things I can’t remember. Our incredible capacity for memory became less well exercised once things began to be written down – we trusted paper for permanence, rather than agreed ideas on what really happened or what the rules really were. We also began, everntaully, to equate language with what is written rather than what is spoken – a huge mistake if you ask me. But anyway back to memory. Do you remember, in the days before we all had cellphones, that you used to remember most of your friends’ phone numbers? You had to, in case you needed to call them. But now you just press their name in your nokia. Memory capacity unexercised. I don’t even remember my own cellphone number now. I don’t have to. So what’s the rest of my brain doing when it’s not being used remembering things like that? I forget.

As for what happened in our lives… it’s funny how quickly things whisper away from your thoughts. People, places, ideas; yet, if we have a small token from them, doesn’t matter how small or insignificant, we have a greater chance of retaining that memory. Photos are one thing, drawings are another. Each of these things above have some sort of meaning to me. I’d be happy to explain.

some have gone, and some remain

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Illustration Friday this week is “Memories”; this is my entry. 

memories

I took my inspiration for this composition from the phenomenal Andrea Joseph. Well, her and the homage to her by France Belleville. I’ve wanted for a while to do a detailed piece of “bits” for a while but hadn’t blocked out the mental space for it – wow, it takes some concentrated concentration! – and, actually it’s not finished. I’ll be adding colour later (I just need a rest!). I drew it so that it would be coloured.

Those are just some of my memories. Oh, except one, a partially hidden photo of my grandad (who i never knew) with my dad as a boy (you only see his hair). Once the picture is complete I’ll add notes. They span several countries. Two of the objects are actual ‘memory’.

hart times

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hart hall

Do you remember Take Hart (and it’s later incarnation, Hart-beat)? Tony Hart was the art guy for a generation; famously named after three body-parts, he could do near anything with corrugated cardboard and poster paint (just as his caretaker Mr Bennett could always be trusted to get his foot stuck in a bucket), though most of us watched it for Morph, the little brown plasticine guy who could phase through tables but nothing else, and of course The Gallery. “Now it’s time for the Gallery.” For those Americans who don’t know, this was where the work of Britain’s young artist boys and girls was displayed to a backdrop of lift music and unpredictable camera-movements. Kids up and down the land who had submitted their work would sit anxiously, hoping their drawing of their cat would bring them a moment of fame. Kids who drew all the time. Kids like me. But not me.

I never submitted anything to the Gallery, because they had one infamous proviso: you will never get it back. “Pictures cannot be returned,” he warned us. So I did not send Tony Hart any of my drawings, preferring to wait until the internet age to start a sketchblog, and forego the music. I wonder what they did with all those drawings? Do they still exist? Does Tony Hart keep them locked in some underground storage facility? One day, they’ll surface; he or his ancestors will go through them and find an original Tracey Emin aged 7 (“this is everyone I ever ate crisps with”) or one by the 8 and three quarters year old Damien Hirst with his earthworm suspended in pritt-stick glue. And they’ll be worth millions.

Oh, the drawing? Sorry, yes it’s Hart Hall, UC Davis, and has nothing to do with the art-loving Tony at all. Drew and painted it today at lunchtime while escaping slowly moving shadows.

every day i look at the world through my window

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routine

Illustration Friday this week is “routine”…this is my entry.

Now, before you say, “do what?”, I’m playing a game here I used to play when i did interactive theatre. This image, ok, it’s an image of Tel looking out of my window in Belgium, about eight or so years ago. Add the word ‘routine’ and you start to write the story in your head around it. 

This may have been the night after this night here. But it was probably after a different night. 

But that windowsill! Man, I spent so many days and nights sat on that, looking out of my thirteenth floor window, across the Square Hiernaux (I nicknamed it the Vicious Circle because of the quite crazy Belgian driving), to Ville Deux, to the Stade Mambourg (where England beat Germany in Euro 2000), and to the terrils, the large slag heaps that dot the landscape of the forsaken pays noir.

pessi-mystic pete

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You may have wondered what has happened to Mystic Pete this new football year. Well, my sources tell me he is taking some time off from his uncanny prognosticising to spend more time in the garden, predicting rain and such forth (which may explain the drought we’ve had). He did mumble something about Rafael Benitez being the first managerial sacking, but even that was half-hearted. (Oh, I just noticed “arsenal to win shit” in the message above, it means “arsenal to win shit”, not “arsenal to win shit“. This being a message from Mystic Pete hopefully means arsenal will win shit. But that’s Opti-Mystic Pete, and he’s not in the building).

For those unfamiliar with Mystic Pete, he’s the guy who predicted France would win Euro 2008.