Wet, Wetter and soaked to the skin - Day three
Wet, Wetter and Soaked to the Skin
I have been here for three days now and it has rained every day. Not just gentle drizzle but the sort of rain that soaks you to the skin and fogs up your glasses so badly you would not even notice if you had carelessly wandered up inside a Scot's kilt.
Obviously being a soft southerner who scoffed when be-moaners, fed up with talking about Brexit, took pleasure in declaring that "it always rains in the Western Highlands" - I thought they were exaggerating. They weren't.
My clothes and footwear are unsuitable for this climate and on Saturday when I get the afternoon off I will have to travel the 110 miles to Inverness and back to remedy the situation.
Suffice to say my carefully selected wardrobe is not right either but thanks to the generosity of Petrina Mason at Now Training I have a black boiler suit.
Those of you family and friends who know me well, are aware that black is the very last colour that I would have chosen - however I have spent the last two days working with charcoal, Indian ink and black and white chalks. I looked as if I'd spent the time down a particularly dirty coal mine and I am deeply grateful for said boiler suit, which I suspect I will barely remove for the next four months.
I had thought I would drag it along the beach to make it look less pristine and well used, but its raining - again.
Having appeared in it this morning, I think I may be starting a trend as the young lad also turned up in a royal blue one this afternoon.
Pen and Ink day yesterday was a bit of a disaster. I hated the stuff and produced mean, tight, nasty little drawings.
At one point I thought I was channelling my inner Chinese calligrapher but it was only today, with it behind me, that I realised why I had been so very resistant.
Anyone under forty and who didn't attend Meads Primary School won't
believe me but we had to write everything with a dip pen and ink when I was at primary school. Not a fountain pen - a wooden stick with a brass nib attached and dipped into a small china inkwell set into our desks full of liquid black ink. I loved the thick black lines I could make, Miss Blenkinsop didn't. She regularly used to bash 'the bejasuss' out of my hands or across the backs of my legs with a wooden ruler for not creating light spidery marks instead. Yesterday I was not channelling my inner chinese - I was channelling little Michaele aged 8!!!
Day one was fabulous.
Day two - ink - not so good.
Day three and we are still working totally in black and white.
The saving grace is that the Course Director has set up the most exciting and imaginative still life set ups and our tutor does brilliant demos each day so we actually know HOW to use the media and what is expected of us and we kind of achieve it better than our expectations.
Tonight at the end of day three I think we are all feeling good. Tired with aching legs from standing at an easel all day, but satisfied.
It is also fascinating to be starting to learn more about my fellow attendees.
Tonight I am going back to the studio to work alongside a lovely lady who until June last year was a GP. Her husband is a Professor of Rural Medicine and spends a lot of time abroad. They also farm and at lunchtime she had to rush off to phone the local abattoir as they have an overload of sheep.
So what brings the rest of us to this remote part of Scotland to work together?
I believe there is some sort of contract at play between us all particularly as two of them applied last year and were asked to reapply this year instead.
I look forward to finding out more in the days and weeks to come.
I have been here for three days now and it has rained every day. Not just gentle drizzle but the sort of rain that soaks you to the skin and fogs up your glasses so badly you would not even notice if you had carelessly wandered up inside a Scot's kilt.
Obviously being a soft southerner who scoffed when be-moaners, fed up with talking about Brexit, took pleasure in declaring that "it always rains in the Western Highlands" - I thought they were exaggerating. They weren't.
My clothes and footwear are unsuitable for this climate and on Saturday when I get the afternoon off I will have to travel the 110 miles to Inverness and back to remedy the situation.
Suffice to say my carefully selected wardrobe is not right either but thanks to the generosity of Petrina Mason at Now Training I have a black boiler suit.
Those of you family and friends who know me well, are aware that black is the very last colour that I would have chosen - however I have spent the last two days working with charcoal, Indian ink and black and white chalks. I looked as if I'd spent the time down a particularly dirty coal mine and I am deeply grateful for said boiler suit, which I suspect I will barely remove for the next four months.
I had thought I would drag it along the beach to make it look less pristine and well used, but its raining - again.
Having appeared in it this morning, I think I may be starting a trend as the young lad also turned up in a royal blue one this afternoon.
Pen and Ink day yesterday was a bit of a disaster. I hated the stuff and produced mean, tight, nasty little drawings.
At one point I thought I was channelling my inner Chinese calligrapher but it was only today, with it behind me, that I realised why I had been so very resistant.
Anyone under forty and who didn't attend Meads Primary School won't
believe me but we had to write everything with a dip pen and ink when I was at primary school. Not a fountain pen - a wooden stick with a brass nib attached and dipped into a small china inkwell set into our desks full of liquid black ink. I loved the thick black lines I could make, Miss Blenkinsop didn't. She regularly used to bash 'the bejasuss' out of my hands or across the backs of my legs with a wooden ruler for not creating light spidery marks instead. Yesterday I was not channelling my inner chinese - I was channelling little Michaele aged 8!!!
Day one was fabulous.
Day two - ink - not so good.
Day three and we are still working totally in black and white.
The saving grace is that the Course Director has set up the most exciting and imaginative still life set ups and our tutor does brilliant demos each day so we actually know HOW to use the media and what is expected of us and we kind of achieve it better than our expectations.
Tonight at the end of day three I think we are all feeling good. Tired with aching legs from standing at an easel all day, but satisfied.
It is also fascinating to be starting to learn more about my fellow attendees.
Tonight I am going back to the studio to work alongside a lovely lady who until June last year was a GP. Her husband is a Professor of Rural Medicine and spends a lot of time abroad. They also farm and at lunchtime she had to rush off to phone the local abattoir as they have an overload of sheep.
So what brings the rest of us to this remote part of Scotland to work together?
I believe there is some sort of contract at play between us all particularly as two of them applied last year and were asked to reapply this year instead.
I look forward to finding out more in the days and weeks to come.
Interesting about your clothes being 'wrong' - especially as you'd bought what you thought would be a suitable wardrobe.
ReplyDeleteThe regression to childhood suggests that there's an element of art therapy in the course.
I don't envy you having to stand all day - were you expecting that? I was standing for two and a half hours yesterday and was exhausted!
You seem to be producing such a lot of work - all of which looks good to me!