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In the absence of painting these last few weeks, I draw every other day. Scribble actually. Well, scrawl to be truthful.

I scrawl my way through lunchtime. Looking for worthy subjects is a vain enterprise. I’m not fast enough or have the requisite skill to parcel down the fleeting movements of a passerby. I wish I was. It would make my life easier.

Instead I work from memory.

Simple things, like withdrawing money from the ATM. Or standing in line to pay for a can of milk and half open packet of biscuits. Greedily munching away, despite the accusatory glances of the security guard.

‘I’m paying for them!!…Look…queue’ – a sweeping gesture of the arm. People move back slightly.

I don’t do that by the way.

But I can sketch it down with a blue biro or dulled stump of a pencil. It keeps the artistic brain moving, a small much underpowered motor within, keeping the brain waters swashing about.

Things have a habit of falling into place in their own time. It’s the same with paintings. Drawings or scratchings in my case build up to a final work somewhere in the not so distant future.

The secret is you keep turning up and doing the work.

Some of which can be readily viewed here.


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