My Illustrative Life

Pictures from the weekend:

I told y’all I spent today (off sick) learning to draw Raymond Burr. He has a really particular face! As you can see in that last picture. This for the sake of an Ironside/MST3k comic, which you shall see later. If you tune in.

Needing to save my workshirts for work only, I have taken to wearing these oversized “peasant shirts” in the heat and just tying them up until they stop annoying me with their bigness. It’’s pretty comfy I guess, and disguises my belly button - if you can’t see it, you can’t be sure I’m not a clone. It’s less structured than I am used to or quite comfortable with; good for being in fields or on run-down farms or cooking a la Like Water for Chocolate but not for being in company, really. The skirt, also, is shorter and breezier than usual.. a little less secure than ideal. This is the kind of thing I need to say to myself curse it all, I have no inorganic responsibilities today before I can wear it.

Sunday! A day of rest, according to my Church of England atheist upbringing. A day of vest, right now.

I can count on Sunday to not require me to go out, mostly. I am fond of Sundays for this reason.

Garden pruning gave me a little accessorising - and no, this isn’t my Florrie’s tea party floral offering.. One does not go to garden parties in one’s robe.

I feel a little bit Snufkin, a little bit Luffy, a little bit something-I-can’t-think-of and a little bit Moreau. You see? La.

Sundays are also days when I sometimes pretend to be hipper than I am. Long necklances piss me off because they fall about, and off, and get tangled, and just look so.. forgotten? But when I’m not moving enough to affect a long thing dangling from my neck, sometimes I try it out to see if I like it after all.

Upon consideration, I don’t. I just dislike things that look precarious. “Tie it on properly!”, I think. There’s a better shot of red nose day Madonna, though.

It was cooler today! And I got a lift instead of cycling, which I already feel bad about actually. But besides my moral agitation, this was good because it meant I got to wear my own clothes! And not sweat all over them! Hurray!

For explanation of why it’s worth mentioning when I wear my own clothes, see here.

So tell me, which of these pictures looks better? The first one, which is just a picture straight off a digital camera, or the second, which is the same picture straight off a digital camera only also having been done over by the “enhance” button in iPhoto?I don’t have sophisticated graphics stuff on my computer. iPhoto, Pixen, and Gimp (which drives me crazy but which I am grateful for, thank you tech people).

This combination of shirt and trousers (and boots) is an easy killer, for me. They will always, always look good to me, on me. The fabric for both is kind of weird; the shirt’s sort of rayon-y feeling with great drape and the trousers are.. a sort of.. nubby stretchy weave? They’re appropriate for ANYTHING, and the colours are my favourite sort of vivid-dirty. Forest colours. They evoke Copper Beeches, which are one of my favourite kinds of tree - the colour change in the leaves from spring to summer is amazing! They start this delicate two-tone peach-green (which sounds awful, but isn’t) and they thunder along into the richest coffee-red. They grow enormous, too, and commonly.

I started tucking my trousers into my boots as my first expression of ‘no, you can’t tell me how to dress, you don’t even know me yet and all my friends who would try are gone’ when I got to college after sixth form, for my Foundation Art year. It felt fantastic then, and it feels fantastic now even though I don’t feel self-consciously brave about it any more. Wearing my boots out this way feels like being toothpaste squeezed to spurt out of the tube. You might recoil, but I’m a healthy product!

As for what I wore yesterday, when it was hot and when I did cycle to work - pyjama trousers. And a different shirt of my sister’s. Hnk.

I guess I need to get my tough charity shoppin’ knuckles on, because until term ends I’m doing lunches every day. I can’t spend three straight weeks in pyjamas and ill-fitting stolen items!

Actually I can spend that long in pyjamas. And I would, if they didn’t ride up so (BHS - not the greatest tailors). But the stolen tops, that’s another matter. I think she might get fierce.

Sunday:

Shocking first images of the lady’s new wheels!!!! HENSHIN!!!!

This is the best way to deal with hayfever, absolutely.

Monday:

I would like to spend more time in lederhosen, definitely. I feel they inspire my dinner ladying with a little of that Problem Like Maria sparkle. (I don’t wear them to work)

Tuesday:

My pose is weird because I was in the middle of falling over.

Wednesday:

Of course, when I say “for work”, I don’t mean that I frighten the children into behaving by looking like Grifter (if only it were that easy). The kerchief is to keep the pollen out of my face on the ride to and from work - i basically just go through miles and miles of very fertile crops. It’s necessary.

Khaki skirt: second-hand Jane Marple via Rinkya; blouse from Marie Curie charity shop; most hole-y jacket ever from Topshop; socks from Sainsbury’s; fishnets probably also from Sainsbury’s; boots are Dr Martens. Cardigan from Laura Ashley sale (decided to give it a ‘yay i have a job’ chance since it has loops and a tie for waist adjustment, probably a mistake), vintage lederhosen from Etsy. Apron-dress is second hand Jane Marple via a sales comm. Blue shirt second-hand JM also, also via Rinkya. Golden shoes are VW + Melissa, from YOOX sale.

Silly Eric, there is nothing wrong with arboretums! In fact, they’re pretty darned excellent. Learn with me:

Want moar? Try HERE!

Coming this week: the resumption of Makeover Movie Madness! PLUS: the illustratorclaire MANIFESTO. Look forward.

GOSH IT’S SUNNY!

When it is warm enough for shorts and my mum getting sunburned in April, something feels off. But something also feels that it is necessary to spend weekend days in the garden on one’s belly.

So, I did. More on that, and the shorts situation, later. I had.. let me see.. four books and two newspaper supplements to read Garth Nix’s Lord Sunday (thank you, beloved!), Grant Morrison & Frank Quitely’s New X-Men “ultimate collection v.1″ (because I only have spotty issues here and there from the Morrison run due to not always being able to get my hands on Essential X-Men, but what I have is SO GOOD), Hammer Films: The Bray Studio Years (birthday present! Excellent!), Homicidal Psycho Jungle Cat: Calvin & Hobbes Collection (because my sister’s school was THROWING AWAY TWO HUGE COLLECTED C&H VOLUMES, CAN YOU BELIEVE, ARE THEY CRAZY), supplements from the Independent so I figured I would be doing not-much on the outwardly creative front. I figured wrongly, though.

I mentioned on twitter that I drew a princess doing carpentry earlier, and that I liked it a lot. I can’t show you the one I meant then, because it’s on a birthday card for my cousin (I don’t think she reads here.. D:), but I can show you the ones I did afterwards. It’s so pleasing! Fancy calm dresses and destructive physicality. Yeuhhhh.

I gotta look up non-euro-fairytale style princesses. I would like to make the Princess’ Woodcutting and Carpentry School open to international students, very much.

Third princess referenced from a shot of Mohammed Ali Chopping wood; the two-princess saw’s from a picture you get if you google image “two-man saw”.

So I GOT THESE NEW SHOOS.

They go with any tight(s),

And they make me feel POWERFUL,

Like I could fight!

They make me throw over my Fitflop slippers (and you know, I think they do work like they say they do)..

They make EVERYONE excited!

Even gents with shirts that excel.

I h’ain’t bought nor worn summer shoes for about ten years. It’s so hard to find ones that fit my exacting criteria: no open toes. No heels. No need to crunch my feet up to keep them on. This describes NO SHOES I HAVE EVER SEEN. Until these!

Ms Westwood, you see my dreams and you make them real.

And they smell like the Troll doll shop my dad used to take me to as a treat. A small shop in the indier section of the shopping center, with walls just lined with trolls. All sizes! All colours! All gimmicks! I adored Trolls, despite the fact that they were REALLY uncomfortable to cuddle. I got one near-on a foot high for.. my sixth birthday? Her name was Kylie. She had green hair. She smelt delicious!

Remember when I planted a bunch of bulbs including some garlic?

They grew, of course!

>

That’s the garlic. Isn’t it fine? It’s not done yet, as you can see, but when it is.. there will be a lot. And I shall use it ALL!

Irises and crosuses (crocii still sounds better) too, though they’re in or nearing their prime already:

I think this type of iris is so weird looking. Like alien mouths.

I don’t know the names of the individual types of crocus. But I know that they are ridiculously easy to grow; put them in the ground, forget about them, be pleasantly surprised by small flower-cups!

This was an interesting texture - a rose hip that’s shriveled on the plant.

I hope I never stop being amazed at the colours that can be found in wood. This is burburis, which is apparently a very defensive plant. It’s danger-yellow when grazed, I’m told it’s poisonous-bitter, and it’s extremely thorny. Extremely. Ouch.

I spent twelve til four building and tending a bonfire of all the scrubby old dead crud left over at the end of a garden’s winter. It was a job of heaving and smoked eyes, trampling and poking and blowing and propping and coaxing and HEAVING HARDER. Ivy and other scrub tangles as easily as hair if left to its own devices! But I had a big shiny fork to help me, which was nice.

I’ve got no flippin’ clue why or when this went so crap. It was fine and sharp when I finished editing it.. fantastic.

It was a little bit like I had slain a forest spirit-beast; the branches on top of the bonfire were antlers and the weeds were its flankshag. Not the kind of death that makes you a villain, though. The kind that forges respect between the two involved, and makes you responsible for that area of woodland for example.

My mum and sister had half-term last week, so we took an overnighter in Buxton. To walk in nature, and.. look at stuff. We stopped at Chatsworth House (because my sister is a big squealer for Pride and Prejudice), which as you can see above is quite delightful. This is the view from one side of the bridge:

One of several reasons I am proud to volunteer for BW: Waterways are wonderful. So pretty! I drew as much as my freezin’ fingers would let me.

There are links to more pictures (reference/stock) of these gorgeous landscapes in the righthand sidebar.

Also fascinating was the toilet paper, where we stayed. No really, take a gander!

Lots of charming pokey shops, too; antiques and bookshops aplenty. A surprising amount of clothing, in the antiques emporiums in and around Buxton actually - maybe it’s a local thing, but ‘vintage’ seems to be creeping in all over where it was once disdained. I may be being overly romantic.

There was the most excellent bookshop. Second-hand, antique to current, FIVE FLOORS. It had free tea and coffee! That you could make for yourself! It was glorious, and I kick myself for not being in the right sort of mood to really appreciate it. Then again, I really can’t afford to be stocking up on old, old thick books with the sorts of covers that make you want to weep from the perfection of illustration.

Where was my mind? Photographic evidence:

The horrors (and adventures) of my youth.

Truth be told I came out with exactly what I did want - Teacher’s Pet by Caroline B. Cooney, a Point Horror (remember those?) that chilled me so royally that I refused to use the downstairs bathroom for years. I’ve been looking for it for months; I wanted to see if it still had the power.

In the story the heroine finds a rough workmans glove in the woods, which turns out to still have a hand in it. My dad keeps his work gloves in the downstairs loo. I was a nervous and imaginative child!

So, watch out for THAT review, coming soon..

It snowed! The end!

Today seemed like a ‘first day of Spring’; it was sunny though still cold, and crocuses are coming up. I sat on the front steps and read the first story in The Temple of Death.

The first story in the anthology The Temple of Death happens to be called The Temple of Death. It was written by Arthur Christopher Benson (1862 - 1925(1926?)), a man who seems to have had a rather painful life but who also seems to have been quite dedicated to making the lives of others better, if he could. The introduction to the book mentions he was a teacher, who was of the following opinion:

I am sure it is one’s duty as a teacher to try to show boys that no opinions, no tastes, no emotions are worth much unless they are one’s own. I suffered accutely as a boy from the lack of being shown this.

I get a little of the impression that he wasn’t exactly pro-woman, but I also get no impression that he was anti exactly, either, and it was hardly his fault alone that Eton was for boys, so lets allow him the benefit of the doubt.

Anyway, he also (according to the introduction of my volume, by David Stuart Davies) said that he wrote his (horror) stories for the purpose of the following:

..[To] touch with a light romance some of the knightly virtues which are apt to be dulled into the aspect of commonplace and uninteresting duties.

I have to say, I think that’s marvelous - and a darn fine raison d’être. I admire this man.

As far as I can tell, since A. Benson died in 1925 (or 26? wiki says one, intro says another), these stories of his are public domain. So here are the first two pages of The Temple of Death, read by your host (me). There are just over fourteen in all, and if you’d care to give me con-crit I’d be much obliged and attempt to improve my methods before narrating the next two or so. I’m doing voiceover work at both of my places of employ, and as such I rather need the practice. I hope you enjoy the story.. the devil’s yet to come.

Yesterday my mum and my sister and I visited my Great Aunt, who lives a fair way away in (my ancestral) Coventry, and took her to Coombe Abbey. Coombe Abbey, if you haven’t been, is awesome.

I haven’t taken any pictures of one reason it was so awesome, because that is probably illegal - there were tons and tons of kids there. Loads. I know it’s half term and all, but it was a joy to see youngins running about yelling at ducks, enjoying forest pathways, climbing banks, shouting “I AM THE TALKING BUSH” and shaking branches from inside evergreens which branch from ground-level, walking dogs, and QUITE CLEARLY being on dates. Too cute. If you are ever thinking, “oh alas children do not like nature any more, only wii, how sad!”, you should go to Coombe Abbey (at half term).

It has buildings, and grounds (lots), and just about every type of country landscape you could ask for. There’s a pond at the front of (what I think is) the hotel that has a sort of aqueduct non-bridge pathway across it; on one side it’s nature free and wobbly and undergrowth, on the other it’s nurture - angular and groomed, statues in the water, box-shaped box hedges.

There are paths to follow in various directions, which managed to turn me completely around and take me by surprise. I thought I’d reached a new building, but it was the one we started at. Cunning! The whole place has a sense of mystery though, the way it’s lain out - there’s always something just visible through or past or behind what you’re looking at.

The grounds were really, really pretty. These don’t do them justice because I am not a good photographer (and the camera I was borrowing is kind of weird and colour-bleaching/non-focusable).

Coombe Abbey also contains the spookiest tree-bourne sculpture I have ever seen. The black dog in this picture was being called forcefully by its owners, but I was willing it to stay in the frame long enough for the darn picture to take..

Seriously, is that supposed to be.. what is that supposed to be??

What’s a day out without a fitting outfit? NOTHING, THAT is what!! In a moment of great serendipity, my super-fantastic dreamskirt from Modelle - via the NASTY GAL sale - arrived that morning..

I was sure I would be able to see my own foot through the trunk’s various holes if only I stretched far enough..

I couldn’t.

BONUS: Me totally failing to replicate the awesome height achieved by my first run-up, which my fool sister MISSED CURSE HER.

And with that, I’ll go back where I came from.

Badly taken pictures, because I worry I will get robbed if I photograph on the street.

(To check my map; if you think I’m gonna indicate that I don’t know my way around in public, I laugh at you.)

More coming, if the Cathedral are cool with my sharing snaps from within. I couldn’t find a sign saying “don’t!”, but I don’t wanna assume.

Just after sawing up a bunch of wood; just before removing the two sad sad frozen frogs from the pond (reference pictures here, if you might need them. It just looks like it is resting, honest!).

This lace vest thing, I found it in a charity shop. It makes me feel like Maid Marian. Over or under, which is better? I think it probably depends.

Yeah. Depends.

HMMMMNNN Amy and
Temporary Secretary have let me know via twitter that they’re having troubles with - by which I mean, finding it impossible to be - leaving comments here. I really have no idea how to fix this!

So I’m asking two things: 1) can anyone give me any answers? and 2) If you try to leave a comment and it doesn’t work, PLEASE let me know! You can get to me on twitter (Illusclaire) or email claire [at] illustratorclaire.co.uk. I want people to be able to tell me I’m wrong about things, or more importantly how RIGHT I am.