Anon. Me: Anonymous Collection of Introspection
Dear readers, Following on from my post (Artistic Musings….) about narratives and messages in art, I have been working on a strange collection of doodles that was born out of lack of technical skill at drawing people. As you can below, the figures are a scribbly shadow. It’s simplistic. I know. Easy to draw: just a matter of minutes to sketch out and finish. That’s why I enjoy it. Innocent fun, I suppose. It’s therapeutic. It’s been a theme for some time, without me really realising it. I started drawing the shadowed scribbles or sketches of people dancing, playing music, drinking, enjoying romantic moments under moonlight or in the rain, sometimes with a dog, reminding me of my old dog, Chente, or just memories of my dad and I together. They’re like scenarios, narratives of life and moments, some just pieces of advice I picked up from somewhere. Some are in black ink, some multicoloured, some in pencil, and some even in pastels, even though I struggle with them (see my post: Playing With Pastels). Recently, the drawings have taken on a new life. I was recently asked why I don’t sign or initial any of my drawings. I didn’t know why. I still don’t. I just draw. Fun. Enjoyment. Like I mentioned in the previous post, once the art is published, it belongs to everyone. I lose ownership. Well, reverse that ridiculous little idea. It was a pretentious hippy shit thought and I was clearly inebriated on ink fumes. Of course I need to pay the bills; better still, retire early, roll in a bed of cash, swim in a pool of moolah, buy beach homes on a whim etc, you get the picture. These babies are mine and I aim to claim royalties on them if people choose to purchase. Talk like this could lead me into legal trouble at a later date. All self-mocking aside, I like the theory that what we produce belongs to the thoughts and reflects of others. It just never occurred to me to add my signature to the work. They were just doodles. So I replied to the question, “I suppose I’m even anonymous to myself”, and in that moment, the thought fell from the sky, a lightbulb moment, something of a pseudonym or tag name, Anon. me. However, I fully understand the irony. It’s not so anonymous if I’m declaring to the world this collection is by me. It’s not meant that way anyway. I am very much an introvert. Not many people believe this, but I enjoy passing time by myself, regaining my energies by disconnecting and being anonymous to the world. Some of the pieces are just that: anecdotes of searching for inner peace and healing (read more on artistic journey on: Why Do I Doodle?). Like in my previous post, they consist a mixture of imagery and musings of whatever’s passing my excited, reflective, worried, angry, happy, sad, numb, and conflicted mind at that fleeting moment. There is a lot of shadow and introspective work going on, a window into my chaotic thoughts and world. I like a bit of humour, self-mockery, sometimes mocking the world, sometimes observations of what’s going on in society. Some are purely emotional, accepting and the power of saying goodbye. Now, I don’t want to applaud myself to loudly – after all, it wouldn’t fit with my anonymous alter-ego – but one of my favourites is the drawing to the left. Let me be selfish for the moment. This scribbled figure is very much me, maybe more than any other. This is my forceshield against views, comments and opinions that once might have wound me up and/or left me wounded, but telling myself this helps me to let go of words which harm, intentional or not. It shrinks the person and their words into insignificance, to let it go, move on and not let it hurt your esteem, or better still, laugh at the comments (and the person), maybe even review the words to see if there is truth to them, even if they are wrapped in barbed wire. I hate to use the cliché: sometimes the truth hurts. I take great strength from this strategy, giving me patience and calm. It’s part of growing up and realising what’s a battle and what’s not. Some people or comments aren’t worth the energy, time or thought. I offer it to others who are sensitive. I hope it works for you. Then again, I hope the rest of the collection does. It’s meant for your enjoyment, to inspire and for you to resonate with. I suppose most artists aim for the same, as well as dream of swimming in pools of money, which is possibly a dream which also extends to many different people: not just creators. Nonetheless, a shallow dream, it might well be. So, sit back with a hot brew, or a cold one, and enjoy a few moments of my chaotic thoughts. Some of the drawings you may have seen before in other posts, as they were also inspired by other elements, such as music, cats or the sea. If any inspire you, let me know in the comments. Anon. me Anon. me with Pastels Anon. me in Other Themes Older Anon. Me Doodles Anon. Me – Pencil Drawings
Musings from the Coast: Drawings of the Sea
Dear readers, I’ve never lived close to the sea. Not for any length of time anyway. I’ve always found myself in cities and places landlocked and/or at some distance from the coast. I’m not sure why. 44 years on this planet. I’m almost obsessed with it, with a giant tattoo on my upper right arm, based loosely on The Great Wave off Kanagawa by Hokusai, which is also the cover of my current doodle book, a special gift from a special person. So what’s stopped me from moving to the coast? Life and career choices, I suppose. This personal goal hasn’t coincided with my career. It’s not a regret. There isn’t much point in that. It is what it is. But it is a goal I have. Bucket list stuff (as opposed to bucket and spade stuff: poor pun intended). To live by the sea. To have a home with sea breezes flowing through the windows, strolling on to the sand with the mass of blue before me. I see it there before me right now. I almost taste the salt in my mouth and feel the vibration of the crashing waves bounce up through me from my feet. I glare out in wonder and admiration at this big, beautiful force of nature before me, covering 71% of the Earth’s surface, 139 million miles2 or 361 million km2 of water, with a volume of approximately 1.37 billion km3. That’s a lot of H2O. It just has the added ingredient of dissolved salt, which accounts for 3.5% of the entire ocean mass. You do the maths if you want to know the total volume of salt in our seas. I’m just stealing these numbers from the web. In the morning, I would swim before work, then do the same in the evening. I then look up to the stars at night and lie mesmerised at the theatre before me: the universe. I would eat fresh fish at lunch and drink it down with coconut milk and/or pineapple juice. Quite a manifestation, isn’t it. It seems I have it all worked out. I plan on winning the lottery any day soon. See you in my beach house dreams. I know this isn’t an everyday reality for those who live by the coast, at least not for the majority. I’m not sure how people live their lives by the sea to be honest. I doubt it’s like the above. Hurricane and rip tide warnings. Sand flies that chomp through your flesh to the bone, jellyfish, sharks, snakes, sea crocodiles, pollution…the list goes on: all the cons of living by the sea. People I know who’ve moved to the coast from the city have told me that the novelty wears off pretty quickly. I’m crushing my own manifestation. I’m thinking of Honduras though. Those Caribbean beaches in the north. It’s Easter week and a sizable chunk of the population is flocking there as I write. I’m stuck in Tegucigalpa, about 5 hours south. Looking on with envy. But I wouldn’t want to go this week. Too many people. My moment will come again. I grew up in Birmingham in England, located probably at the furthest point from the coast in the country, the closest beach being Weston-Super-Mare which is two hours away, famous for the tide spending the majority of the time in the horizon so you don’t actually see the sea, and the sickly sweet rock, which wrecks teeth and your budget with dental bills. Preston, where I studied at university, is 20 miles from the seaside town Lytham St Annes, but as a penniless student without a car and dependent on public transport, beach trips were rare. The icy cold waters made swimming in it near impossible. Memories, though. I also lived in Madrid and Seville. The former was like Birmingham, far from the sea. The latter was closer, but not close enough. I spent a summer working in Calella de Palafrugell on the Costa Brava, a sleepy, picturesque town that used to be a fishing village. It was a 10 minute walk to the beach from where I resided and consisted of tiny coves where one could paddle or dive deep.. Every morning I would take a dip, or disappear on my few days off to the many little beaches close by and read Hemingway books while basking in the sun. The weeks went by swimmingly, pun intended, but a little too fast for my liking. Just two years ago I found a print of Calella while on a work trip in Barcelona, floating through the streets and galleries in Barrio Gótico, or Barri Gòtic in Catalan, by an artist I can’t remember the name of. It sits on my bedside table today, and you can find it to the left of this text. A small treasure that reminds me of those days at the coves. In Honduras, I reside in Tegucigalpa. It’s been my home for 14 years, although I often ask myself how I find myself in a country blessed with pristine beaches yet I live in a city nowhere near to any of them. It grates me, why? Seriously, why? Tegucigalpa isn’t the worst place in the world, but once you sample the beaches around Tela, La Ceiba and Trujillo, you wonder, what fuck are you doing here? You live once. Go, go, go. Tegus, as it is commonly known, is closer to the Pacific, just two hours or so away. The sun scorches and the water is murky with volcanic ash. It’s nice, don’t get me wrong; nice shrimp and shellfish, and there are mangroves and history on the island of Amapala. Yet, it struggles to compare with the North; the Caribbean vibe and turquoise waters, which feel warm and spiced and makes you feel you’re treading water in a relaxing tumbler of rum. Beach for the Brummies During the summer months, Birmingham City Council would lay out a fabricated beach close to Victoria Square outside