I've had a number of enquiries about 'Lottie', the miniature poodle that I featured on the blog back in 2017. Lottie is still very active, and I often meet her when out for a walk. She is invariably accompanied by her more senior companion 'Tolly', whose portrait I also drew some time ago. I am often asked how long it takes me to do a dog portrait, so this month I've reached into the archives for my working sketches that underpinned the finished portrait. ~ Lottie began life as an apricot poodle, but has gradually faded to white with a hint of apricot in the ears and muzzle. Her owners were keen to have her committed to paint before the apricot vanished altogether. First off, I like to meet and bond with the dog - Lottie lives locally, so we were able to spend time walking, chilling out together and playing her favourite poodle games. As she couldn't keep still for more than 5 seconds, I had to take lots of photographs and film clips to back up my sketches and colour notes, the final subject being worked in my studio. The preliminary drawings are done in charcoal on A4 copy paper. They are worked quite rapidly, capturing aspects of character and movement, and looking at angles quite different from the final pose, but which helps to give me information in the round. I use the side of the charcoal to block in the back ground, and the textural effect is created by the paper itself. I use fingers to smudge in the lighter grey tones. Lottie's ears equate to what in humans used to be known as 'big hair'. What was going on structurally underneath them was anybody's guess, so I did this drawing of her without ears. Don't be alarmed - here is a subsequent study with her ears back in place. I can confirm that this sequence of drawings was done without recourse to either surgery or superglue! Altogether I did around two dozen tonal studies of Lottie before starting the actual portrait. In addition to tone I need colour notes. Although photos are useful for back-up information, there is much that the camera will distort, including colour values. So my primary material has to come from direct observation. This colour swatch was made using the paper chosen for the portrait, and observing the warm/cool effects of both light and shade on the subject. You may just be able to see that some colours are ticked and others are crossed out, as I narrow down my selection. For the portrait, I chose a Fabriano Ingres 160gsm laid paper in a mid-toned warm grey. This provided both a foil for the white fur and the apricot ears, and an unobtrusive background for the subject. Having chosen the pose, I start with a tonal under-drawing. I prefer to use willow charcoal for this, as it will disappear into the subsequent layers of colour, whereas graphite would show through the finished piece. I work very lightly at this stage, ghosting in the tonal values, in order to retain most of the paper tooth for the pastel, and to avoid sullying the later application of colour. All the above gives you an insight into the preparation that underpins the finished work. The portrait itself is worked over a number of sessions, and when I reach the point where I've stood in front of the easel for half an hour, only to make one small, but crucial, mark, I know that's it. The finishing touch is in place. Here she is, finished. Although Lottie is almost white, there is very little white pastel in the portrait. White objects tend to appear warm in sunlight and cool in shadow, so the colours used were all very pale tones of ochre, blue-violet and pinkish greys. In context these pale hues create the appearance of white, whilst avoiding the flat, chalky look of pure white pigment. Having just been clipped, her coat resembled a very tight perm, and each of those curls had its own shadow, involving a lot of detailed work with attention to warm/cool pairings and texture. As for Lottie herself, by the end of the exercise, she was totally flaked out. Go to the Animal Portrait page for more examples of animal portraiture, and use the contact page to enquire about commissioning a portrait of your pooch.
We had a beautiful April, followed by an indifferent May. Now, on a particularly overcast day, I was sizing up the cottages across the pond at Hempton, and telling myself that cloudy skies are more dramatic than blue ones. And on a day like this there were fewer people, which meant I could focus and work in peace, without interruption... As I set up my painting gear, I recalled the first time I had painted these cottages across the pond. It was the perfect summer’s day, and the subject was all sunlit under a blue sky. I was wearing a pair of lightweight lace-up shoes in a fetching frosted green. They were new on, cool and comfortable - so comfortable it didn’t feel as though I were wearing shoes at all. On that particular day, the pond had been alive with ducks - and they loved to see people, because that meant food. Nowadays, everyone knows it isn’t a good thing to feed bread to ducks, but back then people would regularly turn up with bags of stale bread and toss the crumbs on the water, and the ducks would paddle furiously about, hoovering the crumbs off the surface. Then they would get greedy and come off the water, expecting and demanding more bread. Like all wild animals that get used to being fed, it can soon turn into a problem. I once saw a swan with a neck the length of a broom handle come at a hapless visitor whose bread bag was empty, and who was so unnerved he threw the bag at the swan and fled to the safety of his car. So I wasn’t surprised that as soon as I set up my easel the ducks came paddling across the pond, and then they climbed out of the water and milled around, expecting to be fed. ‘Sorry,’ I said ‘No treats here.’ I carried on working and ignored them. A few went back on the water, but the majority hung around just in case. Most of them settled down to bask and preen themselves in the sunshine. One got fed up with being ignored and started nibbling the toe of my shoe. I thought it rather amusing, it wasn’t doing any harm and I ignored it and pressed on with my work. Presently, another duck came over and started nibbling at the other shoe. Before long there were quite a few ducks nibbling away, trying to let me know they were there, and they were hungry. To this day I don’t know why I let it happen. I was busy painting, they were just ducks, and I thought, ‘Live and let live.’ At length, my painting finished, I found the time to look down at the ducks - and I saw that in the absence of bread, or any other kind of treat, they had nibbled away the surface of both shoes. Gone was the fetching frosted green, and in its place a series of patches with the underlying fabric showing through. My new shoes, my pride and joy, now looked as though they had been subjected to years of wear and tear. Ducks don’t just go a-dabbling. As I found to my cost, they sometimes come a-nibbling, too! Now years later, on this overcast May morning, I was wearing a pair of old hiking shoes, just in case the great great grandchildren of those original ducks had designs on my footwear. But of course, as is the way with these things, there wasn’t a duck to be seen… Cottages across the Pond was painted in watercolour on half imperial Canson mi teintes paper. I’m often asked which breed of dog I most like to paint. That’s a difficult one. Regardless of breed, dogs all have different characters, and I’ve encountered many of those over the years. One of my favourites was a working Springer in its prime. The owners wanted me to show a couple of different stances, and having agreed the initial sketches, they couldn’t decide whether it should be set on the beach or ‘in the field.’ I did both and let them choose. They chose the version set in the field, and I kept the one on the beach… Not every request to paint a dog comes to fruition. As with the unfortunate fisherman, I have had a few cases of ‘the one that got away’. The most memorable of these was also a Springer, every bit as beautiful as the one in this painting, but quite different in character…
‘He needs to be working,’ said the owner, ‘He’s hyper.’ Yes, I could see the dog was hyper. Its eyes were flashing in every direction. There was no evidence of focus, nothing, apparently, connecting the eyes or ears to the brain. There must have been synapses shooting around and bouncing off the inside of its skull, but pinning one of them down in a desperate attempt to grab the dog’s attention, would be like swatting at bluebottles. The owner was keen for me to see the dog in action. ‘He’s trained to the whistle,’ I was informed, as we walked along the footpath through a nearby field, the dog eagerly weaving on the end of the lead in characteristic spaniel fashion. Part way up the track, we stopped. ‘This is a good place. Now you can see what he can do.’ He let the dog off the lead, and it shot off like a rocket across the field. ‘He’s trained to the whistle. Watch this.’ He blew the whistle. The spaniel kept running and soon had merged with the colours of soil and stubble and was out of sight. ‘He quarters,’ said the owner, unfazed. ‘That’s what they do.’ He blew the whistle again. We waited. No sign of the spaniel. Wherever it had shot off to in order to do its quartering, it was way out of earshot. ‘Quartering,’ repeated the owner confidently. He blew the whistle, harder this time. We waited. And waited. And waited. The dog was still off, somewhere beyond the far hedge, maybe in the next field, possibly even the next county, still quartering. Now the owner was blowing the whistle for all it was worth. ‘Quartering,’ came the comment for a third time. We stared into the distant hedge as though staring could make the dog come back. ‘How old is he?’ I asked. ‘Three. Still young.’ We waited some more. And as we waited, I was reminded of a saying that a gun dog enthusiast once taught me - ‘Labradors are born half-trained; spaniels die half-trained’. Eventually, the owner had to admit defeat and pocketed the whistle. ‘He’ll come back when he’s ready. 'Perhaps you could come and look at him again…’ he paused and searched the distant boundary for signs of movement. ‘Maybe later in the season, when he’s found his focus.’ I heard later that the dog had gone into the next field, turned onto a track that led back to the village, and was waiting at the house for its master’s return, tongue lolling, eyes a-buzz, and coat covered in burrs. I never did get the call to return. That was over a decade ago, and I can only assume that despite every effort by the owner, the dog never did manage to find its focus…. Springer on the Beach was worked in pastel on half royal tiziano paper. I’ve written before about being presented with an aged, arthritic dog, coupled with the request, ‘Can you make him look as though he’s about to leap after a rabbit?’ This involves having to reach deep into my reserves of Artistic Licence. Occasionally someone brings me a dog that is young and full of life, and that was what met me on the doorstep when I answered the call to paint the collie. He was 15 months or so, still with some maturing to do, eager to meet me and to show his special trick - holding up his paw for me to shake. I was entranced, and inspired to begin work on this commission. I did some initial sketches, took some back-up photos, and set to work on ideas for the pose. Once I was satisfied, I chose some mid-toned pastel paper, a stick of charcoal and white pastel, and did a tonal drawing, taking in the slight cock of the head, the twitching nose, and those features he really wanted to show off - the full tail, and that paw. The only ‘finished’ element at this stage were the eyes. I always feel that if I get the eyes I have the character, and I like to get these fixed at an early stage. Everyone who paints dogs has their own way of working. For me, I find that one meeting and a few sketches and photographs only take me so far, and unless it’s a dog I know well, I like to have some follow-up ‘sittings’ to get a more thorough hold on the character and to develop the finished work fully. I presented the study for approval. Is this what he had in mind? It certainly looked like him, so I felt we were on target. I had another good look at him and made some more notes in my sketchbook. The collie liked the study very much, if the wag of his tail was anything to go by, and it was agreed that he'd be back soon for a final sitting. Weeks passed... Months passed... Eventually he got back in touch - he’d had a very eventful year, everything had happened, he’d been there, done that, got the dog collar - now he really wanted to bring the portrait to fruition. Could we get together for a final sitting next week? I took the original study out of its folder along with the initial sketches and photos and set them all out on my table. I was looking forward to being able to complete it. I told myself that with the tonal drawing in place, and the pose and the expression already approved, the groundwork was done. It wouldn’t take that much to pull it together… The day of the sitting arrived. At the appointed hour, the door opened and I was greeted by the collie. That is to say, it was a collie - a beautiful collie - but not the one I remembered, not the one in my tonal study. The features had changed - the nose was longer, the eyes more knowing, the expression serious, the demeanour altogether more confidant. I looked dubiously at my previous work. That collie was barely out of puppy hood. This collie was fully mature. This was a dog who knew his own mind. ‘What I want is the Formal look. Something that shows the Breeding, the Conformation, the Intelligence. Something my descendants will view in years to come and say (in reverential, whispered growls, of course) ‘That was our Great Patriarch.’ Of course, he didn’t really say all that, but that’s what he would have said, had he been able to speak. I glanced at the youngster in the tonal study and back at the mature dog before me. There was no option but to go ‘back to the drawing board’. ‘And don’t forget the Paw,’ he added, as we parted company. ‘You must keep that in. Shaking Paws is my Great Accomplishment.’ More studies and interpretations ensued, until at last the final piece was presented for approval. Silence… Anticipation on my part… Critical scrutiny on the part of the collie…
‘Ah yes,’ he growled finally... ‘Now that is definitely me. That has Gravitas.’ Footnote (or should that be Pawnote?): I should add that this commission with all its 'to-ings' and 'fro-ings' between the collie and me, was completed prior to the outbreak of the coronavirus pandemic. Hopefully, once we are all safely inoculated, it won't be too long before to-ings and fro-ings are allowed again. With that day in mind, if you have a dog with gravitas, or any other quality, that you would like to have recorded for posterity, please use the Contact Page to enquire. People often ask me to paint their pet when it reaches advanced old age, and frequently they want me to turn back the clock, but the old, old girl was to be painted exactly as I saw her, towards the end of a life well lived. She was 17, that’s almost 120 in human years… She met me at the door, trailing her favourite possession, a small purple rug, and having presented it to me, she dropped it in the middle of the dimly lit corridor. I picked it up and followed her back to the kitchen, where her basket sat in a warm corner near the cooker. She was frail and bony, but still had a proud and handsome face. There was a hint of collie, with that long, pointed nose, and in colouring she had the black and tan reminiscent of an Alsatian, but she was smaller than either of these breeds, and there was a hint of something else that I couldn’t pin down. ‘What breed is she?’ ‘Labrador.’ I was taken aback at this. ‘Labrador?’ The pointed muzzle, the black and tan, weren’t Labrador features. ‘Labrador,’ came the assertive reply. I stared intently at the old, old girl and tried in vain to see the sought-after breed. If there were some Labrador in the mix it must have been a couple of generations back. She was now giving me a tired look. Can we stop quibbling over the family tree and get on with it? It’s nearly time for my nap. I smiled and ruffled her ears. ‘Where shall we sit her for the photos?’ The owner favoured outdoors. A portrait of the dog, sitting against the backdrop of the garden, perhaps. And it was a beautiful garden, filled with burgeoning herbaceous borders, a sea of pinks, reds and golds, all set off against a perfect emerald lawn. We led her out into the Summer sunshine. But the old, old girl wasn’t inclined to co-operate. Having withstood a couple of photos and half a pencil study, she turned around and headed straight back indoors. If she was going to have her portrait painted it had to be on her terms. No posing amid the floribundas, no ‘best side’, no fuss, no human intervention of any kind. There was only one place she was prepared to be, and that was all curled up in her bed, gazing moist eyed into the misty past… Just paint what you see. I really can’t be faffed with all this at my age. So that is what I did. But much as I studied her face and form, and did multiple sketches and studies, I never did identify that elusive Labrador… The Old, Old Girl was worked in pastel on 1/4 Royal Tiziano paper. When I first began painting dogs, I thought they would be so much easier than people. The human face has so many subtleties of expression, whereas a dog - well, dogs, I told myself, had no subtleties at all, dogs would be easy… Then I discovered there are things a dog can do that most humans can’t, like reach its nose with its tongue, waggle its ears, and work its eyebrows independently of each other. And it’s liable to do any or all of these things while you’re trying in vain to capture its best side. No, dogs are not easy at all. One of the most challenging was Muddly. ‘Muddly,’ I remarked, looking down at the animal in question. ‘That’s an unusual name.’ ‘It’s what he is,’ said the owner. ‘A muddly-mixture. He’s got a bit of hound in him, that’s for definite, and a mix of something else, but I can’t decide what. The rescue place couldn’t tell me either.’ ‘Is there anything about his character that you want me to bring out?’ ‘Well, he has this expression, this way of looking at you. I can’t really describe it, but I know it when I see it. I’ve tried with the camera, but it's there and gone.' It wasn’t a lot to go on. Muddly had a number of expressions, mainly fleeting, but a few minutes of observation revealed an anxious demeanour, accompanied by particularly mobile eyebrows. They seemed to be saying, ‘I know I’ve done something wrong - it might have been to do with raiding the pantry - hopefully they won’t notice the Sunday joint has gone … if I just do this appealing thing with my eyebrows all will be forgiven and I might even get a biscuit…’ The eyebrows were working overtime, and I was so focussed on trying to get a fix on them that I didn’t realise my own were now working in concert with them. ‘That’s it!’ said the owner. ‘What you’re doing with your eyebrows - that’s what he does.’ He worked his own eyebrows up and down as confirmation. ‘There -’ he pointed at Muddly. ‘See that? How that eyebrow went right up. That’s the expression I want you to get.' Muddly was now looking at both of us as much as to say, ‘Did we all raid the pantry? Will we be forgiven? Will there be biscuits all round?’
I generally do animals in pastel, because the medium lends itself so well to the depiction of fur. Pastel is very amenable, it can be lifted and altered until you get that sought-after expression just right. Watercolour is another matter. It’s easily sullied and overworked. It really needs to go down right first time, and if it doesn’t there’s nothing for it but to do another… and another… and another … until you get just the expression you’re looking for. I rarely do a dog portrait in watercolour. But something about Muddly told me this was a watercolour dog. And so I embarked on a study of the dog with the most mobile face I’ve ever seen, using the most demanding medium there is… I worked with a restricted palette of Ultramarine and Light Red, which gave me a range of warm and cool greys and earths. I kept the drawing to a minimum and then went straight in with the brush, letting it dance around the ears, the muzzle and those over-active eyebrows. I tore up more than a few in the bid to pin down that fleeting expression. As the pile of Muddlies grew, I reminded myself of a visit to a pottery, where I’d seen a perfectly formed vase with a most exquisite blue glaze, and away in a corner a large bin full of broken not-quite-there attempts. At last, umpteen paintings later, it happened. A final flick of the brush, and there was Muddly. But was it the expression his owner had in mind? There was only one way to find out… ‘That’s him!’ said the owner as soon as he saw the watercolour Muddly. ‘You’ve pinned him down a treat!’ Phew! Muddly looked up at him quizzically, eyebrows knotting for England. ‘What? Have I done something else? It was the cheese, wasn’t it? I know I shouldn’t have nicked the cheese… If your dog has a particular expression that your camera can’t catch, and which you would like ‘pinning down’ in paint, please use the Contact page to enquire. 'Do you paint geese?’ Geese. Ah. Well, I have painted geese - I have had a number of encounters with them, and I have to say, mainly negative. Typically the encounter starts thus - ‘And these are the geese.’ ‘Hssssssssssssss - !’ Much flapping, honking, necks extended stiff as broom handles, beaks snapping like gin traps. I back away and find that backing away isn’t the ploy that works with geese. They march forward, intent on seeing me off. ‘Hsssssssssssss - !’ My host extends his arm towards the nearest goose, mimicking its neck and snapping action with his hand. ‘You just have to show it who’s Boss.’ I’ve never met a goose yet, who doesn’t know who’s Boss. I’m certain if I tried my friend’s technique my arm, complete with paintbrush, would disappear up to the elbow like a stray sock up a vacuum hose. The chastened goose fixes me with its reptilian eye. I’m reminded that birds are descended from dinosaurs, and I’m certain they haven’t descended far. It isn’t difficult to imagine the distant ancestor of a goose being Tyrannosaurus Rex. And if the two ever met, my money would be on the goose. Anyway, I painted this subject after a particularly bad encounter with geese, and displayed it at a show some time ago. The response varied depending on whether the viewer, like me, had ever had an up-close and personal encounter with geese.
‘So is it three geese or one goose in action?’ said one, turning her head sideways, as though looking at an unfathomable abstract that had been hung the wrong way up. ‘I mean, I can only see one body, but there’s lots of necks and wings and feet … I can’t decide which belongs to what.’ ‘That’s how it is with geese,’ said another, ‘believe me, I know, I was attacked once, there were wings and beaks everywhere, and I swore afterwards there had to be six of them. Turned out it was just one goose.’ ‘It’s full of action, I’ll say that for it,’ said the first, who had turned her head the other way, hoping the confusion might resolve itself. ‘That's exactly how it feels, to be attacked by a goose. Exactly.’ ‘So would you buy it?’ ‘Oh I would,’ came the reply, ‘Without a doubt, I would.’ ‘But?’ ‘But…’ there was a long moment of deliberation. ‘It reminds me too much of the time I was attacked by a goose…’ Sometimes a painting can chime too close for comfort. It just remains for me to wish you a very Happy Christmas, and whatever you have planned for your Christmas dinner, enjoy it. Especially if it’s goose…. Contrary to what the title of this blog suggests, I have not been out this month painting winter willows. Willow is the name of a rather handsome chocolate Labrador, who phoned in recently to say that now he has reached his prime he thought it would be a good time for me to paint his 'best side'. Every other person these days seems to have a Labrador, most of them in the commoner colours of black or yellow. So it makes a change to be asked to paint a chocolate one. Chocolates are more unusual than black or yellow, because chocolate is a recessive colour. Also, the gene pool is small, which can lead to various problems - hence chocolates have a reputation for being a bit daffy. But I have to say, from the word go, Willow proved himself to be a very intelligent and good natured dog, albeit mischievous and over exuberant. I first met Willow as a bouncy young pup, and did several off-the-cuff sketches of him exploring his surroundings and getting into typical puppy scrapes. He knew full well when he’d done wrong, and managed to disarm everyone by combining a guilty expression with a mischievous doggy grin. In fact, he would often trot into a room wearing this combination of faces, eliciting the remark, ‘Willow… what have you done?’ Although he had a perfectly good bed of his own, he always preferred to squeeze into the impossibly small space beside his ‘big brother’, Bramble. Being a pup, he would never settle for long, so I had a very brief window of opportunity to capture this subject before he was up and out again, and looking for some new bit of mischief. As time passed, Willow grew bigger, stronger and bouncier, and much to his owners' concern there was no sign of his settling down. Eventually they resorted to having him neutered, confident that this would help to reign him in. Once he was over the operation, he was quickly back to his former bouncy self, in fact, if anything, he was even bouncier, bounding around blissfully unaware that, in the words of my dear old granny, he’d ‘had his pockets picked’. Now he is in his prime, and has settled into a biddable and well focussed lab, with a lovely disposition. But however well behaved, he still wouldn't pose long enough for me to get his ‘best side’, so as usual I had to resort to photos to augment my sketches - and a comb full of dog hairs to help with the colour notes, because the camera never records colour faithfully. I chose a Fabriano Ingres pastel paper, in a neutral middle tone. The portrait was worked mainly in soft pastel, and the eyes were drawn using a harder pastel pencil, which enabled me to achieve precision in that focussed area. To create and enliven the chocolate colouring, I used a variety of reddish and pinkish earths, with deep purple browns for the shadow areas, and a light purple grey for the reflected highlights: If you have a Labrador, who would like its ‘best side’ recording for posterity, please use the Contact page to enquire. Rest assured, I have all the pastels in all the Labrador colours, whether chocolate, black, yellow or fox red!
Summer already seems far behind, but the past month has offered plenty of opportunity to combine two of my favourite autumnal activities - it has been the perfect time to go sketching and brambling, with a carton for the blackberries and a sketchbook and charcoal to capture whatever takes my eye. Just down the lane from me the blackberries have been the best I have seen for several years. Better still, the hedge borders fields where there are horses - a couple of statuesque greys, a number of ponies and a little bay filly with a wall eye. I often watch them munching their way contentedly through the green acres, swishing their tails, twitching their ears, and occasionally looking up when they sense someone is watching. Sometimes we frighten each other with our presence - if one of them is close to the boundary and I make a too sudden appearance at the gap in the hedge, it will kick up its heels and make off. Sometimes, while I'm harvesting the brambles, a loud and unexpected snort the other side of the hedge makes me leap out of my skin and scatter blackberries all over the verge. The diminutive ponies never seem to make much headway with grazing their field. I often see them standing up to their knees in grass that's as tall as hay, and however much time they spend chomping away, it steadily gets the better of them. One of these days I expect to walk by and see nothing but a pair of ears sticking up out of the long grass. Two of the ponies are particularly friendly, and as soon as they know I'm there they will leave off grazing, amble over and stare at me - all shaggy mane and forelock, and deep knowing eyes. Their expressions seem to say, 'Do you have anything for us to eat, apart from this interminable grass?' No, I don't. And their owner has had to resort to rigging up a cordon in front of the gate, to prevent well-meaning local children reaching over and stuffing them with unsuitable treats like cheese and banana sandwiches. The ponies look at me longingly, and I know what they're thinking. 'Aw, please - the cheese and banana ones were our favourite.' Personally, I'm more of a blackberry person myself, and with the season already past its best, my crop is all in the freezer, ready to make into piping hot crumbles - just the thing to warm me up after a winter's day out with my paints... The field sketches reproduced in this month's blog were drawn in willow charcoal on A4 copier paper. I switched on the radio the other day to hear the verdict on the end of the late August heat wave. 'Well that was Summer' said the announcer, bluntly. I switched off again. Here we are in early September and it's as mild as any Summer's day. But we're already into that season when the harvest is gathered in, the fruits of elder and bramble are bursting from the hedgerows, and it won't be long before the leaves are showing their Autumn colours. This month I've chosen a pastel of a subject looking towards Cley-next-Sea. It was drawn a day or two after the combine harvester had done its work and the bales were dotted across the landscape like large abstract sculptures. Beyond is the church and the Three Swallows Pub - an appropriate name for this time of year, when there are swallows to be seen everywhere, as they congregate in rows along telegraph wires, contemplating 'the off'. The swifts went ages ago - one day the sky was full of their screams and scimitar sharp aerobatics. The next, they were gone. The swallows, however, are still with us. It seems hardly any time at all since the first of them came skimming over the water and landed with an exhausted 'plop' on the beach after their long flight from the continent. Now, after a busy Summer raising their families, they're collecting on the overhead cables, their minds turning in the direction of South I did this rapid sketch at 7am one morning, thinking, 'got to be quick, get the 'jiz', any moment they'll be away, and that will be it until next spring.' I spent half an hour watching the rows build up, and what a mixture there was, from sleek adults to somewhat untidy juveniles. This adult cast a motherly eye on the offspring, who still hadn't quite mastered the skill of balancing on cables, but teetered about, wings and tails every which way. Now and then they all flew up twittering and scolding, and then resettled, and more came, pushing themselves into the smallest space between their chattering companions. Others appeared to be chilling out on their perch, apparently settled for the day. Having got down my first impressions, I left the swallows to fight for their respective spaces on the telegraph wires, while I went indoors for a quick breakfast. When I returned a short time later, armed with paints and newly sharpened pencils, the cables were empty. I scanned the field opposite for a sight of them, but nothing. I kept checking at intervals, unwilling to accept that my brood had upped and left in the time it had taken me to down a bowl of cereals. Surely they were just off on an insect foray? Surely they would be back to give me one more chance to sketch them jostling for position on the communal perch? But as the day went by and the sun set on the empty wires, I had to concede that by now they were probably well into Suffolk and heading for warmer climes. This story will be repeated over the coming days, as wave after wave of swallows leave our shores. At least, before they went I managed to get this impression of them all lined up and ready to go:- They were all facing South except the one on the end. Maybe he'd forgotten to set his satnav... A few stragglers will stay longer - I've walked on our heath in late October, with swallows scything past my ears, skimming the wheaten grasses in pursuit of low-flying insects. It has become for me one of the uplifting sights of Autumn to watch these last two or three flying all around me, unconcerned by my presence. But sooner or later they, too, will feel the pull of the warm southern air too much to resist, and away they will go. And then the only swallows left in Norfolk will be the 'Three Swallows' at Cley... 'Cley Church and the Three Swallows Pub' was worked in pastel on Tiziano paper - a lovely flecked paper with a soft wove surface. The rest of the swallows were drawn in 2b pencil and watercolour on a lightweight sketching paper. I've recently been working on a commission for a dog portrait, so this month I thought I would give you an idea of the process that underpins the finished work. Lottie began life as an apricot poodle, but has gradually faded to white with a hint of apricot in the ears and muzzle. Her owners were keen to have her committed to paint before the apricot vanished altogether! First off, I like to meet and bond with the dog. Lottie lives locally, so we were able to spend time walking, chilling out together and playing her favourite poodle games. As she couldn't keep still for more than 5 seconds, I had to take lots of photographs and film clips to back up my sketches and colour notes, the final subject being worked in my studio. The preliminary drawings were done in charcoal on A4 copy paper. I work quite rapidly at this stage, capturing aspects of character and movement, and looking at angles quite different from the final pose, but which helps to give me information in the round. I use the side of the charcoal to block in the background, and the textural effect is created by the paper itself. I use fingers to smudge in the lighter grey tones. Lottie's ears equate to what in humans used to be known as 'big hair'. What was going on structurally underneath them was anybody's guess, so I did this drawing of her without ears. Don't be alarmed - here is a subsequent study with her ears back in place. I can confirm that this sequence of drawings was done without recourse to either surgery or superglue! Altogether I did around two dozen tonal studies of Lottie before starting the actual portrait. In addition to tone I need colour notes. Although photos are useful for back-up information, there is much that the camera will distort, including colour values. So my primary material has to come from direct observation. This colour swatch was made using the paper chosen for the portrait, and observing the warm/cool effects of both light and shade on the subject. You may just be able to see that some colours are ticked and others are crossed out, as I narrow down my selection. For the portrait, I chose a Fabriano Ingres 160gsm laid paper in a mid-toned warm grey. This provided both a foil for the white fur and the apricot ears, and an unobtrusive background for the subject. Having chosen the pose, I start with a tonal under-drawing. I prefer to use willow charcoal for this, as it will disappear into the subsequent layers of colour, whereas graphite would show through the finished piece. I work very lightly at this stage, ghosting in the tonal values, in order to retain most of the paper tooth for the pastel, and to avoid sullying the later application of colour. All the above gives you an insight into the preparation that underpins the finished work. The portrait itself is worked over a number of sessions, and when I reach the point where I've stood in front of the easel for half an hour, only to make one small, but crucial, mark, I know that's it. The finishing touch is in place. Here is the finished portrait. Although Lottie is almost white, I used very little white pastel. White objects tend to appear warm in sunlight and cool in shadow, so the colours used were all very pale tones of ochre, blue-violet and pinkish greys. In context these pale hues create the appearance of white, whilst avoiding the flat, chalky look of pure white pigment. Having just been clipped, her coat resembled a very tight perm, and each of those curls had its own shadow, involving a lot of detailed work with attention to warm/cool pairings and texture. As for Lottie herself, by the end of the exercise she was totally flaked out. Go to the Animal Portrait page for more examples of animal portraiture, and use the Contact page to enquire about commissioning a portrait of your pooch. People sometimes ask if my animal studies are restricted to dogs, cats and horses. The answer is, no ... I love drawing pigs... I did this line and wash of pigs in North Norfolk some time ago. The pigs and I were separated by an electric fence, and I stood there happily sketching and feeling quite safe, while the pigs wallowed in the mud a few feet away. More recently, I visited rural Nottinghamshire and took a walk with my nephew along the Southwell Trail, a former mineral line that cuts through pleasant, rolling countryside. Presently, we saw what appeared to be a couple of large, overweight dogs, trotting along some way ahead. As we got closer and the animals moved into the open, we realised they weren't dogs at all, but pigs - a couple of Gloucester Old Spots had escaped from their field and were taking themselves for a walk. We exchanged thoughts on how dangerous - or not - escaped pigs might be, and kept a respectable distance, just in case. Then we spotted a man with a Labrador. They were further up the track, beyond the pigs, and heading our way. Neither pigs nor dogs have brilliant eyesight - if anything, I believe pigs are the more myopic, and their vision must be further hampered by those great ears that flop down over their faces. It wasn't until the dog was within a few yards of them that the pigs spotted it. There was a bloodcurdling squeal, the pigs turned tail and suddenly a hefty helping of bacon on the trotter was bearing down on us. I made a dive for the embankment and took cover behind a tree. I didn't see where my nephew went. He's a six footer and well able to take care of himself. The pigs lumbered by, squealing murderously, with the Labrador hard on their heels. When the dust had settled, I looked out from behind the tree to see my nephew standing in the middle of the track, grinning and unscathed. He professed surprise that I hadn't whipped out my pencil and sketched the pigs as they charged past Under the circumstances, the best I could do was a back view of them, trotting away into the sunset... ~ Pigs in Muck was painted on Canson mi teintes 90lb paper. A Bridge over the Southwell Trail and Taking Themselves for a Walk were sketchbook studies on cartridge paper. If you are the proud owner of a prize winning Gloucester Old Spot, or other breed of pig, and wish to have it commemorated in paint, please get in touch with me via the Contact page. When I was a child we had a boxer dog. It was a fine brindle, a big, rangy animal that my mother likened in build to a racehorse. And it did love to race - bounding around the place and forever knocking everything for six. Having messily consumed its daily meat ration, its favourite place for a siesta was in the kitchen, where it would stretch out in front of the Aga. These siestas often coincided with Mother's need to use the hob. The boxer, once comfortable, would refuse to budge, so she was obliged to stretch over it in order to reach the hotplate, often with a heavyweight, hernia-inducing stew pan. Last thing at night the dog was persuaded to leave the comfort of the kitchen and go into the garden for a last 'comfort break'. Usually this would take about five minutes, but occasionally, the dog would slip away into the night, and no amount of calling or bribing with biscuits would bring it back. It would return in its own good time, usually around midnight, and make its presence known by rattling the letterbox. What the dog got up to during the missing hours was anybody's guess... ~ One day, a neighbouring farmer paid a visit. He followed up the usual brief pleasantries with, 'So is your boxer about?' 'Just having his siesta.' Father opened the kitchen door, to reveal the dog stretched out in the usual place. Mother was reaching over the sleeping form to toast bread. The dog's tongue was protruding slightly, in readiness to catch crumbs. The farmer gave the scene a terse nod. 'Thought you'd be interested in seeing this.' He reached into his coat, and pulled out a small bundle. It was a boxer puppy. 'Oh, how sweet!' said Mother, abandoning the toast to fuss over the pup. 'I didn't know you bred boxers?' 'Neither did I till this arrived.' He cast an accusing look at our dog. 'It's mother's a collie.' 'Oh,' said one of the parents, I forget now which, just that this 'oh' was somewhat more deflated than the one that went with 'how sweet'. Comparisons were made between the pup and its suspected father. There was no denying the resemblance. The same dark, dour, and frankly, stupid face. It was an unmistakeable chip off the old block. 'So I thought you'd be interested in having pick of the litter.' There was an exchange of doubtful glances between the parents. 'Don't you want to keep him yourself? A dog like that would be good around the farm.' The response was blunt. 'Boxers were at the back of the queue when the brains were given out, and that's a fact. So if it takes after that -' he gestured at the sleeping obstacle stretched out on the kitchen floor, '- it'll never make a sheepdog, will it?' All I remember at this point was the smell of toast burning. When we did eventually acquire a second dog it was a Jack Russell, chosen purely for its small size. None of the other attributes associated with Jack Russells were taken into consideration. As things turned out it was not a wise choice, but that is another story... 'Boxer' was worked in pastel on fine glass paper. Visit the Animal Portraits page to view a selection of dogs, cats and horses, together with information about commissioning a painting of your pet. |
Judith Key
Judith Key is a Norfolk based artist, working in watercolour and pastel. She has exhibited with the Society of Graphic Fine Artists and New English Art Club at the Mall Galleries, London. Her paintings are in collections worldwide. Categories
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