Thursday, 8 October 2009

The Man in the Moon

Just a quick dive into my sketchbooks today, this time right down to my graduation year. After four years of art school, the habit of always carrying something to draw with and on was new but firmly established. No pocket Moleskines back then, and I clearly thought nothing of taking an A4 sketchbook to the pub. Click for a closer look.

The Pub in question was The Man in the Moon in Cambridge, known at the time for its live folk music. I wasn't into folk particularly, but I'd fallen in with the hurdy-gurdy crowd and was happy, as ever, for the chance to draw musicians.

I don't recall much detail of the evening (not for the reason you think – I just have a bad memory) but it's always a delight to be briefly transported back to a lost moment in time, no matter how sketchy. That reminds me, I must get on with some writing...


  1. Wonderful stuff. Gosh I wish I could do that! I love the absorbed expression on the fiddle-player's face.

  2. Nice work. You capture your subjects' expressions well. That's a gift. It elicits emotion.

    As do, I'm sure, your son's color-bottomed ants. You must post them!

  3. Many thanks, Simon and Terry. I was quite a smudger back in those days, something I should try for again.

    As for the ants, I don't want to bore everyone, but at the same time...:)

  4. I've smiled every thime I've thought of the ants!

    Your sketches are wonderfully evocative - I can almost hear the music! You manage to keep the movement alive - something I can never do!
    Plus I never had the courage to draw much in public - hence writing: secret observation and then scrawl it all down later!

  5. every "time" that should say....Man, I'm so bad for typos lately!

  6. Thanks, Rachel. Don't worry about making typos, herbal or otherwise -- This is a typo-tolerant blog.

    Drawing in public is tricky. The worst thing is being spotted by your subject, because they often ask to see the sketch. People can take things very personally, especially if you have lingered over their warts and bulbous nose.

    A friend of mine, sketching at a railway station, was confronted by an angry business woman who demanded to know who he was working for!


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