Saturday, 6 June 2009


Monday 01/06/09

Damn, but it's hot & I didn't prep very well, so I can feel my shins burning. I'm painting Prior Park College again, but half term is over and there's now a steady flow of school kids going past, most of whom want to look at the painting. Luckily I've worn my street cool all yellow outfit marking me out as a hip old bloke(?!). Most of the comments are positive (about the painting, not my mustard shorts).

'Dude!' exclaims one girl. Not sure if she's talking to me, about me or commenting on the painting - apparently the word needs no further elaboration in teen speak. 'Er... that's a good thing", luckily for me someone explains as I don't speak teen.

Tuesday 02/06/09

Still hot, still burning, but this time I've worn long trousers (see - not so stupid - hey? hey?). [The project is still semi secret, so once again you're stuck with my ugly mug. Doing these self portrait sketches makes me realise that I look as *!@%*ed as I feel. Two weekends of open studios, lack of sleep and trying to get these commissions done on top of the office job is taking its toll. Maybe if I cut my beard I will regain my youthful good looks ... That's a pen lid in my mouth by the way.]

Friday 05/06/09

Aargh! Stripes! I can't take any more stripes. Goddamn them, goddamn them all to hell ...

Stripe blind I stagger down the Upper Bristol Road to finish the small painting of the boarded up corner shop. The sign says Monmouth Place Hotel, but I don't know if this refers to the building next door. Either way, it's seen better days.

No one says anything. They just look at me as if I'm a loon. One old boy walks past and stops next to me, looking incredulous. I turn to him and smile (as you do), but he just stands there looking from me to the painting and back again, still with that baffled look on his face. He's going to say something. Is he going to say something? He doesn't say anything. Eventually he walks on.

Kelly walks by from work on her way home, but I'm starting to flag (still *!@%*ed and the stripes took their own toll) and I don't make good conversation. She walks on and I finish up the painting.

[The haircut doesn't help, I still look like *!@%*]

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