Oil on Board
24" x 24"
WIP

18.01.2008

Wind, rain and recycling days don't mix. There's rubbish all over pavement by the studio, soaked cardboard and screwed up empty plastic bottles, oh, yes, and a broken umbrella. The mess is replicated all down the road into town.

A woman walks out of her front door being dragged by a dalmation. A lot like the opening scene of 101 dalmations - probably my favourite disney movie, just cos of the backgrounds. Bring back proper animation, that's what I say - who cares if they can computer animate every single hair on the body of a donkey (okay, I know, shrek is good) but gimme south park, the simpsons, wallace and grommit or the nightmare before christmas any day.

Back to now, whenever now is. I'm short on some paint and some fine brushes so I head to the supplies shop. Jesus Christ quality brushes cost a fortune. I settle for one new small hog brush, splashing out a shocking almost £3, leaving the more expensive sable-like brushes I really want for another time. At the counter I pick up a PB postcard advertising his upcoming exhibitions - the photo is a view looking up Milsom Street - damn he's good.

I head for Queen Square, but the lack of protection from the elements puts me off and I turn back, ending up in Queen Street (I think that's what it's called). There's a couple of art galleries - one is closed and empty so I guess it doesn't really count and the other sells some stuff which I can't think of anything nice to say about (ooh - that's a bit harsh, maybe it's just not my cup of tea).

I'm not really out of the wind as it gusts up the street but it doesn't seem as bad as the square. The masking tape is still holding, but when I set up the easel, for some reason there's too much give in it. I little bit of investigation reveals the problem - the damage from last week is worse than I realised as the blow must have wrenched and bent one of the screws that holds in the arm, making it impossible to tighten. The result is that the painting has about 4-6 inches of give at the top and as the wind catches the board it whips back and forward causing the inevitable difficulties when trying to work. As ever, the lazy painter in me roars into life (in a lazy, languid, more like yawning kind of way) - I'm here now so I'll be buggered if I'm moving. Not only is the easel all over the place but I've forgotten my dipper ...

A beggar comes up and asks for a couple of quid for the night shelter. How can he be sleeping rough - his clothes are immaculate? It doesn't take me long to conclude that my need for and rights to the money in my pocket trumps his and he walks on to try his luck with someone walking up the other side of the road. I feel no guilt. Why should I? Or maybe I do - why else would I be rambling like this?

I manage to get white paint all down my coat, just as another artist I know comes over and says hello. Not clever.

The wind just keeps on blowing the easel and annoying me. It starts raining. I wouldn't mind - the painting will probably look better with slick pavements and some reflected shop lights but I'm too annoyed and hungry. Unbelievably, the easel held, surely it can't go on much longer? Or is that just me?