Drawing this pigeon stretched me rather. From the beginning nothing seemed to go right. Line, tone, shape, everything that I did was clumsy, inexact, difficult. Couldn’t concentrate. Had been out on my bike, and I was more tired than I expected to be. Concentration involved disproportionate effort. I found myself compensating for poor observation with technical things; a bit of contrast and gesture goes a long way. In a sense I found myself making what I was doing appear as if it were a drawing. I was making feathery – birdy marks. And listening to Bluegrass. I’m no connoisseur, I just hear. Eventually I might listen. Drawing with Bluegrass in the background is one thing; with Blues another. I tend to be sucked into the rhythm. This drawing has evolved in the company of both. But it was a drawing, just the opposite kind of drawing to what I think I do – look at things, in the first place.
I read an obituary of John Hoyland today. I remember his show at the Whitechapel many years ago. Things stick in the mind – Red and Green – wedges of colour. Sad day.
