Wednesday, 26 July 2017

making a paper tiger

I saw a Japanese toy paper tiger on Twitter the other day; when it's assembled, it's placed next to a wall and wafted with a fan, so that it comes alive. The design apparently dates back to the Edo period. As I wanted one of my own, I drew this version of it as closely as possible to the original. If you want one, click on the picture to get it full size, then download.

The version I saw on the internet used seashells to weight the feet; I would suggest you use buttons.


Here it is in action




Monday, 24 July 2017

Red Kites, Spitfires and Going Through Tunnels


The well-heeled red kites of both Berkshire and Bucks
have moved up in the world, and wherever you look
they are wheeling and whistling with insouciance,
their eyes on the suburbs, their minds on the chance
of chorizo or pâté de lapin sauvage;
although if the locals aren’t giving it large
and their bird tables simply have nothing to tarry on
they’ll wheel away, whistling, and keep calm and carrion.

Here's one of the red kites that inspired that poem, just along the canal from Little Bedwyn. It was striking that they would be wheeling around over the villages; you don't see buzzards doing that. Anyway, it was jolly handy, because I wrote this one in next to no time and stopped worrying about trying to write something about kingfishers, as you almost invariably must do when you're writing an alphabet of birds (oh! did I mention Drawn Chorus?)


We saw a few more unusual aircraft on our trip east; here is a Hunting Percival Pembroke (Lauren commented on how great it was that there should have been a company called Hunting Percival)


...and here's a Spitfire, not entirely unusual but still nice to see. Look closely under the fuselage and you'll see two camera apertures; this identifies it as a photo reconnaissance aircraft, and therefore a Mk XIX.  I accidentally had the camera set to ARTYBOLLOX mode, which is why the picture looks a bit odd. Sorry.


A more peaceable dawn scene here, because I like it; and here


 ...are Chris and Jinny, emerging from the Bruce Tunnel. It was a bit of an alarming experience for all of us; as I approached it, I thought "Ha! It's hardly any length at all!" and didn't bother switching any lights on. A very short while later I was completely disorientated, and had to dash through the boat switching all the lights on so that the light would shine through the windows and illuminate the tunnel wall, allowing me to gauge my distance from it like the Dambusters did with spotlights to show them their height above the water.


Having learned our lesson, I got a couple of very bright LED floodlights, and on our return we laughed at the darkness. As you see.


Having been starved of internet signal for ages, I'm catching up with a bit of blogging, as you may have deduced from the capricious nature of this post.






Sunday, 23 July 2017

downhill from Devizes




After our early summer slow voyage to Hungerford, we've returned to the West End of the K&A ready for next weekend's Floating Market at Bradford on Avon. While in Devizes, we helped friends up Caen Hill; here are Tiff and Matt at the start of the main flight, with Chris at the lock. And we in turn were helped down by friends. It makes it so much easier and more fun.

Walking back up to Devizes with Sue, who'd come visiting, we popped over the the Jubilee Wood, adjacent to the flight, and saw that the information boards with my pictures on had been installed. Funny seeing your own work there like that.




...after a few days at Sells Green, we've moved down through the much smaller flight of locks at Seend, and are now moored in a lovely spot between Seend and Semington. Chris and Jinny went out walking last night, and saw the local barn owl at very close quarters. I'd had an early night! ...the owl was still very active this morning, along the banks of the Semington Brook. This is a different owl, the one that flew by us regularly at Great Bedwyn.


...here's some spraint I spotted on our travels. But I'm not saying where. An otter was found dead on London Road in Devizes two days ago. Probably hit by a car, of course; but the Devizes Issue Facebook group posted the story up and several commentators, anglers all, were very hostile to otters. So it's best to keep schtum about sightings. I did post up a link to my response to this sort of thing, Otter Madness, that I wrote when an otter had been poisoned in Marlborough. It pissed off a couple of anglers, so a small result!

Friday, 14 July 2017

Drawn Chorus - an alphabet of birds



The new book is done! I was up in Bristol yesterday and today, helping out at Minuteman, the friendly printers, such was my keenness to get it done as soon as possible. Here's the scene this morning, as they went through the stapling and folding machine, the penultimate stage of the transformation of blank paper into a real life book (the final stage is trimming the edge opposite the crease, as you may have surmised). This machine is great fun, and reminds me a bit of the old Bamfords baler that we used for haymaking back at Hafod Fach, with its assortment of  kerchunks and ticks and low dronings, though without that majestic WHUMP that accompanies the compressing of a bale of hay. Hey, though, can't have everything.



It is rather wonderful, that last bit where all the loose paper suddenly becomes a real book. 



...and now I'm back on the boat (in Devizes, at the mo) treading that fine line between thinking it's not bad really and not wanting to SHOUT ABOUT IT UNTIL EVERYONE'S SICK OF IT.

So. I done a book. You can get it here, on Gert Macky. But, gentle reader, I'll still like you if you don't. 




Sunday, 28 May 2017

little bobbing humbugs

Moving ever eastwards, we are now near Wootton Rivers, a fine spot with a good deep mooring - in the last couple of miles before the village we tried mooring a few times and couldn't get near the bank without running horribly aground on mud.

We're sheltered by ash and beech trees, which made the recent hot spell far more comfortable; living in a big steel box can get a bit difficult when the sun beats down on it. Along the side of the towpath is a ditch with a stream trickling along it; this is the Hampshire Avon in its early career. Down in  Pewsey you can stand on the bridge and look down into the clear water and see brown trout keeping station against the gentle current.


A pair of spotted flycatchers are nesting in an ivy-covered tree just opposite the boat. I watch then dart around the glade that is their hunting ground, then perch and wait for their next victim; they're very hard to catch on camera, but exciting to see; I've only ever seen them fleetingly in the past. They're quite distinctive with their upright posture and their big eyes.

And cuckoos! Never heard so many cuckoos. I'm trying to learn how to make that ocarina noise with my hands so that I can call them to me. No joy yet. "I'm learning a new life skill," I told Boat Teenager the other day when we Facetimed... it's never too late, after all.

Next weekend I'll be exhibiting at the house of my friend, artist and poet Hazel Hammond's house on the Easton Arts Trail in Bristol; Rebecca Swindells will be there too; there'll be my pics and Marietta's Wardrobe, a mixed media project about clothes, grief and loss, and poetry.

Jinny Peberday described ducklings as humbugs. Seemed a good description.

Saturday, 20 May 2017

sparrowhawk



I'm concentrating on finishing my bird alphabet now; each letter gets a poem and a picture. The poem always comes first, so I can plan ahead with how to fit the text onto the picture. The sparrowhawk poem was written after I saw one flashing through woods and disappearing so abruptly that I came up with the idea that, the less sure you are that you saw anything at all, let alone a sparrowhawk, the more likely it is that a sparrowhawk just went by.

Here's the untweaked painting; I first illustrated beech leaves like this for another picture of Leigh Woods at bluebell time, but I prefer the feel of the newer picture; it seems to work better as a picture and as a watercolour. Though the leaves are a bit too spiky for beech. Damn.



buzzard in the woods

Friday, 19 May 2017

when a tree falls on the towpath and you don't hear it, it's still there


It's no great inconvenience that you live out of earshot of most human activity and amenities, if you've got everything you need right there with you.

So when it poured and poured down on Wednesday, I philosophically commuted the ten paces from my bed to my desk, by way of the bathroom and the galley, and spent the day painting pictures and writing. 

It was a good day, and I was happy with the work. That night I slept the sound sleep of one who knows that they've done their best and it was fairly OK.

The morning started with a robin singing at 0415, followed rapidly by the blackbirds and song thrushes. The song thrushes here would give the heftiest coloratura opera diva in all of Milan a very serious run for her money.

It is really all very nice. 

So I got up and brewed some strong tea and finished the fiddly last bits of the painting.
And looked up to see the sun rising. As you see from the photo. 

After a shower and putting on city togs I was ready to go to Bristol to pick up some prints. But Chris from the boat next door called me out.

"Dru! Have you seen this?"

At abut nine o' clock last night, a very large tree had fallen over the towpath and into to canal. I'd heard something, but just assumed it was the Pongoes playing wargames over on Salisbury Plain. Chris and Jinny my neighbours had heard it and investigated. It had narrowly missed a hireboat, whose occupants had phoned the Canal and River Trust to inform them. 

Here it is look.


So I changed into my CHAINSAW TROUSERS, the wearing of which is like one of those dreams where you absolutely must escape from something but can hardly move. But it's probably better than accidentally cutting your own leg off. And we all got to work, cutting and splitting and carrying away. Because the towpath needed to be unblocked, and if you get a pile of firewood as a byproduct, then why ever not? This is enlightened self interest at work here.

This is a very quiet section of canal, but we were interrupted twice by local folk demanding to get by; one was a dog emptier (you can easily distinguish them from the similar dog walker by the way they are so anxious to precede their dogs on their walkies. In this manner, they can be unaware that their dog has a bowel that it is quite happy to void on the towpath, and preferably right outside your boat, on your mooring pins for maximum points. It's a neat trick if you're into that sort of thing, allowing you to be at once oblivious, supercilious and Always In The Right).

They squeezed by in the slowly widening gap.

The middle of the trunk was a rotted hollow, with a huge ants' nest and signs of several types of beetle, including what looked very much like lesser stag beetle burrowings, though we found no living ones. Out of season, probably.

Here's Chris, looking as cheerful as we all were. What better way to work up an appetite for breakfast?