| Christine | Farmer |

Yesterday evening I went to hear Richard Hamblyn talking about his book Extraordinary Clouds, in which he presents photographs and descriptions of unusual natural and man-made cloud formations: the ones which did not make his earlier book on cloud classification, The Cloud Book. The talk was part of the Birmingham Book Festival and was introduced by Edward Morris whose book Constable’s Clouds, which examines clouds in art, is unfortunately out of print. Types of cloud covered included enormous lenticular clouds and sonic boom clouds, and the talk was illustrated with some amazing photographs from Hamblyn’s book, including ones taken from inside the eye of Hurricane Katrina, and satellite images of thousands of contrails over areas of the USA, and indeed the theme of man’s impact on the skies was returned to several times during the evening.

Another theme of discussion was that of the depiction of clouds in art, and whether artists such as Turner and Monet painted the actual skies that they ’saw’, and could their works therefore be used as accurate record of past skies. This was very interesting when considered alongside the decisions Hamblyn told us he had to take regarding the exclusion from the book of photographs which may have been ‘photoshopped’ or with otherwise dubious provenance. Of course anyone who has tried either to draw or photograph clouds will know that what we see up there often doesn’t appear in the same way when it is ‘captured’.

Many interesting visual and other phenomena were discussed alongside clouds during the question-and-answer session, including the Brocken Spectre, in which one sees a solitary figure envelpoped in a kind of rainbow-halo suspended in the air. The phenomena gave rise to a legend mentioned in Confessions of an Opium Eater and elsewhere, and is said to be peculiarly eerie since even if one is standing within a group of people one only sees one ’spectre’. This is because, as was explained to us, each person creates one’s own spectre in the mind, in the same way as ‘we all create our own rainbows’. At which point Edward Morris pointed out that the entire daytime sky is one large ‘optical effect’ and that we only return to ‘reality’ at night-time, which I found to be a very interesting statement and has had me pondering ever since he said it.

The whole evening was very thought-provoking and interesting and in the absence of photographs of any ‘extraordinary’ clouds, I’m going to illustrate this post with photographs of some of the skies I’ve seen from my studio this past summer, which has been a wonderful one for cloud-watchers like me:

Cloud Appreciation Society 

Clouds in my drawings and photographs

Another two weeks has gone by since I last posted an update, and as you may imagine, my feelings at the moment are that the progress is slow and painful. I spend most days with a magnifying glass in my left hand as I work gradually across the paper, going back and back again over clouds, deepening the shadow each time. I haven’t kept an exact tally on the hours I’m at the drawing board, or even the weeks now. Here are scans of the progress so far (click on images for detail).

The first section of the drawing was the quickest and easiest: the sky through the window (below) was based on some evening clouds I photographed out of my bedroom window, which for some reason became twisted up and not how I’d really imagined them. I knew I wanted them to be threatening, distorted and unusual, but they came out even more surprising. They remind me of something seen through a microscope, or telescope.

I’m still not certain what I want to have through the bottom half of the window. My initial ideas were of hands pushing against the panes, and even to use real fingerprints to form clouds. I have left them blank for the time being and it will become clearer to me later in the process what needs to go there.

The skies around the window (below) are a different matter. They’re made up of clouds I photographed on several days this summer, some on Clee Hills where I took the initial photographs of the dining chair, some from my garden. The process with these clouds, as they are so detailed, is very slow and quite agonising some days. The good news is that my headaches have actually reduced over the past months, and so I’m fairly certain they’re not down to eye strain, which was a concern of mine initially. Anyway, here are some closer details of these clouds, none of which are anywhere near completion yet.

Here’s an idea of what I see when I’m drawing (below). Some days I do wonder why I’ve set myself such a task: why I don’t just pick up a pencil and do things that way. It’s quite difficult to give an impression of what it’s like sitting here and being absorbed into a world of clouds upon clouds. It’s irritating, and compulsive. And sometimes it’s even satisfying… but I haven’t got to that stage with this drawing yet. There’s still far to far to go, and what I mainly see is white paper and things that need fixing.

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A week after my previous post and the top two panes of the window are now more or less complete - I won’t know whether more inking is needed on that area until I’ve completed the skies outside the window, the early stages of which you can see in today’s pictures.

The two images on the left show the development of the summer skies: far more shading is needed at the moment, especially within the cloud which needs a lot more depth. The picture on the right shows a close-up of the stipples in this area. Click on the thumbnails for a closer look.

At this stage the early worries about whether or not I’m putting too much ink on and destroying everything are gone, and the biggest issues are different. The main thing to deal with is the eye strain, looking at something so small through a magnifying glass, and the frustration of slow progress while every stipple needs to be in almost exactly the right place. It has been a long time since I drew anything quite so detailed, and I had forgotten just how demanding it is. Still, it’s begun now and I am anxious to find out how it’s going to look.

The one thing I’m fairly pleased with at this stage is the overall composition, and I’m glad I spent so long getting that right. At the moment I’m uncertain exactly what I’m going to put in the foreground, but my early idea is to put in floorboards and perhaps mosses. I will have to take more photographs for that stage. What I’m doing at the moment is continuing across the top part of the summer skies, while darkening the clouds on the left, but not too much, as I want there to be a complete contrast between what is through the window, and what is around the window.

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As you may have seen in this earlier post on the dolls house window drawing, I’ve been working on the ideas for a new set of pen and ink drawings for some time now. I’m now at the stage where the first composition I have in mind for this project has been sketched out in pencil, and I’m beginning to ink things in. The essential thing for me at this point is to get the values right - since the appearance of everything will depend on contrast with it’s neighbour. The main issue is that with this drawing technique everything takes so long, and it is so intense a process, the fear is that I will put too much ink on and destroy everything so far. Unlike working with paint, there is no real way to remove the ink, or to lighten anything once it is inked. As time goes on, I will see whether these clouds through the window are ‘right’ or whether they’re not.

Here is a small section of the window, so that you can see some of the process (click on the images for a closer look):

I thought I’d also include a couple of shots of the studio. As you can see, I like to work in quite low lighting conditions, even closing the blinds during the day at times. I also love to ink by night. I think it is the combination of the quiet and lack of distraction, with the tiny pool of light which concentrates my mind onto the small worlds I am creating.

In the shot on the left you can also see some of the photographs I’m working from. These include those I took on Clee Hill the other week, as well as ones taken in my house, and skies from the decking outside my studio, which has proven to be a great place to photograph clouds!

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I’ve recently started on the photography for my new pen and ink drawing projects. Last week I began photographing some of the chairs around my house, and yesterday the clouds were fantastic, so I put one of the dining chairs in the back of the car and took it up the Clee Hills in Shropshire for some location shots. The conditions were clear, and in some of the photographs you can see the Malvern Hills in the distance — click on the thumbnails to see larger images.

I’m really looking forward to getting started on drawing the details of the wood-grain on these chairs, as well as some dramatic, cloudy skies. But first, I need to take more photographs both at home and out on location, so that’s what I’m working on for the time being.

Visit my galleries to see more photography

If you’re a fan of clouds, you might enjoy the Cloud Appreciation Society website.

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Above: Stages of work on the studio drawing - the final piece can be seen below.

When I was young I always wanted a little place at the bottom of the garden to which I could retreat and take my books, notepaper and pens, and found items such as the stones, shells, feathers and other objects that still fascinate me.  Now I have managed to create that retreat as somewhere to work, to imagine, and to get my ideas out on paper in words and images.

My new work concentrates on the need we have to create and retreat to our own spaces, whether they be dolls’ houses, childhood dens under a hedge, or the garden shed. I think it’s an impulse entirely natural to us; something like animals creating their own homes in trees and hedgerows, and furnishing them with feathers, moss, leaves and sometimes more decorative items. I suppose this is one reason I am interested in birds’ nests, bees creating their little cells and storing pollen, and even in the tunnels of the ants’ nest under a stone.

Above: Some of my garden wildlife - click for larger images.

Six months ago, I set my mind on a completely new career in Art. I had been drawing again after a hiatus of two decades, re-visiting my early fascination with extremely detailed pen and ink work, and I came to realise that this was something I’d love to do on a full-time basis: but where? Up until then I’d been using the dining table for drawing, and storing my paper and drawings in portfolios behind the sofa. I knew that if I wanted to approach this professionally I’d need to find space for a full-sized drawing table and map chest at minimum. And preferably more space to allow for cutting, storage of art materials and a computer and printer. I needed a place for thinking and doing; somewhere which would be entirely devoted to all phases of the creative process from staring out of the window, onwards.

I’d already been using the tiny summerhouse as a place to sketch during the summer, but being small and either damp from the rain or baking in the sunshine (and often full of tomato plants) it was no place for paper! I began thinking of a much larger garden shed, did some searches online, and discovered a whole new world of ‘garden offices’ , gyms and saunas and all sorts of structures that could be erected in just a few days. I decided to turn the available space at the end of the garden over to a brand new purpose-built studio; a place which would be a world away from drawing on the dining room table when household activities permitted.

Above: Working on the dining room table, and the old summerhouse.

In a matter of weeks we’d had a site visit from one of the building companies, and discussed with them exactly what size building could be squeezed into the tiny space available, and what features I could have. Having everything to hand, in a beautifully sunlit, warm, dry atmosphere was the vision, and  I chose a higher-than standard ceiling (though it still seems only ‘adequate’ to me - I can’t bear low ceilings!), full windows along the south-facing entrance, and two more on the eastern side. In less than a month the structure was made in their factory, and then erected here on site in just under three days. By Christmas I had my studio, with electricity, heating, Internet access and plenty of space.

Click here to see the before and after photographs of the building process.

The next step was to furnish it with a drawing table and other necessary furniture. I bought and re-covered the drawing table, a complete bargain on Ebay, and also the map chest which is from around the 1950s and beautifully constructed. Then it was time to start deciding on a computer on which to write my all-important artist’s web-site; the process of which will be the subject of a future blog post.

Above: The finished studio.

After working here now for a few months I can say that the decision to have the studio built was probably one of the best I’ve ever made, as it really is no exaggeration to say it has changed my life completely. I absolutely love the peace and quiet of the setting, which is right in the heart of the garden with all its life and action: something not even visible from the house because of the layout of the terraced property. Now every day I’m at work is enlivened with animal and bird activity, from the inquisitive squirrel staring in through the window to the strange scrabbling of the pigeons on the roof. Even rainy days become interesting with frogs flinging themselves from the pond in search of lunch! Coffee breaks can be taken on the decking overlooking the pond or staring at passing clouds, and the home commute is blissful.

Living in the Midlands, I’m about as far as you can get from the sea in Britain, and yet my garden has something of the feel of the coast because of my love and collection of shells and pebbles. Dad loved to sail, and I have remnants of his little boat all around the garden; the mast and boom provide climbing frames for hops and vines, and this last picture of my ‘commute home’ (above) shows part of his small anchor. Everywhere I look there are things to fascinate and remind me of why I do what I do. All these objects, and the setting, are of vital importance to the creation of my work, which is all about memory, remains and place.

The Studio, Stourbridge: Graphite on paper, 2009.

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Just a quick post to show some of the pictures I’ve taken of the Arthur’s Stone drawing to date. The drawing can be seen in more detail by clicking on the thumbnails or following the link to Arthur’s Stone on Dorstone Hill, where you will see a little commentary on the work. Please check back later for a more detailed post, or subscribe to my blog here.

This pen and ink drawing is done with the Rotring Rapidograph Pen. Follow this link to read about my stippling technique and the way I create the drawings.

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