Sketchbook pictuuuures. Ink and watercolours.
I did the first one with the intention of it looking vague and ambigous. I wanted it to look like, did her kill her or just find her? What really happened? But as it progressed it became pretty clear that he killed her.
So I did a companion piece and tried to make it opposite. I made the dead man more angular and more sort of folded inward rather than smooth lines and opened up. There's also blue instead of red, he was drowned rather than stabbed or anything. And his killer is very remourseless. The woman's killer is filled with regret. FOREEEVER.
Also, when my dad saw these, his first reaction was to ask if I could paint them up on big canvases. Apparently this is the very first thing he would like people to see as they enter the appartment. I didn't think that Mum would be too thrilled with that concept, so I said no.
Went to a poetry reading the other night. It was everything I had imagined it to be. Every poetry reading that I'd ever seen in movies and TV shows turned out to be accurate portrayels.
It was in a tiny cafe in West End, packed with very bohemian looking people and a lot of wanky looking people in their early twenties. (I was in the second group.) Everyone took it all very seriously. After each reading evreyone clapped and looked at each other while saying things like, "Wow. That was so deep and profound." Everyone who read got really into it.
And. The best bit. There were a couple of people with an assortment of instruments, making noises as people read. There was someone playing a bongo drum. There was someone with a pan pipe made of plastic bottles.
It was pretty awesome.
Anyway, I did a few very bad sketches. I need to draw from life more. Also, I would just like to say that I was drunk when I drew these.