Everything Is Copy

I was one of the lucky people to have taken part in the annual International Urban Sketching Symposium this August, which took place in the very pretty city of Poznan, in the west of the country. I was one of 18 instructors from all over the world, representing Ireland in my own small but very proud way. Having just touched down on Irish soil after those few days in Poland, I take to the skies again in a couple of days’ time: I travel to Geneva on Wednesday morning for the 7th Swiss Symposium of Urban Sketching, where I will once more fly the flag for Ireland as one of the instructors.

In Poland, I taught three workshops and gave one demo to around 65 people in total: as always, the students were the best bit about the trip, with their sunny, smiling faces, enthusiasm for our shared passion and generous words of appreciation. As well as a rewarding teaching experience, it was an extremely social one, and I picked up Covid en route somewhere – unsurprising given the number of hugs with old friends and lovely people who read this blog or watch my YouTube channel – so I took straight to the bed when I got home. Then a curious thing happened.

I found one of those bed trays with legs lying around in my house. (If you’re arty and intend on being bedridden anytime soon, GET one.) Having spent precious energy lugging it upstairs, I nestled back under the covers, with my open suitcase beside me, full of art materials given to us by the sponsors. I piled up pillows behind me, and piled the tray with art stuff – pens, inks, brushes, sketchbooks – nearly all of which was something brand new to me. I really was very happy, and was already starting to recover by the time I got back to Ireland. I began to try out the stuff from the goodie bags we’d been given by the sponsors of the USk Symposium, and the purchases I made in the art market there.

One of the art supplies in my goodie bag was a tiny notebook – smaller even than A6, it measured just 9cm X 14cm (3.5″ x 5.5″) – and I don’t know why that of all the myriad sketchbooks which have come and gone in my life this one has hit exactly the right spot for fast comic-strip writing and drawing (and colouring). Within three days I had filled in 18 pages about my trip to Poznan. I could have reported on the trip here, in this blog, but that’s not what the muse asked me to do. She asked – ordered – me to draw it in an intense but simple way in this new sketchbook. Who am I to refuse? The few days I spent in Poznan were no ordinary work trip, and not because it was a special event. The reason this trip was a bit out of the ordinary is that from start to finish I was an emotional rattle-bag. I don’t even know if that’s a word but it describes my mental state last week quite well. Some of the reasons for that are rather harrowing, some are sad but common, and I had to make a choice between telling my story here and upsetting you, the lovely readers of my blog, or indulgently satisfying my selfish need to let it all out. My solution is that I will print the story as a little “zine” and you can buy it if you choose, or not, in the full knowledge that it will probably make you sad and upset.

As for the sketches I made in Poland: there are very few, and nothing fancy, because the instructors did not have time to do anything at all except take part in the “faculty” side of things. If we weren’t teaching or doing a demo, we were in meetings. Those sketches I did do will be in my YouTube flick-through of my sketchbook from July and August, which I hope to put up soon.

I do have one sketch ready-scanned that I can share. It is quite representative of the trip in some ways.

During the Closing Ceremony on the last evening, the audience was treated to a violin recital by some professional musicians. This was a solo recital to begin with, and the music was very moving. I was drowning in my illness by this stage, and my emotions were really out of control. The beautiful music brought me to tears, and then I started thinking about my father’s mother, who was a violinist in her day. I thought about how she’s gone, and my father is ill and elderly, and how everyone goes in the end…and that was the end of all semblance of control. Between my nose and my eyes, I was a human plumbing emergency. This was a problem because I was in the second row from the front, surrounded by lots of colleagues and new friends, and I was due to take the stage any minute for the final thank-you for the faculty, which of course would be filmed and beamed across the world. Heads were starting to turn to look at me, and all the expressions were sweetly sympathetic. Clearly, a superhuman effort of control was required.

Then I remembered that sketching takes your mind off everything but the subject before you. I started to sketch the musicians and – hey presto – I was calm. Just in time for my encore…

On the right of the page is one of the beautiful pieces of pottery I bought while I was away. In the composition, I positioned it on top of the little sketchbook, as a sort of homage to my newly-unlocked comic-strip flow. (I wrote to the company to ask them if they’ll slip me a few books for nothing: I told them this kind of mind-meld with a sketchbook happens once in a generation, but I’ve heard nothing back. Maybe they think I’m a chancer – I am – or maybe they remember that time ten years ago when they sent me some paper samples, out of the blue, which I did not acknowledge; the gift was followed by an unhappy Facebook message telling me I was rude not to acknowledge receipt of the samples, which I was.) I suspect I will be buying my sketchbooks going forward. In fact, I am so excited about them that I have already bought lots more, into which I will pour my heart as a comic-strip creator.

The workshop theme I taught in Poland was about sketching in a café when you can’t go outdoors, because it’s too hot, too wet or too cold for comfort. You will be able to read more about it in the weird little zine I am going to print. Here’s a sketch I did between workshops, over a delicious salade niçoise and a truly awful warm lavender matcha, the latter recommended by one of the lovely students (although she may have told me to get an iced one). This sketch incorporates the theme of the workshops I did in Poznan: food and drink first, then background in line, then people in bright colours, then values.

If you are in Poznan, go to the Petit Paris café in Stary Browar shopping centre. They have a terrace too and the food is just so good – and the manager is very generous to allow 48 sketchers to sit over a single cup of coffee and a pretty croissant over two days.

In Geneva, though, the theme of the workshop is light and shadow…in other words, the values that I am always trying to drive home. I am adding a lesson in strong drawing as part of the workshops, as the combination of strong drawing and strong values are what give the feeling of “being there”. That’s not to say that art which pays no heed to accurate drawing and strong values can’t be beautiful – of course it can! And original, and unique, and inspiring – but not convincing in the way that strong drawing and strong values bring. My blog, my opinion!

If you feel you need more help with these themes, and you’ve missed out on attending the event in Geneva, which has been sold out for months, then you might be in luck. In late September I will be teaching the same themes in Dunmore East in Co. Waterford, in the wonderful Artform art academy. The school is right on the sea, so if you’re feeling a little hardy you can stroll down to the strand each day and dive into the refreshing water for a splash or a swim. I do it every time I teach there and it’s a big part of why I love teaching there so much. The other reason I love teaching there is the charismatic and wonderful Martina O’Byrne, who runs the school. Over three days from Friday 19th to Sunday 21st September, we will examine light and shadow in ink and watercolour, indoors and out. Contact Artform for more details as I believe there are still a few places remaining.

We’ll start by getting to really understand values: what they are, why artists never stop going on about them, their power and how to harness that power in your own work. Without dark their is no light, and that’s especially true in watercolour, where you can’t paint light, only shadow.

I’ll leave it at that for now: I want to finish my comic strip memoir before I start scribbling out the next one when I get to the airport in Geneva. Let’s hope my next journey is more of an emotional Swiss chocolate – smooth and satisfying – and less an emotional rattle-bag.

Or maybe not….you know what they say – everything is copy.