Callander Tales: Nowhere Road.

There is a slow quiet in the air. Noises carry that bit further than before and paranoia lurks in the spaces you can’t quiet see. The blanket of quarantine is settling but has not yet fallen. 

fig.1: Callander Place Names Map (extract)

fig.2: Ben Ledi

I have finished the map [fig.1] – well nearly, which is why I missed last week, and I write this caught between my intent to recall my mornings of exploration in Callander, and the creeping realisation of what is to come.  There may be a disconnect between these outside memories, and a more insular existence – at least for a while, but I hope that these reflections will at least free my imagination for a bit.

fig.3: Mountain view (after hypo)

These reflections begin and end with sketches of Ben Ledi – the mountain that rises above the far end of Callander, and the view from my B&B window, and its constant dialogue with the weather and surroundings. I had intended to leave immediately after breakfast, but I wanted to catch the mist, and the sense of something there, and not there [fig.2].

fig.5: View whilst walking

fig.4: Samson’s Stone View

I told myself I wanted to find a view over Loch Venachar. To be honest my plan for the day was just to walk and to notice. To find my way into the imagination of the landscape, to physically experience the distance and altitude. I wanted to be surprised, to be awed by views and the climate, and to be exhausted, challenged, and have to solve the problem of impromptu quagmires half-way up a slope. From a type 1 point of view I wanted to prove I could do this – that I had enough biscuits, sugar and testing strips to get through any hypos; that I would listen to my body and recognise any symptoms I might have, and if not, at least I might be aware enough to head them off at the pass. In the event of course I had a hypo, and I was able to recognise it, and to know it would be coming, but carbs are funny things – sometimes they work quick, but this time not quick enough, so I sugared up, sat, and looked [fig.3].

fig.6: Raven study

 Walking brings you suddenly on the unexpected – a scene or composition that arrests; fleeting colours on the mountains; jostling tones of grasses, heathers and woodland; the noise of streams, the feel of the wind; and contours of the land that hint at secret pathways that lead to who knows where. A generally dry morning let me ramble, stopping to sketch or take photos on a whim, but mostly to follow the landscape up to and over the edge of sight. Looking back over the sketches and the watercolours I am struck by the sense of space, the sense of stretching out – which, I guess, is what mapping is all about [fig.4 & 5]. Landscapes tend to draw the eye in and through the details of the countryside until finally the eye is drawn upward into the sky’s expanse, where dreams dance.

fig.1: Callander Place Names Map (extract)

These studies, comments and reflections are experiments with line, tone and colour that inform a final piece that is necessarily more graphic; tracing a process that works through a dialogue between the wild mark making of my initial responses and the clarity of the final brief. Sketches in pencil and watercolours play with the tones and the delicacy of a landscape that is shifting and fluid, whilst the ink of the brush pen looks to follow contours and line, hopping over the rhythm of the edges. This essence is the catalyst that provokes further research into the narratives of folklore in the imagining of place of and space to inform the final illustrative design [fig.6 & 7].

Callander Tales: Arrival

Getting there had taken a while. There was an early start, three trains, a quick snooze, some minor anxiety about making connections, and finally a bus; but the view of, what I later found out was Ben Ledi, rising over Callander was worth it. Much of the countryside through the Lake District and across Scotland had been waterlogged. Storms Ciara and Dennis had made themselves known with rivers running high, and wide puddles spreading out over fields, not to mention the air was pregnant with water; but as the bus made its way up from Stirling the mountains rose up, and there was the snow-line. Furiously I pulled up the camera on my phone to capture the view – the impatience of arrival over-riding the logic that the Trossachs weren’t going anywhere. 

fig.1: view of Ben Ledi

With time to spare before meeting up with Dr Ross Crawford – who, along with the place, I’d come to see, I took a breath. Callander is arranged along a main street – uniquely for the time it was built I later found out. Half thinking of lunch I had an eye for places to eat, but mainly I noticed the presence of the mountains that surround two sides of the town, a presence that let my gaze stray upward. For a moment sun had broken through, and I took the time to notice the chill in the air, and the drama of the setting. I came to Callander as research for an illustrated map of the Gaelic place names in the area – partly to speak to Ross, who was in charge of the project, but also to get a sense of the place I was drawing. It was a flying visit, so I knew I couldn’t get to all the places that would be involved, but the project weaved the names with folklore and I wanted to understand the way the stories were a part of this place. 

fig.2: St Keogg’s

I wandered along the street getting my bearings. I find walking helps me make decisions, the activity engages my more decisive subconscious, which tells me important things I hadn’t considered – in this case that I wanted to dump a load of my stuff. Suitably chastised I headed over to my B & B. Offered the choice of a view of Ben Ledi and a shower across the hall, or an en-suite with a view of the road outside, I predictably plumped for the view. After unpacking quickly, I settled to draw the view for the first of many times [fig.1]. Anxious to get a first impression I opted for brush pen to force me to look and to find the line of the mountain. With mist and snow blurring the summit I realised that what was important, using ink, was the negative space – and how the white of the paper could be more eloquent than the mark of the brush. 

fig.3: Callander and Ben Ledi

Later I went on to find Ross. We discussed the meanings of the places that would be included, and the fascinating and subtle shifts in meaning between the English translations and the syntax and grammar of the Gaelic names; and the history of Gaelic in Scotland – in amongst the rise of English, and the influence of Scots. Callander as a gateway to the Highlands and the Trossachs is also a linguistic marker where these three languages meet and have marked the landscape. Callander, it turns out, sited by the meeting of two rivers, is used to flooding in the area known as Callander Meadows, where it was clear the river was far above its normal levels, and wading birds had come closer to the makeshift banks as a precaution. We skirted the flooded areas to join the path further up and continued our conversation whilst Ross showed me the routes around Callander and suggested where I may want to go further afield the next day.

After Ross left I found a pub, a pint, a chair and settled to look through the photos taken during the day, and, after testing my blood sugar and ordering food, set to sketching some of the moments that had stuck with me. The abandoned church of St Keogg’s, which cried out to be used anew [fig.2], and the town, with a few bedraggled tourists, framed by the mountains [fig.3]. As I finished my food arrived, so putting down my pen I contemplated cropping the images and began to eat. 

Callander Tales: Bracklinn Falls

fig.1: Bracklinn Falls: Pencil

It’s not just arriving is it? It’s the getting there. The path up from Callander to Bracklinn Falls is clear and well maintained – but steep. Which is good – steep makes you press on, and then stop. You notice the ways the streams cut through the earth, and today they’re moving fast, the recent weather working with the gradient, so the water seems to leapfrog itself in a tumult downwards. 

 Then there’s the trees gnarled in their winter undress or clasping tightly to their evergreen coats. Undulations of earth and rock are dusted with moss, bracken and grass. Finally, I reach a plateau and exhale. Making my way across to the Falls the first thing I notice is the sound – a cacophony breaking, still muted by the nooks and crannies of the landscape, the volume growing with each step.

 The rain makes the rocks around the falls glisten – giving the stone a metallic sheen. The force of the water justifies the sonic warnings – pounding against the sides, swirling and seething over the jutting rocks, which remain stoic against the rage.

fig. 2: Bracklinn Falls: Ink

 I make my way to the bridge – focused on my line of sight and I begin to draw. Enthralled by the energy before me I begin with brush pen and realise quickly this will be a struggle between brush and rain [fig.2]. My lines at first are bold and decisive, but soon they are blotched and diluted by the droplets and puddles sprawling across the paper. I can see the accuracy dissipating, but instead there is movement and deception – the water shrieks ‘na-na-nah-na-na’ as it swirls and burst over the page.

 I finish, pack away and dither – though satisfied, I know I’d like a record for later, so backtrack and take my position under the roof of the bridge. This time in pencil I block out the surroundings – the geometry and weight of rock [fig.1]. But the wind has changed – and the rain still wants to play, seizing the graphite and intensifying the line. Caught up in the game my pencil moves faster, looser – trying to catch the water as it jumps and darts over the Falls and over my page, the wet and dry strokes contrast vividly, adding shade, texture and perspective.

 When I finish I reflect for a moment. Pleased with the sketches – despite the deviation from my intentions, I consider following the path onwards, but I suspect the way will grow steeper, and note that the path there is more uneven, and that the rain is falling harder. All in all, I’ve had my fair share of mud for the day (more of which in Tales to come), so I put away my book and head back with thoughts of streams and whiskey.  

Open sketchbook.

No blog last week as I weaved my way through the shoots of new projects, some unexpected opportunities and my preparations for a trip away. In amongst the the undergrowth I worked on a commercial and personal project for the Podcast Down to a sunless sea: Memories of my Father, a new podcast created by my brother David Pickering, with funding from the Wellcome Trust and the British Podcast Awards, following conversations between David and our Father during the progression of Dad’s dementia.

This post is more of a photo essay, following the process to the creation of these final images, but I hope it provides a sense of how process follows unexpected and sometimes contrary pathways…

final ‘Cover’ image.

final ‘Banner’ image

Beginnings.

Thoughts.

Doodle Thinking.

Thumbnails.

Palette and Pattern.

Dead-ends…

Develop…

..ment.

Face studies.

Sea studies 1

Sea studies 2

Fusion.

Final Illustration.

Wild Compass... (A shameless plug)

fig.2: Manchester: Carbon City Zero

This is not so much a blog as a shameless plug. I composed todays post whilst walking through the rain to a cancelled GP appointment, which tends to result in a stream of consciousness - a consolidation of my relationship with the world through hypothetical fencing if you like.

I’ve spent the last week finally getting my web shop up to date (usb click back to the main menu ;)), and setting one up on Etsy https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/PickArtShop?ref=seller-platform-mcnav. This has meant setting up links with Klein Imaging in Manchester to ensure the best quality archival giclee prints, so that the colour is perfect, and the images will last over time; and curating some of my recent images.

fig.3: Newcastle Journey

Collating my work like this has made me reflect how my practice has come to settle around the theme of cartography or mapping - whether of space and place, or of ideas.

I see this in the exploration and imagination of urban spaces, such as my recent work on Carbon City Zero, alongside Dr Sam Illingworth and Dr Paul Wake and the charity Possible working towards a zero carbon economy (who get 10% of any sales of these images). Two of the three available images “Edinburgh” and “Manchester” are shown here [fig.1 & 2] - “Bristol” is also ready to ship.

Over the next month the rest of the images: Cardiff, Sheffield, Brighton, Calderdale, Oldham and Machynlleth will be uploaded to the shops (so keep your eyes peeled, or let me know if you’d like to be told). These are the cities and regions that supported the Carbon City Zero project, to encourage debate and action to reduce carbon emissions on a local level.

fig.4: Brighton Culture

This ‘cartography’ is also present in the imagination of spaces as sequential narratives and cultural explosion, and through how colour can re-think and reflect the places as I see them, as in my illustrations of Newcastle and Brighton [fig.3 & 4].

Similarly my understanding and research into the biological and psychological landscape of type 1 diabetes in my Graphic Medicine work Diabetes: Year One [fig.5] is also a form of mapping, establishing and interrogating the relationships between the medical facts of my body and the reality of my everyday life.

fig.5: Diabetes: Year One

Individually these images and works chart out a place or space as I understand it, but taken together they begin to form a wider map of experiences - often based around a combination of walking the space, but also how spaces and places become defined through the collation of momentary experiences, and through how place is reflected (and projected) online.

Anyway - the shops are up, the images ready, and the compass is set, so from here the navigation begins.

Getting into gear.

I found myself running headlong into Christmas, swapping the final deadlines of work for the final deadlines of the holidays: – shopping, cooking, family, mild disorientation, alcohol induced delirium, and stop.

 Creatively, this just feels like burnout, as if the world around seems to fade into blobs and shapes that drift in and out of focus, losing definition and focus, and colour. In fairness, this may just be the influence of winter, revealed fully when the trappings of Christmas come down. 

 So, I took some time not to create, which was good – till it wasn’t. I began to try and provoke some form of creativity – to jolt myself into vague projects that hovered at the edge of my thoughts, or to manufacture a creative epiphany in some kind of Frankenstein inspired experiment. These attempts whimpered out - whether through weather, practicality, the lure of a lingering mince pie, or a power-cut.

 Deciding that overthinking was the problem I decided on simplicity (partly through a visit to see Dad and connect through drawing animals that mean a lot to him), to take time to properly look. Being away from urban spaces, and having spent much of the last couple of months lost in them anyway, I went for watercolour sketches of nature – specifically animals and the countryside. As I was moving around, these sketches are all postcard size, and painted with a traveling watercolour palette [fig: 1-4]. 

fig.1: “Heron”

 The limited palette provided a discipline to the sketches – mixing colours that appear too much, then using water to dilute intensity, and develop a range of tone. The colour mix creates the language, whilst the dilution enables its expression. 

fig.2: “PoppyCat”

 Unlike oil, where I like to get paint on the canvas quickly, or working digitally where you can block in a background to provide an anchor for the colour, watercolour demands that you stop and think, and work out the negative space and colour of the scene or subject. A slower start, which can be daunting, as you have time to consider how you might cock it up. 

fig.3: “Willowbridge Field”

 I like to begin in the shadows, to define the shape of the painting, but also these are areas where you are likely to rework, so mistakes will be subsumed in the process of creating the image. Beginning with shadows also allows me to identify what the base colour for the painting will be – whether the darkness is red, blue, green or brown. All my subsequent colour decisions will come in harmony or contrast from this start.  

fig.4: “Fudge”

 I like the results – they are more subtle than some of my graphic work, but also have a narrative quality – of anticipation, of disdain, of mystery, of hope, yet they also speak in my use of colour. Most importantly they have carried the boulder to the top of the mountain, and ideas are now rolling downward… I think that’s a good thing… 

Snapshot

I’m jumping across projects at the moment, plus trying to map out family arrangements and travel for upcoming holiday that must not be named (at least till Sunday), so my blogging has been a bit erratic - soz for that.

This is a last snapshot of the Carbon City Zero card game project I’ve mentioned in a couple of posts, which has been a brilliant and epic project. This image is my illustration and design for the ‘carbon tracker’ - or score card for the game. It was fascinating to do - involving the logistics of game playing, and the understanding and embedding of the narrative that is behind the game. I wanted to include the idea of change and transition, and more importantly the ideas of choice and consequence which are behind the need to tackle carbon reduction and climate change. I also wanted to hint at the idea that each step is precarious, and linked - that the process is not easy. I also wanted players to know which way to head (i.e. - less is better ;)). Full disclosure - the illustration and layout is me - the font and number positioning was completed by Matt Bonner, the graphic designer for the project with Possible (previously 10:10 Climate Action), the charity which has collaborated with the game.

Anyway here it is, if you like it, check out my previous posts for links about the game, and maybe give it a go? ;)

City-scaping.

Well, here they are, the final illustrations for Carbon City Zero. Celebrating cities and regions that are on board with the aims of the game – negotiating the complexities of cities and towns and, y’know – people, to achieve zero carbon emissions. 

fig. 1: Cardiff

 It’s been a mental tour of the country (and often a physical one too), trying to work out the logic and feel of places and spaces and twisting perception and geography around each other (and in the process re-living my experience of the film Inception). 

fig. 2: Bristol

 With the pencils completed I moved on to the inking and colouring – trying to gauge distance and establish the relationships between buildings and areas. Playing with contrast and colour to imagine a world into being – or at least trying. (There’s a fair bit to be said about the God-complex that springs up around a project like this, though I’ve got to say for me there’s less maniacal laughter, and more eye-twitching and hair greying, and general anxiety about why the rules of space and time are a cruel joke played on me by the universe!)

fig. 3: Brighton

fig. 4: Machynlleth

 I talked about the drafting of the compositions and the negotiation of the line in my post “Lost in space and time” and dwelt on the intellectual exercise of the pencils. Adding the colour was more about finding the feeling and atmosphere of a place – identifying the variations in tone and shade which breath life into what are stylised and symbolic representations of cities and regions across the country: Cardiff, Bristol, Brighton, Machynlleth, Edinburgh, Calderdale, Sheffield, Oldham, and where I started, Manchester [figs 1-9].

fig. 5: Edinburgh

fig. 6: Calderdale

fig. 7: Sheffield

 Ironically adding colour digitally is a more reflective process than the expressive sweep of a brush, or mixing oils on the canvas. Nonetheless, expressing a sense of place is what colour and shade and tone and all that stuff, does, and it is what I’ve tried to do. The nine cities, towns and regions, are very different, and my initial worry about creating images that were too similar dissipated very quickly – even where I looked for ‘types’ of buildings to support unique features, something that became even more apparent as the colours were added. For each illustration I built up the colour palette from a colour chosen to represent my impression of the place – provoked by a building, the weather, or else instinct; and as a result, each image has its own integrity – even when architectural styles and materials might be similar.

fig. 8: Oldham

 The twist and turns of pathways and highways, rail and water have wound their ways around my brain for weeks now, so to finish is both satisfying and a moment to pause, to reflect, but mostly, to sleep. Which is what I’m going to do now, in a bit… later anyway, after that thing I need to do, yeah, then.

fig. 9: Manchester

Contemplating the absurd.

It’s raining, it’s dark – it’s definitely autumn now. When the sun sneaks through the rain, the days are crisp and translucent – the time of year when boundaries are thinner, and assumptions more unsteady. 

 This is also #DiabetesAwarenessMonth and Thursday 14th is #WorldDiabetesDay, put these things together and I’ve been re-evaluating my type 1 Diabetes, checking my routine, my progress, what needs to change, what can stay the same…

 Anyway, it led to this comic, so here it is.

Lost in space and time

… and stop. Breathe, blink, and you’re back in the room.

I’ve missed a couple of posts as I’ve been really immersed in my latest project - which are works in progress at the moment - so only pencils today. It’s a series of stylised panoramic landscapes of various cities and districts for the card game Carbon City Zero (see previous posts), and it’s fascinating, energising, impenetrable and tortuous all at the same time [fig. 1-4].

fig 1: Bristol (pencil sketch)

The main challenge is working out the logic of the geography, and how I want to twist/cheat it to incorporate the multiplicity, culture and history of a place. The other challenge is simply the scale I’m working at - each one is about a third of a sheet of A4 - to try an ensure that when the images are reduced I haven’t overcrowded the image. I’m trying to get a sense of the layout of the place, but also the individuality of key buildings, quirks that can often be conveyed by just the right tweak of a line, the run of a bend, or the angle of the composition (and if I’m honest sometimes the luck of cramp at the right moment).

fig 2: Sheffield (pencil sketch)

fig 3: Manchester (pencil sketch) [this was the first image and the final versions are to be done with/without lettering, so for the rest I’ll do that on Photoshop]

These are works in progress - they will be inked, and digitally coloured - and at each stage refined slightly. The joy of the pencil stage is the thinking through - almost the recreation of (in these cases) urban landscape: the choice of old verses new buildings, balancing housing, commercial and public buildings, and in the process finding the ways in which cities create links and delineation between specific areas and their spacial identities; and in doing so investigating the potential and challenges of these spaces.

fig 4: Brighton (pencil sketch)

I’m not done yet, and time calls. So I must re-submerge into the buildings, roads, rivers and alleys. I hope to come up for breathe soon.