039 lamp post

Day thirty-nine of The 100 Day Project for 2021.

I finished drawing this just before midnight yesterday. But then I got engaged in another discussion about current affairs with one of my patrons and good friends, Chris.

Chris seems to have his sleeping patterns under better control than me now. We were previously exchanging messages about politics and current affairs at 4:00 most mornings. But it doesn't stop us from starting conversations about the deeper issues at midnight!

Meanwhile, today's sketch was inspired by a photo I took at Ongar Railway Station in Chipping Ongar, Essex, back in April 2019.

Simon and I caught the Real Ale Train on the Epping-Ongar Railway that day. Unfortunately, it was cold and rainy and, once the weather cleared a bit, I was feeling nauseous (not because of the cider!)

Consequently, I took literally one photograph with my DSLR and a small smattering of photos from the train with my iPhone.

I know they've been suffering because of all the lockdowns. To support them, and because of the issues on our last journey, I'd like to join the train another time soon. Once the lockdowns have eased. To enjoy the train trip, hop off and have a nose around Chipping Ongar, and then enjoy some cider properly on the way back.

Back to my sketch, though.

I started this sketch intending to capture the whole scene. I quickly realised my ability to condense this much image into an A4 page of sketching in square format was just not going to happen.

So for today's sketch, I settled for capturing the lamp post. And adding the roof of the building behind it.

The lamp post in my sketch looks like someone kicked a football at it. Rather than the perfectly vertical lamp post in the photo. And my perspective is off generally.

I suspect I would do better:

a) Using an A3 piece of paper, rather than A4.

b) Not using a notebook or any other drawing surface that creates a curve or has edges raised too much off the desk.

c) Using a larger space to draw in, rather than my overcluttered desk (though I do love having my plants by my side!)

I suspect there's also something to be said for using a surface that allows my eye line to be at the same point for looking at the source image and the image I'm drawing at the same time.

I'm trying to stick to what I have and the parameters I've set, though.

This was initially a 4H pencil sketch. As has become my wont. I accentuated it with an HB pencil outline. Then a heavier 4H pencil on the lightbulb and other elements.

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a bird’s eye view

They talked of little things. Of big things. Of middling things.

The sort of things that stuck in their craw, or alternatively that made them sing. Not that seagulls are particularly known for their singing. If you can even call it that, and most don't. But sometimes, just sometimes, there were things to speak of good enough that they made them sing, even if they were the only ones to call it that.

To be fair, she talked more. He mostly listened. He interjected sometimes with an amusing quip or anecdote and then dropped into the background, letting her speak her thoughts aloud.

Sometimes the deepest thoughts. Sometimes simply gossip about the other birds roundabout. They had views on most things, albeit mostly a high level aerial view, with the odd deep dive into society and its mores. They were dab hands at picking up tidbits around and about, but getting clear of it all when shit went down.

Occasionally they fraternised with the other birds. Other seagulls and pigeons mostly. But sometimes they travelled further afield and crossed paths with blackbirds or magpies, or other smaller neighbourhood birds. Tits, robins, sometimes the odd starling. Though the starlings tended to be a bit too obsessed with flying in formation, which didn't make for much opportunity to just chill out and network together.

They squabbled with other birds over morsels left behind by the humans, or they talked about nesting and raising their young. Exactly how much they should feed their young through regurgitation? How young was too young for the hatchling to fly the coop, or the nest? You know, the usual, really.

Despite the draw of the seafront, they didn't really like crowds much. Their favourite place to perch was over the town square; the one with the church and its churchyard. It was more peaceful and less overrun by tourists - both on the ground and in the air - than the waterfront. The nearest pub was down the hill, so apart from the Sunday sermons, the area was quite quiet.

They liked to watch the humans congregate one day a week in fancy clothes. Occasionally they would swoop down to snatch a beribboned bonnet from a small child or a prim and proper lady, causing a bit of a ruckus, soon forgotten.

Something colourful for the nest was always lovely to have. Something to brag about to their neighbours. When the humans weren't looking, sometimes they took a stroll around the churchyard to gather up the colourful tributes left behind on the graves.

What good was a colourful ribbon, an evergreen plastic leaf, a shiny bit of tinsel, to one of their lost ones? Surely it should be enjoyed by the living? These things made for beautiful touches on an otherwise dull nest of twigs and dry leaves. Something shiny and colourful to brighten up one's home and make the newest member of one’s family feel welcome.

On Fridays they feasted on fish and chips like good locals. They weren't as keen on vinegar and ketchup as their human counterparts, but beggars can't be choosers, I guess.

Some of the local humans had put out bird-feeders in their front or back gardens around the square. Leaving seeds and such out for their feathered friends. Despite initial reservations, they didn't seem to mean any harm; and though the meals on offer were basic, they were mostly hearty.

In between times, the worms surfaced from the earth in the churchyard when the rain fell, and the bins overflowed with takeaway options. The square was a relative smorgasbord without the long lines and bickering to be had by the sea.

They watched from above; surveying all below. They knew all the humans' gossip, but there was little point in knowing it because they couldn't convey it to other humans, and other seagulls just rolled their eyes to hear it. And rightly so.

The humans would never change. They were lower beings. Why bother to observe their ridiculous comings and goings? As long as they left behind the odd scraps to feed on, or left enough fish in the harbour for them to catch their own, then all could live well enough together.

Things had become a little out of hand lately as the humans were leaving the ocean in a right state. Some fish not fit to eat because of pollution, plastic in their bellies, or any number of other reasons, but there was still just enough to go around for everyone. For now.

Meanwhile, the sun was shining. The sky was blue. What more could a seagull want? What a glorious day to go fishing.