No one said it would be easy...

but then, no one said it would be this hard either.

I've had a bit of a break from the studio for a while. In fact the last time I went was a couple of weeks before Christmas. During this time, though, I've still been busy, working up ideas and concepts for new work for when I did, finally, return to print making. Also in the interim period there has been a show at The Beetroot Tree which, completely by accident, I was a part of. Just a modest sample of my work. An image called 'repeat'.

To my surprise this piece sold. Yay me!

I returned to the studio last week, bolstered with a new found confidence that someone other than my wife would consider giving one of my pictures house room. I usually only get to spend one day a week there. In fact not even that, just five hours at a time is all that my schedule will allow. Those five hours are a precious commodity that I need to spend wisely and productively. So, when I have 'one of those days' when nothing goes right. I can become really despondent and down right pissed off with myself.

I'm a very hard task master when it comes those things which I consider I am competent in. When I start a job, be it a piece of art, D.I.Y. or whatever, I have in my head exactly what needs to be done, how those things should be done and when those things should accomplished by. I'm a planner, it's true...

Then it all goes wrong. As it did last Thursday at Green Door Studio. From the moment I set foot in the place fate conspired to slap my in the face with one cock up after another. I left feeling very deflated. Not to worry though because I'd booked three five hour slots this week. So I had a bad day, so what, I would make up for it this week. Except I didn't. Yesterday was just as bad.

I don't get it. I know what I want, need, to achieve and I know exactly what I need to do make sure that these things happen. So why the hell does every thing go belly up sometimes? There is nothing I detest more than wasted time.

But what of today? O.K. you be the judge. This is called, predictably enough, 'City Boy'.

And day three? That has had to be cancelled. Aargh!!

I've uncovered some old sketches from waaaay back. First is Keith Richards, followed by Lou Reed, then some dude thinking, some other dude running with his shlong hanging out and finally a self portrait from when I sported long hair and a goatee.

Middle of November I posted the sketch work for this image. Here is the finished article. This is 'Beetlebum'.

This week I've had to under take the daunting task of designing invitations for my friend Paul's 40th birthday.

Paul is a really nice guy. He's intelligent, Witty, good looking, somewhat suave and even a little debonair at times. He's also known in certain circles for his 'taste' in shirts. With that in mind and with a brief from the man himself, I came up with these:

More than a little homagé to Mr Paul Smith had to be paid considering the subject of the invites. A bit of doctoring to the aforemantioned's signature was also in order. Mr Joyce himself plumped for the second design, which I think was the right choice.

Being 40+ myself I feel that it's only fair to give Paul a 'heads up' on the pitfalls of reaching that magic age. There is a list of things that I have come to realise are vital to achieving a balanced outlook on what is, lets face it, probably the last half of your life.

These are (in no particular order):

Moisturize, moisturize, moisturize. Let's face it, our skin has seen better days. Those wrinkles are here to stay. Remember, they are not laughter lines. NOTHING is that funny.

Your hypochondria will get the better of you. Fact. The slightest cough, the smallest rash, will have you running, not to the Doctors, but to the medical dictionary. You will then convince yourself that you have SARS, Typhoid or worse. Back away from the self diagnosis. And don't even mention Piles!

Things just wont work like they used to. I'm not just talking about the obvious either. Your knees will be fucked, your back will creek, your eyes will refuse to focus and your teeth will file for separation on the grounds that your breath smells. Get used to it.

Everyone is younger than you, at least that's how it will appear. Remember when your folks would say that the police men were getting younger? Well, guess what? They are.

And I could go on all day but I wont. Why? Because non of that matters. Yes, we are getting older. Not old, just older. I'd like to think wiser too (although the jury is still out on that one in my case). And I think that's great. In my 44 years I might not have set the world on fire (well, there was that one time with the box of matches, some dry scrub land and a mate, but we won't go into that) but I've done the best I could with what I had. And that's all you can ever really ask of yourself.

My profile on this blog says "I'm 44 years old but 24 at heart". That's the trick, I reckon. Think young to stay young.

I'm off out now to buy a hoodie and some trainers.

This is some thing that I rarely do these days.

In the last post I said that I had stopped sketching. So, I thought I'd try my hand at a portrait, something that I've not done in a Long time.

Need more practice.

For some reason I seem to have stopped sketching. It must be at least three weeks, perhaps four, since I last put anything on Skineart. Sometimes life just overtakes you. And it's Christmas in two weeks, god damn it!! There is a vicious circle that has me trapped at the moment. I need to work overtime to fund my art projects but doing the overtime is preventing me from having the time and energy to pursue them.

That just sucks!

Next year will be different. More time for me, more time for my work (not theirs) and more time to just...stop and think.

This is a little something that I threw together for my friends Varinia and Paul.

I like this two tone, silhouette style. I need to explore this theme more.

Another quick post.

Just this minute sketched down an idea for a print. Might have the finished result next week.

It's been a while but, hey, I've been busy, O.K.

Finaly got around to posting a new image on my site. You can also buy this as a print from Zazzle. I'm hoping that I'll be able to offer original of my work soon(ish). Stay tuned.

I spent most of Wednesday going nowhere fast.

Helen and I decided that, as we were both on leave, we'd take a leisurely drive to Leeds for a spot of shopping. We'd also planned to go on to York afterwards and stay over, have a romantic evening meal and take in the pre Christmas atmosphere.

The forces that conspire to throw spanners however had other plans.

We were in no rush so we had some lunch and left home about mid day. The trip to the M1 is about a twenty five mile drive from home. We went via Derby, picking up some fuel on the way then joined the motorway about 1.00 pm which is when, almost immediately, the Statham jinx hit. No sooner had the motorway trip started than it stopped, literally, dead. Three lanes of stationery traffic stretching as far as the eye could see. We were trapped. Minutes tuned to hours. Lots of hours. 6 long, infuriating, bloody hours during which time we were able to cover a staggering 6 miles. Traffic updates on the radio just kept reporting that 'both North and South bound carrage ways of the M1 are closed'. You don't say? Eventually a glimmer of salvation came when we reached the next junction by which the traffic was being diverted. The problem now moved from the M1 to the A whatever road into Chesterfield. Another hour to cover three miles.

By the time we were able to resume our journey it was way too late to even consider Leeds so we headed straight to York. Unfortunately we were so late that the car parks were all closed (I was stupid enough to book a Travellodge with no parking. Smart move, eh?). O.k. so, car's finally parked and we book in. The room stank. Like a stale smokey smell. Helen went to reception and came back with the key to another room where we both collapsed, hungry, exhausted and emotionally drained.

We were both woken at 11.45 pm be a loud screeching noise closely followed by a deep rumbling sound that went on and on and on. It appeared that the new room was right next to the laundry. Somehow, we both managed to drift off, only to be woken again by the same sound at 6.45 am.

The car needed to be moved by 8.30 so we just left, feeling just as tiered as when we'd arrived.

York is a beautiful city but have you ever tried to find breakfast at 8.00 in the morning. Jesus H Christ. Finally found a scanky cafe which A) didn't take debit cards and B) had had a problem with the food delivery that morning. I found a cash point and we had toast and something that tried to pass as scrambled eggs.

After a couple of hours of walking around in the bitter cold we decided to cut our losses and go home. The return journey took less than three hours.

What was the M1 hold up? It turned out that some idiot had stopped his car in the fast lane on one side of the motorway and tried to walk across the other. Seconds later he'd been hit by traffic and killed.

So, I guess that the Statham bad luck isn't that bad after all.