Ailyex vs. Dogboyo

Played by Hanbertina and myself since the days of Lower Sixth in the Corridor Study Room, and having appeared on Nerve.com, The Simpsons and The Guardian, SMOPOAC has just been played by The Friday Night Project!! [which the Oxford Landing and I are currently watching . . . ] Get in!

In celebration of The Mister’s Days Off Work, we got terribly excited about the prospect of cake and I got terribly dismayed that I didn’t own rolling pin to brandish at the urchins upstairs. So we rustled up homemade pizza and the ‘chocolate fudge squares’ hanging out on the pink gingham, after a recipe in the Sunday Times’ Style [without the suggested crystalized violets, bless Middle England - I doubt the village fete-ers would approve of my using 'herb' scales to weigh out my caster sugar . . . ] before being confronted with a pile of Stubb CD covers, a pair of scissors and Mr.’s hopeful smile, saying ‘Please cut out the covers so that I can sit here smugly fiddling with the PC whilst you and Aaron bugger them up like wonky imbeciles . . . ‘

Between the chocolate, treating the taptop to an actual functioning battery, trying out some proper gorgeous recipes from Orangette, playing one-of-the-boys with this, the arrival of this and these, plenty of Farscape [ohmygod, new episodes! Excuse me while I get really nerdily excited . . . ], one whole sunny, short-skirty day, boy/girl naps and Mr. not working or rehearsing ’til Monday, it looks like it might be a lovely weekend . . .

To sum up - after I’d returned from this musical day out and she had finished the new Potter, Hanbert related the main plot points to me, and . . . I was actually thrilled to find out Snape’s fate and that Han’s theories were true, and not that upset about _____ dying, but horrified that ____ dies and ______ loses an ear! I didn’t know I cared - but have since admonished myself.

In more ‘me’ news, here’s another Rhodia sneak peak:

soon to be Circe . . .

and the recently finished Roux.

La Femme de la Ligne Claire

This rosy lady is one of the first from my new Rhodia series of prints, so called because they are all developed from sketches in my new favourite notepad - a Rhodia No.16, which looks like this -

I am tres particular about my materials, even the seemingly unremarkable. You want to use something other than a Staedtler HB and a chewed Bic biro? Psh . . . And one of my most loved materials has to be continental-style squared paper. Few British stationers carry it, so our French family holidays include choosing very special squared pads for the inevitable Holiday Diaries. I can’t explain the simple joy of writing and sketching on nostalgic gridded paper . . .

I doubt that Herge would recognise this lady as the ligne claire style as he perfected it through Tintin, but she is my tribute to simple lines, clean colours and the seeming innocence of Tintin and Snowy - although I don’t know what they’d make of an actual girl!* Lizzi and I loved The Adventures of Tintin - and still do! - and the penmanship, the whodunits and Captain Haddock’s ‘non-swearing’ expletives make me unfeasibly happy. As does this lady - I love her simplicity - intended to remain a tad unformed, a mere languid idea of a girl. From which you’d never guess that I drew her in BF’s last rehearsal!

I’m off to speak to a new printing place and brave the rain, before I finish some the Rhodia characters who’ll be appearing in Le Magasin in the coming days!

* Herge hardly featured any women and got Snowy’s original name - Milou - from his pet-name for an ex-girlfriend. How normal . . .

The PV for TVU Contemporaries was Monday and quite sweet in an odd way. The weirdest thing was hanging my labels - to actually price and title my work! I have four A2 prints up there from my Big series:

Mind

Flight

Nautical

Rebirth

They are all selections from a large, sprawling illustration - Big - that never seems to be finished, but I love drawing it. Someday I’ll look at it and know that it’s finished, and then I can print off a massive, eye-popping wall-sized piece! Big started off as a tattoo design - I wanted a big colourful back-piece - but it just kept growing until I realised that no-one has a back that big!

These images are a little dulled, but in person the posters are jewel-bright and so rich. If they don’t sell they’ll be included in my next artistic venture . . .

. . . my brand-spanking new Ailyex vs. Dogboyo Etsy Shop!!!!

I’m so excited about this - the idea that people might actually buy my work, and hang it in their homes to see everyday, or give it as a gift is just, wondrous.

I’ve only listed two prints to start with, Eye Eye:

and Arms and Legs:

They’re both A3 digital illustration prints, and are here for your perusal . . .

I’ll be adding more items soon, including the Big series and all kinds of prints in a sell-as-we-go kind of fashion.

Happy Wednesday dudes! x

So the rock poster is an under-appreciated by mind-blowing art form, right? If you need any persuading, here’s just a fraction of what was on show at The Fighting Cocks on Saturday:

Drew Millward

Drew Millward

Drew Millward

Nick Rhodes

The first was my one, very restrained purchase. Then Bass Face got his wallet out, and we were up to our eyes in prints in need of Not Squashing Whilst Drinking. I can’t wait to get them all up and framed alongside my Dad’s vintage Hendrix:

Apologies for the pants photo - although you can click through to a larger version.

To be honest I was completely blown away, the attention to detail and variation of all the posters was top-notch, as was the un-assuming attitude of the artists that I spoke to. Drew Millward asked if I would mind terribly paying a whole £10 for The Melvins print. Ten pounds! Why, that’s extortionate for a beautifully printed, exquisitely psychedelic poster! While this was all great for my wallet, I felt rather cheeky getting taking it off him for so little. I also tried to buy this wonderfullness for its political cartoon and Alice in Wonderland allusions but it was only available on line, so I’ll keep you posted . . .

Seeing all the artwork was really humbling as I try to start my own Etsy shop, , , I think my work is saleable, but nothing in comparison. It also emphasized the importance of quality printing, as well as the artistic context in which you work - the mere idea of belonging to a recognised art scene and collaborating with other illustrators seems wonderful . . .

After all the artyness - and many bloody marys for me - Jack’s lightshow and Stubb’s set were wicked to see/hear. The Fighting Cocks’ stage was set back in a sort of zebra-striped nook, onto which Jack projected all kinds of sound-responsive visuals. BF has all the photos, but the best way I can describe it was as if the bands were playing underwater. Colour-changing, pulsing, poster-imaged water. Which made filming Stubb rather cool . . . they’ve got a video of Milk and Honey from my footage on their myspace, which is here if you fancy a gander.

Pics from TVU Contemporaries coming soon . . .

Dad, the Munchkin and I toddled down to (sometime) sunny Brighton on Tuesday. There was much picture taking . . .

Brighton’s big skies always blow me away - the way the beach front snakes away so flat under the cloud tiers. I’m still getting to know my camera, but I think that when I can capture a cloudscape in all its layered magnificence, I’ll have cracked it.

Given the lack of a summer this year, the absence of precipitation and appearance of a few rays was wondrous, as was this sliver of rainbow:

The collapse of the West Pier was horrid - it looked so forlorn the next day. But four years later the weathered framework has a stark beauty all of its own - the play of the bronze, white and green girders, the repeated curves and criss-cross lines bizarrely beautiful and tragic, standing their last against the unrepentant waves.

Plus, I love how this section of what was the concert hall breaks the surf, like the hump of a bio-mechanical sea monster, shrugging up and down with the tides.

The weather left the beach rather deserted for July, but these carousels looked all the more colourful for the lack of riders.

The gothic lampposts kill me - they deserve killer storms, blackened clouds rushing past and star-crossed lovers in regency dresses declaring their love under them

or sheltering from the storm after murdering their spouses. Or something . . .

This bandstand was beautifully dying away - the rusted greens were stunning against the blue sky. Brighton’s promenade has many fixtures in need of repair, but this one was covered in notices about restoration and plans for future gigs, so hopefully it’ll get the face-lift it deserves.

And we found this little dude on the promenade edging on the way to said bandstand:

neat, huh?

I’ll be showing a few A3 prints and A2 posters - am well excited to see my work so big! All of it’s for sale, natch, and will be through my upcoming venture in to the world of Etsy . . . but more on that later!

As well as the private view etc the space is open 7 days a week, 12 hours a day ’til August, so you’ll have no excuse not to potter down . . .

And . . . if you can’t wait until Monday for your dodgy art fix, come down to this blinder - I’ve been promised wicked poster art [and poster artists!] to view and/or buy, plus a Mindzap lightshow, lovely music from Stubb and other cool-ass bands.

Metallica. Wembley Stadium. Getting sunburnt in the queue. Luis and Khris actually getting there at 8am. Golden circle wristband - oh yes! Machinehead taking photos to prove that they got to play to so many people. Spontaneous rock caucus races. A mexican wave being more interesting than HIM. Having a sit-down. And watching fifty metal boys dance and sing YMCA and play the hokey-cokey. Before Linsey and I joined a conga line. Until said Finnish metal band walked off. And then . . . METALLICA. Tommy knowing ALL the words - and grinning like an apus. Pogoing with people you dig. Fade to Black. 60,00-strong sing-a-long. Bass Face hugging me the whole time.

And people say metal is all about killing yourself and being mean.

I started today with an appropriately purple-hued breakfast you’ll be glad to know

By rights, I should not like blue. I attended the same all-girls school from the age four to eighteen, and what colour was I forced to wear until the age of sixteen? Blue. Navy bloody blue. In smock, pinafore, rank tablecloth-print summer dress, sock, tie, alice band, swimming costume, netball-skirt, stripy shirt, P.E. knicker, blazer, mac and boxy skirt form. And it’s the official colour of my erstwhile university. But perhaps the uniform-designers were just trying to look our best - navy is often said to be the colour most flattering to pasty English complexions, and as a result turns up on everyone from nurses and city bankers to the Queen - rather like the frequent occurrence of pale pink in Indian culture.

Either way, I have somehow acquired no less than four blue dresses and skirts -

two of them navy, plus this lovely peasant-girl purple one -

This photo is a very un-me white-balance test shot for a uni project - I look so mean!

I don’t really wear much purple, but I love its otherworldly association with royalty and deities - due to the skill and expense of creating tyrian purple dye from the mucus of the Spiny dye-murex snail. Blue shares this association - from the blue skin of divine or transcendental persons in Hinduism to a similar pigment rarity in European culture. Rich blue pigments had to be obtained from the hilazon snail, leading the Virgin Mary’s iconography to include blue robes, after artists chose their most expensive paint to clothe her in religious paintings.

One of my favourite blue/purple paintings is Rossetti’s Proserpine

the treatment of the drapery and hair is so beautiful, like waves in water. Also Van Gogh’s Starry Night -

after copying its moon and cyprus trees many times at school.

But most of all I love blue for the sky, and the endless beauty of cloudscapes, of which we get so many here. My sister snapped this sunset, on a shisha picnic, on the front of Harrow Hill a couple of weeks ago -