The day it rained forever

I thought I ought to show you one of Francis Mosley's new paintings - to hopefully encourage you to go and take a look at the real things. I think its true to say that they mark something of a departure for Francis, and a really interesting one. This painting is called The Day it Rained Forever and I think it's rather lovely.

I've known Francis for over twenty-five years now and shared a studio with him in Shoreditch for many years before we both left London for pastures new (although he made a brief return to the capital before moving to Bath).

I had been working from my bedroom in my flat in Finsbury Park and saw an advert for a studio space to share - possibly in the Association of Illustrators magazine (1984 I think it must have been). I had worked in a shared studio before - in Great Russell Street in Bloomsbury. That space was a basement with little or no natural light and working at home seemed - and was - preferable.

But time had moved on and my home situation was different. So I turned up to what was in effect an interview at the studio in Charlotte Road. The existing studio members looked through my folio and asked me questions and they clearly thought I would fit in because they invited me to join them. The illustrator Inga Moore was one of those original members. She later moved out and for a long while I shared with Francis, Louise Brierley and John Morris.

Francis and I both worked for newspapers at that time. We both used to do stuff for The Times. Francis used to do the restaurant review illustration I remember. And when we weren't doing that we would occasionally have long conversations about art and the meaning of life, something we still do at intervals , though sadly now mostly by email or phone.

Private view

I have been meaning to mention the fact that my old friend Francis Mosley is having a private view of his new paintings in Bath this coming Saturday, September 12, from 11-6pm at The Old Malthouse on Cambridge Place, Upper Bristol Road. He is showing with another painter called Charlotte Moore. If anyone reads this blog and lives in or around Bath, then why not go along?

If anyone reads this blog that is.

Paperback Black Ship

A couple of advance copies of Tales of Terror from the Black Ship arrived in the post today from Bloomsbury. Its always good to see the paperbacks. The hardbacks are lovely, of course (and the hardbacks of Tales of Terror from the Tunnel's Mouth should be arriving soon), but most of us read paperbacks and it is the paperback that you hope will fly off the shelves. It has been nicely done as usual with lots of good quotes (including one from my old mate Chris Riddell). It is in the shops at the beginning of next month.

I was particularly pleased with the linking story in Tales of Terror from the Black Ship. I think it is a good story in its own right - and that is very important to me with these books: that the linking story should not simply be a contrivance tacked on at the end.

Tales of Terror from the Black Ship is the only one of the tales of terror books to have a theme. That also works well I think. It is something I may return to in one form or another. . .

Small canvas

I went in to the studio again today. I did a couple of charcoal drawings and did a bit of painting. I bought some small canvases a while back - small enough to scan in on my A4 scanner. I was only really having a play about, trying to get back into the swing of using a brush rather than prodding a keyboard. If I do anything I think is worth showing I'll scan it in and let you have a look.

I have to say that none of them came out as well as my son's painting shown above. It is tiny - the size of a large matchbox - and it was done as a gift for my birthday. It is of the hill near the hamlet we stayed in on our recent trip to the Lake District.

Wild is the wind

It was my son's last day of his school holidays yesterday and we used it as an excuse to go for a slap up feed in Lavenham. We had toyed with the idea of going blackberry picking as well (which is becoming a bit of a last day of the holidays tradition) but it wasn't blackberry picking weather.

We went along to the church this time. There are nice lichen encrusted gravestones with weathered skulls and cherubs. If the words 'nice' and 'gravestones' don't fit together for you, then they will probably be lost on you (and so would a large part of my photographic output). There are some good miserichords and bench ends inside, though the bench ends are pretty damaged. No demons among the bench ends, but there is the occasional dragon.

And today has been wild here in Cambridge. There is a fierce wind sending clouds racing across the sky. The willows are tossing their heads like heavy metal fans. Its Autumn all of a sudden.

Payne's Grey is no more

I went into the studio today. I hadn't been in for months. As always there had been a flurry of activity from my studio mate, John Clark, who has been busy painting some large canvases. I saw John last Saturday and he was so enthusiastic about what he had been doing. I rarely (who am I kidding - never) feel such unbridled enthusiasm for my own work and it is quite inspiring.

I sent my last Payne's Grey in to the New Statesman today. They are moving and redesigning and Payne's Grey has been given the bum's rush. David Gibbons, the designer there (who I have known for many years and worked with at the Independent), was very kind about the strip and I have to say it has been a pleasure to do over the years. I wish them luck with the redesign.

But it does mean that my last tenuous contact with newspapers has come to an end. I have contributed illustrations to magazines or newspapers or both for going on for thirty years, more or less continually. It gives me a slightly dizzy feeling to think I won't do that again.

Having had a sabbatical from editorial illustration - real illustration to a brief rather than a stand-alone spot - I find myself attracted to the idea of giving it another go. If anything occurs then I'll let you know. . .

Cough!

My son had a tooth out today. He is having a brace fitted and needs a tooth out to allow room for the required movement of his other teeth.

He had worked himself up about it rather having never had any dental work done. But the dentist was amazing and I don't think my son was really properly aware that the tooth was out until he was told.

I sat and watched the whole process and was not really sure what to expect from my son. Was he going to freak out? Was he going to scream? Burst into tears? In the end he did none of these things and simply lay there placidly and let the dentist go about his work. And it was fascinating to watch.

Every time the dentist was going to do anything potentially painful he made my son cough. Afterwards he explained that this overloads the brain long enough for it not to quite notice what is happening. Which makes the brain seem a bit dim. But it certainly worked.

I stopped myself from asking why he did not employ the same technique on me when he was yanking my tooth out last year.

The painting is of St Apollonia, patron saint of dentists owing to the fact that she knew all about having teeth pulled out. Come to think of it that really out to make her a patron saint of dental patients. She makes an appearance in a story in Tales from the Tunnel's Mouth.