My tribute to Stan Tracey (1926-2013)

Piano lid, Bull's Head, Barnes 28 February 2004

This may seem very odd to many people but I find listening to music very hard work. I've become more intolerant of music the older I've got, it's quite possible I'm going to turn into one of those old ladies who ask for the background music in restaurants to be turned off.

When I was a teenager I would happily spend hours at the weekends listening to Annie Nightingale on BBC Radio 1. On occasion I would drive my parents mad by playing the same track on the record player over and over again. These days, given the choice, I am very happy to spend entire days in silence. The albums I bought in my twenties remain ignored and closeted in an old green, plastic record case although we do have a record deck I could easily go and switch on.

Now and then I am prepared to make an exception and go and listen to live music – last Friday we went to Union Chapel and saw the Penguin Café Orchestra and I enjoyed stomping on the floor along with everyone else.

I have fond memories of the time my husband took me to my first Stan Tracey concert at The Bull's Head in Barnes in 2004 which is where I made these sketches. We saw him more than once in Barnes, in a big band concert at the Barbican and the Vortex Jazz club in Dalston. Each time we thought it might be our last opportunity because he was getting on a bit even 10 years ago.

I'm not sure why I prefer live music over recorded music. I know I enjoy the sense of occasion and the anticipation when we are sitting waiting for the evening to start. I like looking round and seeing who else is in the audience and eavesdropping on their conversations and there's always the chance that the musicians will improvise a bit.

I recall when we were at the Vortex waiting for Stan to take his seat at the piano. The excitement in the audience slowly built in anticipation of being transported by one of the grand old men of jazz. Stan, who appeared to be a very modest bloke, was looking quite frail by this time and his son Clark, who plays drums, looked after him very carefully. Stan sat at the piano in his ordinary, workmen-like clothes and then launched into an astonishing performance which could have launched the Vortex into orbit. If I want to listen to Stan's piano playing again I will have to listen to a recording but at least I can have the pleasure of remembering seeing him perform live.

A series of three

Sketches developed from photos after a walk along the bank of the river Tyne

We spent last weekend in Corbridge, Northumberland on a family visit. This area of the country is used to extreme weather conditions particularly at this time of year. However, while the south-west of the country was drowning under vast quantities of water, this part of the north-east was enjoying an early, if rather chilly, spring.

We had the time to relish a muddy walk along the banks of the river Tyne and observe huge numbers of snowdrops which, because they tend to grow in woodland, we never get to see where we live in London. We also made friends with a Beagle puppy who was great fun and showed a lot of interest in our picnic lunch much to the embarrassment of his owner.

I had high hopes of sketching outside while we were on our outing but it really was too windy so I took some photos on my camera phone and worked them up in the comfort of a cosy living room. I was trying out a combination of Inktense pencils, watercolour pencils and crayons on watercolour paper and this is the result.

These days Corbridge is a quiet and affluent village just a few miles away from Hexham and close to Hadrian's Wall. It is sited very near the most northern point of the old Roman Empire and during the time of the Roman occupation it was a very important garrison town and its name was Corstopitum. English Heritage maintains the archaeology that has been revealed after numerous digs over many years. We spotted one family on their way to explore the site and since it is off the beaten track they very likely had the place to themselves.

Our walk took us to the bridge at Corbridge. My sketch really doesn't do it justice. The present bridge was built in the 17th century and is made from stone. It is currently undergoing much needed renovation and because of its narrow width it is single carriageway so car traffic has to take turns in crossing it from the north bank to the south bank and vice versa. In 1881 the bridge was widened by three feet so it must have been extremely narrow before that. This bridge was so well built that it was the only bridge over the Tyne that withstood the famous flood of 1771. This bridge replaced a previous one that had been constructed in 1235 and and was described in 1306 as the only bridge between Carlisle and Newcastle. It was also maintained as an important link between England and Scotland. If Scotland chooses independence this September the bridge might become important again!

The Blue Pig, Grantham

The Blue Pig, Grantham ©Graham White

We've adopted the Blue Pig pub in Grantham as our home-away-from-home local. Oddly enough we don't have one specific local pub we visit at home but here, in Grantham, where we are strangers it provides us with the comforting illusion of belonging to the place when we visit my mother.

Similarly we previously adopted The Nutshell pub in Bury St Edmunds when my mother lived in Suffolk for many years. This pub's claim to fame was as the smallest pub in England and when mum relocated we mourned this tiny pub with all the US dollar bills stuck on the ceiling and the dried body of the cat hanging from a hook, along with the eccentric bar staff and the often rather odd customers (including, I suppose, us).

Taking my time sketching in the bar

So the Blue Pig proved to be a good Nutshell substitute. It dates back to Tudor times and the rough old beams are genuinely rough and old. When it is cold enough coal fires burn in grates in both the bars and the food is filling if unimaginative. All in all it is a cosy place to perch yourself for as long as you like and you won't be expected to make any conversation you don't want to. It is set in the small medieval road plan of Grantham, Lincolnshire close to St Wulfram's Anglican church. This is one of the largest medieval churches in the country, built around 1300 and it has a remarkably detailed, decorated wooden roof which is a wonderful distraction during a church service.

The name of the pub has its roots in 19th century political rivalry between the Manners family (the Duke of Rutland from Bevoir Castle) and the Brownlow family from Belton House. The Manners family were Whigs and chose Blue as their colour. They bought several pubs in the constituency and added blue to their names so there used to be, in addition to the Blue Pig, the Blue Lion, the Blue Horse and the Blue Dog where supporters could declare their political allegiance and drink blue ale. This was in the days when there was no secret ballot and aspiring politicians, who were invariably the local landowners, bought their votes. In time these corrupt practices became illegal and eventually one man, one vote became the rule.

In time the Tory party (the Conservatives) adopted blue as their colour and in the late 20th century they were led by Margaret Thatcher, to date our only woman Prime Minister. She was born and brought up in Grantham and after her death last year her blue silk, prime ministerial suit was part of a display about her life in the local museum.

In praise of patterns

A sample of fabric we have in our house which I really like

In the summer of 1979 I, along with 30 other students in the same year, was ready to graduate from art college having spent three years grappling with the problems posed by graphic design or Visual Communication as it was known at Bath Academy of Art. In order to pass our degrees we had to be interviewed by an external examiner. All I can remember about him was his first name was Ken (I think), he dressed in black and was a bit intimidating.

Last Saturday's Sudoku which I
solved for once

I'll be the first to admit that my efforts at design were hardly setting the place on fire and it's always possible that by the time Ken reached me he'd run out of things to say or was sick of talking to anxious students. Anyway, the only thing I can remember him saying to me in a rather disparaging tone was 'you work in patterns'. He was unimpressed to say the least and for years afterwards this phrase echoed around my mind as in 'you work in patterns therefore you can't be any good at design.'

So the years rolled by and I discovered, while working in magazine and newspaper design, that I loved solving visual problems. I thrived on looking for the visual patterns in a layout which aren't always obvious but when they work well enable the reader to understand more easily what the author is trying to convey.

I don't remember being given the chance to counter Ken's argument all those years ago but I will now I have 35 years experience to draw on.

Finding patterns and designing patterns has an honourable tradition. Textile design has employed patterns of varying complexity for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. I'm sure the code breakers working at Bletchley Park during WWII were seeking patterns in the codes in order to try and beat the Germans. In my small way I enjoy grappling with Sudoku puzzles and finding the patterns to solve them — quite often they defeat me. Since I can't help but look for patterns everywhere I'll continue to celebrate them by producing sketches like the one below which is full of them.

A wet Monday in Marseillan April 2013

Revisiting old friends

View from the churchyard of the Downland Church of the Transfiguration Pyecombe 2008

I've had a yen to develop this sketch into a painting for a long time. This morning I dug this sketch book out of the box it's stored in and finally did that painting.

Back in 2008 we spent a couple of days walking part of the South Downs Way which I understand used to be a pilgrim route from Winchester to Eastbourne. It was wet and it was windy but I enjoy recalling the memory of that visit. So here below is the finished result which I will be submitting to the Islington Art Society autumn exhibition next week.

©Heather James 2013

The Sketchbook Project 2012

Me with my own book. Photo: Graham White

Last year I participated in the 2012 Sketchbook Project. It took me seven months to fill my wee book before I sent it off in January this year to join thousands of other similar sketchbooks at the Brooklyn Art Library.

Then in April all these books went off on a big tour around the US and every time someone chose to look at your book you'd get an email telling you. It was quite exciting to think that my sketchbook has visited more of the United States than I have.

Now this year's Sketchbook Project tour is drawing to a close and it is currently on show at Canada Water library until next Friday.

The great thing about this is that we live quite close to Canada Water and all we had to do was take a bus to Canary Wharf and then it was one stop on the Jubilee line to Canada Water station and we were there.

They are showing all the books from Europe which meant that we could enjoy browsing through one from Norway all about trees. It was fascinating. We also spent some time looking at one that showed what it is like to travel in a hot air balloon. This was a new perspective on the world to me so this was also a chance to live vicariously through other people.

I was able to look at my own book again and reminisce and put it back in the returns box. (When I got home I had an email telling me that I had taken my own book out of the library which was slightly surreal.)

While I was working on the sketchbook I didn't like the quality of the paper in it and I found it difficult to handle. It was good for me to see how other artists had got round this issue. The trick is to use the pages as a backing for better quality paper, fabric or whatever and then rebind the book. So that's my 'note to self' if I join in this project again in 2014 - rebind it and then I'll probably have more fun.

I'm going to keep my Official Library Card from the Brooklyn Art Library and when I finally visit New York I will take some time out to browse through some more sketchbooks and see what other artists have been up to.

Making art is constantly puzzling

Boats, Lyon April 2011 (detail)

I've just noticed that I haven't posted anything here since last September which is about eight months ago. That's partly because I've been concentrating on my drawing project Drawing my way round London and partly because I haven't had much to say... until now (I take a long time to think).

I would love to be able to make art fast. Just toss off one piece of artwork after another, frame it and sell it. Then get on with the next one. But I've learned over the years that I can't work like that. It's as though I have to work at the pace the artwork wants to proceed at and that can been dead slow.

Impromtu Kafe, Lyon

I do keep on drawing regularly and trying out new ideas and very often these turn out to be interesting studies rather than anything I'd want to hang on a wall but they are valuable none-the-less. I made this image of boats (above) just the other week while on holiday in France. I used oil pastel on acrylic paper and then worked into it with white spirit. I like the result but it is only a study. I made the sketch on the left at a café we stopped at while we were exploring the artisan quarter of Lyon.

Then yesterday evening I made these quick sketches of other customers at the Lauriston bar/restaurant near where we live. These quick portraits are none too flattering but I just wanted to see if I could capture a likeness without trying too hard. Sadly one of these women looks like an old hag which was unintentional since she was probably in her twenties.

Then every so often though something will coalesce and I'll produce something worthwhile that I can be proud of like this view below looking from Corbridge in Northumberland that I was happy to frame and hang on our sitting room wall.

What's the point of sketch books?

Bust of Eve Fairfax by August Rodin (1902-3) Bronze: at the V&A. Killing time before meeting for a family lunch.

I notice that my last visit to the world of blog was on 4 October last year - that was two whole seasons ago! I won't go on about the weather but I do feel more lively now spring is here and the days are getting longer.

Just yesterday we went on a walk through the fenlands of Essex. For the exercise and for the views. My husband took his fancy camera and his fancy tripod. I took my sketch book and pencils - they didn't see the light of day until we got home and I took them out of my rucksack.

I often do this. Carry my book and pencils with me in the hope that I'll add to its contents and decrease the number of blank pages. I'm currently working my way through a tiny book that I received as a present and I've just noticed that the first date in it is 28 December 2002. It's very nearly too small for me to draw anything in it. Two years ago I took it on holiday with me to Lyon in France and our host's young son thought that looking through it was the highlight of our visit. I was astonished.

Not surprisingly it takes me for ever to fill one whole book. I usually have a few books on the go at once and I recently managed to complete a rather nice square book which took me three patient years from start to finish.

My friend Cathy got me thinking about why I work in sketch books. She asked me if I use my sketches as a basis for something bigger, more permanent. Oh no, I replied. I make them and leave them. Sometimes I'll look back at them, sometimes I don't but I am careful to avoid judging the quality of what I produce. I accept it as it is. It could be scruffy, turned out in a moment or laboured and delicate. It doesn't matter.

But as I've thought about it I realised that I like to sketch stuff as I am on the move because that is how I learn more about where I am and what is around me and that makes my life more interesting. I've included two drawings from the current book for your amusement.Waiting to see the dentist - you could describe this as displacement activity.

The tale of the damaged vinegar pot

This image is the latest in my series of random domestic scenes. For this sketch I used a Chinese brush and the same black Quink ink you might use in a fountain pen. While I was working on it I was recalling how it arrived in our house.

I am married to an academic and from time to time we have visitors to stay who hail from different parts of the world and are passing through London for some reason: they might be going to a conference for example. Very occasionally we've had the odd visitor who has arrived at our house and clearly can't remember how to leave. This can make me feel as though we have for a short time adopted them and this can either lead to rational negotiations with said visitor to work out a plan for leaving as in: "When is your flight home?" or "Wouldn't you prefer more privacy in a cheap hotel?" or I simply end up losing my temper and feel terrible for the rest of the day. We also enjoy having graduate students around because they are generally a lot of fun. They usually live in London and are only too happy to leave at the end of an evening so don't need to be elbowed out of the door by us.

The vinegar pot arrived by the usual academic route. It was carried to our house by my husband's colleague who lived nearby and asked, since he and his wife were off to far flung places to take up new work, if we would look after it. The vinegar is made from a culture of bacteria swarming around the bottom of the pot and every so often you fling red or white wine into it and it magically turns into wine vinegar over the succeeding days or weeks. We understand that this particular culture has been passed down the colleague's French wife's family and goes back as far as the French Revolution which would make it more than 200 years old. And we have ended up as its custodians. Mon dieu!

I do hope that the terracotta pot is not a treasured family heirloom because since we have had it we have broken the lid, mended it and broken it again. (You can see the remains of the lid in the bottom right hand corner.) We have improvised a new lid with a small ceramic dish. When we took possession of the pot it sported a tap that was held in place with a cork bung. In time the cork perished so parcel tape was wrapped around the pot many times to cover up the hole where the tap had been. This has resulted in a permanently leaking pot so it stands in a dish that we used to use for salad and it's likely to remain like this until we get round to buying a replacement tap with a plastic bung.

Since we have been looking after the pot for several years now it is always possible that this visitor will be a permanent fixture in our kitchen and who knows we may yet leave it in the care of our younger relatives and perhaps it will survive for another 200 years. What a fine vintage vinegar it will be then.