Little Miss Monster
This is Heba, and she is amazing.
She works in the wigs department at Glyndebourne. She is easy to spot, with her pink hair and multitude of tattoos.
Like a small, fiery, jet-fuelled rocket, Heba might look cute but she can bite!!
Here she is with some wonderful Monster Art that she has created for her nephew.
I love it!
Pearl
Best foot forward
Prussian Blue, Process Cyan, Ultramarine and Cobalt Blue seemed like happy canvas-fellows.
Keeping my Frans Widerberg inspiration in mind, the next stage in this piece was to add some kind of depth behind the figure.
I am not sure which plane of consciousness she is walking in, but it's not the same one that I'm writing this message from!
I think the city skyline will be melting down into some kind of cosmos – we'll see how it develops...
Pearl
Curtain call
'Stand by ladies and gentlemen, for the end of the opera and curtain calls.'
Sophie is seated on a high stool at the Prompt Corner of the stage, her face and headset lit up in the dark by several lamps. Before her is a bewildering array of switches and a bank of monitors, some of them labelled with torn off pieces of electrician's tape. She can see the stage from all angles. On her desk is a formidable slab of a document – all the cues for the entire show. She calls the singers to the stage. She calls wigs, makeup and dressers for the side-of-stage quick-changes, she cues up the special effects guys, the scene change guys, the lighting crew – everyone.
Sometimes I'll go the side of the stage to watch the curtain call. In one moment, the performers were Gods – in the next, fragile humans once again. In the glare of full lights, they are sweaty and exhausted yet exhilarated, still flying on adrenaline.
For particularly successful shows, especially on final nights, the roar of the audience can send chills up your spine. They whistle and cheer, stand up in their seats and stamp on the floors until the images in Sophie's monitors begin to tremble.
If the applause is rolling on, stage management will yell from the wings, 'Another one! Go for another one!' And the singers will stoop low again, until finally, the curtain drops.
The sound of the audience falls away like water down a drain, and the performers stampede back to their dressing rooms, pouring up and down the staircases backstage. Orchestra members will be stowing their instruments back into cases, the locks and catches clicking and clunking. Many of them will be making a long journey back to London, and there are trains to catch.
In the corridors, the post-show energy is still high and tight. Doors bang and costume rails rattle as the laundry gets sorted, flung into designated plastic baskets while showers hiss in the dressing rooms.
'Good night!'
'Good night, see you next time!'
Within thirty minutes, everything is pretty much wrapped up. Wigs are back in their boxes. Costumes are back in the costume store. Washing machines are churning. Names on the dressing room doors are changed over for the following night.
Thunderous booms emanate throughout the building from the stage as the night crew work on changing over the massive sets. They'll be working on until the early hours, but for the rest of us, it's back out into the starry night, leaving behind a world of magic and landing once again, into reality.
Pearl
The house guest
I get the feeling that it doesn't bother with the washing up.
Doesn't care about the carpets.
Leaves the toilet seat up.
Sits looming large in the corner of the living room, staring hard at the back of my head when I'm not paying it attention.
But then also, in the middle of night, yanks my hand and pulls me outside to stand in a thunderstorm.
Disintegrates thoughts of laundry and spins threads of magic through my mind instead.
If all goes to plan, I'll be getting a new studio in November. Meanwhile, my art and I will be living together – not always easy, but we are good friends.
*
In other news: if you're a fan of opera, one of the shows I am working on, 'La Clemenza di Tito', will be streamed live to the internet this evening from 6pm UK time at this link:
http://bit.ly/2quERUL
Pearl
Finding stardust
Today's discovery: How to get stardust
The answer?
Beat on your craft! (With thanks to actor Will Smith for the turn of phrase)
I had a great time this morning with a tube of Cobalt Blue paint, as I worked in a light-weight sketch of a London skyline on my new painting.
I'm interested in exploring the idea of urban spirituality – I'm not sure yet how this might be expressed in this painting, but I'm kind of letting my brushes lead the way for now...
Pearl
Plotting and scheming
Ufff I'm really tired today, folks.
And I'm right at the beginning of quite an intense opera schedule for the next four weeks, so I'll have to get some stardust from somewhere!
But it's not so bad - there is some time to sketch and read during the shows, so I always pack a sketchbook and my Kindle.
A writer friend of mine recently recommended a book for working on story structure called 'Story Engineering' by Larry Brookes.
However, I managed to download the wrong book.
Instead, I got 'The Anatomy of Story' by John Truby. I'm wondering if this could turn out to be a happy accident though, because so far, so brilliant. So if any of you are writers who are struggling with plots, this is one I would recommend you check out.
Pearl
Gold stars
Fortunately, the doctor sellotaping my knee back together was very good-looking.
Things don't always go to plan, and on this occasion, I had gone crashing down on a chalk path and smashed my knee open.
I had also torn open a hole in my favourite jeans. But a forgotten gift from a friend came in handy: gold, sparkly star-shaped patches. My jeans are now far more amazing than they were before. (And my knee is fine.)
It's the same with art. Things will go wrong – paintings won't turn out how you wanted them to, stories wind up at a dead-end, or all of your film was over-exposed.
The trick is to not be afraid of mistakes, missteps or wrong turns, because you never know – they could lead to fabulous golden stars.
Pearl
Cardamom underwear
So my new painting is now in her underwear – I have blocked in the base layer of colour.
I don't yet know what skin tone she will have, but yellow seemed like a good place to start, especially as I want to channel some inspiration from Frans Widerberg.
The Cardamom Yellow was the only tube I could unscrew the cap on, so that's the one we went for.
I'm not sure yet if the background will be abstract or if there will be suggestions of an urban environment, but a red wash for the base of the background felt like the way to go.
(The cap snapped off my tube of Cadmium Red – if this happens to you, cling film will keep your paint from drying out!)
I'm temporarily without a studio so am working from my living room. I had this piece laid out on the floor but I think for more detailed layers, this is not going to work for me. So tomorrow I will fetch my easel out from storage.
Pearl
Is there anybody out there?
'Is there anybody out there?'
It was pitch black, save for the sweeping, blinding searchlight.
The thundering sound of helicopters rolled in all around me, rattling through my bones.
'Yes, I'm here!'
I was in an arena somewhere in New Jersey, and I was the only person in the massive auditorium. Incredibly, I was watching Roger Waters rehearsing for his mega-tour, The Wall.
In a blaze of light, a thirty-foot tall puppet of artist Gerald Scarfe's The Teacher appeared up on the stage. His glassy eyes were lit up with lights and I watched, gob-smacked, as his operators tested out the best ways to move his creepy, gangling limbs.
Thanks to the fact that my ex was working on the production, I was able to have this amazing experience. It really meant a lot to me, because some of my earliest 'art' memories are linked to Pink Floyd. My Dad and I used to put the albums on and I would sit on the floor, slightly freaked out by the music, drawing monsters.
I was looking for help to find the right magic for a new painting and then the answer came to me – I needed Pink Floyd magic.
Pearl
'Teacher' by Gerald Scarfe
Drawing in the dark
While watching an opera in rehearsal, I pulled out my sketchbook.
I felt moved to capture some of what was seeing, but quickly realised that I was practically blind in the darkness of the auditorium.
However, I decided to draw anyway – here are some of the results!
Pearl
Moving the cosmos
'Paint? … PAINT?? I do not paint! I move the Earth! I move the stars! I move the cosmos!'
My dad's lovely friend Professor Michael Tucker had telephoned the Norwegian artist Frans Widerberg, and innocently asked him if he had been doing any painting that day.
The two had become friends, and one of Widerberg's amazing pieces features on the cover of Tucker's book, 'Dreaming With Open Eyes'.
While working on my own latest painting the other night, Widerberg's paintings began to swim before my eyes.
I absolutely love his use of vivid colour and the way his works are charged with a most fantastic, fiery, other-worldly energy. I can well imagine that working on paintings like these would feel like moving the cosmos!
I was saddened to learn through my Google search that Widerberg passed away this April.
But his stunning, incandescent paintings are a legacy that he can be proud of.
Pearl
'Himmelrytteren' by Frans Widerberg
Doing not thinking
The procrastination monster and I looked each other in the eye.
And then I walked past it.
A late night, loud music and gin – I laid a 6ft by 2ft canvas on the floor and began to draw.
Pearl
Grapes and paint
My neighbour Mike swirled the velvet-crimson liquid around in his stylish wine glass, the low lights of the wine bar twinkling behind him.
He brought the glass to his nose, inhaled sharply, and pulled a face that approximated approval.
'So this is a Nebbiolo,' he explained, 'it's an Italian wine, mostly from the Piedmont region.'
'Uh-huh,' I said, cocking an eyebrow thoughtfully. Already a bit drunk, I took an ungainly slurp from my own glass. I know nothing about wine. And it tasted like wine.
'So, with this one,' Mike went on, 'you tend to get flavours of black tea towards the front of your mouth, and bitterness along the sides of your tongue.'
I tested what I was tasting. He was absolutely right. 'The Italians like a slightly bitter taste,' he said. 'Also I think this has notes of sour cherries, juniper and dried flowers.'
Again, absolutely true. And such lovely poetry, too. A little wine-infused lightbulb clicked on above my head.
'So it's a bit like art,' I slurred. 'You might think you know nothing about it – that you're ignorant and therefore aren't invited to the 'art club'. But really, it's just about paying attention, and figuring out what you like and don't like!'
'Yep,' said Mike. 'And once you've found something you like, you can choose to learn more about it, and deepen your appreciation.'
So, there are all kinds of art. All kinds of magic.
Pearl
Catching eyes
Apparently, in Japan, it's considered rude to wear sunglasses.
This is because it's unnerving for others when they can't see your eyes, and makes you difficult to read. (Celebrities and idiot Westerners, however, are allowed to flout the sunglasses rule.)
I love sunglasses – I love to wear them and I love the look of them on other people. I even like the look of cars with pop-up headlights – that sort of 'blind' effect when they are down is interesting to me.
And I also love to draw and paint people in sunglasses. The character keeps something to themselves – or is clearly hiding behind something. They have bought into a fashion item that they think will make them look or be perceived in a certain way.
However I know that some people have difficulty connecting with a drawing or a painting of someone wearing sunglasses.
This is another sketch for a painting idea, but I think I will leave the sunglasses decision until the last minute...
Pearl
Peacocking
'Is this the real life, or this just fantasy?'
This, my friends, is real life.
It's a shot of the props workshop at Glyndebourne opera house, where I work.
It really is such a privilege to be in a place where magic is a part of every day life.
This peacock was used in a production called Hipermestra, and now that the show has finished it's run, it looks as though he has found a new place to live.
Pearl
White spaces
My primed canvasses are ready and waiting for new paintings.
So what to do with these blank white spaces?! Sometimes the magic doesn't happen all at once.
I've been working on few ideas... here is one:
Pearl
The Edge of Blue Wonder
Nineteen years ago, British adventurer and travel writer Benedict Allen put out a book called Edge of Blue Heaven.
The book was about Allen's travels around Mongolia, but what blew me away was the title of that book.
Those words simply took me to place of wonder, dreams and possibilities – those moments when you're standing on the edge of reality and reaching out to touch your dreams.
The title of that book inspired this painting, which I called The Edge of Blue Wonder (because I wasn't sure if Allen could sue me for pinching his idea!)
This piece is now sold, but if you'd like me to create something similar for you, please feel free to reply to contact me here, and we can talk about the nature of reality, dreams and heaven.
Have a wonder-filled weekend,
Pearl
In a New York minute
A long time ago, I wrote some essays about New York for local magazine.
I stumbled on a folder of these essays while looking for something on my computer, and I thought I would share one of them with you:
Last night Miss C and I took a late night walk through Manhattan.
As we set off from our minute Upper-East-Side apartment, the air was still warm and balmy. The mid-summer leaves were quiet and breathless on the trees. Swarms of midges squabbled around every street lamp.
They say that New York is the city that never sleeps, but on this night, I felt as though we had slipped into a slightly different reality from the frenetic buzz of the day-time Big Apple. Something in the air was soft, stilled – magical.
We pounded along streets of grand houses. Through curtain-less windows, I caught glimpses of ornate ceiling roses and cascading, twinkling chandeliers.
Pretty soon we hit Central Park. We veered left and speed-walked alongside the darkened, man-made oasis, heading for Midtown. During daylight hours, the sidewalks here are literally crammed with artists. They hang their artworks on the park railings, or set up their own stalls and sit beside them on grubby, tartan-patterned folding chairs. Tourists throng around them like wasps around a honeypot.
But this evening, the sidewalks were empty, spacious and inviting. Grandiose, mature trees soared up all around us and formed a beautiful, green-hued canopy high above our heads.
We passed the Plaza Hotel, a glittering and splendid confection with a queue of huge, sleek cars sweeping up to its doors.
Even at this hour, the tourist-lugging coach horses were still working. They stood at red lights, champing and stamping, tired and impatient to knock off work and get back home. Yellow cabs, liberated from the confines of rush hour, whizzed up and down the roads while honking at apparently nothing.
The famous Midtown buildings were spectacularly lit up against the black night sky. Most of the offices were dark and abandoned, but here and there were lit windows - deadline chasers, burning the midnight oil.
We stopped in at an all-night diner and ordered a couple of hot chocolates. We got ensnared into a conversation about cricket with the young Indian man who served us with a bright smile, but once we had slipped away, we hatched a plan to sit outside St. Patrick’s Cathedral. However, we soon discovered the Cathedral's famed steps were heaving with the bodies of slumbering homeless people, inspiring a pang of sadness. We moved on, and sat on a bench further down the street, and watched through our chocolaty steam as a giant billboard slowly and silently rotated its messages of grinning promises.
It seemed like kind of a special moment. It was as if we had snuck up on a city renowned for relentless, boisterous noise and caught it in a more reflective mood. Maybe it hadn't noticed us... we decided to sneak away before it turned around and saw us.
Pearl
Smooth operator
Today, I have been mostly watching paint dry.
Earlier in the year, I started painting on wooden boards, which in many ways works well for me.
I really like the smooth surface for drawing on, but the paint can react in annoying ways, because it can sort of slip around.
So I did some research into how to get the knotty surface of a canvas more smooth.
It seems there's no way around it, other than to simply layer up multiple coats of primer.
This job is a little labour intensive and I was preparing to be massively bored by it, but, interestingly, it turned out to be quite a meditative exercise.
As I carefully smoothed my layers back and forth like glistening cake icing, I thought about creating strong foundations for painting magic.
We'll see what happens!
Pearl
