New home...

I've decided to move my blog. Thank you to everyone who's supported me here, I hope you'll continue to enjoy my art and be mildly amused by my idle musings over on the new site. I'd love to hear what you think of it so please feel free to use the contact form or leave a comment.

Ta,

Holly

You can now find me HERE

The full address of my site is https://hollyholtart.com



It takes courage...

"I had to create an equivalent for what I felt about what I was looking at - not copy it"

 - Georgia O'Keeffe

 A few years ago, the library was having a clear out and I nabbed this book before it was binned. It's one I'd taken out countless times when I fell in love with Georgia O'Keeffe as a student. When I got home and flicked through it, I found my old paint spillages from using it as a reference in the studio and I could just make out all my old stamped return dates underneath the replacement label.





It was one of those finds that you just stumble upon. I wasn't looking for it but there it was and I just wondered if it might be the same copy. And it was. Seeing it again brought back a lot of memories and reminded me of the impact O'Keeffe's art had on me when I was younger. I hadn't thought about her in a long time.

 

I'd chosen Georgia for a project that I can't recall the theme of now, but it was her smooth style of painting and her close up perspective that caught my attention as a teenager. I loved her take on zooming in on something small, like a flower, and magnifying it to abstract proportions, I loved her skyscrapers, painted from human eye view in dizzy converging verticals and of course, her animal skulls.

 

Summer Days, 1936, Oil on canvas

Back then I didn't actually draw or paint any skulls. There were plenty of bones in the box of "organic forms" we had in the studio but they looked difficult and I wasn't confident enough to try. (I wish I had, I'd probably be better at them by now...) I was more taken with emulating the sharp-edged shadows and invisible brush strokes. Sadly, I don't have any of my O'Keeffe rip-offs as I dropped out and never went back to collect anything, but I've got the book. It smells, evocatively, of Daler-Rowney System 3 acrylic paint, it's tattered and sellotaped together and I could easily just replace it but that would mean the magic would be gone.

 

From the Faraway, Nearby, 1937, Oil on canvas

Georgia said that "to create one's world in any of the arts takes courage" and after all these years and many re-reads, I think I'm finally starting to get brave...

Georgia O'Keeffe in 1931, photographed by her husband, Alfred Stieglitz

The book in question is Georgia O'Keeffe, 1887-1986: Flowers in the Desert by Britta Benke

You can buy it HERE 



 

Time is short and the art, long...

A question I get asked a lot is, "how long did that take?" I'm not sure why timescales intrigue people so much, perhaps it's to do with our finite lifespans, but I think it's probably because we're so used to the immediacy of photography that we're fascinated with why someone would spend a long time creating an image that's just to look at.

It's a question I rarely ask other people or think about with my own drawings. Minutes, hours or years, it's just worth doing and I've never timed anything, never know what time or day I started or finished, so it's a question I can't really answer. I tend to just make up what feels like an adequate amount, I don't know if they're impressed by quickly or aeons...

All I can really say is that I posses the oxymoronic qualities of both drawing very slowly and having a short attention span. There are times when I frustrate myself with my approach and there are times when I'm glad of it. When I work slowly, things are more considered, done with care, there's plenty of thinking time. When I work quickly, there's energy and immediacy to it. When I stop regularly, things change and evolve as I go along, it's organic. When I work quickly, I capture a moment, a snapshot of what's in my head right then.

These skulls all took about half an hour each, I didn't want to fuss them or make them look like photos, they're sketchy and imperfect but I like them (except the green one, green biro can go back to whatever hole it crawled out from, goodbye.) But they're procrastination, Nero fiddling whilst Rome is burning, I've got loads of detailed, lengthy drawings that I should be working on, people are waiting and they'll want to know how long it took...how long is a piece of string? (according to a ten year old I was chatting to recently it's "probably about 30 centimetres," I might just use that as my answer in future.)

I never try to find you...

I've been away. Physically, mentally, metaphorically...but I feel like I'm back now with the completion of this. Creativity comes with it's own set of Faustian terms and conditions. It drags you out to sea sometimes. Or leaves you on the shore when you wanted to get in the boat.

This is part one of two commissioned drawings and the only instruction for this one was to contain two skulls and have ravens involved somewhere. When I draw for other people I see it as a shared idea and what they had in mind when they asked for it is probably definitely very different to what I had in mind...but if you aren't specific, you get something from the recesses of my brain and this idea was already half formed, I was just waiting for the remnants to catch up. I like to weave a bit of a narrative, so it's anthropomorphic skeletons caught between life and death, with a floral vibe. I can't put it any simpler than that...

I hide them everywhere...

Here is my anonymous entry for A Letter in Mind, a charity exhibition for The National Brain Appeal. The art is currently on display at the Oxo Tower (gallery@oxo) on the South Bank, London. The name of the person who did the work (still won't refer to myself as an artist) was only revealed when the piece had sold so I couldn't show it until now - yes, someone delved into the depths of their sanity and paid good money for this! It's for charity...I'll let you off. 

The theme was "A Sense of Place" and at first glance you're probably wondering what in the name of all that's right and good this jar of critters could mean? It's probably easier to share a bit of the description I sent in with it to be given to the buyer...

‘Lay o’ers to catch meddlers’ is an old Lancashire saying that my Nanna used to use. Literally, it refers to a type of trap but is used in dialect as a warning to a meddlesome person who really ought to mind their own business, an answer to the question “what’s in that drawer, Nanna?” So why the weird thimbles? Well, as a little girl, this is what I imagined a lay o’er to be; the thimbles from the sewing box with beaks and spindly legs (I’m scared of spiders) to run out and nip prying fingers. So my ‘sense of place’ is my past, my roots, my broad Lancashire accent, the source of my imagination, the child within, the dark corner of the cupboard where I keep my secrets – with its own special brand of security guard.

The exhibition is still running until 1st October 2017 and you can also view and purchase the artwork HERE.

None of us can tell...

I'm not a witch or a hippy, I don't believe that quartz can save your soul (I don't believe in souls for that matter) nor do I think that Martians built the pyramids in thirty seconds, but the tiny illustrations on a tarot deck have enchanted me since childhood. I haven't a clue what they're meant to tell you about life (I'm guessing bugger all) I just enjoy looking at the pictures. I suppose The Hermit resonates with me (metaphorically of course), I'm no socialite, I spend hours by myself scribbling away at black skies and if I was small enough to put a shell on my head I probably would...I think that bit is optional advice in the fortune tent. If I had a quieter mind, I might be inclined to illustrate the full set but I'll say with some certainty...unlikely.  

The Hermit, 2017, ballpoint pen on paper

To be cut adrift...

Every now and again I lose myself (not in a good way) and need something to bring me back into the solar system. Drawing nature usually sets me right so this sketchy little envelope woodpecker let me know I've still got something. And I really threw caution to the wind and got the red biro out...

Once I was in a position to re-enter the atmosphere of the ballpoint pen, I took this little tattoo request as well. It was to be inspired by The Killing Moon by Echo and the Bunnymen and needed to include a boat and a lyric. The rest was up to me.

I've always understood it as a song about death and our inexorable (and fast) journey towards it (did I say I was back in a good mood?) so we decided on the reaper in his boat. If he's got one. Has he? Since he's open to interpretation and not real and art is subjective I'm saying yes, he does. 

I liked the idea of repeating the moon so the scythe and boat both became crescents, which all fit neatly into the shape of the moon in the background. Neat doesn't come naturally to me but a plan came together on this occasion... 

Here's the original little sketch I did to throw the ideas out, for once I didn't deviate too far from the original but that's neither a good or a bad thing, just a fact. Apologies for the scrappy, ripped off Instagram pictures but the scanner is also orbiting it's own uninhabitable zone somewhere. I just wanted to talk about drawing for a bit... 

Starman...

Mr Ziggy Stardust (the second) celebrates his twelfth birthday soon and I wanted to capture some of the softer, faded appearance he's taken on over the past couple of years. It's been a while since I've drawn like this, I used to do animal portraits all the time (why!?) but this is the first I think I've ever done in ballpoint. I could have taken it further but I like a drawing to look like a drawing, even when the level of detail needs to be realistic. I don't often give out advice on drawing, I'm no expert and I can't explain how I do it anyway, but one thing I do say is if you want it to be perfect, take a photo instead. Something should be like you after you take your hands away...

The new black...

I've recently made a life changing discovery in the form a new type of black "material" (I think it's paint but I'm not entirely sure) called, well, Black. You may or may not be aware of an ongoing feud between artists Stuart Semple and Anish Kapoor. Anish developed Vantablack, the blackest pigment known to earth aside from the space between stars, Stuart thinks Anish ought to share it and to cut a long story short, ended up inventing his own. Which is incredibly black and has just about saved my hands and my sanity! You can read about the full extent of this madness HERE. 

This little experimental sketch is made using version 2.0 but I also upgraded some of the black skies in my older drawings using the beta version (you can see some of those HERE along with some of the other stuff I've been up to lately). The space between stars coloured with the colour of the space between stars... #sharetheblack

Sentinel 2017, ballpoint pen, acrylic ink and Black v2.0 on paper

Naming, shaming and reclaiming...

This drawing was torturous. It's nothing like I'd hoped it would be. You win some, you lose some. In it's favour, it's made me think about perhaps needing to give things proper names. When I entered my drawings into a gallery exhibition recently, they needed names and it did my head in thinking of them. Art shouldn't need words, that's the whole point! And yet here I am writing about it, don't ever accuse me of being consistent. So, in spite of myself and after reading some Greek mythology as research for my next drawing, I call this "Thanatos," god of natural, gentle and non-violent death. Which is what this drawing was meant to express; being slowly reclaimed by the earth, still beautiful, just in a different way. I like it better already...

Thanatos 2017, black and violet ballpoint pen on paper

My silhouette is stationary...

I was looking forward to a weekend of vegetation. The plan was to get home on Friday and turn into furniture until Monday morning. But I woke up yesterday fizzing with energy, I couldn't keep still and the intense, delicate drawing that's consumed my January so far was definitely not the place to channel it. I needed to chuck ink about with no consideration for the end product (or the upholstery). I've used this technique before and I'm not going to say it works marvellously or that I love it, but it satisfies a need every now and again. I paint the shadows with masking fluid; ink in the whites then remove the masking. So here's my favourite from the cutting room floor, an experimental spaceboy. I've added a bit of black and white pen here and there this morning because I just cant leave things alone. I'm throwing him out there, because you don't know what you've got till someone tells you...

So it started there...

I've recently had these two drawings in a local open exhibition. It's the first time I've ever put anything on display in public (or at home for that matter, although I know there a few "private collections" in existence) but I thought it was about time I stopped being such a massive weirdo about it. I'm painfully shy when it comes to my art and I get in such a state when I'm about to show a drawing to someone, especially if they've asked for it. Which is why I never mentioned that I was showing anything until now...the exhibition ended an hour ago...sorry! One day I might do something normal. 

Like empty shells...

It often only occurs to me after a drawing is finished where the idea might have come from. I've probably said it before many times but it's subconscious, I find it very difficult to come up with something when I think "I'd like to include x/y/z in a drawing," but let my mind roam around and things appear. This, I now see, has some science fiction elements (no shit, it's a shell the size of a tower block!); Ray Bradbury's earpiece shells from Farenheit 451, Arthur C Clarke's imposing monoliths...none of this is intentional but it creeps in and curls up by my feet and I hear it breathing softly in the background, or is that just the snoring pug? 

I promised myself I would finish this before the year was out and for once I set a goal and stuck to it, long may that continue. It was a polishing up of an old idea and I can lay it to rest now, though I don't think it'll truly be the end; I like the uncanny feeling of unnatural scale. I'm looking forward to the stillness of January and the chance to rifle through my notes and scribbles for the next old/new thing. 

Happy New Year. 

Either it is, or it isn't...

Inspired by one of the most unusual things I've ever been presented with as a gift. In real life, both these beauties were sadly deceased, so this is the backstory. I'm not going to provide too much narrative; grief speaks for itself. A friend who saw this drawing today described moths as tiny humans with cloaks on creeping about at night. So if creepy, night-dwelling, dead stuff is your bag, this ones on me. Happy Halloween. 

What's deceased and what's alive...

Everything you see here has come straight from my mind. The inaccuracies, the bad perspective, the anguish...yes, I claim them all! I think we've all felt like this; the thing we want more than anything, forever outside of our reach. I hope I've captured something of that feeling and also the physical sense of animate vs inanimate; here but not really; vital parts missing...I park my dark in these crosshatched shadows and laugh a lot in real life as a result. It keeps me on the straight and narrow (most of the time). Finding somewhere to keep your melancholy doesn't mean you have to hide it or hide from it. Throw it out there...it works. 

Hope you're happy too...

One from the archives...Since I'm drawing either very slowly or not at all at the moment I thought I'd share this little ballpoint drawing from a few years back. It was for a (now disbanded) local band that my brother drummed for called J.A.R.S (hence the jar) to promote an EP they made called (you guessed it) My Friend Hope. They were quite specific about what they wanted but luckily at the time I had a bit of a thing for drawing glass jars and bottles. I toyed with the idea of putting something in the jar, I can't remember now what sort of things passed through my thought clouds but in the end it seemed that the title suggested emptiness waiting to be filled so it was left as it was. The typography is a bit dodgy and the perspective isn't right but the lads were quite happy with it...it's all subjective isn't it? 

They're only echoes...

It feels like years since I started this (it's actually just a couple of weeks) and back then I had a reason for it, something definite had inspired the idea, it meant something. But it coincided with a bout of repetitive strain (I think, but it's in both hands so I'm not so sure) and then trapping my thumb in a collapsing washing maiden, which stopped all fine detail for a bit and made me forget the point.
So let me view it retrospectively and try and impart some meaning to the art...This is my hand, the one I draw with, so I suppose it's a kind of self portrait. I did post an earlier version on Instagram (@hollyholtart) with a description along those lines but I've refined it slightly since then and added some pencil (of all things), which I actually quite enjoyed as the delicacy of the drawing required something less...dense. This is one of those drawings that would have gone on forever so I just had to decide to stop. I'm even going to be so bold as to say I quite like this drawing. It's a description of the part of me that's close to nature, the part that likes to pick things up and explore them, the part that has to translate thoughts into pictures. The part that hides in a shell. Right, I've said too much, I'm outta here!

Hidden treasure...

Sometimes I just have to prove to myself that I still can. It felt good to do something observational, to think about negative space and form and light and shadow and really look at a thing rather than dreaming it up. To actually draw a thing that's there in front of me. So the victim of choice was these tiny bones and the weapon, biro. I've had the bones for ages, I found them and keep them in this little box like some kind of psycho killer. I'm not. I just love their bleached beauty and their reminder that everything is finite. We'll all be bones in a box one day I suppose. I wonder what people reading this think I'm like in real life...

Like a moth to a flame...

Or in this case, a light bulb. These are the moths that flutter around in my brain when I have an idea for a drawing. They flit aimlessly, bouncing off the walls of my skull. Some of them get fried up and die but every now and again one settles on something half decent. 

That wasn't the intention of this drawing, I just wanted to draw a bigger light bulb. The thought only occurred to me as it was nearly finished that it was quite a nice metaphor and that something subconscious was at play. I like light bulbs as an image, they're quite harsh and give a strong contrast between the darkness and the light. I did tell myself I wasn't going to do any more intense blackness with the biro for a while but all too soon I returned to it, like...well, you know the simile. 

Flying too close to the Moon...

A while back I drew the Minotaur, hesitating over the agonising decision of whether to make a break for freedom or stay a prisoner of the only home he'd ever known...a sort of mythological Stockholm syndrome. So here's another subversion of the original myth. I had the idea of drawing Icarus and I was going to keep it simple but then as my over active imagination assumed control, Icarus became a woman...then the Sun became the Moon (of course)...then obviously nothing but the infinite blackness of space would do for a backdrop. I could never be accused of cutting corners, that's at least (I stopped counting) six layers of crosshatched and scribbled black ballpoint, the fine kind not even medium! Why do I put myself through it? 

The Moon proved quite troublesome too but I ended up experimenting at the eleventh hour with pigment marker blender over the biro which turned out quite nicely, just smoothed some of the harshness. The image above is a black and white version, below is how the drawing actually looks in real life. The blender turned the biro a bit blue, which I do like but I think the whole drawing would need to be a bit blue too. Another experiment for another time...