JOHNNY BULLETINS

The Shock Of The Crude: Welcome to the world of Art Gekko

2014-07-25T15:08:00.001+01:00

"I create nothing. I own. We make the rules, pal."

Gordon Gekko

Here's a book cover. Note the publisher's logo, Zero Books, is on the cover. See? Right at the top right corner.

Right, now here's a painting which to the casual observer looks very much like the cover I've just shown you:

Here it is in situ at the Maureen Paley Gallery in 2012:

Notice the title of the book. Notice how the words on the painting actually resemble the title of the book.

Also notice how the lettering looks more than vaguely like the lettering on the book cover.

No permission was sought to use it; no reference made to the book at all.

Here's the artist. Yes I know, but read on. He's a gallery darling and what he does is some serious fucking shit you bitches.

GARDAR EIDE EINARSSON

MORE STUFF FROM GARDAR .
SERIOUS SHIT, MOTHERFUCKER

"...A Norwegian born artist, now living and working in both New York and Japan, Einarsson’s often text-based works come with a certain irreverence...(sic)"

From the Maureen Paley Gallery 2012

So the buyer possibly thinks, "How cool of Einarsson; he's like Norwegian and I guess it takes a melancholic hipster to celebrate some slogans that he's seen on a street somewhere in Queen's or the Bronx and throw it back in our faces. Like the Beatles and the Animals way back when they gave us back black music..."

The excitable buyer probably thinks that this tattooed purveyor of despair has probably taken his choice nugget from a meth cook's wall in Flint, Michigan or the side of an old Detroit car plant.

But he didn't; he copied a fucking book jacket.

With one important omission. The logo. The Zero Books logo. So that we're left in no doubt that he's as shallow as his photograph suggests.

My friend Tariq Goddard (same age as Einarsson) runs Zero Books. For a monthly wage that wouldn't get him one of the sleeves of the cool jacket below, he works hard as an author and publisher. Zero is a brave, radical venture that gives voice to left wing thinkers who represent a growing, intellectual subculture that won't find any mainstream publishers breaking down their kitchen doors to start bidding wars. In a nutshell, Jeremy Clarkson would hate them. You get my drift.

"In his hands, surprisingly, the literal exploration of the thematic ’law is for the protection of the people' creates a non-didactic environment latent with ambiguity."

Tariq is possibly the most eloquent person I know; he's a philosophy graduate and the author of six novels. And this is the sort of crap he had to look at when researching the lissome Einarsson:

"His text-based works... offer an often politicised view of contemporary society and an authoritative claim on appropriation that brings attention to the idea of authorship that has concerned postmodernist thought since Foucault’s proclamation of “the death of the author.”

Er, so that's all right then.

The leather jacket above, incidentally has featured in a Jay-Z video. The one with Beyoncé. I'd like to show you a still from it, but I daren't risk the lawsuit.

Tariq must be so fucking fed up with this. He's received not one red cent from all this trading on a Zero title. Nothing.

He's written to the the artist, who, hilariously, suggests the lettering wasn't exactly traced (he couldn't be arsed to put in the curves on the letterforms), and that, really, er, actually he's been in touch with lawyers and that Tariq doesn't have a sustainable case.

This is what his picture should have looked like.

Not quite so cool for the artist, though. How would he explain it? A book cover? Fuck off. You'll get sued.

Andy Warhol would have done it. Even though Robert Hughes didn't rate Andy's intellect; at least Warhol was honest.

So...

Welcome to Art Gekko. Remember Gordon Gekko? He was the enviously-coiffed money suit played by Michael Douglas in Wall Street. A film made memorable by the 'Greed is good' mantra? Remember the "Lunch is for wimps" schtick as he does another deal to make the midday worth a half-million? It summed up the 80s to a lot of people. Corporate nasties sucking the fun and vagueness out of everyone's lives, and giving us Donald Trump; humourless and stupidly rich and resembling Michael Douglas' creation perfectly.

Apart from the coiffure. Even his budget can't get him one good hair day.

Dutch Masters ll Larry Rivers c1963

My personal interest in art started when I saw my first Larry Rivers painting reproduced in a mid-60s Studio Magazine, provided for the Sandown Grammar art room. It still thrills me; a painting based on a cigar box, it was called Dutch Masters ll.

It was art of appropriation; we knew it and we knew where it came from. People started to take an interest in their environment, or rather realise that artists were painting new landscapes.

ANDY'S SOUP CAN (WITH LOGO)

Andy Warhol will probably be remembered as the artist who was 60s America; the workaholic who didn't sign many of his paintings; the confusing genius who probably made more money out of Campbell's Soup than their sales force for the whole of 1965 .

Maybe the board at Campbell's Soups weren't thrilled; maybe they tried to sue, but of course the Andy cans gave Campbell's millions of dollars of free up-market advertising. You can just imagine the rich apartments, the kitchens with their limed glass-fronted cabinets, bulging with the raw product: here's the painting of Mulligatawny Soup, and here (so exciting, this) our interior designer has today filled the shelves with the ACTUAL cans! There's just so much to talk about.

There is a fuck of a lot to talk about.

But don't expect the art world to engage you in any conversation. They've got lawyers; hundreds of the fuckers just dying for some easy action.

We know that big art means money, and there is nothing a nice middle-class person wants more than some edgy shit around the place. If you really don't want that embarrassing junkie you were at boarding school with at the dinner table then get a Gardar Eide Einarsson, it doesn't make any noise; it's there; so angry, so sullen, so contemptuous of our cosy value systems; like honesty and shit.

Originality, like lunch, is for wimps. Didn't you know?

Invisibles

2014-02-24T12:20:00.002+00:00

A selection of images I've drawn for Louise Lipman, who has my French Shops on her website, and wanted some more stuff.
She likes these and I loved doing them:

Biographic. On the beach. Bembridge 1955.

2013-12-13T15:11:00.001+00:00

This was our holiday home. A huge umbrella with a tear in the side which we kids used as a secret entrance. My dad would have taken the photograph. His mum is inside; the confused little woman holding a biscuit box which probably contains the Jaffa Cakes and Ginger Nuts that would sustain our afternoons in the baking dunes and warm beach lakes of Bembridge on the Isle of Wight. She's next to Julie, our cousin, along for the ride; she'll remember this. We met up last year and she remembers everything.

This is all from a tiny scratched black and white print that I scanned and examined minutely to see if it held any secrets. It was a thrill to discover the Oxo tin that held the sandwiches (Sandwich Spread, naturally) and my brother's plastic boat by Mum's left foot. Sister Sharman is next to Mum; I'm posing in the middle, overjoyed at the prospect of more of that endless day to come in this glorious place; in this perfect home from home.

The floor was a sea of rugs and towels. It was our quiet room if we got too hot or tired. I don't think we went to Bembridge too often, but when we did it was always sunny and the water was bathtub hot. I think Duke (late sister Sue) wasn't around till the year after. She would have been bundled into the Hillman Minx, seen heating up on the road behind, along with the rest of us.

We were beaten by a cyclist going up Brading Down that year. Both Mum and Dad laughed in disbelief. It must have been a really slow old car even then, or cyclists much harder, but back then we didn't care; we really did have all the time in the world.

Twist Of Fete

2013-12-02T11:34:00.001+00:00

I've always loved comic art. The information conveyed with the least amount of time spent on shading, but a lot of time devoted to the important bits. Like the story. My comic history included The Topper, The Beezer (I wasn't allowed the Beano, probably not broadsheet enough, I suppose) and when I was seven, I found myself staring in disbelief at Dan Dare and Digby ("Suffering sputniks, Dig!...") driving Anastasia full tilt towards some hellish planet that needed a bit of firm policing.

I can still remember the whole back page being devoted to something boring like the life of Winston Churchill or Montgomery, but the drawing was unbelievable, it was Frank Bellamy, the One True Master, wielding the steady pen, and drawing with such flair and drama that I can still remember where I was and the details. (The guns at Alamein preparing for the barrage,and a speech bubble that just said 'Blimey'). It was at the convent in East Cowes in 1957; what made the drawing extra tasty was the day before Sister Katarina had come down hard on naughty Henry Thornton who had used it. She smacked him twice on his face (they were hard bitches, all) and told him never to say it again. Yeah, right. I wonder if Jesus knew he was married to such violent, unhappy women. Maybe he should have given them more attention.

I didn't pursue the comic art thing; there were too many good people. What inspires can also be a bit over-awesome.

THE WONDERFUL AND INCREDIBLE FRANK BELLAMY

Anyway, it didn't stop me, years later, to produce an image of Semley village fete. All my Dorset mates are in there as well as a bloke in red trousers; Leo's there, Charlie from the Beckford, Sara and Juliet are in place; loads of dogs, and even though they weren't around; I put my daughters with their incredibly timid and emotional Irish Wolfhound, Pixie. Aww.

I loved doing it, and though my technique is necessarily rather laconic (it's just traced on Photoshop), the colours are fun; and importantly it's an attempt to get away from the more painterly, conservative stuff you expect to see that deals with life in the country. Also you get to take a few liberties if that's your wont (it is mine).

If you look closely you'll see Bob Dylan looking pretty in his Pierre Cardin suit and boots. He's listening to the band play Dirty Old Town, and probably thinking he should get back to his folk roots.

Hence the title.

Illustrating the Chalke Valley History Festival

2013-12-02T10:29:00.005+00:00

I 've enjoyed working as the illustrator on The Chalke Valley History Festival. This was its third year and in a very short time, thanks to the energy and vision of the organisers, has made itself an indispensable fixture of the summer.

It's a vivid celebration of the past; not only with its incredible A-list of authors, but also its commitment to entertaining the whole family with noise, colour and fun. This year's air show on a blistering July weekend was a triumph of organisation by James Holland, who along with James Heneage, have helped given history a kick up the curriculum ladder.

My job as a graphic designer and illustrator is to create a visual difference. What could have been burnt parchment and a gothic font free-for-all is non of these things. The reason? It's too obvious, and for a start, I try and give the speakers, from Boris Johnson to Ben Macintyre, a distinct identity within the Festival itself.

Thanks to James Holland I'm producing work I'm proud of, which is cliché - free (apart from my own, of course) and provides the event with an exciting visual currency of its own.

Where other festivals use book jackets and head shots, we produce exhilarating and colourful work which is what history deserves, as well as the public.

PlumpState Christmas card 2012

2012-12-05T13:01:00.001+00:00

This year's card is another pun. I was thinking of doing something with this Dorset beach picture as it was a nice and out-of-season-ish bit of colour that would stand out a bit from the crowd on the mantlepiece.

Occasionally, on a hot summer day where I lived as a child, the tide would leave cuttlefish stranded on the shingle at Southsea. (I think their posthumous fates were beak sharpeners for budgies). Occasionally a glistening mass of jellyfish were washed up. I thought a Yuletide might leave friendlier flotsam!

Blue Amy: My most popular image

2012-07-24T14:15:00.003+01:00

BLUE AMY SIGNED OPEN EDITION £75

My exhibition at Ashley Wood Artspace was great. The private view the best I've ever been to, and the people who braved the uncertain elements were all on fine, appreciative form. Apart from a couple, but they were too drunk to care.

Blue Amy was my best-selling print, followed by Mauve Amy and Sarah Vaughan. I'm going to design a fantasy poster that includes them and Miles. I haven't decided where they'll play, but I might put them in the Quartered Heart in Norwich, or the Uncarried Load in Portsmouth.

Thanks to Anne Clements for taking so many cool pictures (a neighbour of Amy) and Richard Grosse who suggested I include this brilliant singer as a subject...

Thanks to you all. See you next year.

The Sound Of Music: John Coltrane

2012-06-18T11:19:00.000+01:00

There's another image of the Modern Jazz Quartet to come. They, Charlie Parker and Trane all have one thing in common; they've been up-dated at the same time, so all share a stylistic similarity; the improvised turbulences, which for want of a better word provide a narrative, or some kind of sequential element... Apologies, I did need a better word, but just haven't got the time to think about what it might be! Oh, they're all called Dream Ignitions.

The Sound Of Music: Charlie Parker

2012-06-18T10:46:00.002+01:00

This is work in progress, but the background is almost finished, and improvised entirely. Just like jazz!

There is a partial aim in making a painting about music, to have some of the sequential properties of the subject. So these turbulent areas provide the spectator with something to work out, to decipher and I hope, enjoy. But as Donald Fagen said, "Even today, Charlie Parker can still empty a room."

I hope he doesn't at the Jazz Metrospective at Ashley Wood. But I'm happy to take my chances.

Amy: Pure Jazz

2012-06-15T16:48:00.003+01:00

AMY WINEHOUSE by Johnny Bull

Years ago, I made a series of drawings of jazz icons including Miles, Sarah Vaughan and Pee Wee Russell among others.

Someone suggested I should attempt one of Amy Winehouse. So here she is in full bloom. She was a fantastic singer; my favourite since Billie Holiday (who was Frank Sinatra's choice). There's no question; she was the real deal. Thanks to Richard Grosse for some timely intervention!

So she'll be up with my heroes at the Jazz Metrospective at Ashley Wood in July.

Missing her already.

(See post below http://j.mp/M2xnYd for details).

Life drawing classes: clothed and unclothed

2012-06-14T12:36:00.001+01:00

This is a flyer I designed to promote life-drawing classes at Ashley Wood Farm. Clare, who runs Ashley is very keen that there is a space to produce work, and also to exhibit. I'm really grateful to her for this fantastic opportunity; I loved teaching it years ago – all the pupils were women, and mostly, so were the models – I didn't so much teach as encourage and cajole, and the results, especially from the novices (though nobody, strictly speaking, is a novice at drawing) were spectacular in their energy and spontaneity.

Classes are £20 for two-hours with either a clothed model (10-midday) or nude model (6.30-8.30pm). So you pay £100 for five lessons, telling me in advance, if possible, what sessions you can attend.

Materials needed: Drawing board (20 x 30") paper and drawing equipment (charcoal, pencils etc)

NB Don't forget a can of fixative (it stops the charcoal from smudging). A cheap version of this is hairspray! The studio has big windows, so the smell won't hang around for long!

I want to arrange an exhibition which features drawings from these classes at Ashley Wood, where we can have a proper Private View, drink white wine and listen attentively to the murmurings of adulation from friends and public alike.

With live music and canapes. Whatever they are.

So, I can't wait to start again. I have to get people to commit to 5 weekly classes, but if for some reason they can't make the whole block, they will be credited for the sessions they miss.

The morning sessions will end at midday, and it is hoped to extend these to a lunch at the Beckford Inn nearby.

But I mustn't get too carried away.

New Exhibition: Jazz pictures at Ashley Wood

2012-06-13T14:55:00.001+01:00

http://www.ashleywoodfarm.org.uk

I've got a feeling that things might be looking up. I'm not sure why, but in the midst of a recession I've been persuaded by Clare Martin, who runs the fantastic Ashley Wood Farm, to put on a show of paintings and prints.

Mostly they will be about music, and mostly, since it is one of my first loves, about jazz. Or rather, the people who largely figure in its history. If I've got time I'll finish the drawing of lovely Amy Winehouse (who was jazz to the bone), to go with Sarah Vaughan, a true hero.

The private view will be on 13th July, which is a Friday. If you're visiting it would be very wise to get a room at the Beckord Arms, only a few minutes away.

I'll put up more images as and when, meanwhile spread the news.

Dorset: A new image

2012-04-26T18:12:00.001+01:00

A SCORCHING DORSET BEACH. REFLECTION OPTIONAL!

I'd love to do a seaside poster. I love the sea and I love posters of the sea.

Oh no. Just been to the Dorset tourist Board website. Nobody conspicuous by name or phone number. Just one of those application fields that give you access to an office I suppose. When I fill in that little box with my hopeful message saying something along the lines of, "My name's Johnny Bull, I make spectacular images of locations and events, celebrating the people in all their ..etc" I can then add a link to this striking image, which although modern and created and executed in the digital way, has a sort of echo of the posters of another time, when you could go from London all the way to Weymouth, or Corfe Castle by train. Makes you want to weep.

I made a similarly striking image of the Dorset Steam Fair, which I fed into a similar, depressing little aperture in one of their sponsor's websites. That was five years ago, and I never heard a dickie bird... When I saw what they were using to grab the attention of the steam brigade, I didn't bother to chase them. But with the Dorset Tourist Board, things could be different. I'll keep you posted.

Intellectual property: The artist's fear of the penalty (and faith restored)

2012-04-25T17:36:00.001+01:00

THE PAINSTAKINGLY-DRAWN HIGHBURY STADIUM

Years ago, when I'd started doing 'people prints', my friend and football fanatic, Leon, suggested I make an image to celebrate the last day of Arsenal at their Highbury stadium. It was 2006 and on 7th May I dutifully took photographs of the Gooner faithful at their swansong. They beat Wigan 4-2 and Henry scored a hat-trick. A day to remember. I painstakingly drew the old East Stand from the original plans I found.

It took me an age, maybe more than one. But, I thought the Arsenal marketing board would weep tears of relief that finally, just for once in their noble and iconic history as North London's finest, they would get to sell a really tasteful image. Well, how wrong can you be?

Everybody I showed it to loved it. Apart from a woman who thought it a bit depressing. Was it the colour? The composition? No, she was a Spurs fan. As soon as I'd emailed the marketing chief at Arsenal, I sat staring at my screen, expecting an immediate reply of amazed gratitude; a hurried, badly spelled note of rapturous heartfelt thanks. "At last..." I imagined the email beginning, "for the first time in the history of our club, whose image we have been so keen foster as one of the great tasteful and creative influences in this noble game..." or, even a touch more pedestrian, "No one has ever taken the trouble to present the old East Stand in all its Art Deco splendour..." "Can't begin to adequately..." "Do you have a figure in mind..."

But, no. Unbelievably. Just nothing.

I went home that night feeling at a bit of a loss. The loss you feel after you take a chance and you fail. Well, not exactly a loss, but an empty sort of grey feeling of failing. In the real world, I thought, nobody cares, they don't care about the fans – I'd cut out hundreds of 'em – or about taste, or good, gentler times... I thought of a player that day leaving, being mobbed by his fans. His car, a humourless black Range Rover. A mobile nail bar; with its horrible black glass and low profile tyres. And possibly a number plate consisting of a couple or three platinum card-only letters. I should have known,

Anyway, a day later I did get a perfectly spelled email from their head of marketing, Adrian Ford, who liked the image but it didn't fit into what they were doing at the moment. Well, no. He was right, it didn't. Which was why I did it and why I was wrong. Importantly, he said I was free to use it without let or hindrance. Oh well, small mercies.

I thought I could make it available as a limited edition print.

Anyway, over the years a few people have bought The Last Day where they've added their families to the crowd, a couple of big prints now adorn Emirates boxes.

A famously funny Gooner paid two and a half thousand pounds when I donated a print for their 2010 end of season ball.

Then I discovered an online shop called Zazzle. They print on demand all sorts of things: ipad covers, t-shirts, aprons, key-rings and the like. I submit a design and Zazzle put them on a product that I choose.

Now Zazzle in their wisdom have decided to withdraw all my images; my t-shirts and Blackberry cases are no more. Everything I spent a frustrating, clumsy week of uploading has been plucked nervously from their site. Their reason? The stadium itself, they think might infringe Arsenal intellectual property:

"Specifically, your product contained an image depicting Arsenal Stadium and infringed upon the intellectual property rights of Arsenal Football Club."

So, now I have to get someone at Arsenal to send Zazzle an email. That should be, er, easy.

UPDATE:
Well, I'm delighted to say that there's a man at Arsenal called called Mark Gonnella who is head of Communications, and according to great guy called Andrew Allen (@AAllenSport), an Arsenal fan (Gooner) and a journalist who produces very funny Tweets, he seemed "very approachable". So I followed Mark on Twitter who answered my plaintive request for his email address, and this morning, he had his team write to the Zazzlers to put things right. Mark, I owe you; and you too, Andrew. Thank you both very much.

Mind you, Zazzle aren't quite so quick in restoring the items back to my Goonerama shelves as they were in taking them away, no surprise there; maybe protocols have still to acknowledged. Will I get another chilly message in the morning?

Anyway, I'm going to carry on with Twitter; how on earth could I have done without these two guys?

Greenback: one of my back pages

2012-04-22T17:51:00.000+01:00

SELF PORTRAIT AT THE TIME
(Includes favourite skins, and Polaroid film pack tucked into trendy denim bib)

A friend of mine, Mandy Wheeler, who's a gifted copywriter and radio producer, amongst other things sent me a message she got from a writer in America. Mandy has written an inspirational little book called Tell An Outrageous Lie, which contains nearly 200 vignettes, some real, some imagined, that are designed to kick-start the story-teller in you; to give your creative block an enema or two. (Actually, there are 188 of the critters, one of my faves: 'A picture of an offal shop, a giant snowball and graffiti saying Can you see me?')

Her friend's donation was this: 'I have a dollar bill which has a strong scent of perfume, and not an expensive one. There's a story to be told here.'

And in no more than 650 words.

This was my contribution. It's not brilliant because, apart from one word, it's absolutely true. Took me straight back to Nixon, Roxy Music and shop window porn.

Greenback

I was working in Amsterdam in 1973. I was 23 years old, and working in a design office that overlooked a wide canal, offering as pretty an urban view as you could ever hope to see. The company that employed me was a bit of a Camden Town sweatshop and made its money out of designing record sleeves and various bits of merchandise for some pretty cool acts. And a whole load of not-so-cool acts: dismal, combed-over cabaret fodder that appealed to, well, actually, I never really found out what benighted pie-slice of the populace went for these forty something relics.

This Amsterdam studio was near the great hippy square that smelt of dope and patchouli. And the Paradiso Club where I saw Nico and her harmonium, amongst others… Prostitutes gazed down from lorry mirrors bolted to upstairs windows, or looked at you, quite cheerfully, from their showrooms. Price for sex was 25 guilders according to our rather uptight manager called Joop (pronounced Yo) who, because of his stern bearing, never managed to get us much work.

I found the sexual atmosphere electrifying. Even in the American Bookshop near the Amstel Bridge, which showed the Watergate hearings every day, I remember thinking that something sounded like a really shouty orgasm. I looked round, puzzled. Oh. I see. A sign which said something about films and an arrow pointing downstairs. Everywhere fucking. Every fucking where.

And weirdness. As I walked home one night: A scary dude, bearded and patchoulied, holds up a matchbox, shakes it, and says, “For three guilders you can see what’s in this matchbox.” Not have. See.

Jesus.

Joop and I had by this time struck up a good, but slightly awkward relationship, where every young woman we passed on the street would be accompanied by his sotto voce and smirky, “What about her? Nice one Cyril. Shall I ask for you?” No, Yo… keep walking. But he was very kind, and he invited me to stay in Haarlem with him. I really wanted to see the Franz Hals paintings and those lesser known contemporaries, painters with no grasp of a sitter’s character, but fuck me, could they paint a ruff, stitch by stitch.

So, there we were, Joop, me, confronted by this wall of paintings and suddenly I hear bats in my head. Every time I get close to a painting, the alarm system is inaudibly, but painfully warding me off. Joop is laughing at my plight. Don’t get so close. Yes, but, ow, there it goes again. After a time I’m turning this into a sort of cabaret. Every picture see I react to by clutching at my head and moaning. I’m only doing this, because by now two women that Joop, thankfully, hasn’t noticed, have joined in. They laugh; they both copy me. This is, ouch, more like it. Then Joop decides it’s time for dinner, so we leave, abruptly.

I don’t think I’d ever been into such a clean, expensive restaurant. I felt a bit awkward, scruffy, on edge. Joop was in his element. It was expensive. Probably 25 guilders each. Or three prostitutes. He ordered wine and there was bouillabaisse in a silver salver.

Then the girls from the gallery come in. Lordy. I offer a silent prayer. But a waiter (to Joop’s obvious approval), hurries them out. I ask why. “Patchouli. They are nice, but their perfume stinks.”
I feel utterly confounded and a bit ashamed; I’m like them, scruffy and young. They shouldn’t be here and neither should I. And I’m too confused to direct anything in the way of a heroic, muscular counter attack.

Then one of the girls, laughing, rushes back in and throws something that bounces off Joop’s head and lands in my stew. It’s a dollar bill, and unfurled, it has a phone number and a kiss.

And the message: WE ARE MORE FUN

Chalke Valley History Festival: A Manifesto of Fun.

2012-03-02T13:27:00.000+00:00

IMAGE FOR CHALKE VALLEY HISTORY FESTIVAL 2012

I love graphic design more now than I ever did before. I love the Mac and its universe of essential tools, the software that enables me to do so much that was inconceivable when I started in the early 70s.

Now I can set type, import images and retouch them without having to wait for a courier, or a type rep from Apex or Conways, or the airbrush salesman (one of whom, a true gent from DeVilbiss, found himself fretting, in his shirtsleeves, trying to help me create a silver plate on a Procol Harum in-store display – he left at eight, telling me to eat properly and sleep well, otherwise I'd get an ulcer. But I was, and remain, an overtime glutton).

When the Mac first started hushing-up the graphics studios, an air of thoughtful creativity took over. Gone were the days (before mine, even) of the jovial, post-pub lunch pranks from the pissed paste-up artists, blowing perfect smoke rings out of Cow-gum tins and Christ knows what else... In New York, in Mad Men days, a bored Madison Avenue agency art crew apparently enjoyed fishing for pigeons from its corner of a sky high playpen... What larks.

The cool studios like Pentagram, of course, were famously creative and quiet; but not as hushed and thoughtful as the ubiquitous flat screen makes everyone today. I know that fun has left a lot of studios, like it's left a lot of things. You can tell by simply looking at what's going on in posters, shopfronts. You can see that designers aren't looking at each other over a pile of markers ("Who's got the Barely Beige?" you'd shout at least twice a day; that hue being the one for flesh. Flesh itself being far too orange for, er, a real flesh look.)

I worked with John Bonis, who was the only person in London capable of holding a light to Barney Bubbles, of Stiff Records fame. His Island posters were legendary; witty, well designed fun. We did ads by the ton, too. If he couldn't think of an idea he'd just start drawing and one morning held up a huge cartoon of a man running with fish for feet. "What am I going to put for the headline?" he asked; the client having just arrived. "Put your skates on?" I said hopefully, looking up, probably, from a badly airbrushed platter. All smiles, he lettered it in; infallibly; in his perfect rendition of Franklin Gothic. Demi Bold Condensed.

So, now I'm working on the Chalke Valley History Festival programme and I'm loving it. Loving making the images work with the titles and having fun (yep, that word again) against the rather serious but adaptable Univers. Clients often confuse wit with a lack of gravitas, but humour used properly, shows confidence. One of the 80s most brilliant designers, David Stuart, co-wrote a book, A Smile In The Mind, that showed examples of this elusive magic being caught and used properly. Er, hem. My design partner at the time, Paul Rodger, and myself, both featured, albeit modestly.

So, thanks to my Mac I'm writing this in the vague hope that it will be read and understood, and people the world over will think, "That was funny. He's very clever, he'd be great for..." But then you have to join the weird, awkward virtual parties of the social media, like the wel cul Facebook, like the dreary Linkedin, or the glossy, designery one like Google+ (Facebook for professionals) where most people who talk loudly about nothing much still get high-fives from others who want to be their friends. I'm with him. He's like so fun. Mmmm. But he's actually not. He's got a cat. Oh, it's fallen asleep...

We'll just wait and see if there's somebody... maybe a Barney Bubbles; a quiet genius, biding his time and just waiting for someone to hear their laconic, wry aperçus.

Someone like me, or you, but we're never going to take over that party, but we never wanted to, really. Now where's that Barely Beige? Anyone?

Twinkle twinkle little stars: breaking free of Google Earth.

2012-02-29T14:25:00.000+00:00

THE STARWAY FELL UPON TRIESTE.

Google, who you may remember gave us the best search engine for like, ever, has come up with a new social marketing phenomenon called Google+. It suits people like me better than Facebook or the dreary crushed paper cup of Linkedin.

It shows work in progress from various photographers and illustrators, one of the most prolific being the nocturnal Paul Stickland. But alas, the usual suspects always seem to rule the Google waves, like they rule the websphere with their wretched twee homilies and their pictures of a cat falling asleep on a windowsill. I used to like the Dalai Lama. But Jeeze...

They get literally hundreds of 'plusses', which is a thumbs-up from a grateful reader. I've just got an unheard-of eight for this. No, four. But still, on my Richter scale that was epic, dude.

Encouraged by the tireless genius that is +paul stickland to illustrate an idea for a space elevator concept by +Michael Laine ... Here goes. "It just appeared one day in the square by the fountain. At first nobody dared go up; they'd maybe skip up the down lane, then when a stag party decided to take the plunge and came back, thoughtful and beatifically happy, it sort of caught on. The authorities tried to dismantle it, but it was completely unbreakable. So, they shrugged their shoulders and let the public take their chances. All you could make out of the disappearing people as they got higher was the flashes of their cameras as they took pictures from the shimmering stairs.

Richard Branson, thickly jumpered, took his Virgin chequebook and skipped up one Saturday morning with an entourage of PR people and photographers. They blazed a tiny, twinkliing path in the ether, and were never seen again."

Phoebe posing. A natural gif.

2012-02-28T16:44:00.000+00:00

All in the aid of history. My daughter dressing up and posing as someone being buzzed by a Spitfire. The cover of this year's Chalke Valley History Festival brochure shows Phoebe and our neighbour, Millie, dressed as Victorians taking the air and being surprised, maybe terrified, at the sight of a Spitfire howling through the valley on the way back from a sortie.
It's a montage, so they're not really frightened, just a bit cold... Anyway, here's Feebs going through the acting paces. Takes after her mother, clever and beautiful. Thank goodness.

When I have time I'll put up a movie-ette of Millie. Now she is dramatic.

Thanks to the brilliant Christina Reynolds, Millie's mother, for making it all possible.

Valentine fun: Graphic hearts and salvage

2012-01-20T13:26:00.000+00:00

ZAZZLE HAS 'EM!

A few things that have surfaced as I try and 'internationalise' my work and sell with a degree of optimism that has so far eluded me as I stare woefully at a khaki coloured mudscape and think more dismal thoughts about the immediate environment. I'm desperate to find a bigger audience for all this stuff, and the chance that someone in Germany or Japan, or wherever, will see something they like, means that I have to spend so much time networking that it's become a more pressing task than sitting down and creating images. I'm on Google+, Facebook, Twitter and Posterous and I have a growing number of outlets on Zazzle... More later, but meanwhile, here's some Valentine imagery that I didn't have the heart to trash!

Dare 2 Festival: Chore-free design

2012-01-17T16:44:00.005+00:00

LOGO-FREE ZONE

Jeeeze, it's been a while since the last post, but since I don't blog from home, I haven't really had time to catch up. There's another festival looming, well, looming as Summer has every right to be in this iron-cold January day, and I've had a lot of fun over the weekend getting some images prepared for this family-friendly get-together.

Taking place in July on a farm in mystical, magical Tollard Royal (which sounds like a very expensive and debonair cigarette from the '20s) I've tried to give it some energetic imagery, colourful, poppy and animated in approach; something that tries to express the atmosphere as well as giving the event some imagery to promote it. I think it shouldn't have a logo as such. The name is the logo. And the sound.

Hey, I dared 2 do a no-logo poster!

Joyeux Noël. Christmas cards are a pain to come up with...

2011-12-09T13:17:00.001+00:00

SHOP #8 LE FOLIE DU PAIN

A bit last minute, but I thought it would be fun to use this really festive bread shop as a card.

My wife and I were thinking along the lines of The Folie and The Ivy, Christmas shopping being a pain etc... Then I thought of my very favourite part of the Christmas food galaxy; the perfect accompaniment to turkey... et voila.

Always make your bread sauce the night before (sit up at the back), or, at least put an onion (studded with cloves) in some milk with a bay leaf, and bring to the boil. Then turn the heat off. So on Christmas morning, get rid of the onion and chuck in your (freshly grated) white breadcrumbs and bring back slowly to the boil... Then add some double cream and a cloud of pepper. I think nutmeg might make an appearance, but anyway, my brother, who is a great cook, likes to blend half the onion and add to the mixture. It's nice. I've got to go. I'm hungry!

The time has come for all good Gooners...

2011-11-18T12:09:00.001+00:00

HIGHBURY 7. 5. 06 (Put yourself in the picture!)

To come to the aid of the party. That party. The last game at the Highbury Stadium. If you weren't there, then you can be, now. I want to fill this picture up with Gooners young and old, big and small, to send off to the Royal Academy as a huge print as a candidate for inclusion in the Summer Exhibition. Where you'll be seen by millions...

Send a jpeg (head to toe, preferably, so you can be treated in my inimitable style). I want as many as possible to chuck into this merry throng, leaving the beautiful ground for the last time... so pass this on to anyone who supports the most deserving team on the planet. That means you, Chris, and your mates, and you, Arsene, I can put you up in the front with Charlie George.

Players and fans, Gooners and Goonerettes! I want to create an football image with a difference; something with a bit of taste and creativity. A bit like Arsenal in fact.

Please send your photos to me as soon as you can! They don't have to be hi-res; I can sort that out.

Do it now to make sure you get into the most memorable bit of football imagery ever.

Halloween: What's it all about, halfwit?

2011-10-21T18:27:00.002+01:00

I know I haven't got a commercial bone in my body now. I used to have a passable talent for following a brief, and delivering on or ahead of the deadline, but... For a shameful and humiliating bout of time, I've been trying to design a sell-able Halloween print, or some image exploiting the usual: owls, pumpkins, ghosts, snaggly trees, zombies (actually not too sure about that one) cats and bones. I remember really cool Halloween parties; improvised ghoulery is lovely, messy fun. Now it's gone corporate, with slave illustrators trotting out their depressing stuff.

The whole kitsch carnival of abysmal and badly drawn stuff is right here, on my screen. and I have nothing in my robust and versatile armoury to improve on it all. Nada. Nix. So here it is, the result of my struggles with the empire of dross, my anti-gift for this tawdry celebration of kiddie blackmail.

Trains, Boats, Tractors and Ponies: Exhibition preview at Smith & Williamson

2011-10-20T12:50:00.000+01:00

Yes, it's the kind of gig David Cameron would give his eye-teeth to be at. It's just so big society. Well it's Salisbury so it can't get much posher.

In fact Smith & Williamson are a firm of accountants who always have space available for artists' work; they have an opening night and they have the pleasure (and their super-rich, art connoisseur clientele) of looking at nice pictures for a few weeks, I'm hoping that I'll make enough on the night, that I'll be flush enough to hand over my financial affairs to them, but it's a fairly hefty hope...

They're local and they're located in the old library building in Chipper Lane.

I'll chuck a map on here in a minute... The building is beautiful, and you can see the original French Shop pictures that caused so much fuss in Homes and Gardens recently (I'm no stranger to controversy) and look at the famous Queen Mary print, while downing glasses of chilly Muscadet or whatever they've got on offer at Majestic. They've got a lovely panelled boardroom where you mill contedly around Polo Match and Skaters. Oh and there's three very fetching Italian images...

More valley ghosts: 2012 Chalke Valley History Festival

2011-10-11T10:38:00.002+01:00

“To promote the entertainment and relevance of history to the widest possible audience so as to furnish it with enough sense of the past to make sense of the future.”

Last year's Chalke Valley History Festival was an outrageous, runaway success. It actually made a profit, and the feedback was all positive. I didn't start working on it until May last year and the work on the graphics for the brochure, the advertising and the all the attendant bits and pieces took all the time from first meeting to opening.

This year I've started designing early. We're producing postcards and letterheads to prepare the ground visually as prospective speakers, sponsors and advertisers are contacted. And those who were aware of the previous look will see that nothing fundamental has changed: the subjects drift transparently around a now luminous green valley; the Hawker Typhoon just airborne hints at Antony Beevor or James Holland. I've still to add Thomas Cromwell and a few more visual clues to produce an interesting, as well as arresting cover for a bigger brochure, for a bigger festival.

Oh, and a Trojan Horse...and Elizabeth David