Where I started
I have been fascinated by the natural world for as long as I can remember. Rockpools, birds, in fact all sorts of things animal, vegetable and mineral featured large in my childhood. From an early age, my father encouraged me to draw. I was always particularly drawn to wildlife art — naturally enough I suppose given my interests — and I spent a lot of time in my early teens drawing exotic wild beasts copied from photos in books.
At school, given my enthusiasm for nature, I was a natural for biology and I loved it. I did sciences at A level with some art on the side. But biology A level was dull, with little new material, and my efforts at wildlife art dismissed. Instead I found myself increasingly drawn to mathematics and physics. I subsequently headed off to UCL to study physics and astronomy and spent the following 30-odd years working in scientific research of one kind or another.
I never lost interest in nature of course (and the universe is, after all, just nature on a grand scale). But my interest in art was reawakened at university when I bought a copy of “The Living Birds of Eric Ennion”, edited by John Busby. This gem of a book opened my eyes to what wildlife art could be and should be: done from life and full of life. It may sound naïve, but up until then I simply couldn’t imagine drawing living moving birds in the field. But Ennion made it look easy, so I had a go — and the results, of course, were fairly bad. Despite this inauspicious start, I couldn't quite let go, and for several years kept returning, on-and-off, to sketching from life. Finally, at some point, I realised I had become strangely addicted to the activity, and I have pursued it ever since, trying to give it the time and effort it needs and deserves.
As you probably gather, my painting and drawing “skills” are pretty much self-taught. However, around 2000, I attended the Seabird Drawing Course run by John Busby in North Berwick (the first of many times). This was a second transformative art moment. Here I found a warm, welcoming and hugely enthusiastic community of like-minded field artists. Their advice, encouragement and friendship has greatly shaped subsequent progress.
A false start
I did this tiny oil painting in school. Back then I was rather pleased with its wacky combination of brush and palette knife. It was based, of course, on a photo: at that time I didn’t know any better. The only memory I have of art class is of the teacher staring at this painting and saying something along the lines of “phuff… you’d be better off outdoors drawing cows”.
Now, this was actually good advice. Unfortunately, she made it sound like an insult, and I suppose it was, for it was made clear that she thought I was wasting my time. If only she had explained why I should try painting from life and offered encouragement instead of dismissal, I might have got an earlier start in this game.
I don't easily give up, but I had other compelling interests, and I moved on to them. But it was several years before I picked up a pencil again (and nearer 40 years before I could bring myself to draw a cow!).
A new beginning
This is one of my very first attempts of sketching from life. I'm not sure why I kept it — nostalgia perhaps. They are sketches of a grey heron fishing in a goldfish pond outside the university library. I should have been working of course. I have a handful of other equally bad sketches from around this time and yet it is curious how they still conjure vivid memories, probably better than any photo.
For comparison, here are some recent sketches of herons at Slimbridge. Do they reveal 25 years of practice and improvement? Not as much as I would like, but perhaps they show more confidence in the marks at least!
