Star Wars Wonder Drawing Sabre Extreme

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In order to raise some cash I have gone into Star Wars merchandising and have invented this handy All-In-One artists tool that will instantly help you draw just like Ralph McQuarrie.

No more art classes!
No more life studies!
Just pick up and draw!

If you’ve ever dreamed of becoming a famous concept artist then this is the tool for you.

If you’ve ever dreamed of impressing random strangers in shops then this is the tool for you.

If you’ve ever dreamed about that man or woman that spurned your romantic advances seven years ago then this is the tool for you.
Each “Star Wars Wonder Drawing Sabre Extreme” is glued together with love and rainbows* (actually asbestos and anthrax) and comes with its own paper* (asbestos) bag.

It weighs ONLY 19.5kg and can be used by children* (Not recommended for children).

Simply “Stab” the tool into the palm of your hand and away you go, the special coating of artist “Rust” will seep into your blood stream and you can just think drawings onto the page.

Due to a slight production error only 17 million of these tools will be produced and it is strictly available on a first come first disappointed basis.

Available from “Chest Infections Direct”; your one stop shop for bulk phlegm!

Words and Pictures © D. Archer. December 2015.

Figurative Abstracts

Reflections

Reflections

I don’t dream. I put this down to the prolonged period of insomnia that I suffered after my divorce, however, I have recently been waking up with fragments of an image that has coincided with my rekindled interest in painting.

I’m colour blind; good old fashioned Red / Green combo and this has always been a crutch to stop myself from painting. Who wants a violet sky and magenta grass? Well it turns out that plenty of people do provided the piece is well executed and within an abstract framework, and there lies the dilemma.

Painting abstracts, to me, is not about “Not being able to paint properly” or “Not having studied for X years at Art School”, it is primarily concerned with expression and partly about technique; the proportions of these two factors is what divides the opinion. I suppose the “Expression ‘v’ Technique” debate is the art world equivalent of the chicken and the egg scenario.

We live in an existential world, trees grow upwards, grass is green, sky is on top etc. To challenge these representations (visually) means to think and to think is a powerful life skill.

It is said as humans we use only 10% of our brain’s capacity and the average time spent looking at artwork in a gallery is less than 30 seconds and in that 30 seconds we make broad sweeping generalisations not only about the piece “Doesn’t look like a tree” but also about the artist “My kid could do that” so may I suggest that if your child can emote like Jackson Pollock then nurture and treasure that child beyond your earthly years for they have that rare and precious gift of independent thought.

My artwork is my own, through my eyes, echoes of my past and shaped by my hand. If this piece progresses my painterly technique that’s a bonus; If it strikes a chord with another human well that’s much better but if it hangs on my wall and engages my thoughts every time I look at it then it has achieved it’s purpose.

Abstracts are about painting the emotion not the object. If you want a picture, take a photograph.

Words and Pictures © D. Archer. December 2015

Rembrandt Van Rijn

Not many people know this but before Rembrandt Van Rijn was famous for his matchstick men and women paintings he had a nice little earner producing saucy seaside postcards.

In the olden days the pancreas was thought to be where orgasms came from.

Most people couldn’t afford to have a portrait of themselves done for Christmas or to put on a tea-towel or a mug so they would go down to the harbour and wait for Rembrandt to sail past in his boat. Rembrandt would shout out the names of famous footballers (or Soccer players if the peasants looked American) and if the person on the dockside could make a rude anagram out of the name then Rembrandt would come ashore and paint them for free.

In 1985 when Rembrandt died it was estimated that he had been dead for a lot longer.

Rembrandt loved to paint cars and in his spare time he would go to the local car park and tip paint all over the cars that were parked in the disabled bays without a blue badge.

Rembrandt was also the name of my first cat but he couldn’t paint at all he just looked at me funny when I took my trousers off.

I miss that cat.

In 1986 Rembrandt (the artist, not my cat) was still dead. My cat, Rembrandt, strangely enough died in 1987. I didn’t wear any trousers for a whole year as a mark of respect.

I spent 1988 in prison for  indecent exposure and it was whilst in Prison that I learned that Rembrandt (the artist, not my cat) was also a great saxophone player and even had a chance to record an album with David Hasselhoff (HasselHoff translated directly from the German/Austrian/Bulgarian dialect actually means “Shrunken-Sperm”). 

It was also around this time I was admitted to hospital for what was to be the first of many psychotic episodes. They told me that everything would be OK if I just kept taking my tablets and never ever started a blog on the internet.

Are you still reading this?

Words © D. Archer. Pictures by RVJ.

New Poetry Anthology

Need-Some-Milk-CoverIn order to rise some cash I have released my poetry anthology early, in fact so early that there are 356 blank pages at the back of the book for colouring in or making shopping lists or for all your hate mail practice letters.

There is a limited edition print run of 17 million copies and each and every one of them comes with a FREE DISEASE (I’m not telling you which one exactly but don’t scratch your privates or your lady garden).
 
I have struck a deal for this volume to be sold through all outlets of “Chest Infections Direct”, the walk in store where you can buy phlegm in bulk. Each copy sold will generate 0.0000000000000000000000000000000001 pence for “Save the Plankton” a cause close to my heart.
The picture is not to scale. Due to a minor publishing miscalculation the book is actually 2′ 6″ thick and in hindsight printing on Asbestos paper may not have been the best idea. Standard Postage is £33,768.
Remember….”Chest Infections Direct” – Your One Stop Shop for Coughs!
Words and Pictures © D. Archer . December 2015

Winter Wanderings

Whooooaaa! Hold your horses, you haven’t missed the apocalypse, these pictures are from my morning walk around my home town.

I’m lucky that the walk between my home and that of my mother takes me through a wooded area that is more interesting on deserted days like today than when it is swarming with humans.

I particularly like the ones where nature has started to reclaim the man made objects, the Lichen on the the litter bin and the way the tree has grown around the barbed wire.

I must admit to being a bit of a loner and the sense of emptiness and the forlorn has always held a particular fascination for me. Today with the poor light and sense of overcast weather is my type of day.

Mmmmmmmm……bland.

Words and Pictures © D. Archer. December 2015

I’ve re-connected with my interest in abstract art. These are acrylics on canvas. The Midnight Trees has an under painting done in masking fluid and so it catches the light from various angles, quite unintentional I assure you.

Words and dodgy photographs © D. Archer . December 2015.

Abstracts

New Poetry Collection

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In order to raise some cash I have gone into the exciting world of paper book publishing.

For my first venture I have teamed up with the esoteric poet and performance artist Adolf Von U-Boat.

This poem entitled “Black clouds over Berlin” was written in 2014.

I once saw a girl from Skegness
In various states of undress
as she sat on the beach
the sight of her peach
set my pacemaker off in distress.

Adolf was born in Barnsley in 1946 shortly after his parents arrived from Germany. His mother (also called Adolf) died of shock at seeing Barnsley Markets in 1947 and young Adolf was brought up under the wrathful gaze of his father Heinrich.

Adolf’s early life in Barnsley was difficult to say the least, his left-handedness and film star good looks made him an easy target on the mean streets of Smithies. Locked away in his bedroom Adolf dreamed of being a writer and so he learned to write as this was a valuable skill in becoming a writer.

Then he became a priest and other stuff happened to him.

Only now have his 17 million poems been discovered in his attic and Volume One is available to buy from all good bookshops (but not on-line, Adolf thinks the Internet is run by a team of secret Leprechauns that steal your fingernails when you are asleep)

Words and pictures © D. Archer. December 2015.

Sketchbook

Has it always been like this?
inside this low, living headache
where everyone is closed or taken;
where the pressure is blinding
and the quiet assumptions are the worst.

The mirror lies,
I’m not the only one in this room
as the argument begins
“What lies beneath my ink stained skin?”