Author: hamishmacdonald

The ceremony warmed up as it went along — or, rather, got less frenetic and became more grand. They added in a UNICEF appeal, which felt like a cheeky bit of enlightened hijacking, since these spectacles can often feel like a vast sum of public money being burnt every couple of years.

Still, though, I felt uncomfortable about the tired old “skinny brown African children” appeal being trotted out — partly because it’s condescending, partly because there are children here in Scotland whose families are forced to go to food banks, and partly because, as I’m sure so many other people feel, I’m burnt out on the “Let’s solve this forever” appeal, then everything reverts to banking and debts and war — as typified by the presence of Her Majesty the military figure and her arms-dealing government.

My biggest concern, wincing then relaxing in turns throughout this show (“Please don’t be awful! Oh, thank God that part was only half-awful. Hey, that bit was beautiful!”) was that people would draw a line from this presentation to the Scottish Independence referendum in September, as if a weak, twee, or clumsy bit of sports-theatre had anything to do with whether or not we’re fit to — or deserve to — run a more just country for ourselves.

This is not entirely true: I used to sit at Table 4.

My lettering pen has a nasty tendency to let loose a blob of carbon ink from time to time. I’m hoping a new pen body will fix that, ‘cause using a white pen after the fact doesn’t really fix it, and it just gets worse when I put a wash over it.

God, I enjoy doing this. Can this be what I do when I grow up?

I included the second page of yesterday’s diary comix after all (which is the first comic here).

Friday was a difficult day — I went kind of stir-crazy at home, which carried over into Saturday. All is well, though. The first comic was no big deal, but could be misunderstood, so maybe doesn’t belong here (not that I have criteria for deciding that, or even why I post things here in the first place).

This sketchbook is nearly full, and I want to publish it. This living memoir stuff is tricky, though, since it implicates other people. If it were just me, I’d spill my guts everywhere; I just don’t care. But not everyone feels that way…

I worked on a big article for Strategic Coach yesterday, one that sprawled around and included a lot of different ideas — just barely pulling them together in the end. As I outlined and researched it, it grew arms and legs, and it wasn’t really on-point for what they talk about.

That was exhausting. It did, however, make me realize that I have a pretty good batting average for them: just about everything works out. Except this piece; I wrote to my project manager/editor and suggested we kill it.

So, to make it up to them, I pitched a comic strip series based on a conversation I had with Dan, the Coach’s owner, recently. I think it’s good, makes a clear, relevant point, and is concise, so hopefully they’ll go with that, and I’ll get to draw, too — which I’ve been doing lots of lately. Something about that is really bringing back those old summer vacations.

Funny how different eras in your life can feel like they’re closer to the present. The 1970s are definitely echoing right now. It’s nice, and it reminds me to enjoy the summer.

We drove down to the Central Belt for the weekend, visiting with Craig’s relatives who are over from Canada, and attending his niece’s fourth birthday party.

I drove much of the way down, then to and from our various destinations (like the Scottish Game Fair at Scone Palace  — the biggest collection of tweed and dogs I’ve ever seen). So I’ve finally broken through the last barrier: driving around the South, including the multi-lane roundabouts and the motorway.

The weekend really felt like summer. Maybe it’s because we had Canadian visitors, so I was conscious of being here, in Scotland, like it was a big vacation — because I knew it was for our visitors.

I’m back to work, though the relatives will be reaching us up here this coming weekend, so the summer holiday goes on. There’s a nice dynamic to this family: the kids are really well-behaved, but still very much their own people, full of energy. With just a word, the parents can reign it in, yet it doesn’t feel at all oppressive; it’s just a working relationship — loving and friendly, but still providing the structure to help the kids get on in the world later on by being appropriate and likeable. That’s the kind of parent I’d want to be.

Getting back to drawing practice this morning, I was a bit stumped. I drew some random things I wanted to work on (clouds and trees, a boat entering Wick Harbour), but there’s something lifeless about drawings I do just for the exercise of it.

I’m forever collecting work and ideas to inspire me, but when it comes time to draw I can get stuck. It’s oppressive, this idea, “Produce!” So I stopped, asked myself what I felt like doing, and…

It’s so much fun, being that kid in grown-up form, having the freedom and the skills to do whatever I want to. The trick is getting clear about what that is.

P.S. That’s my guillotine in the bottom-left corner. The thought of moving that huge thing abroad definitely played into my original decision, but now I think I’m gonna keep it around. It’s not the kind of thing you buy twice.

…with drawing, that is. I think it’s good that I’m doing this drawing practice, but there’s a queasy feeling to drawing subjects I don’t have an attachment to. I already struggle with the idea of how hard I should be working at this — whether it’s okay to go on instinct or if I should be dismantling everything and learning from first principles how to compose a scene, etc. Am I lazy, or am I being true to my style?

I don’t want to draw the same thing over and over again from different angles. That feels like a waste of time. I could be learning all kinds of academic principles, yet to a certain degree every new drawing requires starting from scratch — unless you’re using learned techniques to crank out the same tree-lake-mountain-sunset picture over and over again.

I dunno. I guess the whole exercise here is not to think or question, but just do the work.

The first is from a writing prompt, the second is something I was informed of this morning”¦