A combative show-off once asked me, in the knowledge that I had no musical ability, “what instrument do you play?” With sophomoric tartness I replied, “The Pencil, but only in leads of 2B and above.” I told the guy I liked to paint and draw and that I could also coax a reasonable tune from an automatic camera.  “Go on then! draw something!” urged the show-off. 

To avoid such enforced “live” drawing performances, and I’ve been required to put my draftsmanship where my mouth is from time to time, I came to carry a sketchbook and a small portfolio of current drawings in-progress, in order to assuage amateur art critics mid-ambush. “Oh, you can draw,” is often the understated response.

I detest the conspicuous act of taking photographs in public, or Plein Air, if you’re an Impressionist. It provokes instant attention that is bothersome in the extreme. Explanations are requested and the artist is often asked to justify their very existence vis-a-vis ‘tax payers’ money,’ and venerable citizens doing a hard day’s work, especially those employed in the ‘Hero Professions.’ Invisibility, or at least what special forces soldiers refer to as being ‘The Grey Man,’ that is, as anonymous as possible, is just the ticket. Then one is free to potter about with a chosen medium relatively unhindered: Therefore, T-shirt and jeans is preferable dress to that of cravat and beret. 

The montage below features 28 photographs taken at a close proximity to the subjects, from touching distance to ‘talking range.’ Details are caught at a glance, and captured in a similar vein. Compositions are framed and shot as quickly as possible, especially on the hoof in the street, but also domestically; maps, newspapers and notebook pages are shot in-the-lap and over-the-shoulder. A TV screen makes an appearance, along with a descending scale of early mobile phones. Views through 3 different windows are present, firstly, a car shot from the second floor table of a fast food restaurant as it appears to drive through/into/along a Burger King advertising sticker, the plastic membrane peels back accommodatingly to reveal the road, a happy chance surrealism.