Sunday, 22 January 2012


I've been drawing, good old fashioned drawing with a clutch pencil scale rule erasing shield set square and so on, on a space the size of a postage stamp on my desk, I feel very artisanal indeed and I also, once finished of a two hour session, ache like hell.
I'm drawing the revisions to our kitchen which are not very grand at all, in fact the amount of time I've spent drawing them, if I counted the cost, would double the contract, but it has made me think about drawing once again, realizing that it is in this case at least this is my architectural insurance policy, that if I can draw it, and draw it enough times at enough scales, then Scott must be able to build it ever so easily. I'm sure also that this is not going to be the case but I must keep the faith by drawing those cupboards with those particular dimensions and that door that just won't hit the boiler when you open it (and will feature a fabulous 18inch by 5ft poster of a 1960's Reno Cocktail waitress on the door- any ideas on how to fix that to that?) and getting it simpler and simpler so it will in theory get easier and easier. If only this will be the case, instead I know I'll be roosting in the Ramada Inn somewhere in Docklands for £60 per night while Scott destroys the place staring blankly over the landscape when the phone will ring and Scott will say something like 'You know that rail thing you've made into a conduit....that's not going to happen.'
What a curious business, but I will admit to enjoying the satisfaction of drawing skirting boards and so on in axonometric once again and contemplating the use of coloured pencils. I always hated drawing in ink, far too accurate, but I'm very drawn to a emotional fudge of the clutch pencil. 'Always draw wood with a pencil' the old moderns used to say; they were idealistic see.

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