I sneaked out of the house at dawn to go sketching on Guildford High Street. After chatting to a lady who was a book illustrator and a road sweeper who carried a laminated drawing of the Guildhall in his cart, a third person took the opportunity to critique my work. The gentleman, who was smartly dressed and reeked of beer had clearly been out all night. He carried a few cans in plastic bag which caught the uncontrollable dribbles from the end of his nose. ‘That clock don’t even look like that, mate.’ I responded politely by saying that it wasn’t meant to be a photograph and anyway, I was a beginner in this particular discipline. ‘Fark awf Pinocchio, your nose is growing mate.’ I guess he didn’t believe me. I bid him good day and resumed my scribblings.
Things to do in Singapore (and occasionally beyond) during and after meals. Incorporating content from www.livinginoman.com
BEEN THERE, DONE THAT, CAN'T REMEMBER ANY OF IT....
Sunday, 22 December 2013
UK: Drunken art critics
I sneaked out of the house at dawn to go sketching on Guildford High Street. After chatting to a lady who was a book illustrator and a road sweeper who carried a laminated drawing of the Guildhall in his cart, a third person took the opportunity to critique my work. The gentleman, who was smartly dressed and reeked of beer had clearly been out all night. He carried a few cans in plastic bag which caught the uncontrollable dribbles from the end of his nose. ‘That clock don’t even look like that, mate.’ I responded politely by saying that it wasn’t meant to be a photograph and anyway, I was a beginner in this particular discipline. ‘Fark awf Pinocchio, your nose is growing mate.’ I guess he didn’t believe me. I bid him good day and resumed my scribblings.
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