Biographic. On the beach. Bembridge 1955.

This was our holiday home. A huge umbrella with a tear in the side which we kids used as a secret entrance. My dad would have taken the photograph. His mum is inside; the confused little woman holding a biscuit box which probably contains the Jaffa Cakes and Ginger Nuts that would sustain our afternoons in the baking dunes and warm beach lakes of Bembridge on the Isle of Wight. She's next to Julie, our cousin, along for the ride; she'll remember this. We met up last year and she remembers everything. 

This is all from a tiny scratched black and white print that I scanned and examined minutely to see if it held any secrets. It was a thrill to discover the Oxo tin that held the sandwiches (Sandwich Spread, naturally) and my brother's plastic boat by Mum's left foot. Sister Sharman is next to Mum; I'm posing in the middle, overjoyed at the prospect of more of that endless day to come in this glorious place; in this perfect home from home.

The floor was a sea of rugs and towels. It was our quiet room if we got too hot or tired. I don't think we went to Bembridge too often, but when we did it was always sunny and the water was bathtub hot. I think Duke (late sister Sue) wasn't around till the year after. She would have been bundled into the Hillman Minx, seen heating up on the road behind, along with the rest of us. 

We were beaten by a cyclist going up Brading Down that year. Both Mum and Dad laughed in disbelief. It must have been a really slow old car even then, or cyclists much harder, but back then we didn't care; we really did have all the time in the world.

Dorset: A new image

A SCORCHING DORSET BEACH. REFLECTION OPTIONAL!

I'd love to do a seaside poster. I love the sea and I love posters of the sea.

Oh no. Just been to the Dorset tourist Board website. Nobody conspicuous by name or phone number. Just one of those application fields that give you access to  an office I suppose. When I fill in that little box with my hopeful message saying something along the lines of, "My name's Johnny Bull, I make spectacular images of locations and events, celebrating the people in all their ..etc"  I can  then add a link to this striking image, which although modern and created and executed in the digital way, has a sort of echo of the posters of another time, when you could go from London all the way to Weymouth, or Corfe Castle by train. Makes you want to weep.

I made a similarly striking image of the Dorset Steam Fair, which I fed into a similar, depressing little aperture in one of their sponsor's websites. That was five years ago, and I never heard a dickie bird... When I saw what they were using to grab the attention of the steam brigade, I didn't bother to chase them. But with the Dorset Tourist Board, things could be different. I'll keep you posted.

Estrella. A study in evil

Sketches of Spain #4
Giclée print

Image Size: 228mm x 183mm

Paper Size: 328 x 293mm

£82.61 Signed edition of 99

Estrella, the cat that put the talon in Catalonia (after Cat) is enjoying another one of his day-long siestas, in the baking sun on the balcony of this little house in Masquefa, where I'm house-sitting for friends.

Oh yes, he looks comfy enough, catching a few rays while he's pretending to sleep. He's thinking of course of his food; the dark gelatinous reeking sludge that comes from one of the 50 or so tins stacked up in the kitchen. He's also thinking that if I make the slightest move, he'll be up screeching and hissing in a fairly convincing display of a cat who's had a comprehensive grounding in jugular veins.

We're together on the balcony; I think I might make a move for the station, when I've done this little drawing; done his sweet little baked bean feet and his shiny fur. What I'm thinking is, I'll lull him into a false sense of security and then run out of the house the back way. But then I drop the tiniest of brushes; a miniscule job that I used for the whiskers. And he's nastily wide awake. So now I have to paint the chair, until he's asleep; the comfy chair he uses while I get cramp on this hard kitchen stool. It's a shame, Barcelona would be so nice today.

Spanish sketchbook: Giclée print

Sketches of Spain #2

Giclee print

Image Size: 297mm x 215mm
Paper Size: 397mm x 325mm

£105 Signed edition of 99

I was housesitting in Masquefa, a 40 minute train ride northwest  from Barcelona in Catalonia. My mates Paul and Helen Critchley normally did it; they lived in Barcelona but were travelling that year. The tasks weren't especially onerous: feed the cat; feed the fish; but not the fish to the cat and water the plants indoors and out. Most days after getting the croissants for breakfast and having a coffee and holiday fag, if I didn't get the train into Barca I'd sit on the verandah and fill up sketchbooks with small gouaches like this.

One thing I learned was that the sun moves quite fast, and almost every still life I attempted failed, because the shadows changed position constantly. A graphic demonstration of time flying when you're enjoying yourself. I also painted the laziest, hungriest cat in the world, Estrella. It got to the point where he'd meet me at the station and shout at me in Cat Catalan that if I didn't get my sorry ass up to the kitchen and empty a whole tin of cat food (his owners recommended only a half) into his bowl immediately then surely I would die.

I think he doubled in size whilst I was there but what could I do?