I produce a lot of monochromatic (sometimes two-hued) artwork, such as in the top three recent entries in various sketchbooks. Mostly, I think this is just aesthetic preference, with a side order of apprehension over colour-coordination.
I have always had an unusual relationship with colour, mostly because what makes sense to others doesn’t necessarily make sense to me. For me, certain colours can have a sound and vice versa. Mostly colours and sounds are associated with sensations in certain parts of my body or often tastes. These perceptions aren’t present all the time and they aren’t usually intrusive. Most of the time I just go with living in a noisy rainbow world. Except when my tinnitus is switched on to high: it turns out even the sounds my brain produces, can have taste too. In my case, tinnitus tastes like a dirty silver coin under my tongue.
I have early-onset hearing loss which causes tinnitus in my left ear and means I need to wear hearing aides in both ears. The hearing aides mostly alleviate the silver coin under my tongue, but they haven’t cured my awkwardness with colour. Hence, most of what I produce in my sketchbooks remains monochromatic. Monotones are quieter, easier to navigate. Ultimately, though, I really do love the way it looks, the delicacy of tonal changes, the way they can communicate form, as well as the level of detail I can achieve without too much effort.
Even when I attempt to reproduce the colour of the fruit of yew tree (below), next to the blue-green leaves, I feel I’ve done a woefully inadequate job, so I retreat very quickly back to the safe zone of monotones, which is fine. It’s allowed. It’s only a visual journal, after all.
Visual journals aren’t meant to be laborious endeavours, requiring us to perspire over the slightest detail or hue – unless it’s what makes your heart sing, of course.
“Did you know there are over 300 worlds for love in canine?”
I heard someone say many years ago that dogs are the best thing about humanity. That expression has stayed with me for a long time and every dog I meet proves it tenfold. No other animal is as forgiving, as loyal or as forbearing as a pooch. And yet the origins of the dog/human relationship is as mysterious as it is ancient.
The domestication of dogs by humans (or humans by dogs?) predates the domestication of any other species of animal. The details of exactly when, where and how are complex and still open to discussion. The oldest unequivocally Canis lupus familiaris fossil is about 14,700 years old, but the beginning of the story must have happened much earlier. Studies of Ancient DNA in 2015 suggested dogs split from their ancestors between 27,000 to 40,000 years ago. In 2016, another study of ancient dog genomes suggested dogs were independently domesticated in Asia and Europe at different times. Yet another study in 2017 suggested a single origin in Europe, from grey wolves, possibly as much as 40,000 years ago. An even more recent study (2020) of ancient dog DNA determined domestic dogs diverged from a now-extinct species of wolf, and not the grey wolf as suggested by other researchers. The debate continues.
Suffice it to say, dogs have accompanied humans for many thousands of years and have been and continue to be instrumental in the development of humanity.
And now please enjoy some pics of my fur babies. Lolly, the sweetest girl is on the left, and Sweetums, the most loveable monster, is on the right.
It seems almost as soon as the ice sheets cleared after the last ice age, there were people in Finland. Perhaps they followed the migrating herds, hunting, fishing and gathering as they moved in to new areas that had once been inaccessible. Those earliest people left behind some exquisite objects.
In my wanderings through the archeological pages of the internet I came across the Elk’s Head of Huittinen and was immediately enchanted, so I drew it in my sketchbook. A few hours and many pages of Finnish history later, I ended up with a snapshot in to the earliest days of the peopling of Finland. I read a lot more than I could fit on one page, so, as always, it in no way does justice to the rich and expressive cultural, linguistic and genetic history of Finland and her people’s.
After a brief hiatus I’m back to working in my sketchbooks and art journals. It has been a strangely mild summer for south-east Queensland. Until the last few days. There isn’t much to do but find a cool place to read, research and render. My goal for this year is to finish a couple of sketchbooks I have going, especially the archaeology journal. The latest entry is dedicated to the Natufian culture.
The Natufian culture is a prehistoric culture which lived in the Levant from around 15,000 and 11,500 years ago and whose appearance heralds significant cultural, economic and technological changes. They are among the earliest (if not, the earliest) semi-sedentary and sedentary hunter-gatherers. The Natufian’s lived in semi-permanent villages across the region; they hunted wild game, and more importantly, gathered and processed wild grain. It is unknown if they invented farming practices or inspired later groups to development them.
This is going to sound more like a plug for New Zealand than an introduction to New Zealand archaeology, but here goes anyway . . .
Between the ages of four to almost sixteen years old I lived in Christchurch, New Zealand. One of my favourite places to go was the Canterbury museum, a beautiful building that seemed enormous to me at the time, which stands right beside Christchurch’s wondrous botanical gardens. Though not as substantial as some of the more famous museums round the world, it was good-sized museum for such a small city, with a diverse and well-displayed collection (at least to my young mind). I was most fascinated with the extinct flora and fauna of New Zealand, and especially quite enamoured with the cultural remains of her earliest settlers.
During the 1980s, as part of Māori recovery programmes, Māori language (known as te reo “the language”), music and art were beginning to be taught in school, at least it was at the primary school I went to. All children were given the opportunity to participate in the Māori choir (which I did and loved), take art lessons and learn te reo, albeit an elementary study of the language. Whenever we went on a school excursion or camp we were treated to traditional Māori folktales, which added a great deal to the history of the place. I can still remember a friend of mine telling me a story about the local dragon or tanewha (pronounced tanifa) during one school camp, whose ground we stood on. Such things have always left deep impressions on me. There’s a reason specific places and spaces are imbued with deeper meaning, why we talk of the essence or spirit of a place and why some spaces are described as sacred. All of New Zealand felt that way to me and the art and folklore of her first people only adds to the sense it is other-worldly.
Te reo has declined over the years, but efforts have been renewed to revive it. Māori is one of New Zealand’s three official languages – the other two being English and New Zealand Sign Language. In contrast, Australia has no official language. English is the language of the majority, with over 300 distinct languages spoken in Australian homes (information from the The Australian Bureau of Statistics 2016 Census data).
New Zealand is a geographically beautiful country with deeply rooted Maori heritage and cultural influences from around the world.
The island of New Guinea is a biologically and culturally diverse landscape. With over 1000 languages spoken across the island and 60,000 years worth of occupation, it is difficult to do justice to its superb history with just one page in a sketchbook. New Guinea remains largely inaccessible and unexplored by scientists. In this ever-changing world I would love for it to remain largely a secret place, for the sake of its wildlife and its people, sadly there are many people who wish to cash in on the resources of the island.
In posting this I offer my deepest respect and wishes for peace and prosperity to all the peoples across New Guinea.
Rapa Nui, or Easter Island, a volcanic island in the South Pacific Ocean, is one of the most isolated inhabited places on the planet. The nearest inhabited island is over 2,000 kilometres (1242 miles) away. To its inhabitants it is Te Pito te Henua, “the navel of the world”. Estimates of when the island was first inhabited vary widely; most estimates fall within the range of 300-800 CE*. Some recent estimates place the date of initial colonisation closer to 1200 CE. Whatever the date, the voyage to such a remote island is undoubtedly one of the greatest ever undertaken by a group of humans.
The Rapa Nui, now a population of under 8,000 people, face significant environmental and health challenges, and pressures from tourists who number around 100,000 each year. In recent years, poor behaviour from tourists has led authorities to limit the number of tourists allowed to visit the island, as well as reducing the length of stay for non-inhabitants. The protection of the island’s sensitive environment, communities and the Moai – the statues which made the island is famous – is a high priority for the people of Rapa Nui, for they for inhabit a living landscape.
With respect, I acknowledge and celebrate the Rapa Nui.
Human habitation in the archipelago of Malta goes back almost 7,000 years. The island has seen populations flourish and collapse repeatedly. It has been occupied, conquered and reconquered intermittently by Neolithic fisher/farmers and temple builders, Bronze Age people, Phoenicians, Romans, Byzantines, Muslims Normans, Sicilians, the French and British. Despite its erratic and often troubled past, Malta is a nation rich with archaeology and heritage.
Malta achieved independence in 1964 and became the Republic of Malta in 1974. It’s been on my bucket list for decades. For now I have to be content to live vicariously in my art journal.
For a detailed look at Malta’s history and prehistory Wikipedia has a good has a good article titled The History of Malta.
Everyone knows about Stonehenge, but less well known is Avebury henge, the largest stone circle in the world. A larger prehistoric circular monument, called Marden Henge, located between Avebury and Stonehenge contains no stones, but has massive earthworks. It is much bigger than Stonehenge and Avebury, and is the largest henge in the British Isles. The Stonehenge and Avebury monuments are part of the same UNESCO World Heritage landscape in Wessex, UK, however Marden Henge sits outside the zone¹.
Monuments in the Wessex landscape date back to at least 5,000 years ago. For good reason, they attract a lot of academic and public attention. They are splendid, there can be little doubt of that, but they are also proof of sophisticated cultural and social systems in Neolithic and Bronze Age Britain. They give some insight in to ceremonial practices, as well human relationships with astronomical features of the sky. They provide key insights in to how ancient groups of people interacted with their landscape and changed it, and they are architecturally and technologically impressive works which would have required a great deal of raw ingenuity as well as resources.
Today we have a lot of evidence and a lot more conjecture as to the original purpose of the monuments. Some of the sites are so conspicuous in the landscape, and so awe-inspiring to behold, even after thousands of years, it is impossible to ignore their importance to prehistoric people. Their construction, use, maintenance, and eventually even their disuse, were all deliberate acts that required significant resources and effort. What a sight to behold the landscape must have been to ancient pilgrims.
The mystery of Stonehenge, Avebury and their associated sites endure, and that makes me happy.