Profile avatar
clivejt.bsky.social
Born in Scarborough UK INTJ - with emphasis on the I. Draws pen and pencil sketches, see bio. Likes symbolist paintings and analog b/w photographs. Probably in a café right now, just watching the world.
40 posts 68 followers 134 following
Regular Contributor
Conversation Starter

Here's my first (and probably last) attempt at collage. Made from old greeting cards cut to resemble a face.

Here's my drawing of dawn breaking over Stockholm in the early hours of a June morning, and setting the sky ablaze. #Stockholm

So here's my drawing of a rain shower on the North Yorks Moors, with the heather in bloom. #NorthYorkshireMoors

Just a few trees posing nicely - high along the A57 Snake Pass between Sheffield and Glossop. Photo by me, 1968.

On a walkway between platforms, somewhere on the London Underground. 1966/67.

This looks like my idea of a prison yard, but it isn't. It's the view from a window at the back of the National Portrait Gallery in London. Taken by me, 1966/67. #NPG

It's a lovely summer's day here in northern England, so here's my drawing of Bempton cliffs on the Yorkshire coast.

Unusual for me, but I was awake until 5am this morning. I couldn't stop watching the slow motion destruction of the Conservative party.

I hope I live long enough to see aliens queueing at supermarket checkouts on Saturdays like everyone else does. And PS, I hope they're not offended when they discover that Mars Bars are made from chocolate here on earth. #Aliens

This 1963 cover for Wuthering Heights, drawn by Paul Hogarth, is just fantastic. I never tire of looking at it. Catherine and Heathcliff together on a raw Pennine day. It's all there. #BookCovers

I used to despair at having to listen to Sing Something Simple. The musical equivalent of being force fed blancmange for an hour.

Maybe Sheffield is running a capaign to attract artistic Goths to the city.

Prime Minister, how could I have missed it. When did pouring raw sewage into the country's rivers become the will of the people? #RawSewage

It's a Monday, so here's my drawing of a daisy in a mug.

In the ruins of Coventry Cathedral, where rain has washed years of grime from a statue and created a sort of stone skeleton. Shot by me, late 1960s.

This is a pic of mine that I like. It's Roche Rock Abbey, near St Austell, Cornwall - on a misty day in 1969.

Apologies for these shaky hand, through a window photos, but I've never before seen foxes in my garden.

This is my shot of Top Withens, but courtesy of Emily Bronte, better known as Wuthering Heights. On the Pennines west of Howarth, Yorkshire. 1968.

Best novels I've read this year: Little Fires Everywhere, by Celeste Ng. Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Ishiguro. Stoner, by John Williams. Best non fiction: Motherwell, by Deborah Orr. In the Garden of Beasts, by Erik Larson. On Chapel Sands, by Laura Cumming.

Christmas Day morning looks a wonderful time for Carl Larsson's children.

Sheltering from the wind while fishing at Hampton Court Palace, southwest London. 1967

Fishing in the Thames at Richmond, 1967.

Symbolist art enjoyed an upsurge in Finland in the decades around 1900, and Hugo Simberg painted his 'Wounded Angel' in 1903. And as with all great art, there are so many unanswered questions in it. The Wounded Angel was voted Finland's 'national painting' in a public vote in 2006.

Winter on the Pennines north of Sheffield. A snowstorm moving in over Wortley. B/w, late 1980s. And snow on the fields around Oxspring, near Sheffield. 1980s.

Here's Scarborough's North Bay in the winter of 1970. And someone with a long walk ahead of them.

I've just listened to Adrian Edmondson on Desert Island Disks and he made me cry.

This painting is Western Motel by Edward Hopper. Many of Hopper's paintings feature just one person and a sense of solitude. But Western Motel, I think, also has an uncomfortable tension. Has she just arrived or is she leaving? Is the car hers? Who is she looking at?

I wanted to start my bluesky posts with a scream, not one you can hear but one you can see. So this painting, called Worn Out, is by Danish artist Hans Brendekilde. The woman's life has just collapsed along with her husband (?) and she screams a primeval scream across the featureless land.