Capturing the world with Photography, Painting and Drawing

Archive for April, 2020

The waves below the Metal Men , Tramore, County Waterford

Waves below the Metal Men
Tramore
county Waterford
January 2020

I am so desperate to go for an evening walk along Tramore beach again I could pop !!
for the moment this image taken before the lock down will have to do !!
I can still here the wave and the gulls above !
For me this is essential travel !!!!

Anyway one day soon and when it does happen it will feel like heaven !!!!


New Charcoal drawing : There are places I remember all my life ……..

There are places I remember
Charcoal drawing
Nigel Borrington
2020

In My Life
Song by The Beatles

There are places I’ll remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone, and some remain
All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends, I still can recall
Some are dead, and some are living
In my life, I’ve loved them all
But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life, I’ll love you more
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I’ll love you more
In my life I’ll love you more


Tate Gallery online .

While art galleries like the Tate are closed at the Moment, they still have a great collection of art work online along with how to videos.

So if you want to have a go at learning some ART go check out some TATE How to videos 🙂


Digital art work with a poem ( This Landscape Before Me By Sarah Holland-Batt)

The Landscape before me
A digital drawing
Using Krita and a Wacom Tablet
Nigel Borrington 2020

This Landscape Before Me
By : Sarah Holland-Batt

First the factory stood, quiet as an asylum.
Then the annihilating mallee with its red fists of blossoms
and the mountain ash creeping over it like a stain.

I have no proof, but I tell you
there were leadlight windows here once, barred.
They cast a little striped light on the women.

Now in scrub and yellow broom I stand on a history
braided and unbraided by stiff Irish wrists.
The rope and span and carded wool are unpicked
as are their faces and names.

Londonderry, Cork, Galway, Kildare—
as I say the words they are sucked away
to a hemisphere in darkness.

I will not presume to say
what suffering is or how it was meted out in this place.
At what point it breaks a body I cannot tell.

But this morning I saw a young rabbit
hunched in brush and shadow.
I saw its lesioned face, its legs too thin to scramble,
the blood-berry red and pink scab of its eye.

It had caught the disease
we brought here for it
and wanted a quiet place to die.

And it was lucky, or as lucky as it would get—
there was time and light, the hawks and dogs
had not been written yet, and were still out of sigh