All Things Bright And Beautiful Underpainting

Today painted the underpainting to 'All Things Bright And Beautiful'. Unusually, most of the underpainting is a grisaille, in grey, rather than tinting towards the final colours, although those areas where I wanted a stronger final colour were colourised:

I wanted something delicate, cyan-greys in the sky, flesh-greys for the monolith. There is a strong green imprimatura here too, which somewhat taints the underpainting, but it seems to look on track for the glazing.

I haven't painted in greys for some years. My second version of 'The Art Of Painting' (2008) was painted in grey in and yellow like this, that took me 6 8-hour days to paint, and this of a similar size (less complexity certainly) took 6 hours.

It was 24 to 26 degrees in my room as I painted, at the start of week forecast to break heat records. Hot and sunny days makes painting easier, but if it's too hot I can't open the windows, which is not good when working with solvents. It will probably be too hot then to paint tomorrow and for the rest of the week, which will be taken up with deliveries anyway, to Bunbury, collection from Nantwich Museum, and two performance days, on Wednesday and Thursday for the Good Vibrations and Ray Davies Tribute events.

Them And Us, Crushed Are The Weak, ATBAB Studies

Today, drew out a new large painting as planned 'Crushed Are The Weak', which (in my old ideas book) was titled 'The Weak Always Get Crushed'. I didn't noticed the cliffs until I'd draw it out, to me these were the White Cliffs of Dover, which has given the painting a refugee theme; certainly one about England. The colours here are difficult as the painting has few defined borders or real-world 'objects', it's something like a miasma of shapes, like a swirl of papers blowing in a storm. It reminds me of later Picasso or Basquiat. I'm reminded that when the mood is ugly, the painting, it's delicacy and coloration, should look as beautiful as possible.

I painted a second colour study for 'All Things Bright And Beautiful', which on the face of it looks very like the first version:

I needed to resolve the horizon. In the centre, light orange, but dark on the right, which looks better, more dramatic. The narrative actually changes as we look along the horizon. The red sun we see first, then look left to the sunset and dandelions, then right at the rusty swing of the end-of-leg. I was also unsure about the foreground floor, which was almost flesh-like in the first version, but looks better green; dark yellow here. The greyer flesh works better too. In my mind the colours are H. R. Giger's, cyan greys. I keep thinking that it might be better to underpaint in greys, something I haven't done in many years. This will have the decayed, romantic beauty of a moonlit graveyard.

The third study was the colour study for 'Them And Us'. This is all pinks, with yellow lights, and yellow and black for green darks.

How brilliant my paintings are at the moment. How brilliant my unappreciated genius. How short life is. I must make stoic plans to paint these. I had planned four in this group but may start on these three instead. The fourth, 'All The Broken Hearted' would be third in a sequence of heart-break paintings after 'Cracked Planet' and 'So, How Have You Been?'. This is a big project, a big series. Would it have commercial appeal? Artistic appeal, certainly. Appeal for fine art collectors, of course. I'd need somewhere to show it, something to do with it, and a triptych of large paintings can be severely limited in where I can submit them.

Pat Benatar Glazing, Beam Piper, and All Things Study

Last night, a nightmare. I was gifted two brass figures of monk-like jews in cloaks, one had a wavy beard as a father, one without as a son, I initially confused the two until I saw the beard. I put them on the mantelpiece then noticed a caterpillar, striped like a yellowjacket wasp, inject one with an ovipositor, ultimately to kill the figure with a parasite. I covered the insect with a sheet of paper to trap it. The insect changed into a wasp, then a beetle, growing, and becoming stronger as I tried to trap it by folding the edges of the paper. It tried to escape but I managed to trap it by rapidly folding and crimping the paper edges. It was a large beetle, still visible through the paper, still yellow and black striped. I showed it to someone present but it burst through the paper, now a huge hornet, 25 or 50cm long. I dropped the paper and tried to step on it. It transformed into a giant millipede, still growing, and managed to crush it though it was a 30cm long and very fat. It lay broken into skeletal parts. I said that I wouldn't be surprised if it came back to life.

I awoke to a day of painting in the 24 degree heat.

First, glazing 'Sisyphus Rolling A Coconut Dangerously Towards The Critical Mass Of Pat Benatar':

Work was slow but the results were very good. Then glazing another layer on the H Beam Piper painting. The storm part in particular needed some smoothing, and there was slight damage to the top right corner due to trying to glaze last time while the surface was semi-dry. Both things were easily done and to good effect.

I was reminded of several things. First, that Dali wrote something about the coefficients of viscosity never being the same twice when painting. So true. Some hair strokes of Pat Benatar were hard and laboured, some dreamlike and perfect. The same was true of the fine details of the storm near the black hole of H Beam Piper. I was then reminded of Dali's mention of Venetian Turpentine (a resin) for these upper layers. I've not tried this. Resins seem to offer a good solution to fat over lean while increasing fluidity. My next experiment will be using Laropal A81 dissolved in Spike Lavender Oil, but this process seems to take months. In a way, this itself is a good thing. Such a resin should be difficult to dissolve to be useful.

I was also reminded today of a quote by Jan Swafford, that the reality of life for most artists is art or death. A non-artist can't understand this, there is no third option. Artists must, by compulsion, make art all of the time, perhaps because they recognise the speed of life, that we'll die anyway; why work, retire, and die, when we can make a mark or cry at the void then die with greater satisfaction?

One last painting job was a colour study for 'All Things Bright And Beautiful', a strange painting which I like more and more. It's already powerful and strange. There are various challenges in tone and colour. There's a sun, which I'd normally paint light yellow, certainly bright, but here I felt it needed to be red. I was reminded, another reminder, that in a painting, reality is relative, that what is light, dark, cold, warm in reality is different in a painting. Contrast and balance are more important.

Art Photography Stands Complete, Ugly Ducklings Become Swans

I built a flatbed guide to align the towers yesterday, and set a 3mm piece of MDF in the centre to accommodate the uneven wood bottom, to make the L-plates the main support.

The towers were laid along the line and the L-plates glued to their sides in exactly the right place. Once the glue had set, after 10-mins, these were drilled and screwed firmly. Today, testing. The existing rivnuts on the bases generally fit, some better than others, but enough that I didn't have to make adjustments, all good. The towers are now very accurate in height and verticality. For towers 1175mm tall, they're so close that any tiny movements due to stepping nearby or touching them is bigger than the difference between them. Without a new room with a flat concrete floor, this is as good as I can get.

Then, setting up and testing the camera alignment. Cheeseplates were again fitted, first using one loose screw as a pivot, the camera set between them on the steel rods. The screw was gradually tightened as the alignment got better, then the tilt checked with a spirit level, and the screw moved to tilt the plate just fractionally. Eventually things were set correctly. The final calibration was on the main camera shoe, the step I'd neglected yesterday. After this, all was set. The cheeseplates were fixed down with hot-melt glue, and when it was set, screwed to lock them in the exact place. A final test of the resolution and alignment:

This gives a resolution of 331.845dpi, to the 1.25mm thick ruler. The resolution will be higher for thicker objects (paintings on 3mm or 6mm board, or 10 to 20mm deep for canvas). This is good. Not too high, as the image files would be too large. I'd aimed for 300dpi plus 10%.

The project has cost me £94.12 in new buys, £146.74 if I include the Smallrig parts (some I had previously bought), and more still if I include the many rivnuts and the few bolts needed. This is double what I'd anticipated, and it's taken 4.5 days, longer than hoped, but this should speed up and simplify my art photography, particularly for larger works. One reason I'd avoided painting larger is that it was hellishly difficult and stressful to photograph them. I'm amazed that the old flimsy tripods ever managed to take an accurate multi-part photo of my paintings. Perhaps they rarely did, it's just that such inaccuracy is tolerable for most people.

So, this improved rig is a necessary step forwards for my art. One of my tenets is that any short-term effort to improve things by 1% is worth it. Spending £100 or £500 to improve your art by 1% is worth it. Over time those 1% values will add up, pushing you beyond those artists who didn't invest in those 1% improvements. The tortoise betters the hare, ugly ducklings become swans drip by tiny drip.

Stands v2 and v3

A lot of engineering is doing things in the right order, but sometimes you don't know the right order until it's too late. Yesterday I took off the cheeseplates with the aim of resetting them in the correct place. A first levelling test this morning revealed than one tower was leaning 14mm to its right, this explains the 14mm skew I experienced when first testing.

I decided to ignore this, and simply shift it 14mm left when using it. The flatness and angle of the top will be set later, so the lean should not matter beyond this. I set it up, but the skew remained. Either the orientation was flat with a sideways drift as I slid forwards, or the orientation was at an angle with no drift. The drift was small, about 30mm, but annoying, there should be none! I fixed it in place, knowing that it's not a serious problem, though a painting that might just fit may slide out of the correct view.

Then I thought it might be the camera, not my stands, and sure enough the so-called 90-degree steel L-plate on the camera was not at 90-degrees. There are adjustment screws on the base and one was loose; the camera was twisted anti-clockwise, which explained everything. If I'd realised this before attaching the cheeseplates I could have fixed it and would have left things.

But the 14mm lean AND this skew problem were too annoying to ignore, and I knew I'd end up starting again from scratch as I've done with countless projects, countless paintings. If it's not right, I must fix or start again. I'm not a perfectionist but I have a low tolerance for imperfections. So, I began to effectively make stand v3.

This afternoon I scraped off the hot-melt glue from the cheeseplates and removed the L-plates from the towers. These were really strongly welded on by the superglue, unexpectedly so. The L-plates are caked in glue and wood fragments, I'd have to dunk them in a lot of paint remover to clean them. At £6 each, it's easier to buy more, so I'll do that. The towers are scarred but it's superficial not structural. I'll invert the towers, use the top as the bottom to restart the setting process.

One step is to make a guide, from 18mm MDF, with a 1M guide line and 90-degree flat base in the right place, to place and set the towers exactly vertically. This is now complete.

This two-day job will take a week, but this is part of an iterative design process. Build, expect errors and lessons, rebuild, etc.

Photography Stands Part 2

A busy couple of days working on the photography stands. My solution to fixing the cheeseplates to the towers was to use hot melt glue. This was a tad nightmarish, as hot melt glue tends to set instantly when touching the cold metal, but after 2 attempts on Tower A, and 3 on Tower B, scraping off in between, the two were fitted closely enough, certainly under 1mm height difference. Once initially stuck, I filled the little oval lakes with glue, then screwed them flat.

After that, fixing the L-brackets to the footplates, which was a matter of lining up the towers, which stood well by themselves. Everything was accurate, so I glued the L-plates to the sides with superglue first, and 10-mins later laid them down, drilled and screwed, so these were exactly in the correct place.

Here's the tower top, with 15mm tube holders.

I didn't consider at first that the footplates will need to be removable. There's no way I could store these huge things when assembled, and they're rarely needed, so a next step was drilling the footplates (by hand) and fitting M4 rivnuts so that I can bolt and un-bolt the towers to the bases. After drilling 4 per side, only about 2 each side were accurate enough - these have be be very accurate, much more than 1mm. 2 out of 4 is fine, but in retrospect I could have done this better. I managed to fix one fairly easily, by removing it, drilling the hole bigger, inserting the rivnut edged with thick superglue, then assembling the top. The glue takes a few mins to set, allowing me to bolt it together and allow it to set in the exact correct place.

Today, testing. It's already a lot easier than the tripods, but they are not quite perfectly lined up, which in retrospect should have been expected. Lining these up to be straight over the lengths of a metre-or-so would be nigh on impossible by hand. The solution is to permit calibration. This pair are always used in tandem. It seems that a twist of 14mm on the 600mm width will set them just about right (to about -/+1mm on the 840mm length). It doesn't actually matter that much anyway, the skew would mean a similar skew on the photographed paintings, but still, it would be nice to get things as good as I can manage.

My plan is to fit another accurately glued rivnut, M6 this time, on the front right edge of the footplate. This will fit a rounded-headed bolt to be screwed in or out to calibrate perfectly. Once done, it will probably never need touching.

Art Photography Stands Begin

Bought some wood today to make new stands for the rails for my art photography. I have a conundrum. I had 6 lengths cut, 95mm wide by 1147mm long, from 18mm deep MDF. These 6 pieces had to be cut from two pieces of MDF, so the 1147 length was about 1mm out for two of the lengths (numbers 2 and 5 in the picture; I chose these as the central plank). Each width isn't perfect but this is less important. The length needs to be as accurate as possible. I've glued them together to make 2 bunches of 3. Here is the end:

This, ideally, should be completely flat. I need to work out the best way to do this. If I had a band saw or table circular saw (or table anything) this would be easy, or much easier, but I haven't. I could use a router, but 72x95mm is a big edge, I have no router bits 72 or 95mm long (the depth in the view above is 95mm). I wondered about fitting a cutting drill to the router. I could sand it flat, but would ideally need a right-angle sanding table. My drum sander is best at removing wood but is hand-held, like all of my sanders. Alternatively, I could saw it by hand somehow. The jigsaw should be deep enough. A hand cut would probably be more accurate than the current edge, but not perfect, and it might be less accurate. The 1mm tolerance there now might be enough.

Alternatively I could cut it shorter and glue a flat piece accurately on top, using a gap filling plaster-type glue. I'd need to experiment again with glues. I've had some good results from wood glue and chalk to make a thick glue; but I'd have to do this separately for each of the two stands (the two groups of three) so that itself might make the results less accurate than they are now; it's most important that they are the same, the exact height isn't so important.

Stockport, Hedge and More, Hockney

Two busy days. Yesterday, a physically demanding day dropping off artwork to Stockport. I booked an Open Off-Peak Return train ticket for the 11:10 before realising that the gallery didn't open until 13:00, so we decided to take the 12:10; yet at 10:24 I thought that perhaps the taking the 11:10 was an essential ticket requirement and panicked that we wouldn't be allowed on the 12:10, so I dashed the mile to to railway station to at least collect the tickets before the trip. I had to pay £4 extra for real tickets rather than 'e-tickets' on the smartphone I don't have; another premium. I made it back for 11:10 after a near-run there and back, then had to rapidly eat, wash and pack before departing at 11:40 for the 12:10. We made it, and the trip went without a hitch.

After the drop-off we wandered around Stockport for a couple of hours. This became exhausting, I'd forgotten that the town was so mountainous. We explored a few shops in unexpected summer heat, then dashed for the 15:04 train (which, like the outgoing train, was late) and home, buying things to cook and eat on the way. After the meal, Deb re-potted some plants, and ultimately the hours flew.

Today started by a big job of an annual trim of the garden hedge, re-packaging new heavy-duty staples (which involved heat and solvent, they're so badly packaged), wrapping presents for my brother's birthday, repainting a porcelain statue which I'd accidentally broken. The glued parts have set well but there are two tiny fragments missing. Not yet any other work done.

I heard that David Hockey died. I guess that Francis Bacon, David Hockney, and Lucien Freud were three key artists of British mid-20th century art, in that order with Bacon the shining star. After that Gormley, Kapoor, and the YBA's but these are the next generation. I also discovered that our 11:10 train was over 45 minutes late anyway, so all the better to skip that.

Kafka Glazing Complete, Art Photography

Second day of Kafka glazing yesterday.

Today started with art photography of three new paintings: 'Song Of Innocence', 'Love And Fragility In The Age Of Perfection', and 'The Blood Of Winter'. Setting up lights and the camera track took over an hour, and photography, digital stitching and disassembly of the rig took until 13:00. Then framing 'Song Of Innocence' for the Stockport Open drop-off tomorrow. Thus the day has flown on these small but important tasks.

I modified the lights a bit today, repairing one light and naming each leg for each position, as some stick or don't work in some positions. The tripods are the most complex and awkward part of the photography set up, each has a swivel head and the pair need perfect parallel alignment at an exact height. There's no need for adjustment of the height, so a fixed wooden post would do the job far more easily, so my next job is to build this. While photographing today I experimented with height adjustments for 300dpi, and this can be improved. The resolution before was nearly 400dpi, making the photographs large to process, and requiring more segments than needed. I'll aim for 330dpi.

Glazing Kafka

First day of glazing the Kafka portrait.

John Deaconitis, All Things Bright And Beautiful Plans

Felt a little lost yesterday and over the weekend, darting from one thing to another in an unconstructive way. This was partly due to the circumstance of needing to visit Cotebrook on three consecutive days, that plus charging into developing 12 paintings at once, and aiming to write bits of my book - scattergun plans.

Last night I listened to my latest music purchase, Queen's The Miracle, an album which was (when it was released) our first CD purchase for our new and amazing CD player when I was 16 years old. Oddly, my memory of this event takes place in our old house in Culland Street, even though we left there in 1985 or so. Anyway, I've had Queen's albums up to The Game for years, but have recently decided to buy the rest as a reward for different milestones. I've bought the Deluxe Version, which comes in rubbishy cardboard packaging which went immediately into the bin; but the music is brilliant, especially the second CD. I didn't like the album much in the 1980s, but now I love it.

Last night I sang along, and have even jammed along on guitar, which is always great fun. At night though, I fell into a despair, and today too.

Today I think this is a new disease: John Deaconitis. I used to think that John, the so-called 'quiet member' of the band, somehow let the band down by leaving Brian and Roger to tirelessly (in every sense) perform and promote Queen since Freddie Mercury's death. Queen are uniquely a band with a fixed canon (we must discount the Queen and Paul Rodgers album); and Brian and Roger have promoted their legacy and performed their past works for longer, now, than the band itself was active.

John wrote 'I Want To Break Free', and I felt this was a not-so-hidden message. I suddenly felt that he was the most emotional member of the band, perhaps the most fragile. I thought of Anthony Phillips, the original guitarist from Genesis who couldn't cope with the pressure of being in a band and quit after one or two gigs. I, with Deaconitis, was hit again with the devastation of Freddie Mercury's death, and suddenly felt unable to continue in art. I thought of the desperate quest for financial security, which is an ever-present trap for art; nobody is secure, the engine of success is to charge forwards aflame. For an artist, art or death must be the only options, and only in death can an artist succeed.

In the morning I wrote a few more words to my oil painting book, then investigated plans for making some new stands for art photography, though these were distractions from my main plans of painting; these unwelcome distractions due to my searching brain. Then, at last, I felt cured and started to work on one of the new painting ideas. One way to limit being overwhelmed is to plan works in group of 4. Here's the original idea:

The painting is as much a mood as anything, perhaps a quest for love or recognition. I expanded this a little, using a dandelion as a visual theme. Now the figure in repose, perhaps like the woman in The Untouchable Strawberry, is a monolith and monument. I changed the title to 'All Things Bright And Beautiful'.

In my mind, it's a funerary monument, yet organic and beset with weeds, a monument to art. It's not so much personal as heroic and romantic. I'll complete the drawing transfer this evening. Tomorrow I aim to paint Kafka. Onwards we charge.

Deserted Party Dream, Cotebrook Collection

I dreamt of a party. It was night, downstairs in a house somewhat like this one. My parents were present, and I think Deborah. I was looking at a picture frame, examining the gold and dusted edge, a finish like the God Being Killed frame from Cotebrook. Derren Brown arrived and wanted to show us a trick. I went upstairs to drop off the frame, my mind focused on my art work. I came down to find the house dark and empty, I was alone. In distress I searched and cried for the others to no avail. I'd never felt so alone.

The dream woke me for many hours, hunger was perhaps a factor as I'd eaten perhaps 1000 calories yesterday due to strange food times. Slept accidentally until late and woke feeling exhausted, a feeling which persisted for most of the day.

I followed Mark Eaton on Instagram, an oil painter and excellent portrait artist whom I met at the Cotebrook opening. Wrote a few hundred words of my painting book, and prepared the frame for the Claire Luce portrait, which I must photograph before Friday. Then, the trip to Cotebrook to collect my paintings. I felt that my work stood out but my works had no response from public votes; this is normal.

Discounting speaking with my darling Deborah, I perhaps speak more words when singing on my albums than I speak to most humans in other ways in a typical year. I've had more social, more isolated times; and recent years have been the latter. I noted that we've had no Fall in Green performances or engagements so far in 2026.

This evening, working on a painting drawing. Only after the meal at 17:30 do I have any energy.

Onwards we roll our heavy rock. Nature's sun welcomes us, a new day of art beckons.

Art Choices, Cotebrook Drop

Spent much of yesterday checking competition dates and organising. I may enter the Stockport Open next week, and checked my RWA entries. I didn't enter the RWA last year, so I could enter those planned pieces this year (only on my first attempt in 2016 did I have a painting selected for the RWA; 10 years, I tried again in 2017, 2018, 2023, 2024).

Wrote about brushes in my How to Paint book in the afternoon, before the drop-off to Cotebrook Village Hall near Tarporley, of which the launch is later today.

Also scanned many painting ideas which I thought were good, that deserved to be painted. Idea after idea seem brilliant, deserving of being seen, being painted. Almost tearful at them and the huge lack of visibility for these. I sized the ideas and marked the paper. I needed criteria of which to paint. Many are distinctively mine, many have pathos - these are two key criteria; but what will be their destination? Most of my art over the years has simply say here, unseen or rarely seen. I enter competitions and exhibitions, and now have a gallery to sell works, but much of my work isn't commercial in the decorative sense. Some would suit museums, the Kafka portrait for the Kafka Museum, 'Self Inspection At Theresienstadt' for the Jewish Museum, or in Israel, with Fritta's. The Dadd painting should be in the Tate; yet most of my work would really need a Mark Sheeky Museum because it barely fits anywhere else.

I can charge into painting, I can paint faster than ever, and this year my plans are for larger paintings. This means that each painting takes longer, costs more in materials and resources, and takes up more storage space, but large works are more easily sold and more impressive in any event, so perhaps larger is better, except that it limits quantity of art because larger paintings take more time.

It's interesting that my work largely emulates Dali's in size; a huge variety from tiny to large, though I rarely paint over 1M (The Invisible Woman is 69x120, Revelation 120x74). Most competitions now limit size to under 1M, and these are hard to show or transport anywhere. The new gallery will be my first chance in years to show and sell these large works. Revelation, for example, is unframed and have only been shown for one day during our first Fall in Green performance, 14 Jul 2017

Benatar Layer, Song Of Innocence Glazing

Hopes to glaze the Pat Benatar painting today, but the eyes needed adjustment, so did with a secondary opaque layer, a post-underpainting.

Then added a second glaze layer (and the signature) to the simple portrait of beauty 'Song of Innocence'. I rarely add more than one glaze layer, but I felt that this painting, destined to be and be defined by its smoothness, would benefit from another glaze. No quicker was the brilliant glaze finished than it looked again unstarted. So it is with glazing. The painting looks rough, glazing makes it smooth, and at the end seems to look no better; an illusion, the smoothness and colour changes become homogenised in your eye's psyche. This is, so far, my most Mona Lisa of paintings. Prettier than any, smoother than any.

The Daisy and Kafka paintings (and now Benatar) are the only ones left to glaze, so new ideas are needed. But what? I have too many, each with different appeal, and crucially none appeal more than others. Prize-winning appeal is different from commercial sale appeal, and 'artistic' power, for for certain types of contemporary art prize, is often totally uncommercial, and may not win a prize either. Personal delight or personal solace in an idea is different too. Are we making a point, sending a message; or merely making something pretty, or interesting?

How To Paint Book, Banana Surprise Glazing, Love And Fragility Complete

Spent most of yesterday working on my 'How to Paint' book, which is already my biggest book in word-count and it doesn't feel so much as half written. There are many issues, chiefly the overall structure and adding more personality and verve over the dry technical points. It is ultimately a technical manual, but needs more than this, it needs to inspire more than inform. I realised, when writing, that this era of free and instant access to technically correct information makes personality and opinion much more important than mere fact. Perhaps this is why opinion is valued; it's the humanity among the dry data. The phenomenon of Populism is the worship of opinion over academic fact; perhaps this is why.

My painting has technically improved a lot this year, partly due to the analysis in this book. My own book has helped codify elements which were before esoteric.

Most of the today was too slow and too tired. I awoke after a long sleep of many dreams. It took hours to feel awake, and at 16:50, I still feel half dazed. Despite this I pushed on with painting and have glazed 'Beware Of The Banana Surprise', and then a glazing of the new ear and neckline of the male figure in 'Love And Fragility In The Age Of Perfection'. The neck and ear were, before this, poor in tone and finish but now almost stand out as the best part of the painting. If there is an error to correct the key steps are wait for everything to dry, then glaze with opaque underpainting colours, then re-glaze. This worked on The Starcrossed Escape too.

H Beam Piper Glazing 2, Art Filing, New Canvas Stretching Method

Second and final day of glazing the H Beam Piper portrait yesterday, but I'm unhappy with some aspects and will consider options. Much of the afternoon was spent re-organising my art catalogue, ensuring that I have an image filed correctly for as much as possible, and a shortcut image for everything that does have an image. A few artworks have no images, when I have the artwork and am able to add one, so I scanned and added a few of these. This is still the case for some artworks, mostly for sculptures and items I've filed as artworks, like my piano stand or router table, which aren't really artworks, but still need documenting, to learn from.

Backups today, and singing training. This afternoon, stretched a canvas with a new method.

These metal clamps grip the canvas lip at each opposite, then I pull the canvas taut with the Irwin bar clamp. The canvas is then held taut, so I staple each end. This is a very slow process, two opposite staples at a time, creeping from the canvas centre to the edge on alternating sides, but it's much better than the exhausting attempts at gripping this slippery canvas with pliers, and trying to staple with one hand while holding the tension with the other. This method also centres the tension correctly, as both sides are held taut before stapling.

One 24x34 inch canvas, the same size at the Mechanauts, has just taken me 90 minutes to stretch in this way, and it was still very tiring, as each clamp needed to be screwed (and released) very tightly, but the results are excellent, better than I've ever achieved before; and this method is more foolproof, a procedure that doesn't require trained skills or strength. With everything I do I think, how can I do it better? Only by asking this can things actually become better.

I have another canvas to stretch, but I'm out of 10mm staples, so must wait.