Bathtime

A week passed already? 

Here's my Sinful Sunday painting. 

Bathtime

See who else is having a lovely Sinful Sunday - just click on those lips x x

The Spectre

*UPDATE* 
A few days after posting this Blogger reviewed their review of their policy on adult blogs and decided NOT to make any changes! But still, the Spectre looms so this post remains.

All my life I have known about the concept of freedom of speech, freedom of expression. As a child, circumstances challenged this and so I held a lot of that expression inside. I grew and the self-censorship remained.

Over the past few years, I've let bits of myself slip out into the public arena via this little space on the internet, my blog.

But the circumstances are closing in. Old feelings of 'keep quiet' 'shhh' - 'that's bad' are creeping in.

I'm a dramatic artsy type - but I'm also extremely tight about what I express and how I express it. I feel the responsibilities of my rights very keenly. I always put a content warning up and you can't even 'like' my Facebook page unless you're 18. 

The reason for this today is that my art (see my drawings page) may be deemed unsuitable for this blog platform. May fall under this change of my blog host's policy - 'we'll no longer allow blogs that contain sexually explicit or graphic nude images or video. We'll still allow nudity presented in artistic, educational, documentary or scientific contexts, or where there are other substantial benefits to the public from not taking action on the content.'

I hope my drawings would be seen as artistic - but I can't deny they are intended to be erotic - so does that mean they are graphic and therefore unacceptable? Who decides?

I've always felt constricted. So this is not a new feeling to me. I know what I have to do - I have to either take down my drawings or make a whole new blog elsewhere and redirect everyone there.

It's just tiring and sad.

I try my best to express myself with honesty, respect for others, and with a joie de vivre that I feel in the pit of my soul. I endeavour to be as eloquent as I can when it comes to my prose - I hope I convey a depth to my writing and art that is considered and true. But it's not me that gets to decide that. It's a subjective thing. And I know when you let something out on an audience, it is no longer yours, it is changed and defined by other's experience of it - which is one of the most delightful and privileged things about it all.

I don't sell many books - in fact I probably give away more than I sell. But still, I feel the urge to write, so it's not for the money. I don't make money from my art either, unless people commission a portrait, but it wouldn't pay the bills. I do it because I need to be creative, if I don't make or express something everyday, a little bit of me fragments. Perhaps I should just keep it to myself. But the joy of collaborating, viewing, sharing, being part of other people's creativity keeps me posting. Keeps me buoyant.

Anyway - this has turned into a wee bitty of a rant. Maybe my drama's for nothing and my pictures will be fine - but that's not the point.

There's a spectre looming.

The Experiment

*Update* F.Leonora chose this image as one of her five in the Sinful Sunday weekly round up!

Here's my Sinful Sunday

Click on the lips to see who else is being sinful...

The first...

I'm a little late to the party, but here's a Sinful Sunday :D

Ok so here is a work in progress and those of you know my drawings will immediately see something unusual about this picture - yes, it's my first gentleman subject.

I'm not sure it's finished yet...

The first male

Click on the lips for more Sinful Sundayers

Journey of a Portrait

Hello, hello

Well, I've been holding back on this post for quite some time as it is a little bit special for me. About 6 weeks ago the incredibly eloquent and beautiful Malin James commissioned a portrait. I would usually tweet my progress with my drawings, but there is something about a portrait that is fragile, secret and raw. I didn't want to share it with anyone but Malin just in case she didn't like what I'd done. But happily, she likes it so I can show it off now.

With all my work, it takes me a long time thinking about it before I even put a line on the page. This was no exception as I had to make sure I was happy with the contrast and composition so the first picture really ought to be a blank canvass... I'll spare you that one, just imagine it. :D

Initial tentative sketch

Blocking in the shadows

Adding the drama

Almost there

Ta-dah

So there you have it - the journey of my portrait of Malin James.

You should definitely pay her an online visit.

Check out my other portraits and drawings on my drawings page :D

x x x

Musing

Hello there,

I've been wanting to write this blog - or record this incident for a while now but I rarely post things that involve real activities with real people. That's probably why it's taken me so long.

As some of you know, I love to paint and draw (if you didn't know, you can look at my art stuff here). I love everything involved with the preparation of a painting: choosing the paper, the thought process about composition/ subject/ medium - I love it all. It can be so ritualistic but also so freeing. There's definitely a zone you exist in while you are creating something and it's incredibly exciting and surreal. You all know the feeling I'm talking about.

But what about the muse? 

I posed the question to my friends recently - what would you rather be? The artist or the muse?

The answer was a unanimous The Artist! 

See, this is where I differ. I would choose to be the muse. Every time. I think it is because I know what goes in to the painting that I would love to be studied, looked at, committed to canvass - in that totally analytical way which almost actually removes the model from the painting. Does that make sense at all? That as the artist, you delve deep into the abstract of light and shade - contrast of tones, that while you are in it, there is nothing but those things. I adore that. I love that a series of dots, splashes, lines, independently mean nothing, but put them together and wham - there's a portrait. To inspire a painting - how wonderful! But I have never been a muse for an artist ever. 

I have written quite a few stories exploring the artist/ muse relationship - the intensity of it or equally, the clinical removal of emotion. The analytical eye capturing only light and shade - or the passion driven slashes of paint, trying desperately to convey a feeling or message to the muse. You are adored! I worship you! You're fucking everything to me and I want to immortalise you! Think, Basil Hallward and Dorian Gray for example - what a relationship.

So to the story of my quest to become a muse.

I love art with an erotic edge so when Jack Vettriano held his retrospective at Kelvingrove gallery earlier this year, I had to go. There is one painting in particular that frankly, gets me hawt. It's this one.

Oh man. 

So I put on my best silk blouse, pearls, French seamers and sky high heels and made it my mission to meet the man and become a muse. I knew from looking at his other work that I have the colouring and style that his models possess however, I'm quite tall, over 1.83m (6') in those heels - I know he prefers the petite lady. Not to be deterred, I went along to his lecture one cold frosty night and stood in line to have him sign my newly acquired book - It's a Man's World.

When I passed him the book to sign, open at the very painting I love, he stated, eyes down:

"This painting is pure filth, you know."

My heart fluttered.

"Yes, I do know. But I peddle in filth myself and that's why I love it."

"Oh?" he glanced up. 

"Why yes, I write erotica."

Then he looked me up and down with those artist's eyes, assessing, analysing, looking for that thing...

"Hmm, do you have a card?"

"Why of course." How handy, it was clutched in my kid gloves and I passed it over. He twisted up his hip and popped it in his jeans pocket. I demurely walked off, trying not to trip over.

So then I came home and waited.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

I must not have that 'thing'.

So I'm back to being on the other side of the canvass - staring at muses feeling the thrill of the brushes and ink - but I still haven't felt the thrill of the muse.

Oh to be someone's muse! 

Here's a snippet of my story from South Bank Seduction inspired by the strange artist/ muse relationship. (It's a teensy bit saucy of course, so if you are of a delicate disposition, don't read further.)

The Conference

I delicately put my hand to my curls and pat, tipping my head to the side to avoid any lifting of the arm. Seems ok. Though I can smell my own scent wafting from me. It is pure female arousal. I catch a few male cagouled tourists taking a second glance at me as they pass by. Powerful stuff, pheromones.

Perhaps I really ought to visit the ladies. I stare around for a sign to show me the way and there he is. Darting quickly behind a pillar. He's been watching me all along. The sneak!

I smile. Does he know I know? I pretend I don't and stoop to fix my stockings. Fingers slipping up and under the hemline of my pencil skirt. That will drive him wild. I know it. If only I could give them a good yank and sort out these ankle wrinkles.

Suddenly a hand is at my lower back. Hot and heavy. Power and energy slump from my body as I surrender to him in that one motion.

He's here. I'm here.

I'm still bent at the waist and he lifts me by the shoulder, the hand at my back casually smoothes over my buttocks and presses firmly at the dip beneath. I melt. I liquefy. The ache in my groin which has plagued me since I boarded the train in Scotland is now a torrent of heat and desire.

We are the eye of the storm. The stillness in this vast crowded space.

"Come," he says and grabs my hand, almost dragging me behind him as I shimmy in my too high heels and too tight skirt and too nylon stockings. It is highly erotic. I can almost visualise us in black and white with perilous piano music playing along. A damsel being taken by a gentleman in a shabby three-piece suit and three-day beard. God, I am wet. My panties are soaked. I feel wanton and excited. Will we go to his usual studio or does he have something else lined up?

In the taxi he blindfolds me and touches my lips with something cold and sticky. The feathery slippery touch is tickly and strange. Almost like he is painting them with a sable tipped brush. I keep still and silent.

When he's guided me up some stairs and the blindfold is removed, we are in familiar territory. I am glad. I love his paintings. Louche figures in various stages of undress and eroticism stare at us from all angles. They remind me of the 1920s, somehow carefree and decadent with a sizzling dangerous undertone.

"Stand here," he commands sweeping his hand in the direction of a wooden pillar. He has removed his jacket but the waistcoat remains and he has rolled up his shirt sleeves. I do as he bids and face the easel which is set up just in front of it. "Take off your top half."

His voice is gruff and sticky in that way that tells of a life lived on good whiskey and cigarettes. Or is he a brandy drinker? The faint lingering scent of debauchery on his breath and skin, even after bathing, I imagine, gives me a thrill. He gives me a thrill. The fuck you attitude of a man who will not be told what he can and cannot do. I like it. My pussy quivers as he licks his lips and sighs in a contemplative way while he studies me removing my blouse. Happy to be rid of the damp item, I reach up behind my back to unhook my bra but he holds out his palm.

"No. Leave it." He stares at me, my form, with an analytical eye. There is no emotion in a human to human sense but he is so concentrated in an artist to subject sense that I am overwhelmed with need. But what do I need? What is it that brings me to him? He has never touched me yet. Not once. And I have never even caught a glimpse of even a sketch. When we are done, he simply sends me on my way, burning...

What do you think - artist? or Muse?

Thanks for getting this far - that was quite a long post for me :D

x x x

Here's that sexy painting again... (borrowed from Pinterest)

Journey of a Painting

Well hello y'all

I'm not felt like writing much recently I'm afraid so I have no little gems of anything wordy to share but I was commissioned to do a painting for the lovely author, Ms Samantha Darling. It took longer than I should have in coming up with the actual idea but once I got going I think it went pretty well.

I thought I'd share the steps...

1 - Think up the image you want to depict. This can take the longest time and usually results in several failed attempts. If you can't quite work from imagination use a model or a photo of your model. I like to work with dramatic lighting so that every shadow and highlight is emphasised.

2 - Rough sketch.

3 -Define the outline with pen.

4 - Gently paint in the shadows with diluted ink.

5 - Add further definition with the shadows.

6 - Think you're finished? Leave for a day then check for strangeness.

7 - Final touch ups then unveil :D

8 - Package up and send away.

Hope you like it Ms D!

See more on my drawings page. Thanks x x x

The Muse Has Shifted!

Hello lovelies,

Less words this time, more pictures. You might remember I drew a piccy for my lovely friend Lily Harlem. Well, it turns out, it has created a bit of drawing/painting avalanche. So much so that I am giving them their own page :D It's labelled drawings.

I am now officially a writer and a drawer. :D

Here are a couple of examples - I do love painting ladies ;)

Some have been commissioned and some are freefalling.

Lounging

Spent

If you want see more - go to my brand spanking new drawings page...