Day 1: It all started at Clapton Pond

July 2008. A Rastafarian cabbie with a mini-van picks me and all the Ikea crap I own up from Sundial Court, Barbican Center Centre. I tell him to take me to Clapton Pond. We leave the Barbican and head to Old Street, soon passing Columbia Rd. I had been to the flower market once before and remember thinking that it was in the middle of nowhere and half expected to see country side meeting the city's edge at every corner. The cabbie asked if I wanted to go via Hackney Central or via Dalston Junction. I tell him "whatever is more scenic". He laughs, "nothing but Kebab and Fried Chicken shops if you ask me!" We drive down Hackney Rd and the cabbie tells me about his dream to go to France one day and go to a nude beach to see "all them glorious naked tittes" declaring "Man, I just love me some big titties!" How nice.

I had been very hesitant to move to Hackney. The original plan was to stay at Sundial Court (A student dormitory) and be one of those Resident Leader Assistant persons or whatever. Living in the Barbican was dull but it was handy for practice and at £50 a week who could complain! Unfortunately I didn't get the gig and my flat mates had already signed a lease without me so I was in a bit of a homeless pickle. One of my teachers however, had asked me if I was interested in letting his place. "Its only 20 mins to the Barbican, you can practice there and has a nice view of a pond" I was told. I Googeled-Eathed the postcode and there it was: Clapton Pond. 

I remember being on an education gig in Popular Poplar (might as well been in a foreign country) and telling people during lunch that I was moving to a place called "Clapton Pond in Lower Clapton".
"Oh, don't move there" they all replied. "That's murder mile, You'll get stabbed there. Its not safe"
Apparently, not too long ago there was a night club on Lower Clapton Road (where the Clapton Hart is now) that had a notorious reputation for, oh, you know, its patrons getting stabbed. The papers dubbed it Murder Mile and even though in 2008 the Hackney crime rate was starting to sink, the name stuck.

Needless to say, since I moved to Hackney in 2008 I have never once been: stabbed, mugged, robbed, raped, burnt alive or spit on. I have always felt safe here. (knock on wood)

Anyways, I thought I would start off by drawing the place I first called home. My lovely Grade 2 listed Georgian one bed apartment viewed from Clapton Pond.
I started with a pencil sketch. I had the frame drawn in my book already. The dimensions are the same as an aluminium  aluminum etching plate I bought for the Etching class I am currently taken at the Prince's Drawing School.

Clapton Pond, Pencil 

The drawing took about 45 mins at which point I decided to take a break. I went back to my flat, did some practice, watch some shit on YouTube and then went back to Clapton Pond to paint this monstrosity:

Clapton Pond, Watercolour . Yikes.

Eh, ok, to be fair its not the worse thing I have ever drawn. Watercolour is hard. I need more practice with it, I know. Pencil is by far my strongest because with all the travel I do its the medium that is easiest to carry around, so therefore it is the medium I am most familiar with.

It was real stormy and grey during the hour I painted. The sky switched back and forth from a deep and heavy lead like colour to a perfect blue sky with cotton ball clouds. I started the painting when it was quite dark and had already made the house a deep brown when the sun came out and kissed the house and the trees with its farewell golden rays. It was really stunning. No really, here is a photo to prove it: 

A photo of the light I was trying but failed to capture. 

So yeah. The photo makes my painting look like a hot mess. I tried to lighten up the building and the trees with some white acrylic but it was too late, it just made everything messier and out of control. Lesson learned.

Edward Hopper (my favourite artist) once said that all he wanted to do was to capture light on the side of a house. If only he were here this evening.