Esther Coombs - A Drawing Diary

New website and blog!!

2010-10-14T10:57:00.000-07:00

Dear All,

I have a lovely new website here:
www.esthercoombs.com

and it has a great new blog inside it here:
http://www.esthercoombs.com/blog

So if you'd like to keep up with what I'm up too please find me there from now on :)
Esther

News

2010-07-14T06:08:00.000-07:00

Some of Esther’s cake stands were featured on BBC Twos ‘Mary Queen Of Shops’, which is still on BBC iPlayer,. In this episode Mary tried reinventing a tired, bizarre homeware shop in Kingston, turning it into a popular vintage interiors store, where the cake stands took centre stage in the fab new look… watch it here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00syzr0/Mary_Queen_of_Shops_Series_3_Under_the_Moon/

There is also a feature on Etsy’s blog ‘The Stork’ all about Esther’s DIY/up-cycled wedding. (just one of the things we’ve been up to here!) With lots of cake, ice cream and up cycling tips for the wedding season, including photos of how the cake stands came into their own as wedding cake towers…
Have a peek here:
(http://www.etsy.com/storque/handmade-life/handmade-weddings-a-country-fete-knees-up-9296/)

Upcoming Shows

2010-07-14T05:59:00.000-07:00

Later in the year Esther will be showing/selling at:

Origin Craft Fair in London from 23rd-29th September.

http://www.originuk.org/
MADE 10 in Brighton from the 18th-21st November.
http://www.made10.co.uk/

New Stockists

2010-07-14T05:51:00.000-07:00

New work is now up on the etsy shop, check it out:
www.esthercoombs.etsy.com

Soon there will be work for sale on with new stockist ‘the Itch Galleries’ website.
http://www.itchgallery.co.uk/

New work is also available at the National Gallery shop in the next week or two.
http://www.nationalgallery.co.uk/shop/default.asp?mscssid=SMUGL4FWAPPB8PE2DXG147D825N6CNM4&

Summer Shows..

2010-03-29T01:26:00.000-07:00

Just a note to say I have now confirmed I'll be showing at these fab selling and trade shows this summer...

British Craft Trade Fair, 11th - 13th April. http://www.bctf.co.uk/

At Craft Central Open studios, 20th - 23rd May.http://www.craftcentral.org.uk/summer-2009

H@ndmade in Winchester, 4th July. http://handmadewinchester.blogspot.com/

Pretty new cake stands for spring..

2010-03-26T01:54:00.000-07:00

...popping up in my studio, great yellows and greens.
see them here first, about to go on my etsy and NOTHS shops this afternoon.
happy daffodil picking!
Esther x

Illustrated fiction the cake stand i smashed!!

2010-03-15T02:57:00.000-07:00

Here is another beautiful illustrated fiction post by the wonderful Julia Green. It's a response to the image I recently sent her of a great cake stand I was really pleased with, it had been ordered by a shop and then I smashed it to smithereens while attempting to move from a shelf to my packing table i literally just dropped it form the highest shelf onto brick floor, it didn't have a chance in hell!

But here's a great piece if fiction to make up for its loss!

Esther

I was on my fifth salad plate, a tumbler of gin in my other hand, an angry young woman yelling on the stereo, when I realized I no longer existed. Still I wound up and frisbeed the plate across the room, where it momentarily drowned out the music when it crashed against the wall, broke into pieces and crashed to the floor. Admittedly, the plates did not shatter into the million satisfying pieces that I had wanted, that the cartoons and movies had promised me. I didn’t know if this meant we had registered for very good china or very bad china, but I discovered later it was an easy cleanup job—all those big and chunky pieces went right into the dustpan and then doubled trash bags. Even this was a crucial part of my disappearance—I had become a woman who, upon discovering her husband was having an affair, an affair that had begun many many months ago, immediately began drinking and breaking dishes, only to clean them up herself afterward. I slipped into a cliché, a square peg in a square hole, and in becoming a stereotype of a woman scorned, I watched my actual identity—I was a great dancer, but a bad singer, I liked artichokes and beagles and biking, couldn’t stand coconut or musicals—the infinite idiosyncrasies that defined me had dissolved, and I was nobody. I flung another plate at the wall—we never used the china, only bought it because my mother insisted that people register for china—and marveled at how the only thing left that I could control was the trajectory of the plate, the angle and its velocity. The rest was up to man and God.

New Illustrations from Esther Coombs at Nicole Farhi!

2010-02-19T07:59:00.001-08:00

Hi,

Just a quick note to say if your passing Bond Street pop by Nicole Farhi, as their latest window look for London fashion week has just gone up and the illustrations of the iconic London buildings on show are my own! When the lovely Jamie Shouli Creative Visual Merchandiser at Nicole Farhi approached me to do these drawings I knew they could look pretty cool but I have to say they have turned out pretty fantastic!
Hope you like the illustration/design/fashion week eye candy!

Best,
Esther

Ps if you like pretty windows you'll love jonathan bakers blog here:http://www.retailstorewindows.com/

Drawn on ceramics range now available to buy through notonthehighstreet.com

2010-02-03T04:54:00.000-08:00

Afternoon All,
Drawn on ceramics range now available to buy through notonthehighstreet.com here:http://preview.notonthehighstreet.com/esthercoombs.
Check it out it has my latest items uploaded and ready to sell all in the great british pound!
Cheers,
Esther

Illustrated fiction new year post...

2010-01-06T05:52:00.001-08:00

The teapot had been a great surprise: it came from her aunt, who had never given her a present in her life. She unwrapped it with great care, unrolling layer and layer of bubble wrap, until finally she came upon the teapot, like a pearl in an oyster. It was all glass, and as she washed it, she thought of how it would sustain her through the winter, how she would pour the boiling water in and watch the miracle of brewing unfurl as the herbs dyed the water greens and reds and blacks. When she was done with the pot and its lid, she washed the infuser, a glass cylinder that sat in the pot and demurely held the tea so it didn’t drift into the water. When it was clean, she sat it on the counter, and as she turned away to squeeze out the sponge and wipe off the edge of the sink, the infuser toppled quietly over and rolled off the counter, shattering into a million pieces on the tiled kitchen floor.

Happy new year - Mailing list sale

2010-01-05T08:23:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year!!
A quick blog to say im now beginning my Jan sale, this year it is only open to those on my mailing list and its 25% of anyhting in my etsy shop, to take part you must be a member of my mailing list or email me to become one, and then let me know what you would like to buy and i will reserve it for you for 1 day at the reduced price for you to purchase! easy as new year pie!
My email here: esther@esthercoombs.com to get onthe mailing list. The etsy site with stuff to buy on it! www.esthercoombs.etsy.com
Happy 2010!
Est x

Fab new product just in time for Christmas!!

2009-12-13T03:24:00.000-08:00

Looking for that last min stocking stuffer? Dragging yourself through town to the end of finding nothing original or interesting let alone eco friendly!
I have a new product hot of the press just in time for the Christmas fairs Ive been doing.. the up-cycled tea towel at just £8 its a perfect stocking stuffer and as a up-cycled product it has the history of the old and the illustrations of the new cake and tea check it out below and links on where to buy... Merry Christmas!
www.esthercoombs.etsy.com

Shop your socks on with Esther's Holiday season events!

2009-11-20T15:38:00.001-08:00

Hi!!
I have some great events coming up for Christmas shopping events which are almost upon us! They are well worth a visit if your in town! Flyer's, tickets, PV invites and entry offers below..
Esther :)

Illustrated Fiction Post - Coffee

2009-11-11T03:16:00.001-08:00

Another cracking little story from the misstess of fiction Ms julia F Green..

As she walked along Maiden Lane from the subway to her office building, Nell had to jab the fingernails of her right hand into the palm of her left, just to have something to concentrate on besides the cups of coffee that were glued to everyone’s hand, and the dense, lush smell of those brewed beans that sat like a thick blanket atop everything in lower Manhattan. The coffee—its smell, its presence, its phantom taste on the tongue—was everywhere, and Nell thought she could almost feel the dried ends of her hair trembling with the desire for it.

It had been four days since she’d consumed caffeine, and in the panicked haze that had settled in during that time, Nell could barely recall what her original motivation had been. The words clarity and purity and health flitted around her mind in animated thought bubbles, like in a children’s TV show. As she passed yet another coffee cart, Nell closed her eyes halfway and visualized the herbal tea she’d been drinking since Sunday. It tasted vaguely like dishwater.

Nell clung to the hope that soon the fog would break, and she would emerge renewed from the depths of her being, each cell revived and remade, ensuring a long, long life and none of the wrinkles that usually go with it. Until then, she would stumble through her days, protected by the image of her future self, a clean, efficient machine that ran itself on water and air and sunlight, like a big green plant on a fire escape, its healthy vines creeping along and embracing the ironwork whose years of rust softened under the green lattice.

Illustrated fiction post..

2009-10-27T04:50:00.000-07:00

Sorry I've been so notably absent, so much to do after the Design Week shows so without further ado!...
A eargerly awaited illustrated fiction post from Julia F Green.. here it is..
Just a note.. I'm thinking of combining these cool illustrated fiction post into a zine, what do you all think about that good idea? Id appreciate your thoughts.. :)

Est

When Clarice turned the corner, she said shit. Somehow, overnight, two cranes had appeared in the middle of the block of 20th Street she walked down each day to get to work. As everyone in New York knew, cranes were falling out of the sky and to walk under one was to look God in the eye and tell him to go fuck himself. That dude was not going to laugh that one off. Kaboom, and they’re digging for your wallet in five feet of rubble.

She could have turned back—she could have gone back to 6th Avenue, walked up or down a block, over to 7th and then cut back to 20th. But what a waste of fucking time that would be. Who lives in New York and walks around in circles just to avoid danger? Clarice murmured the only prayer she remembered from her mandatory early childhood church attendance, opened her umbrella to the clear blue sky, and strode toward her destiny.

Prep prep prepping!!

2009-09-15T00:26:00.000-07:00

I am madly squiraling away in deepest Hampshire getting ready for the big fab design week for me a trade fair and a little retail fair in the big smoke, so sorry about absence of new posts!
Thought you might like to see what im up to..
The first show is a one day designers sale at craft central info here.

And the big trade fair is Tent London info here.

so other yummy links:
The London Design Festival - the reason to get to town and look around next week.
the V&A museum - the hub of the design museum this year.

So I was in a bar....

2009-09-04T06:06:00.000-07:00

Waiting for a friend and i had just purchased my wedding plimsoles and so couldn't help but commit them to my sketchbook, now what to paint them with!?

New pics for me&my products from the fab Charlotte Broster

2009-09-02T05:57:00.000-07:00

Hey got some new pics done of me and my products for upcoming trade fairs like the fab Content and the pretty to good to miss One day designers sale at Crafts Central...
I love them im very pleased, as I knew I would be form my talented friend, she is very reasonable and i would defo (!) recommend her!!
Her info here: www.charlottebrosterphotography.co.uk
Pics here:

Nice bit of Press.. Garden Heaven A/W 09

2009-08-28T08:14:00.000-07:00

Hey
I got a lovely bit of press featuring my seed markers in the Irish Autumn Winter 09 Issue of Garden Heaven..
Check it out..!!

Stewardesses Illustrated fiction post by Julia F Green.

2009-08-26T01:24:00.001-07:00

She never said anything when she flew, just put her tray table in the upright and locked position as instructed and closed her eyes during takeoff, which she’d done even when she was a stewardess, back when they were still called stewardesses. She smirked to herself. It was nicer now—they didn’t make the women wear four-inch heels or put their hair up, and they hired men, though most of them, it turned out, were fruits. It was good, she told herself, that the world had undergone these sorts of changes, but there were days when she missed the ruby red lipstick, the hairsprayed beehives, the icy cocktails in the left hand of a man who reached for her with his right.

Her granddaughter says “that’s ----ed up” but her granddaughter also doesn’t brush her hair or own a pair of pantyhose. It wasn’t that she was against equality, she just argued that life held more mystery and charm in those days. Her granddaughter argued that all that mystery and charm was fake, and prevented people from pursuing their true goals and dreams. She took this to mean that she was supposed to have wanted something besides her career in the air, but she never did. She earned her own money, she married a pilot, they had beautiful children, who brought her grandchildren, some grateful, some not.

The plane sped up, preparing to nose its way into the stratosphere. She reached for her granddaughter’s hand and pressed it between her own as they shot into the sky.

some new stuff on etsy

2009-08-24T04:55:00.000-07:00

Hi some new work to show you.. the yellow teapot was picked for a related images post in etsy here the post was on twitter and well worth a lot, id love to hear your views on twitter people of the www! have a great day..

just a little something im working on..

2009-08-21T01:55:00.000-07:00

the lovely lady at modish!

2009-08-19T09:30:00.000-07:00

has done a very cute little post about me, i can defo recommend modish and the sister blog modish biz tips for creative people tips I (heart) modish..heres the little post!

Gift certificate..

2009-08-17T04:16:00.001-07:00

For all of you who are unsure what to get as a gift but wanna a little token of my work to be part of it, now you can buy gift vouchers from me to say, "the gift is on its way" or "this little card entitles you to a commission from esther coombs", or "hey check it out I've given you a tea set now just tell esther what you would like to be drawn on it!".. you get the idea. These will be for sale in the same way a commission would by request to me at my etsy store! Check back for news on when the commission section goes live!
Thanks
Est :)

Seen some cool stuff!

2009-08-17T03:57:00.000-07:00

Lately I have seen some really cool stuff!
I couldn't help but whip out the iphone for pics so i could post them i don't know what it is about the images, maybe its the knitting needles all bundled up all different colours and sizes so fun and full of sweater making experience.. Or that i had my first carrots out of the garden this week and they were so many weeks coming it felt like a little garden gift that they were such crazy little shapes i had to show you, well you get the picture, cool stuff to look at! roll up, roll up get your cool stuff to look at here!

Doodlers Anonymous

2009-08-07T00:04:00.000-07:00

Hey,

Today i have a bit of a cracker for you recently I was contacted by the fab Chris Piascik who did a little post about some of my drawn on ceramics plates on this fab blog which shot straight into my bookmark list Doodlers Anonymous, check it out below!
the link to the blog piece on my plates here.

Some pretty pics from some other doodlers here:

pic one: Chris Piascik
pic two: OKAT

Illustrated fiction;Julia Green and Esther Coombs

2009-07-07T14:17:00.000-07:00

Prose poem: Trains

It’s a movie. There’s a woman on a train. In that book, they ride a train. We all have many, many places to hurdle toward and escape from, and thank god for all these trains. How else would we seek out that important, forgotten place? Or elude the demanding members of our family? On trains, we are happily free to sob and huff and clutch handkerchiefs to our cheeks as the rumbles shake our bowels and the steam whistle echoes our mourning. We stare out at the cows in the fields. Brown and slow, they are firmly rooted in the earth upon which they stand, while we zip by. We long for the cow’s life, chewing the same cud every day, teats manipulated diligently, daily, giving the world milk. We wish to be that purposeful.

But we are not. We don’t even know where we’re going, or why we feel the strange way we feel. All we know is the conductor does not look at us knowingly, and teenage hooligans are caught rifling through bags at the edge of the car. A baby cries and two cell phones ring and it’s too hard to hear the romance of the journey above the infernal din. Someone cracks a window, and the smell of cow shit is everywhere.

Commission anyone?

2009-07-01T03:47:00.000-07:00

Hey folks,
I'm about to open up a new part of my etsy shop, a commissions area..!
I've been picking up some great stuff at boot fairs of late and they are just perfect for commissions..
I get many enquires about commissions for gifts, weddings or for your own home, and this is how it will work, purchase a blank item at the full finished price, email me your image and hey presto finished drawn on commission winging its way to you!
I cant wait to be doing all the new drawing projects!
Here are just a few jugs i have right now which would be perfect for commissions!
Hope to hear from you soon,
Esther

My Shed Jug - Illustrated fiction

2009-06-11T12:58:00.000-07:00

The garden shed was a strange place to keep a pitcher, but nobody ever moved it, and that, of course, was why it was broken. It was a shed like any other -- a musty repository of hoes, rakes, and spiders -- but the pitcher seemed extraordinary. It was lovely, and I remember the feeling of horror I felt when I saw it at the charity shop and realized somebody had chosen to discard it. I took it home, determined to cherish it. But the cupboards were already quite full, and somehow everyone just took the water straight from the tap, and ignored the pitcher altogether.

So I made Seamus -- who was 15 then and already taller than my husband, me, and everybody else we’d ever met -- put it in the shed, thinking we might use it to water some flowers or herbs in a few months’ time. But we didn’t, and the next time I saw it, the thing was shattered and scattered across the floor.

I assumed it was the work of a critter, some lost squirrel or chipmunk who, upon finding nothing to eat acted out his anger and disappointment by simply knocking things over. I swept up the shards and carried them to the bin by the back door of the house. I went back inside; Seamus was making breakfast, and when I told him about the broken pitcher, his face registered alarm, as if he’d just remembered leaving his keys in the door. Then the flicker of worry was gone. I thought nothing of it then; I was sad about the pitcher, but I’d paid a quid for it at a charity shop, which wasn’t much to cry over.

Ten years later, Seamus got married and when his new sister-in-law got up to toast the couple, she was already quite tipsy and the first thing she said was, "I knew Seamus and Lila would get married after she called me to tell me about what happened in the garden shed." She actually didn’t say much more than that, quickly segueing to the spontaneity and immediacy of their love, which I agreed with. We raised our champagne flutes and suddenly I longed to have a day of Seamus’ childhood back. It wasn’t the innocence I missed, just the opposite in fact. I missed the mischief.

Seed Markers featured in the Observer Magazine

2009-06-07T01:25:00.000-07:00

My seed markers are today featured in the Observer Magazines eco issue, in a line of products picked out by the Master of Style Wayne Hemingway, Thank you Wayne!! if you have seen the article and are looking for a link to my seed markers you can by them here! in my etsy shop.

First ever item i have listed for sale on ebay...

2009-05-26T14:18:00.000-07:00

And it a real cutie, hope someone gives it a home check it out, click here!

New summer collection

2009-05-26T11:37:00.000-07:00

Some great new work has just gone up on my etsy shop and with the summery wedding season soon upon us some of these would be great gifts, and ideal and unique item i hope and lets face it with the current climate a pretty reasonable spend, check out more on my etsy store.

Open studios lovelyness!

2009-04-22T06:00:00.000-07:00

I'm showing at Crafts Centrals open studios 'Made in Clerkenwell next month and I'm starting to pull everything together in prep for it and thought you might like to see the very pretty flyer with info....

Finished TSP wall drawing...

2009-03-25T02:27:00.000-07:00

Only just realised I have yet to post images of the finished drawing I did in Boston last week for TSP, I think it turned out pretty well and the space there is shaping up to be v.cool, should be a very groovy digital lounge type spot if your in Boston drop by..

Illustrated fiction post: Fisherman, Part III

2009-03-24T08:44:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the delay on the regular dose of the wonderful fiction from Ms. Julia Green and the little illustration for it from me, but I know you can hardly wait so here it is!

When I ran past Ray in Central Park, it was sunny and I hadn’t seen him in six months. I spotted him from twenty or thirty feet off; he was walking with a woman, and although I couldn’t tell if they were involved, it occurred to me that if she were a friend, I would have recognized her.

As I got nearer to them, I had a momentary hallucination in which the two of them appeared in fish suits--not dressed as fishermen, but in full-body costumes with satiny scales and large, heavy, detachable heads with ventilating gills. I had realized in the months since Ray had broken up with me that for the rest of my life, he'd forever be remembered as "fish guy," even if that hadn’t had anything to do with the breakup at all. In fact, we'd been having fully imagined, theatrical, choreographed and surprisingly fulfilling sex, both in and not in fishermen-related scenarios. The insane, infuriating thing about the world is sometimes you can get the most complicated things to work, only to find that the basic elements aren't holding their own. Six months later, I had pretty much come to understand what had seemed baffling to me on that cold day in December: Just because you're willing to wear a funny outfit for somebody doesn’t mean it's built to last.

Ray had said something funny and when the woman laughed, she leaned forward and her curly hair covered her face. Despite the urgings of Chase and other friends, I hadn't dated since the breakup. It had been over a year with Ray, and although at 32, I felt certain the clock was against me, I couldn’t bring myself to face it all again with a new man, who’d have a different birthday to remember, new sisters' names to recall, a preferred meal to learn how to cook -- and then there was the strong possibility of another unpredictable fetish. I was getting tired of all the energy it took to distinguish new facts from the old and useless ones.

While the woman crouched, giggled, swayed, Ray raised his head for a moment and surveyed the park’s bustle. I knew he wouldn't see me. One of his strengths was his ability to be focused entirely on the person he was with, and disregard the world at large. Once, we’d been walking down Central Park West and the whole block had frozen and twittered while a movie star strolled by with his dog. Ray continued to recount the hijinks of his junior prom.

Despite knowing he’d never notice me, I sped up as we got within spitting distance of each other, perhaps to minimize the time spent in his orbit. The worst part of all of it was feeling like I was trapped in a cliché -- I was either 32 and desperate or 32 and a resigned spinster. But I wasn’t either of those things, or rather I didn’t feel like either of those things. I just felt like a woman who’d had four serious relationships, none of which seemed to have the right combination of compatibility and compromise. A woman who knew how to dress like a fisherman, a flight attendant, and a farm girl. (Ronnie had been simple -- a blindfold every once in a while, and sometimes a room full of candles. You could never tell by looking at them.)

As I shot past them, I put a big smile on my face, just in case he saw me. I thought about looking back to see if he’d noticed me, to see if he’d turn his head in disbelief, but then I decided not to.

On the little screen!!

2009-03-24T01:40:00.000-07:00

Hey!..
This Thursday on the UKTV FOOD on Sky TV there is a great little programe called Market Kitchen, and they, the wonderful people at Market Kitchen, are featuring my little lace doilie cake stand available through my etsy store and also the wonderful online shop Green Union!
Check it out!
market kitchen
green union
my etsy place

Bit of News!

2009-03-11T00:28:00.001-07:00

My English Rose cake stand pictured here is featured in "Wedding Magazine" this month (March/April). It's now sold, but for similar check my etsy store in a few days as I'm about to post some new work !! www.esthercoombs.etsy.com

A little doodle for Wednesday..

2009-02-25T11:46:00.000-08:00

Behold a twig, I so love that spring is coming..

Illustrated fiction: Fisherman, Part II

2009-02-24T02:12:00.000-08:00

Ray told me he'd planned a special evening for Valentine's Day and told me to come to his place at seven. I put on a black dress and heels and took a cab, feeling excited and uncertain as we zoomed through the darkness of Central Park.

In the week since he'd shown me the pants, revealed the secret, not much had changed, except that I was seeing fish everywhere: two-dimensional guppies drawn on the walls of the subway, cheesy edible goldfish in the hands of children on the bus, starfish and sea anemones on socks and cosmetic cases and umbrellas.

He cooked me dinner, which he had done before, but this was the nicest dinner he had ever cooked me: tuna tartar, seviche, broiled calamari, fresh sole in a lemon butter sauce. The tuna came out in the shape of a heart, and on either side, he’d done our initials in ginger vinagrette.

Over dessert -- a classic chocolate souffle, airy, potent, a return to the basics he knew I loved and and relied on -- Ray explained that he’d simply wanted to devote an entire evening to the realm of things he loved, so that I could be more a part of it. I was delightfully full and lazy with wine and attention and wasn’t lying when I said I was enjoying myself.

After dinner, we settled into the couch to watch what Ray said was one of his favorite films. It was about a group of men who tended a lighthouse in northern Maine in the late 60s. They worked on a rotating basis, and apparently when one was doing his stint in the lighthouse, the others would take a fishing boat out and return a couple of days later to unload their haul and have briny intercourse with their wives. Then one of them began cuckolding another, and there were betrayals and fistfights, and then a town fight about doing away with lighthouse keepers entirely, as technology had rendered them unnecessary.

To Ray’s dismay, I dozed through some of the movie. To my dismay, I had waking dreams of orgies involving all of the characters, plus what they’d fished from the depths of the sea. When it was over, Ray poured me another cup of coffee and I stared at his backside while he did the dishes, wondering what it is that draws us together and keeps us there, what it is that makes one man love a fish, one woman love a steak.

In the middle of making love, Ray sucked his cheeks in and made a fish face at me. I laughed so hard I nearly fell off of him.

"What does that mean?" I asked him.

"I guess I’m trying to get you to admit that you think I’m insane."

"And why do you think I think that?"

He sucked in his cheeks once more and moved his lips up and down, fish bobbing for bait. "Aren’t I?"

"Aren’t we all?" I responded before closing my eyes and riding a white wave into an elysian oblivion.

doodles of a first draft for tsp..

2009-02-23T07:30:00.000-08:00

hey
I'm doing a drawing on a wall for Boston company tech superpowers and I'm just doodling the first draft, any comments? I think its going well it a great space in their new digital lounge, still more to do though I think..

Label download at poppy talk

2009-02-23T07:20:00.000-08:00

I love poppy talk its a great blog and they are currently offering a download of labels to print of and use its super cool the labels look great!

Illustrated fiction post: Fisherman.

2009-02-11T08:55:00.000-08:00

Hey it's Wednesday...
Here's the illustrated fiction post all around a piece of my new work on fishermen!
This is a cracker!

"He wants you to dress up as what?"

Like a bored child dragged out shopping by her mother, I stood idly behind Chase as she flipped through the dresses. I considered crawling into the middle of the rack and playing hide and seek with myself.

"A fisherman?" I said, more of a question than a statement.

"So what you’re telling me is Ray -- cooks-dinner, cleans-the-bathtub, wants-three-kids Ray -- gets off on fishermen?"

"I guess he’s not as boring and predictable as you’re painting him to be," I said, though I wasn’t mad at Chase. I had been a little surprised when Ray had brought out the slick yellow jumpsuit, but he was sheepishly ecstatic and turned on, which, like everything else about him, I found adorable. I would have dressed up like a school bus if he’d asked me to.

"Does he want to lick fish oil off your belly? Or do you have to reel him in?"

I smiled. "I really don’t know. All I saw were the pants." This was true. He was too afraid to go into details, which was the only thing still making me reluctant about this new development. It had taken him six months to even tell me about this, and I wondered why, when it was so obvious I was gaga for him, he was so afraid to share these things with me and if he was hiding anything else.

"So what are you going to do?"

I shrugged. "I’ll try anything once." I wasn’t sure why I was being so circumspect with Chase; I was ready for anything with Ray. I’d bought my ticket, sold the house, signed my name -- or whatever it is that they say. I was in it to win it with Ray, but it seemed more delicious if I kept that between me and him.

Chase held a dress against her body and squinted at herself in the mirror for a second. Then she looked up and caught my blank expression in the mirror. "Thar she blows."

We erupted into giggles, our faces flashing maniacally in the mirror.

Fishermen at work drawings..

2009-02-10T13:21:00.000-08:00

Hi,
I've been working on some new drawings..
Below a couple of the results, lots more to be added for sale on my etsy site!

Wednesday's Illustrated fiction post, "Postcards"

2009-02-04T04:35:00.001-08:00

When I feel sad, I go to the junk store and leaf through the postcards. They have highly contrasted color photos of state capitals or big block letters that say "Greetings from the Grand Canyon!" with slivers of cacti and Indian jewelry within each letter. On the back, wives have written in loopy script: "The weather in St. Louis has been great. Only one day of rain and tomorrow we’re going to visit the Arch!" Or: "Hello from Idaho! Hope you’re well." They were always addressed to Mrs. Harold Mathers or Mrs. Ronald Kline or Mrs. Lawrence Bennett. Most date to the early 60s, when the stamps cost four cents. I picture tan women in big sunglasses and big hairdos writing the postcards to their friends, licking the stamps and affixing them carefully, while their husbands check under the hood or buy soft drinks. They wear lipstick and polyester and when I think of those ladies, and when I think of their vacations, seeing the U.S.A. from the passenger seats of their Chevrolets, I don’t feel so sad anymore.

Please vote for me!!

2009-02-03T08:44:00.000-08:00

Hi, I'm up for Loveliest Ladies' items poll on the Storque. You can check out the poll here
If I get enough votes I have a chance to be featured in the Season of Love Gift Guides and on the Etsy blog.
I'm up for my Barbican tea cup below,

And so t'was Tuesday and it's still snowing...

2009-02-03T07:50:00.000-08:00

.. its taken me 3 hours to complete a normally 20 min round trip and my toes are frozen but enough of that, today its Tuesday and so it should be a drawing post...
Today a little something i have done recently for my cake plates line, a drawing of Micheldever Station..
Hope you like..

Monday's Etsy post

2009-02-02T02:36:00.000-08:00

This is today's Etsy post, this work is by an amazing illustrator with such a wonderful imagination! Ashley G from Portland, OR.
Ashley G says of her work, "My artwork tends to be simple, but with a sophisticated or stark color palette. I believe great emotion can be conveyed in a simple gesture or look."
and she's not wrong check out her Etsy shop here.
Really inspirational stuff!

Snow! might have a job drawing this!

2009-02-02T02:27:00.000-08:00

I know it's just snow, but wow it's pretty! Can't help but post about it!! This was first thing this morning and it's been snowing a lot ever since!

Le blog post!

2009-01-31T11:10:00.000-08:00

Dear People of blog world,
Sorry for my absence I have been in Paris on a research trip and below are some very pretty photos of lovely “gay Paree!” to make up!

Thursday's visual research day

2009-01-22T14:03:00.000-08:00

It's still pretty cold in these here parts, frosty and pretty to boot, so at least that makes up for it a bit!
So lovely snaps for visual research Thursday...

Illustrated fiction

2009-01-21T01:11:00.000-08:00

Here’s Wednesdays illustrated fiction story post--the highlight of my week created in partnership with Julia Green fiction writer extraodinare:
This one is brilliant!

Lovebirds

It's a funny thing, being married to someone for 50 years. Every once in a while we end up at the mall, and while Earl is marveling over the appliances you can buy all in one place on the cheap, I go over to the bookstore and watch the people watching the books. There are these young things with teased up hair and rocks on their hands, scurrying around like field mice, can't get their hands on those books fast enough. The ones they want, they're all called things like Thin Enough and Happy Enough and Cook Your Way to a Perfect Marriage. I usually go to the cafeteria part, get myself a small cup of coffee, and park at a table where I can see 'em well. Every once in a while, after I put two sugars in my coffee and start over to that table, somebody as old as my grandkid rushes over and calls me 'ma'am' while offering to help me along. I started getting ma'amed as soon as I was married, even though I was 25 going on 12. Today, even with my rickety hip and silver hair and funny smells where there didn't used to be any, honest to God I don't think of myself as a ma'am. A ma'am's got a beehive and handbags that match her shoes. All I know is whenever I hear ma'am, I think of Earl's daddy and his big old Studebaker that he let Earl take me out in on a Friday night and we'd park up on any old hill where we knew we wouldn't be bothered and we'd fog up those windows till there was no air left in there to breathe. These girls reading the magazines looking for the tips, clipping out the secret formulas, the ten signs of whatever, they think it wasn't like that back then, treat me like some celibate grandma who never had a day of fun. Sure, I remember the ration cards and the victory gardens, but the past ain't a history book. We raised four kids and between all those babies crying and doors slamming and pots of whatever cookin' on the stove, we still found time for plenty of hanky panky. Drove the kids crazy sometimes, especially when they were teenagers and started getting wise, realizing there was a reason their old parents were so happy all the time. I don't want to ruin nobody's fun, but those girls with the stacks of books under their arms, well if they spent fifty dollars on something nice, instead of those boring books, you know? My favorite part is when Earl comes back, some kinda new tool in a big old plastic bag in his hand. I'm still staring away at people in a way that really makes them think I've got the forgetting disease and I wandered out of some place and pretty soon I'm going to start taking all my clothes off and yelling and they won't know what to do with me. When he sees me see him, his face lights up, and he hustles over and kisses me on the mouth in a way that makes everybody uncomfortable. Can't figure it out myself; I always thought two old people not in love was worse than two who were.

Tuesdays finished drawing posts..

2009-01-20T04:33:00.001-08:00

So today I'm showing a little of my finished works that have been turned into Greetings cards,
you can purchase these cards individually or in packs form my etsy store: www.esthercombs.etsy.com. They started of as collage illustration works and are now in card format, which I love as it means you can a piece of my work for about £2.50!
These are currenlty on sale in my etsy shop, check it out!

Playing catch up..

2009-01-19T00:01:00.000-08:00

So Friday never really happened, and today is shaping up to be a busy one..
So heres a catch up post a bit of Fridays drawings from my sketch book, and a bit of Mondays Etsy loving, so heres some of my new stuff i have recently popped up on etsy:
check it out!

Office inspiration..

2009-01-15T13:22:00.000-08:00

Thursday is here ready for some visual research?
what do you think, nothing in the office to inspire, hell no?

Wednesdays Illustrated Fiction post.. enjoy!

2009-01-14T02:01:00.001-08:00

Lila tried to lean against the iron fence that kept tourists away from the walls of Notre Dame de Paris and read the guidebook her father had bought her, but the posts dug into her body so much she couldn't concentrate, so instead she watched Parisians trickle past. Since it was the middle of August, most of the city was on vacation, and the morning traffic was sparse. Despite the season, women wore long pants, elegant scarves, and makeup. Their satchels matched their shoes. Even the old women, the retired grandmothers who trudged slowly toward the market for their daily bread, wore sophistication in their wrinkled cheeks. Lila looked down, frowning at her own outfit and physique. She wasn't wearing a fanny pack, or white sneakers, or a t-shirt emblazoned with the name of a sports team or university, or any of the other ugly emblems of tourists, but still, in her wrinkled linen pants and sandals with too many straps, she felt subpar, old even, and noticed the French women had smooth skin in even colors while her own flesh was spotted and unfirm. There were many times in the last week she'd wanted not to be in Paris, and here, again, was another.

As she sunk back into the guidebook, hoping the time would pass quickly until the bell tower would open, a couple bounded towards her, exhibiting a kind of excitement that reminded Lila of puppies.

"Is this the line? To climb the belltower?" The husband spoke breathlessly, as if they'd rushed here, fearing that they'd miss their chance to get in if they weren't first in line.

Lila nodded.

The husband and wife traded a glance. Then from the wife: "Ess-ke voo..."

Lila turned the book over, displaying its title, An Insider's Guide to Paris. In case that wasn't clear enough, she added, "I'm American."

The husband and wife jostled each other in another moment of animalistic happiness and then answered in chorus, "We are too!"

Lila smiled thinly and nodded. They were almost the same height, both with dirty blond hair and light eyes, and if not for the fact that they couldn't stop touching each other, Lila might have taken them for close siblings--they had that air of doting about them but it lacked the desperate devotion present in new couples, who tended to be proud of the extremeness of their feelings and actions, utterly sure of their ability to do better than any couple had ever done before. Perhaps not every new couple was like that, but the ones that ended up in Lila's office, sitting apart on the sofa across from her, imploring her to decide who was right so they could get on with their marriage already, were. She told every couple the same thing at their first session: "If you want to know who's right and who's wrong, call a referee. I'm a marriage counselor, and what I do is different and more expensive."

"I'm Jed, and this is my wife Sheila." The wife tittered slightly at hearing her new title.

"Lila." She shook their hands. Lila was bad with names but good with faces--hers was long and horsey; she had big gums and he was big and square, the jawline of a homecoming king--and if she were walking across an airport terminal, she'd be able to pick them from a crowd. But she would never know their names. If she happened to be treating these people, Lila would employ her usual learning device--asking them to address one another by name, which she silently repeating in her head. But for once she was off the clock, and delighted in knowing they'd remain nameless to her.

"Any chance you speak a little French?" The husband asked.

"Some," Lila said.

"Because we both took a little in college and we're completely stuck on something."

Lila remained silent, waiting for Jed to continue.

"When you say 'parlez-vous anglais', is there a liaison between the 'vous' and the 'anglais'? I mean, is it par-lay voo zahng-lay? Or just par-lay voo ahng-lay?"

Lila paused for a moment and weighed the possibility that they may not be serious, that this was a joke of some sort. But their faces were creased with expectation, and so Lila recited the phrases over in her head. She came to Paris every few years (mostly for the food, though she loved the museums, and simply wandering the streets for a few days, careless, anonymous), and the French she'd acquired in college had become passable, though by no means elegant or even frequently correct. She mulled over the phrase, running each pronunciation through several times, waiting for one of them to sound correct. But she'd never quite understood when French people connected the sounds between words, and in fact, hadn't cared. The point was to make yourself understood, in whatever ramshackle fashion was available. As Lila watched a petite young woman with voluptuous black hair whiz by on her bicycle, amazingly able to ride discreetly in a skirt, she tried once more to unravel the question, but could not. Her father wouldn't have known either, but she still wished he was with her.

"You know, I'm not really sure. Let me think on it a bit, and I'll let you know if I come up with anything." Lila turned to face the door that would open in a few more minutes, allowing them to creep up the slippery, stone stairs in the half-dark, till they emerged a few hundred feet higher and could take in the view of the city that the gargoyles enjoyed all the time. Each time Lila visited Paris, she climbed the bell tower at Notre Dame.

"Our French is kind of rusty, but this isn't our first time in Paris," Sheila said to Lila's back.

Lila didn't want to talk to these people anymore but out of habit she turned and let the wife say what she wanted to say.

The husband stroked the wife's hair. "I came to visit Sheila when she was studying abroad here, 15 years ago! We'd been on and off since the beginning of college and I thought if I flew to Paris, she'd finally get it. You know, that I was the one."

Sheila jumped in without hesitation to continue the story, as if this were a pre-rehearsed two-man show that many before Lila had heard. "But I was too naive to see Jed's point, his true feelings, and after a week of pure bliss, I told him I was too young to commit."

"We lost touch after college, but then, years later..."

Lila let the scintillating narrative unfurl, feigning involvement by mimicking their facial movements, unleashing grins when they did, knitting suspense in her eyebrows when they did. Even without concentrating, she picked up the storyline of drifting apart, reuniting, a whirlwind courtship, knowing after all these years, she or he had been the one. Lila could listen in her sleep. And yet, although she could fully absorb these people and the needs they had in that moment, Lila thought only of her father, with whom she would have enjoyed privately mocking these folks later. It was only in his later years that her father had even entertained the possibility of traveling with Lila. He finally agreed to short trips--a few days in Chicago, a long winter weekend in Orlando--but this would have been his first trip abroad. She wasn't sure if he'd have been able to climb the bell tower, but she had decided they would give it a shot.

"Isn't that a great story?"

"It is a great story," Lila replied.

"So is this your first time in Paris?"

Lila shook her head, but was unable to say anything. She'd developed an unhealthy habit of being unable to talk about herself, not because she was uncomfortable with disclosure, but because she knew that the world had problems, problems that she could help with. Her own could be postponed. Also, it seemed unfair to dampen the couple's idiotic joy by explaining that her father had had a crippling stroke before she could show him the loveliness of Paris. Lila had been by his side for the last three weeks, and even when Dorothy flew in from the coast and urged her to take the vacation she always looked forward to, Lila refused. In keeping with the generosity he'd shown them all his life, her father died a week before they had been scheduled to leave. There was a funeral, a reception, and then her sister dragging her to the airport. Lila couldn't say it to her sister, but she was glad for Dorothy's presence, and glad that Dorothy knew when to leave her alone, like this morning, when she said she'd rather sleep in and have a walk around the Tuileries on her own. They'd planned to meet up near the Louvre later that morning.

On the other side of the iron fence, a wooden door swung open and a man with a gray beard coughed deeply as unlocked the gate and waved them in. He alternated between "bonjour, el-lo, bonjour" and "billets, tee-ket, billets, tee-ket" as he pointed to the entry where there was a small desk, a cash box, and a sleepy old woman.

Lila always visited first thing in the morning because she liked to be the first person up the stairs that day. It was always clumsy coming down, crawling over those going up, clinging to the stone walls, which gave no traction, trying neither to slip nor come too close to a stranger, but going up Lila could be unfettered, ascending the dizzying spirals with each hand on the wall not for balance, but because she liked the feeling of the cold, hard stone.

That day, the couple behind her twittered between themselves as they all went up, and Lila couldn't help but listening to their incessant exchanges--"are you okay?" "isn't this exciting" "How could they ever build something so magnificent?" Somewhere along the way though, the wife became frightened, a little off-balance, and she could hear them agree to rest, pressing themselves against the outer wall to let those behind them pass. The silence carried Lila up and up, till it bore her out onto the first landing where sunlight and gargoyles awaited her. Paris appeared the way it always had to her--each time she came upon it from this angle, going high enough it seemed possible to meet the city at eye level, it looked both marvelously undiscovered, vibrant and pulsating, and also possibly a fabrication, nothing more than an image of a city projected onto a bedsheet someone had nailed to a wall.

She had her elbows up and was leaning against the wall, contemplating the Eiffel Tower (actual structure? or toothpick model?) when the husband and wife burst noisily out of the stairwell and onto the ramparts. They said hello to her as they shuffled past, heading towards the enormously heavy bell in the south tower.

Lila watched the people shuffle around in the courtyard in front of the cathedral, imagining, as she always did, spitting on their heads. She pulled out her guidebook again, and flipped to the back. It was not Lila's habit to read about the places she visited; unless she was keeping a file on something, writing it all down, facts didn't stay with her that long, so there wasn't much use in trying to learn the history. As she thumbed through the pages looking for the index, she came upon a section entitled "Useful Phrases," which, to Lila's surprise, had been highlighted and annotated by her father. And right at the top of the list, next to "Parlez-vous l'anglais? (par-lay voo lahn-glay)", her father had written, "Here's one I won't need to practice!"

They always say people somehow know when they're gonna go, which Lila had pretty much considered bullshit her whole life. The husband and wife, having seen what they'd come to see, having snapped all the appropriate pictures, casually called a goodbye to her as they bounded back along the path, toward the dim stairwell, a tricky descent, and the rest of their day's plans. Lila didn't respond. She just watched the little people below meander around like lost little ants searching for food, turning around and around, as if they didn't know which way was up.

Welcome to Tuesdays drawing post:

2009-01-13T01:44:00.000-08:00

Here's some stuff I've been working on recently.

Sarah Giannobile on Etsy

2009-01-12T09:02:00.000-08:00

It is Etsy Monday here at the drawing diary so here is my delve into the huge lucky dip that is Etsy to find today's pick.. Sarah Giannobile, such lovely work!
The independent artist in South St. Louis says:
“Some of my paintings relate to my memories of my childhood and returning to the farm in St. James, Missouri. I frequently visit my hometown and am inspired by old buildings and places that I would photograph and draw when I was an adolescent” explains Giannobile. “Much of my work focuses on lyrical abstraction and this sometimes hovers between drawing and painting.”

The drawing below is just lovely, so intricate and detailed, I'm won over..
Lots more about her at her etsy shop.. http://www.sarahgiannobile.etsy.com.

Sketch book Friday..

2009-01-09T13:09:00.000-08:00

Happy Friday!! Today is sketchbook day yippee! :
here it is, can you guess where i was?

Bethnal Green tube how I love thee!

2009-01-08T14:55:00.000-08:00

So today being Thursday it means its visual research day here at esthercoombs, and I’ve got a bit of a cracker for you today.. Bethnal Green tube! Look on in awe at it's classic styling and wonderful orange tiles..

A fiction drawing project.

2009-01-07T01:15:00.000-08:00

Here’s Wednesdays story post: the highlight of my week created in partnership with Julia Green, fiction writer extraordinaire. We will be posting fiction and drawing together inspired by each others work, I draw, she writes, I draw in response so on and so forth. Enjoy.

While her grandmother slept, Martina stood out on the balcony and peered at the fruit stand below. Even from three floors up, she could see that the pears and apples were pockmarked and bruised. The melons were beginning to ooze and the bananas were the wrong shade of brown. She wondered who would pay for such things.

The man who ran the fruit stand always sat to its left, in a brown folding chair she saw him unfold very early in the morning when he arrived. Every day he left by mid-afternoon, so Martina, who was only able to get out for a few hours in the evening when Mrs. Dax, the next-door neighbor, could watch Nana, had never seen his face. She knew only the top of his head, the tawny circle of bare freckled scalp and the black and gray halo of hair surrounding it. And she saw his hands, also freckled, which held the newspaper at the beginning of the day and rested calmly in his lap afterward, their stasis interrupted occasionally, when some passerby pressed money into his hand in exchange for a bag of fruit.

When the fruit man sold nothing, did nothing, moved so little she wondered if he’d expired, Martina had to shift her gaze to the traffic light on the corner, staring at the green, yellow, red till her vision was splotchy and dizzying. But on the day that he looked up, searching the clouds for some definitive sign that the rain was on its way, Martina was staring right at him, right at the bald head she’d been secretly watching for three months. When he waved, she stared for a second, seeing from the corner of her eye that the light was red, and then ran back into the apartment where Nana was lightly snoring on the sofa, her nightgown bunched up, revealing her wrinkled knees.

###

The Gretta Drawing

2009-01-06T02:17:00.000-08:00

Tuesday is drawing day, so today here's a drawing I did on commission  for a family who had lost a beloved pet. I drew this from a photograph and I'm please to say they loved the likeness. What do you think?

Monday morning etsy loving

2009-01-05T00:40:00.000-08:00

It's Monday and on my calendar of blog events I believe that means it's Monday morning etsy loving time...and this is a doozie!
This work is by Susan Graham - http://www.sugarsusan.etsy.com...and its just amazing, drawing in wire is difficult to say the least but Susan makes it look effortless and really captures the art of a line drawing!.. Heres to etsy loving monday mornings and Susan Graham.. here's Crazy Hawk Flying

http://www.susangrahamart.com/

So friday got skipped, and heres 2 sketches to make up for it..

2009-01-03T09:18:00.000-08:00

Friday is sketch book day:
but this Friday was a train ride and an office and it left little time for drawing so here's two little sketches to make up for it.
From my sketch book to your screen...
Hope you like...

The huge rubbish cart from Chicago O'Hare airport 2008.
I was super tired and sad to go and all there was to draw was rubbish..

and this needs little explanation--it's tea cups, a great shape to sketch...yum.

So this was christmas.. Welcome to to 2009..

2009-01-01T07:55:00.000-08:00

So with the fireworks on the eye bigger than ever, so it was 2009 and the beginning of my drawing diary.

This blog will be dedicated to my pursuit to draw every day, well hopefully everyday.
Each day of the week i want to look at drawing in a new way, with help from a few friends and the world wide web I'd like to get people thinking about drawing.

Friday will be my blogs visual research day of the week.

Normally before drawing, for me,
becomes what every university tutor likes to call 'visual research' and what most of us non professors call looking at interesting stuff!

So in a ode to the winter of 2008 which is slowly being left behind us (the shortest day has been and gone..) here are a few pics I like..

Frosty berries.
(on a stone wall of the beautiful house of a family member)

A gingerbread tree decoration I made this Christmas
(I'm using made loosely here as i just did the icing, but don't tell anyone..)

A frosty drive home on new years eve
(everything was so icy it look like someone has scattered icing sugar over the countryside.)

The bright read Canadian thermal all in one i found a charity shop for £7.( i had to have it!)

So something to look at for today, Friday the day i like to take note of brilliant inspiring stuff in the world!

Coming soon to a computer near you!

2008-12-27T13:47:00.000-08:00

Dear All in the blog-land!
This blog will go live and real with posts an everything on Jan the first when i will start my blog drawing diary for 2009!
So watch this space!
x