Autumn Pulse

Pulse is the name of my favourite shop in Cardiff - go in there and buy organic raw chocolate truffles and Fentiman's ginger beer and practise your Welsh on them - and also of a (IMHO) toecurlingly-dire gay nightclub - just... well, I warned you.

It's also the name of a fledgling publication put out by the IISP. Steve Newton of Galatea got in touch last year and asked me if I'd be interested in working with him on a potential project, and having worked with him as designer/illustrator on a magazine that he edited, I was happy to. It's midway between a newsletter and a magazine, and information-heavy, so the design has to be clean and clear and simple. I use black and white for type, a strong grid system and fewer larger images, all of which help with clarity.

The people at IISP like the cover to reflect their corporate ID in some way rather than the more traditional photograph and coverlines, so for this second issue I decided that recreating the arrow in their logo using autumn leaves might work. I collected handfuls of colourful leaves, conkers and pinecones in Bute Park and, on a bright afternoon, photographed them all on a white background in my garden. I arranged these bits and bobs into position and worked a rough, textured background upon which to set them. It worked rather well, and the IISP were happy.



Sometimes, being a designer is a bit Blue Peterish. Those times are good.

Giant ants the size of foals

Okay, so I'm not going to say too much about this one - just that I'm massively happy with it and the pic doesn't do it justice. Yes, those are giant ants, on an island, and the further up the island you go the more the ants become part of everything else. It's an illustration for a forthcoming book and there will be 32 more.

I've never painted an illustration before - it's a real luxury and I'm loving it. I've also been commissioned to create a painting for a massage-therapist friend - one he can put in his therapy room. I love my work!

Gone surfing

One of the many good things about being freelance is the hours. Sometimes I'll have a week with very little on; sometimes I'll be working all hours. It's not constant, which is great, as those three little words 'nine' 'to' and 'five' fill me with a visceral dread only equalled by the prospect of being made to watch back-to-back soap operas at my parents' house. I have more time to do more of the things I like, and when I'm doing the things I like I tend to be thinking about stuff I'm working on and how I can make it better.

So in a sense, when people find out I work from home and ask me how I manage to switch off at the end of the day, the answer is that I never really do. This isn't a bad thing - if you love what you do, you don't view it as a 'job' but as something that challenges, pushes, inspires you - it's part of who you are. I went to see David Carson talk in London last year and he said that the perfect occupation is something you would choose to do even if you didn't need the money. I'm not saying that I want to spend even more of my time sat in front of my Mac, but the thing is, my best ideas are the ones that come to me when I'm not sat in front of my Mac.

The things I like to do to get ideas include gardening, painting, doodling, yoga and, most of all, surfing. The thing I don't like about doing the things I like is that when I get caught out doing them by clients, I feel a bit guilty. Which is stupid, because if I'm doing these things while I'm supposed to be sat in front of my Mac doing work for them, chances are I'm actually processing the problems and challenges raised by their brief, and coming up with creative ways around them.

I guess the guilt stems from when I worked in a design agency in Cambridge. We had this enormous fish tank, and when I was stuck for ideas I would sit in front of it and watch the clown loaches snuffle the gravel around or the plecostomus moodily swish the smaller fish out of his way. My boss (who was generally a Nice Person) would get a bit irritated by this. He seemed to think that I was skiving on his time. If we had a lot of work on and I went for a long walk and lay under an oak tree in my lunch hour instead dropping sandwich crumbs on my keyboard and cursing at Quark (for lo and behold children, back in those days of yore we did indeed use Quark), upon my return I'd get this Look, a Look that accused me of Not Taking The Work Seriously. In fact, I just needed to shift into a different gear - the gear that lets the ideas in.

It's a difficult process to put into words but it goes a little like this. You stop thinking with your head. Your focus shifts down, you breathe slowly and deeply: you think with your heart. Your brain sinks into the back of your head and your vision becomes peripheral: you do not focus on one thing but instead you see all. You forget yourself in the grander scheme of things: the goldfinch picks seeds from the bird-feeder hanging from the apple tree or the sunlight dances on the glassy sea as you paddle for a wave or the random melding of colours on the paint palette become something more... 

You can't think up ideas. They just come.

Captain America!

In the midst of winter I received a call from a potential client who had a new product that he wanted a complete look for. This thing was some sort of craft invention that was aimed at children and schools but that adults could enjoy, too. He'd had interest from big toy sellers including Hamleys and John Lewis, so the product needed to look absolutely stunning. I was to create a cartoon character - a superhero - and to design all the packaging in the style of a classic comic book, create a comic strip and a website.

An amazing brief, and as with all things that seem too good to be true, it was. Alarm bells sounded when the client kept adding more work to the brief without wanting to address the financial implications, and he became very sheepish when I sent him a quote with a full breakdown of costs even though I'd explained them to him from the start. So I held back on the project until I had full confirmation from him, and only did a few sketches. After a meeting with his bank, he realised he didn't have the money. The job was cancelled only a week after it started.

It is irksome; although some people appreciate how much care and consideration you put into each job, others seem to think you can churn out work like some sort of McProduction Line.

Hey ho: every cloud has a silver lining, etc. I got to spend a few days curled up beside my log fire learning how to draw superheroes while the song of the silent snow played softly outside. It's something they don't teach you in art college - you do a lot of life drawing and anatomy, so you know the lie of the human muscoloskelature, but superheroes are something else entirely. They're massively exaggerated, with dramatic perspective and little drawing tricks that emphasise movement and distance, and subtle crosshatching blending the blackest indian ink with the white of the page. Lucky for me, one of my best friends is a comic book geek and lent me a great how-to book by John Buscema of Marvel comics, so I set to work learning from one of the greatest artists of the genre.

Flipping through my sketchbook earlier, I saw the above inking. When the job was cancelled I was annoyed at having wasted my time, but looking back I appreciate having had the opportunity to diversify my skills. Such is life, I guess.