Michael Nobbs

  • A trace of Mary on her birthday

    Screenshot of an entry from Mary Gordon’s blog, Fat Black Cat Journal, showing a post titled “Lady of leisure,” dated 18 September 2022. At the top is a painting of a woman in a dark coat and hat standing beside a war memorial. Below, Mary writes about identifying with the woman in the painting and reflects on exhaustion, disappointment and trying to keep going.

    Today would have been Mary Gordon’s birthday. I’ve been particularly missing her of late, especially when I spoon coffee into my little stovetop espresso maker, a ritual we both enjoyed.

    A couple of weeks ago, I discovered that her blog, Fat Black Cat Journal, is still online, and I feel as though I’ve found a way to reconnect with her — with traces of her.

    It hasn’t always been easy to read. This entry, written a few days after her final birthday, feels particularly painful and, as has been the case numerous times in recent days when I’ve been encountering these traces of her online, I’ve wanted to reach back in time and give her a hug.

    Sometimes things happen and you realise that you have been putting one foot in front of another and trying to keep going. This has been happening for YEARS. Everything from prepandemic to now has been grim, foot infront of another with no relief. Just another fucking thing to deal with. My joi de vivre fucked off many years ago. I’m now in emergency mode all I want to do is slowly crochet the same piece of yarn over and over again and listen to some semi decent drama on the radio and work out a way of keeping warm. And I don’t want to talk to anyone either I cannot bear the thought of how my life has just been a series of disappointments, and failures, many of which were not my fault but I have to live with them all the same. Last night I could hardly bear it I watched an Italian film whose central character was a smug leftist filmmaker. A smug leftist film maker scuppered my film career many years ago. And I remembered the three months of my life when I woke up and cried every day.

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  • On auto-pilot

    A wid view of a morning drawing scene on the tartan blanket. On the left, a round wooden-framed mirror reflects Michael’s face and glasses as he looks into it; part of the phone being used to take the photograph obscures the lower centre of his reflection. To the right lies the small handmade sketchbook with the black-ink self-portrait on its back cover and the handwritten words, “Feeling very tired and could hardly face myself this morning.” The date 11-9-26 is written beside the portrait. An uncapped Pigma Micron rests nearby. Behind everything is a tray lined with blue hen-patterned fabric, with a bright green teapot and part of an orange mug visible at the top of the frame.

    Very tired this morning and could hardly face myself, but habits can be like being on auto-pilot and, as soon as I poured out my tea, I reached for my mirrors, sketchbook and pen.

    The only place I had to draw to hand was the back cover of my recently filled little homemade pocket sketchbook, so this was a smaller attempt at seeing myself, made with an 05 Pigma Micron — a recent gift from a friend and a pen I haven’t drawn with since I restarted drawing, and possibly not for twenty years.

    Close-up of a small black-ink self-portrait drawn on the back cover of a handmade pocket sketchbook, lying on a red, grey and cream tartan blanket. The drawing shows Michael from the shoulders up, bald, wearing glasses and looking slightly to one side, with short broken lines describing his beard and stubble. Beneath the portrait he has handwritten, “Feeling very tired and could hardly face myself this morning.” The date 11-9-26 is written vertically beside his head. An uncapped beige Pigma Micron pen lies to the right, with its cap above it. Behind the sketchbook is a tray lined with bright blue fabric covered in patterned hens.

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  • Traces of my MA

    I woke up from a dream about a friend from long ago, which sent me off (before I’d even made my tea!) in search of traces of my MA from almost 20 years ago. I found an old Flickr account that, amazingly, is still active — and for which I still have the login details.

    Inside was an album of photographs taken by another friend, now dead, of my final show. There was more drawing there than I remember.

    View the full Flickr album.

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  • An emerging 4.00 am drawing habit?

    I seem to be awake at 4.00 am a lot at the moment and have decided, for now, to just go with the flow and draw myself.

    The complete video, in which I leaf through David Hockney’s book Faces 1966–1984, is available over on my Patreon.

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  • Finding my way back here

    A black-ink self-portrait drawing lying on a red, grey and cream checked duvet, beside a dark blue fountain pen. At the top right, a round mirror reflects a bald man with round blue glasses holding a yellow phone. The drawing shows the same view, with glasses, beard and moustache, and is handwritten “another 4:00am me. 6-9-26”.

    It’s been quite a while since I last wrote here. I think gaps can say almost as much as what’s actually said, so I’m not going to try to catch up, but rather begin again from where I am today.

    I’m drawing self-portraits at the moment—joining in with #Selfietember. I’ve bought myself a mirror and have been eyeballing myself in the wee small hours when I haven’t been able to sleep.

    Today felt intimate and uncomfortable. I was very tired, but couldn’t sleep. Wired. I enjoyed making the few marks that made up this drawing.

    Oh, and I’m drawing with a pen these days. My pencil seems to have found its way back into its pencil case—for now, at least.

    Close-up of the black-ink self-portrait on white paper, resting on the checked duvet with a dark blue fountain pen alongside. The loose line drawing shows a bald head, round glasses, beard and moustache, with the words “another 4:00am me. 6-9-26” written underneath.

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