Michael Nobbs

Tag: Traces

  • Perhaps one day I’ll be pleased I did

    Wider view of Michael’s 15 September self-portrait resting on a dark tablet on top of a crocheted blanket made from blue, cream and muted pink squares. The black-ink drawing lies in the foreground with a dark blue pen and an orange pen beside it. At the upper right, a round wooden-framed mirror reflects Michael lying nearby in glasses and a white top, holding up a phone with a yellow case to take the photograph. The drawing’s loose handwritten notes are visible along the bottom, including the phrase “perhaps one day I’ll be pleased I did.” The mirror, drawing, pens and blanket together show the immediate setting in which the early-morning self-portrait was made.

    Drawing after a little more sleep than usual

    This morning I drew before making my tea. Early, though not quite as early as has been the case for most of my self-portrait drawings over the last two weeks. Today, because I’d had more sleep, I think my brain was more capable of thought — of piecing together memories and ideas.

    I drew with the same growing compulsion that has been present in my recent drawings, but what was missing was the anxiety that has accompanied much of my drawing since I returned to the practice over three years ago.

    What prompted this shift was looking back again at photographs of my MA show on Flickr, and a memory they sparked from that time.

    A memory

    My mother died in early 2008, in the run-up to my final MA show. As we cleared her house, my brother filled bin bags with papers and bits and pieces — letters, cards, notebooks, shopping lists — things that, to him, looked like rubbish.

    After he left, I spent two weeks unpacking them all again.

    I remember being particularly drawn to the shopping lists. So many of them contained the same things, repeated from week to week. Ordinary things. Everyday things. But that was exactly what made them feel important.

    They were traces of her life.

    It didn’t really matter what the marks said. What mattered was that she had made them. Her hand had moved across those scraps of paper. She had thought those thoughts, written those words, lived those ordinary days.

    Just making marks

    Today, I can see that my drawing has been reaching towards something similar.

    Not being concerned with how the marks look together, but rather that they are there. Not waiting for inspiration or the right subject. Just making marks. Making a mark. Saying: I’m here.

    Not concerning myself with the why, at least not today, but rather giving in to the compulsion, letting the anxiety fall away, and making a drawing.

    Holding on to the thought that perhaps one day I’ll be pleased I did.

    Photograph of Michael’s exhibition statement from his 2008 MA show, headed “The Archive” with “Michael Nobbs” beneath it. The statement reads: “Recently, I have been seeing myself as little more than a collector of the small pieces of ephemera that pass through my fingers as I live my life. Notes, lists, doodles, the occasional more deliberate drawing (and even the odd chocolate bar) have taken on a great importance since my mother’s death. I’ve realised that often all that is left to show we have lived our lives are the small scraps we make and leave with very little thought for their content or potential longevity. The many shopping lists found in the pockets of my mother’s coats and the bottom of her shopping bags as I cleared out her house in March this year are an incredibly important reminder of a life lived. Prompted to preserve and record fragments from my own life, I am searching for ways to collect, archive and present them.” Along the bottom are four small photographs of everyday traces: a mug with a note, a handwritten list, a page containing a drawing and writing, and a small electronic object beside another handwritten note.
    Close-up from Michael’s 2008 MA exhibition showing a small lined page from his mother’s handwritten diary, preserved inside a clear plastic bag and pinned to the wall. The page contains several dated entries from late December 2005 and early January 2006. The handwriting is faint in places, but readable lines include references to spending Christmas with Michael and George, “Michael has looked after me very well,” feeling “very much better” after a rest, and, in the final entry, “Am starting to feel much better! Am able to do a few more things.” Behind the bag are enlarged fragments of handwriting and part of another photograph.
    Installation view from Michael’s 2008 MA exhibition. A grid of clear zip-lock bags is pinned directly to a white wall, each containing small pieces of saved ephemera: handwritten notes and lists, envelopes, scraps of paper and other everyday fragments. Some of the papers are faded and creased, and two include small printed “Santa Claus” motifs. Below them sits an iMac showing a colourful computer window, while to the right a small wall-mounted screen displays a blue-toned face. Handwritten Post-it notes, a CD and other scraps are also attached around the installation.
    Black-ink self-portrait drawn across a folded sheet of off-white paper on the morning of 15 September 2026. Michael’s face fills most of the page in loose, uneven lines: large round glasses, one strongly outlined eye, nose, beard and closely cropped head. The top and right side of the head are built up with dense layers of cross-hatching. Along the bottom are handwritten notes including the date, “15.9.26,” “6.00 am,” and words about drawing himself before making tea because he feels he has to, ending with the smaller phrase, “perhaps one day I’ll be pleased I did.” A dark blue pen and an orange pen lie beside the drawing.
    Close-up of the lower-right corner of Michael’s black-ink self-portrait from 15 September 2026. Part of the jaw, neck and dark cross-hatched marks are visible above several lines of large, loose handwriting. The text reads, in part, “before I’ve made my tea because I feel I have to” and, in smaller writing at the bottom right, “perhaps one day I’ll be pleased I did.” The paper is slightly buckled and layered over another sheet beneath it.

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  • 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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  • 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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