Author Archives: boballoo3

About boballoo3

Hi, my name is Bob. I took early retirement from the steel industry four years ago and one of the things I promised myself was to learn to paint. I have always loved art and took up drawing at the age of fifty for the first time since leaving school. Hmmm did they have schools that long ago? Seemingly they did because I have some vague recollections of it, in particular of getting the cane for doodling in maths. I enjoyed drawing but always felt it lacked something, so I was determined to try my hand at painting. I enrolled on a watercolour class, but quickly decided that perhaps watercolour and I did not really gel. (In other words I couldn't do it.) Then I tried acrylic and found that I enjoyed using them and so here I am, a retired steel worker, splodging acrylic paint onto boards and paper and quite enjoying doing so. I realise that I have a great deal to learn and that I am a mere beginner in the art of painting, but enjoying doing something is half the battle. I love real art and will happily while away my free time in galleries wherever I come across them. I have been lucky enough to visit the Met in New York, the Louvre in Paris and of course Tate Britain. I also love sculpture and have a great fondness for the V&A, where I can wander for days. Well rather than bore anyone daft enough to read this into tears, I will leave it at that. With my thanks for visiting and my very best wishes.

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The ant army.

The ant army

I was sat on a wall just musing
When an army of ants came along
With a lot of military hoo-hah
And a pagan victory song
They were led by a Colonel called Mustard
Who walked arm in arm with the queen
While the ant behind had a dead fly
To be eaten for supper it seemed
By two, by two, by twenty
With bugles, trumpets and drums
They marched and walked and stumbled
And occasionally wiggled their bums
Some carried leaves so enormous
They couldn’t keep up with the throng
Till a sergeant major in ant terms
Came back to push them along
Onwards and forwards they ventured
Over paths, up walls, around trees
While the old ants fell to the wayside
Tired feet, aching backs and old knees
The ants of the world they were marching
But not one of them knew as to where
And not one of them dared ask that question
Or maybe not one of them cared
Young ants were born on the route march
As the dead they were carried along
Ants went to school and then married
To the strains of an ant marriage song
Nothing it seemed could stop them
Their journey an energy stream
From here to the distant horizon
As one in search of a dream
A column of ants on a highway
A road only they could perceive
Their goal lay unseen in the distance
But it lived in their souls to believe
As the day slipped by so I watched them
A nation of ants on the move
Maybe ants being ants with no logic
Or a species with something to prove.

 

Black Hambleton.

There was me and Black Hambleton
And the ghost of Mally Wright
Hiding whilst the sun it shone
We wait for the dead of night
I laid there in the heather
Watching clouds fast, scurry by
There was danger out there looming
‘Neath this grey, forbidding sky
Out from near the village
Came the clattering of hooves
That echoed from the hillside
Onto deep red pan tile roofs
A rider was approaching
In the blackest of black gowns
Two pistols tucked within his belt
His hat was pulled deep down
The folk who walked the cobbled path
Did hasty give him room
For here upon the blackmost steed
There rode impending doom
The villagers they crossed themselves
Their prayers did sudden lack
As the snorting horse it galloped by
With the beast upon it’s back
I stood then from my heather lair
Moved to it’s path to stand
And looked along this road of fate
With destiny at hand
Closer, ever closer
The thunder grows it’s pace
This devil on his black, black steed
Falls further now from grace
The one thing that the innocents
Who turn in fear can’t see
Tis’ that I who stand in the horses path
And it’s rider, both are me.

 

Lost

The hand that was reaching out
Hangs loosely by my side
The dreams I began to dream
Have ceased to dream and died
The journey that had lay before
Just now an empty road
The emptiness that now I feel
A heavy, worthless load
The sky that was brightly blue
Is heavy now with rain
The heart that was full aglow
Is loaded now with pain
The lips that I sought to kiss
Have turned to face away
And the sweet, sweet words that once I heard
Are bitter now today
The hand that was reaching out
Now empty by my side
And the dreams that I thought to have
Have crumbled, gone and died.

 

Sleeping cherub. (Dreaming.)

Cherub

This painting is again taken from a piece of sculpture I came across in a museum in Milan, I think it was. The sculpture was white, but I decided to paint it in the shades you can see, to hopefully give it a little life. It was painted in water soluble oils, which I have recently ventured into.