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.

Magdalene III


This image was taken from a marble sculpture I came across in Madrid and thought it would make an interesting painting. There is something fascinating about the many and varied ways that sculptors and artist portray Mary.


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.



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.)


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.

North Korea

‘Next stop is ‘Armageddon,’

Said the conductor on the train

But I suggest you take your raincoat

We’re expecting nuclear rain


There’s a despot in Korea

Intent to kill the world

With no thought or inclination

Of the horror he’s unfurled


‘Civilisation’ on a knife edge

Humanity on the brink

What a sad sad way to say goodbye

To all we know and think


No children and no flowers

Just a burned, out wasted land

A scorching wind, a flash of light

Leaving only God to stand


Broken II

I found this image in Madrid, actually a black and white photo in a gallery by a German artist called Hans Bellmer. Whilst initially I was quite taken by the image as a technical challenge, by the time I was half was through painting it, found it both disturbing and unsettling. One of those images I somewhat regret painting.