THE WYRD BLOG OF JOSEPH SCROBB

Illustration, Story Telling, and Wondering

 

September 7, 2018

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September 2, 2019

I am very excited to announce that I will be exhibiting my set of Cock Robin paintings in  Castle Gates Library in Shrewsbury from Monday 9th September! The paintings will be on display there until 19th October, along with a first edition copy of my book 'The Death of Cock Robin'.

The exhibition will then be followed by an event on Thursday 24th October at University Centre Shrewsbury which will feature a performance by myself, as I prese...

May 16, 2019

Here is a preview of what I am calling a 'prototype' copy of my Cock Robin book. The illustrations in these first copies unfortunately came out with inaccurate colours, due to a discrepancy with the computer screen I was using to prepare them on, but I am very happy with the quality and look of the book itself. I will be having them reprinted correctly before they are available to purchase. One of these samples will accompany my original paintings in the Ab...

June 12, 2018

From the set of Cock Robin illustrations I have so far finished, a choice selection from the series of 15 paintings, to whet your appetite! 

Cock Robin is dead.

Who killed Cock Robin?

"I" said the Sparrow,

"With my bow and arrow,

I killed Cock Robin!"

Who will make his shroud?

"I" said the Beetle,

"With my thread and needle,

I shall make his shroud."

Who will be the parson?

"I" said the Rook,

"With my little book,

I shall be the parson."

All pieces are painted with...

October 20, 2017

Greetings once again! 

Alas, I have neglected to keep the blog updated throughout the Summer, but a new term of my MA course has begun, and I am moving ahead with my 'Cock Robin' illustrated book. I will endeavour to keep the site alive hence-forth!

For now; here is a round up of some of my sketchbook work over the past months, through which I have been studying the various British bird and creature species featured in the old rhyme, and figuring out designs...

April 21, 2017

Arising from the plain; a hill, 
its like unknown, it’s age undreamed.
It trembled once upon a time, 
So once it was believed. 

There I did wander restless,
Upon it’s slopes I took to climb
It’s sylvan hide,
flesh of lime;
now drowning in the depths of time.
And whose words there echoed on the wind?
Were they his?
Could they be mine?
I saw them scattered on the peak, 
I saw them splinter, 
Saw them shine.
Such words a poet hopes to speak,
Borne biting on the...

April 13, 2017

“By the side of the Roman road between Ruckley and Acton Burnell, and half-way down the Causeway Bank, there rises out of a ferny, flowery bank a most beautiful spring, which drips into a deep rocky basin, partly natural, of great grey slabs of stone, placed there by the hand of man. Behind it rises the ancient Causeway Wood, with its yews and hollies, its ash and mountain-ash trees. The spring is never known to fail, even in the driest seasons. Its waters,...

March 28, 2017

 I completed a second 'rough' attempt at a page from a possible Cock Robin book. The text was done fairly lazily just to work through one way of incorporating it, but I'm discarding this layout as too unwieldy, particularly for the context of a small 'pocket size' book. 

The image was painted with my usual watercolour, ink and gouache. 

March 19, 2017

"At a springe-wel, under a thorn 
There was a bote of bale, a litel hire a-forn, 
There beside stant a maide, full of love ibounde, 
Whoso wol seche trewe love, in hir it shall be founde"

- Anonymous middle English verse, 14th Century

Spring Tide - "At a sprynge wel under a thorn...


Based on English folk-lore and a particular bit of 14th century verse/poetry. Though no melody is recorded with the original text, I've found it very pleasant to sing aloud to a...

March 6, 2017

When the Sun lay in the earth,
I set my heart there deep beside,
that the sinking of a sacred light
portended doom should swift betide;
and so it fell, and filled that space
within my chest; and all inside
was drowned by dread it seemed;
to think my heart must now abide
in earthen tomb, yet still to hope;
for neither heart nor sun have died,
and though I might not make it so;
to see a dawn at least, I tried.

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© 2017 by Joseph Scrobb. Created with Wix.com

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