My Granddad’s Legacy

I grew up with a pencil in my hand. Or a pen. Or anything that made a mark reallly. I remember drawing up renditions of my favourite characters in the sand on the beach with a stick, my finger, or a lonely sea-shell—after sticking them to my ear to ‘hear the ocean,’ of course.

My granddad lived with us until I was around 7 years old, and he was a keen artist. His preferred medium was colour pencils, and when I say artist, I truly mean it! He drew up pictures of old London high-streets, docks, and people in the park. He was genuinely exceptional.

I’ll have to dig out his portfolio and share it with you all some time soon, but for now it’s locked away in the family home… which if you’ve seen my Welcome To Rock Bottom post, is off limits for me right now.

The point here is that my granddad was a huge help and inspiration in my life at that age. I used to beg him for paper and some pencils, and he’d roll his eyes for me disturbing him and reluctantly chuck me some down on the floor so I could draw beside him. He’d work on his coloured recreation of the Great West Road and I’d scribble out Winnie The Pooh and friends.

To me, it was amazing, and to him, it was quality time with his favourite grandkid 😉

I’m not sure when I noticed he was missing, but at some point it just became normal that he didn’t live with us anymore. His bedroom door remained closed and undisturbed for a long while, until one evening, after my brother and I had been long since put to bed, our mother called from downstairs.

I remember a sinking feeling in my chest—I must have detected something was off. Whatever it was, it felt different, and I knew the world would never be the same again.

By the time me and Darren had reached the end of the landing, or the top of the stairs, I knew what had happened. I looked at Darren and said, “Granddad is dead.”

I was right, of course, because even all the way back then I was never wrong 😉.

After the sit down explanation from the parents, arrangements and rearrangements needed to be faced. I immediately requested his bedroom, exactly as it was. Drawing table and all.

You may think such a notion spooky for a small child, but honestly I think I just wanted to be close to him.

That first night though… one I’ll never forget. Of course it was a dream, it had to be. But what I remember distinctly are the details. I’d began to fall asleep when I looked to the edge of the bed, where Granddad was sitting at his drawing desk. He looked at me and smiled the happiest, biggest smile any man could ever give. Happier than I’d ever seen him.

He put his pencil down and came to sit at the edge of my bed and spoke a few simple words. “I’ve got to go away now Gaz.” He stood up, placed a pencil down on the bed, and looked back at me. “Never stop drawing.”

And with that he was gone for good. But not really. Every time I’ve picked up a pencil, opened up a sketchbook, or told myself ‘I really need to get back to art,’ I’ve thought of that night. And that’s where I am today. Reminiscent. A little sad, a little inspired. Separated from my family but comforted by the past, thinking to myself once more as I have many times before… I need to get back to art.

So here is a dump of some old sketches I’ve somehow managed to find on my phone, and you can expect much more as I improve and go on this art journey. I’m going to heed my granddads ‘last words’ and never stop drawing. Never stop creating. To blindly follow this road in full faith as I should’ve many years ago.

Granddad, I’m sorry my art journey to date has been so sporadic, but this is for you.

So there we are… not the best work if we’re being honest, but not the worst either. If you’d like to follow me on my art journey the best place is my Facebook. Not only can you expect sketchbook pages, but I post all my writing work there too… and sometimes post random thoughtful stuff! It’s not a bad place to spend five minutes if I do say so myself 😊