rabbit up my sleeve

Today I went to the Glasgow Boys exhibition in the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum, Glasgow.

I love the work of Joseph Crawhall, but it always knocks me out afresh when I see it in the real again. How did he do it? I ask myself as I lean closer and closer to the linen. It's gouache on linen. How does he get so much depth on that surface with that paint? I look and look, and the animals look right back at me.

I hadn't seen the black rabbit before. I think it was on loan from the Yale Center for British Art, so I likely won't see it for a while again. There was no postcard.
I went outside for a sit down. I thought about the rabbit. I drew my recollection of the rabbit on my hand. Crawhall drew from memory. I went back in. My rabbit looked nothing like his rabbit. I stood in front of his rabbit and drew it on paper. That one looked even less like it.

I started to flag at this point, and retired gracefully.

Apologies for the terrible photograph. I was on the bus by that point, and thought that if I wanted to photograph it at all then I'd better photograph it before it wore off on the bag I was carrying.