Martin Coletti G40 Guitar

This is a great guitar which I was given to me, buy a local Irish musical instrument shop many years ago—for free!

Martin Coletti G40 2/4 size flat-top acoustic guitar

Above: My Martin Coletti G40 3/4 size acoustic guitar

As Han Solo once said of his ship Millennium Falcon, “I know it doesn’t look like much, but she’s got it where it counts, kid.” In fact, my friend Ben Prevo even made a few modifications himself!

Martin Coletti G40 2/4 size acoustic guitar flame maple back

Above: Nice flame-maple book-matched back. This was what first caught my eye.

It was an amazing stroke of luck really. I was at the music shop counter, in the late 1990s, and my eye was caught by the book-matched flame-maple back of a blonde, parlour size guitar. The rib/side of it was flame maple too, and the neck was pale to match. It stood against the wall behind the counter, facing the wall. The conversation with the assistant went something like this:

“Oh, that’s an interesting looking guitar. What is it?” (I’d been very interested in old vintage parlour guitars, and I was a gigging acoustic blues player at the time)

“(pfft) That? Yeah, someone left it in to see if we could do anything with it, but it’s in bad shape and not really worth fixing.”

“Can I have a look at it?” (not expecting to try to buy it or anything, just very curious)

He picks it up and plonks it on the counter, face up. It’s pretty ugly from the front. The top looks like a plywood spruce door and it has a horrible lumpy mess of old varnish all over it. The Bridge is the worst. It’s cracked from left to right and is lifting up from the soundboard, under the tension of the strings. Actually, there might only have been a bass E and A on it. There was even a screw driven though it, I think, hence the split wood. The area around the bridge looked scarred and awful as if a bridge tore off from it, with the glue pulling a layer of spruce with it.

I think I remarked that it didn’t look as nice as I expected but that it was “still pretty interesting.” Then the assistant surprised me:

“You can have it if you like. The owner left it in ages ago and has lost interest in it.”

Strangely—for me—I didn’t immediately jump at the chance of a free guitar. It was in a terrible state, but I said, “Maybe I could fix it up and give it to my nephew.” Because it’s about 3/4 size.

“It’s all yours.” He said. I think he might have even added that he thought they’d never get rid of it.

I brought it home and thought about what it might be like for my nephew to play. Gingerly, I tuned up the couple of strings, fearing the bridge would fly off. Then, I plucked the bass E string—or maybe half of an E chord. My God, the sensation! The guitar vibrated through my whole body, starting with my rib-cage. And it sounded big and deep. Bigger and deeper than I expected a 3/4 guitar to sound.

I thought, “I don’t think I’ll give this to my nephew.”
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Delete Facebook

I finally did it—again. I deleted my Facebook account. This time for good.

“They ‘trust me’ … dumb fucks,”

What a weight off me! I feel freer now. (Be like Elizabeth) Here’s a handy, brief guide to deleting your Data-Vampiric, Surveillance-Capitalist, Bloated-Tick of a Facebook account.

I downloaded all of my Facebook stuff yesterday—only 190 MB—and this morning deleted my account. It’ll take about 90 days for everything to be deleted, but no one can see my profile anymore. But will I track down and contact every single App that ever grabbed my data via Facebook and tell them to delete my data? Unlikely. But it’s better than nothing.


Facebook isn’t just a ‘a bit of fun

“They ‘trust me’ … dumb fucks,” said Zuckerberg, 2004, in one of his instant messages after 4000 people volunteered their personal information. Read more about that, or at least the first 4 sentences of the Guardian article on Deleting Facebook.

Good fecking riddance.

The Crown Princes of Europe & Jack White

(My dad, John White Sr. hand-wrote the following notes about his own dad, for his grand-daughter’s school essay)

A Serbian student assassinated the Crown Prince of Austria. This gave the Crown Princes and Kings of Europe a chance to fight each other. These Kings and Princes were all cousins:

  • The King of England
  • Kaiser Wilhelm and
  • The Tzar (YAPb) of Russia

Jack (John) White, age 16, in uniform, with his grand-uncle John White

Needless to say, these royals did not want to get their hands dirtied whilst they sat warm and snug in their palaces. They left their dirty work to their ordinary citizens. One of those citizens was Jack White.

He joined up in the Royal Horse Artillery, in the 51st Highland Division. He was 16 years of age. He was to take part in the Battles of Ypres (‘Wipers’), Mons and Paschendale. He was to be far from warm and snug. His main concern was to keep warm, that his mother would send him a food parcel from home and that if he was to be wounded  it would be enough to get him sent home to England, but not leave him too disabled. (Called a ‘Blighty Wound’. John Jr.)

Well, he certainly was not warm. He bore the marks of frostbite on his fingers and toes until he died.

If he got a food parcel from his mother it would be set upon by his comrades like ravenous dogs. You see, the warm snug Princes and Kings weren’t too worried about about their soldiers and feeding them.

When Jack was wounded, his leather belt stopped the shrapnel from making too big a hole in his back. It wasn’t big enough at 4 inches for him to be sent home. Nor when his foot was smashed crossing a river frozen river when one of his horses slipped and fell on him was the damage considered enough to send him home. He died at 85 years of age and the smashed, distorted bones in his limping foot were still plain to see.

Jack had many painful memories, like when Ginger, a 40 year old cockney who had taken him under his wing, was mortally wounded. As Jack nursed his dying friend, with his head in his lap, Ginger asked for a Woodbine. Jack lit one for him and put it in his mouth. Only when Jack smelt the the cigarette burning Ginger’s lips did he look down to see that his father figure had died. (Jack’s actual father had died when Jack was very young. John W.) Ginger left a wife and children behind him in London. His wife would receive a 1 and a half line telegram to the effect that “The (warm and snug) King regrets to inform you that your husband has been killed in action.”

Jack had to bury another friend, or at least, his friend’s leg, for that was all that was all that they found of him after a German shell landed immediately in front of him and his horse. Jack said you couldn’t tell what was man and what was horse.


The brutal Field Punishment No.1, as depicted in the excellent WWI comic series ‘Charley’s War’

Not all Jack’s pain and discomfort was caused by the enemy. Like the night he spent tied to the wheel of a gun carriage for swearing at an officer, or being put on a charge for being muddy along with his horses when some big General had come to the front line to inspect the troops. The reason why Jack’s horses and their horse-brasses were dirty was that he had spent the whole morning from dawn, running ammunition up the line. This involved, on each trip, a mad dash across a clearing so that every time Jack appeared in the clearing with his team of horses and ammunition carriage they would would him have it.

After Jack was charged, the big General presumably back to his warm snug head quarters.

These are some of the memories of Jack White, a teenage soldier of the First World War.

When Jack came back to his home town of Liverpool, the country he had fought for had no work for him. He was unemployed and penniless.

One day, still wearing his uniform, he was thrown off a a tram because he didn’t have the full fare. Jack might have expected that the horrendous experiences of only weeks before might have gone unrecognised by his King but not a tram conductor!

This final story sums up Jack’s attitude to war: The ones who cause them never suffer, the ones who fight them soon have their efforts forgotten.

The lesson to be learned, so Jack was always saying is this: Before you fight a battle at the request of a King, President, Prime Minister, Taoiseach, politician, terrorist leader or whoever, check to see if they will be getting their hands dirtied (bloodied) too.

— by John Arthur White (my dad)

Jack White, age 16 (detail)



Looking back at Early Avenues for Creativity

I’ve been reading some interesting books lately. The most recent and the one which resonated the most is Ken Robinson’s ‘The Element’. It’s made me think some more about how I was as a kid. Namely: my interests, my passions, what moved me. And also, what I actually enjoyed at school, even in the more difficult subjects which I wasn’t that suited to, such as Physics and Maths.

It also made me think about how, even in school, some avenues for creativity could be found, which ties-in nicely with what Cal Newport says about: Becoming Really Great at What You (already) Do—Rather than Following Your ‘Passion.’ In other words, even in dull jobs, there might be things that you have an aptitude for, that you can concentrate on getting really good at and then you’ll end up enjoying them/the job.


In School: No Art Classes

Monotonous Maps

We didn’t do art or crafts in my primary and secondary schools—in Ireland. Yes, this may surprise you, but unless boys went to a Christian Brothers secondary school or a fee-paying one, creativity was more or less out the window. I say, more or less: because there were sometimes—occasionally—opportunities. Well, for drawing, at least.

In National School (i.e, Irish Primary) in the 1970s, you might have got to illustrate an essay or a piece that you’d learned about during the Religion period. But that was basically it as far as arts and crafts went. The only other opportunities for drawing were in the likes of Geography when you’d reproduce maps by an extremely tedious and painstaking process of tracing 3 times. I think it went like this:

  1. You traced the map from your text-book onto a piece of your mum’s grease-proof paper with pencil
  2. You turned the paper over, and drew along the lines again in pencil, on the back of the paper.
  3. You then placed the paper—and its traced map—right-way up, on a page of your copy book (an Irish ‘jotter’), and drew along the lines again, transferring a sort of carbon-copy of the map onto your copy book.
  4. You then drew over those faint transferred lines in your copy book—again!—to darken them.

So clearly, if you followed this process as directed you might have a good mental imprint of the shape of Ireland and it’s peninsulas, estuaries and major lakes—from sheer repetition. 4 tracings!

Bored by this, as a 9 year old—and as a creative artist, I soon enough started to just draw the map by observation without tracing. To me this was much more interesting and satisfying. It was still painstaking, but it wasn’t merely a mechanical process. It took observation, judgement and artistic skill. Rather than the recommended method which, I suppose fitted into the ‘rote learning’ approach to education which was still clinging on to the education system in the 70s.

My way was—at the very least—a kind of drawing in which you created, with your own independent mind and hands, something from thin air, without merely acting as a human photocopier.

My maps tended to be quite a bit off; much like those medieval ones that you see with their finely detailed coastlines, but weirdly distorted landmasses! I suppose I could have said, “But sir, you never told me what projection to use, so I went ahead and applied my own patented ‘John Ivan White Cartographic Projection’.” But that’d be more like the kind of brainy thing that my desk-partner and pal Niall F would have said. And words weren’t especially my thing, not as much as pictures–even though I loved to practice storytelling through my own comics. Neither was I all that intellectual. I have to say though, I was pleased with myself when I spotted how the edge of South America seemed to fit uncannily into the edge of Africa, and I had this sudden flash of inspired insight. For my first time, I’d stumbled across the possibility of Continental Drift, which we’d never been told about. That’s not too bad for a 10 or 11 year old, is it?


Secondary School: and Still No Art Classes

In secondary school also, art wasn’t in the curriculum. I was the first kid in that school who ever did a state exam in it. The only opportunities for drawing were in the following subjects: Mechanical Drawing, Metal Work Theory, Science and Maths. The rest of the kids were probably grateful for that fact. I wasn’t.

Science offered me the most creative drawing outlet. I took a very old-fashioned approach to making diagrams. Drawing an image in Science class (a subject I enjoyed) of a distillation set-up, could be achieved with the most basic, functional outlines of the beaker and bunsen burner etc., as if done with a pre-made stencil; but I seized the opportunity to draw it as realistically as possible, with pencil shading, glassy-shine, boiling liquid and even the rubber tube between the burner and the gas tap. And the human digestive system was drawn in an attempt at full realism–such as Leonardo Da Vinci or Vesalius might have done, once again with my effort at realistic shading. and when we drew tools in Metal Work Theory (which was a pretty dull class), my ‘Bastard-Cut’ file and drill bits were in realistic steely-shaded-smudged-pencil.

Mechanical drawing and Maths however, demanded a rigorously accurate and mechanical approach. This usually couldn’t be avoided. But it was still drawing–and somewhat creative at least. However, I didn’t like Maths. I had no ability or interest in it whatsoever, and as we progressed through secondary school, it became increasing abstract and baffling to me—as did Physics, which we started in 4th year. The best part of Mechanical Drawing was when something occasionally had to be drawn freehand, such as eliptical shapes. That was when I got to break-out of purely mechanical drawing and test and show-off my manual drawing skill and my artistic eye. That was when I could probably do the work better than anyone else in the class. And that felt good. God knows, there were precious little other opportunities to be the best in school.

So those were the drawing opportunities. But what other creative opportunities were there? Metal Work (Practice) and Mechanical Drawing enabled us to actually make things. It was mechanical and by the instructions, but we did walk out of a classroom or workshop with something that had never existed before. I desperately wanted to do Woodwork, but my dad insisted that I do the more academic History and Geography instead. History was OK, Geography was mostly a boring chore. When Geography was about the natural world, and more like Geology, it was fascinating. It was more like Johnny O’Sullivan’s Science classes, which I loved (he was my favourite teacher). Exploring the various types of rocks, and how mountains and waterways were formed, and volcanoes and glaciers—even environment and pollution. All good stuff. The mysteries of real world, tangible things that you could see and touch—revealed. But when we had to learn facts and figures by rote, like all of the principal rivers or towns of Ireland, or the average annual rainfall or how many tonnes of CO2 were expelled into the atmosphere by industry… I just drifted off. Even more boring was when we’d learn about and have to remember the principal industries of certain cities and countries.

So I’d sit there in Geography and History classes with a handful of the more clever boys, and a load of girls who seemed to do the subjects by default—and I’d wish that I was in Woodwork class, making things and feeling proud of my accomplishments. The one upside to this situation was that we ended up in mixed classes with the girls, who we never mixed with otherwise. I’d spend most of the classes, when we weren’t hearing about Geology or World War I, and I wasn’t wishing I was doing woodwork, admiring and falling in love with a girl named Susan who had come back to school after the summer holidays with long, shaggy, blonde hair.

I later wrote a rubbish song about her, for our heavy rock band. Unrequited love.


Imaginative School Essays

English class was mostly boring too, especially when we were studying poetry, prose and Shakespeare. Like Maths and Physics, Shakespeare mostly baffled me. And when the teacher went over and over it, line-by-line in class, analysing it for us, it didn’t get any more enjoyable either. What English did offer though, was the opportunity for creativity. I quite enjoyed imaginative essay writing, and did quite well at it. I might never have done well, if I hadn’t been reading science-fiction—and more latterly horror. I learned a lot from the likes of Stephen King especially. Dune by Frank Herbert and King’s Salem’s Lot and The Shining were the ones I returned to the most. I think King really taught me how to write fiction, especially in terms of characters, atmosphere and drama—and even pathos. I’d been a story-teller from a very young age—making comics of course—but King made me appreciate the words even more than some of Marvel’s excellent writers ever could. Marv Wolfman’s great writing on Marvel’s Tomb of Dracula comic was largely obscured by Gene Colan and Tom Palmer’s stunning artwork. It was a magnificent creative synergy in which, to a youngster who loved images, the words lost out to the art. Or at least, blended in so perfectly that I noticed them less.



In the end, I did some art classes outside of school in order to pass my exams and get into art college. The staff had to come into work just for me when I sat my exams—and I got an A each time. Of to college I went, and it’s been a varied and meandering creative journey ever since.


Creatives find Creative Opportunities

So yes, even in school—and maybe even in your dull job, some avenues for creativity can be found. I gravitated towards those opportunities. So much so that one primary school report in Scotland read: “It’s a pity that John doesn’t spend as much time (effort?) on his writing as he does on his art!” I’d dash off my essay as quickly as possible and devote the rest of the session to the accompanying illustration!

Don’t Follow Your Passion! (Pt.II)

Well, I finished Cal Newport’s book ‘So Good They Can’t Ignore You: How Skills Trump Passion in the Search for Work You Love’ «I wrote about previously.

My verdict?

Possibly a life-changing book. The upshot is that if you want to do work (paid work) that you love, and this is of special interest to those who will be in salaried employment: you need to be very good at what you’ll be doing in that work.

Cal says that the biggest thing that people seem to want in their jobs is a good degree of  autonomy and control. They may think that they want more money, but studies have shown that really, it’s autonomy and control. This seems pretty reasonable to me. We like to be in control of our own lives, right? But if you want that, you need to be able to give the employer or show the employer something in return that merits that. Basically, if you are damned good at what you do—I mean really good—and have lots of experience, then the employer is more likely to grant you more autonomy and control.

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Don’t follow your passion. Be great at what you do instead (Pt.I)

I’m 55 pages into a book that I finally got around to reading: Cal Newport’s book, ‘So Good They Can’t Ignore You: Why Skills Trump Passion in the Quest for Work You Love’

My God… it’s good. When I’m finished I’ll write a bit more about it. So far it’s going against the majority of self-help career advice that’s put out there (and which I’ve fallen for, myself). Advice which was somewhat reinforced for many people worldwide by a famous speech that Steve Jobs once gave. It’s also inline with the old adage ‘Do what you love, and the Money will Follow’; and ‘Do What you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.’ The usual advice basically distills down into:

‘Follow Your Passion.’

There, simple.

Simple? Not really. If you want a great job—that you love, the chances are: you’ll have to be damned good at it. That you’ll need the great skills that are required to get you that great job.

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Style for the Dark Side—or the Light Side? (help!)

This Star Wars webcomic of mine (from a comic I drew as a kid) kind of disgraces me as a designer! But it’s such a hard style to get right, for the particular, unusual content which it carries. I’d love to get your input.


Turn to the Darkside — or — the Lightside?

Ordinarily, I prefer not to ask people for their opinions on my work, but I’m just too close to this thing and… it’s also complicated.

The webcomic is built around a comic book adaption that I did as a kid between early 1978 and about 1983. So between the ages of 9 and about 14 or 15 years old.

The current look is my CSS-tweaked version of a very plain and basic off-the-shelf Comic Press skeleton template. It’s difficult to get much more creative with it in terms of layout etc., so what I’ve done is mainly adjust the typography, colours and forms of the various widgets and content boxes, like rounding off their corners.

The Design Problem to be Solved

The problems as I see them from a webdesign point of view are mainly all about the fact that what’s being displayed/presented/exhibited in the website is pretty rough looking, at times very tatty, stained, and even partially eaten by Silverfish insects! The paper is nearly 4 decades old. But most of the drawings lack finesse. What this means is that:

  • A ‘clean’ minimalist gallery-style website isn’t really going to fit the tatty looking content. It’ll make the content look even tattier by contrast.
  • When I do a slightly tatty looking site design (like my other webcomic) it just makes everything look like crap 😀

My feelings about the current Dark version

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Home-made Birthday Cards!

I’m sure I’m not the only arty type who does this, but I thought I’d put these birthday cards that I make for my son Johnny, every year—just for fun.

I’ve always done this for family and friends. I wonder if the ones I did way back, for college pals are still in existence?

My son Johnny is mad into football, Liverpool FC and the Ireland team, so it’s fun putting him into some of those matches!

8th Birthday: Playing for Liverpool FC!

Cassilas was the world’s greatest goalkeeper at the time (or so Johnny told me), so it was only right that I should show him being thrashed by an incredibly talented 8 year old!


Scoring—with his left leg!—against Iker Cassilas! (pens on paper)

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I was a ‘Shadow Artist’

I got thinking about: being creatively ‘stuck’, and not taking the leap into creating your own work, which led me to think of what Julia Cameron said about ‘Shadow Artists‘ in her book The Artist’s Way.

Self-Defeating Self-Help?

I can definitely relate to this. It’s also why the self-help industry is huge. We want to keep reading variations on the same wisdom in the hopes of filling in gaps we missed – or getting that final combination of ‘secrets’ that will finally give us the confidence we need.

The Shadow Artist

I first became aware of it when reading Julia Cameron’s book ‘The Artist’s way‘. The author introduced me to the idea of the ‘Shadow Artist‘. I suddenly realised that I was one! Instead of actually making my own art, I was voraciously reading books about art & artists – and painting technique. I was almost an art historian, but producing nothing. I read biographies and diaries of artists –  hoping it’d inspire me, or rub-off. But I think really, it was an easy substitute for doing the work – taking a risk. It was procrastination.

People also like to talk about their great novel – which they haven’t written yet.


I finally – actually – painted something, instead of just talking about it. ‘The Florentine’ c.2004

Taking Action: Art Classes

When my wife finally pushed me to do art classes, I started reading a lot less about Art – and watching less art documentaries – because  I was more interested in doing my own art. I was no longer a ‘Shadow Artist’. What I did read, and look at, had real purpose. In-between painting, I was studying the work of people like Lucien Freud and Velasquez, and trying to apply it to my own work. Continue reading

Comic Strip, or Comic Page? A failed Experiment

Last week, I tried an experiment with my Webcomic. I split up the page that I’d yet to publish, into 3 strips, and published them on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I was going for more frequent updates, in a way that was more manageable within my time-constraints.

Comic strip 1, as extracted from a larger 'Between * Wars' comic page

One of the Comic Strips – as extracted from a larger comic page, ‘The Old Boy’

Realising it wasn’t working, on Friday, I quickly re-published them as one big page, ‘The Old Boy’ and got 30 Facebook ‘Likes’ within a few hours. That’s 30, instead of the 3 or 4 I was previously getting. People much preferred the old way!


I was all excited about the new comic strip format

I was actually really excited about doing this. One of the problems with my Between * Wars comic has been frequency and regularity of updates. because if there’s one thing that will lose you the readers that you’ve gained through your hard work and quality output, it’s going for indeterminate periods without giving more instalments. Your readers won’t know when or even if there’s another episode coming, and will get frustrated, lose interest and maybe even forget about you. Continue reading