Route 66 and All That

  Last Chance - 51cm x 73cm Watercolour 

'Get your kicks on Route 66' - as the old Bobby Troup song goes. The USA has a romantic attachment to roads which the UK has never been able to fully share or quite understand – we don't have the distances and anyway the A66 from Workington to Middlesborough just doesn't have the same buzz as the old Route 66 from Chicago to Santa Monica. Of course times have changed and most of Route 66 is now Interstate 55 which is not quite the same thing either.

When I lived in the USA I liked to drive. I planned to drive the entire length of the I-95 from the Canadian border to Miami and then out to the Florida Keys but I only got as far as Savannah GA before exhaustion, boredom and the heat finally got to me.

Being English I naturally wanted to own a big old Cadillac or at least a convertible Ford Mustang but money and kind friends encouraged me to be more sensible and I ended up with a second hand Datsun that was cheap, tough and reliable if not exactly exciting or romantic. I used to cadge lifts in more glamorous cars and sometimes rented, or even borrowed, more interesting vehicles – Americans are the most generous and hospitable people and often I would be loaned not only cars but also houses or apartments to stay in en-route and even suitable clothing for the wilder places I wanted to visit. I once borrowed a 1970s Dodge Ram van (the American equivalent of a VW campervan) which my cousin insisted on calling a “pussy wagon” - I've no idea what he meant! I drove it one balmy Autumn to Nags Head on the North Carolina coast and then along the entire length of the Outer Banks from Duck to Morehead City before making my way back to Durham NC. It took six days but it was worth every moment and is high on the list of my best times.

The Outer Banks, off season, has got to be one of the best places. The bridge in this painting is the Lindsay C Warren Bridge across Alligator River heading out on Route 64 towards Nags Head. I was driving along with the cruise control set at 60mph - the speed limit was 55 but nobody stuck to that and the only time I was pulled over the highway police just passed the time of day asking dumb, dumber and even dumber questions just so they could listen to my 'British accent' – I was driving along, listening to the radio, minding my own business and wondering when the next gas station would be when a Rickie Lee Jones song came on the radio - “Last Chance Texaco” - and the gas station in the painting appeared in the distance. There was no thinking involved – I had to paint it.

Since then it's changed of course. A different oil company runs the gas station and the Outer Banks towns are bigger and less beautiful and new bridges are replacing the old. Even Ocracoke and Hatteras Islands have changed but my paintings are often of places that no longer exist - or in some cases never existed – it may look like I am recording something, a place, a scene or a view, but that's not the point of making a painting although, to be honest, I couldn't say exactly what the point is.

Just the other day I was driving along the A21 on my way down to the coast, passing signs that told me I was entering “1066 Country” and thinking about the time I came down this way for the 900^th anniversary of the Battle of Hastings. It was 1966 and we, a motley group of art students from Croydon College of Art, had hired a coach to take us to join the celebrations but we got the date wrong and arrived the day after to find that not only had we missed the fireworks and everything but that the famous battle and its anniversary celebrations had actually taken place somewhere else entirely - the aptly named 'Battle' – a nice but unremarkable town just a few miles inland from Hastings - “I suppose 'The Battle of Battle' just doesn't have the same ring about it!” someone remarked as we climbed back on the coach.

But I digress - as I was saying - I was driving along the A21 thinking of nothing important when I noticed a roadside sign advertising a new transport cafe called unsurprisingly 'Cafe 1066'.

The sign read, “Get your chips at 1066.”

I didn't stop.

Let's Go to the Pictures

'Cinema' - Acrylic on Board

I've just heard that the 1930s, Art Deco, Regent Cinema in Lyme Regis has burnt down. Although it's been years since I was there, the news of its loss has upset me - I have always been a film fan and the Regent was one of my favourite cinemas.

Much of my childhood in Walton on Thames was spent at the pictures. My family had been connected with films and film making from the beginning. My maternal grandparents and a much loved maiden aunt had worked for Cecil Hepworth, the pioneer film maker, until his studios went bankrupt in 1923 and my father's family advertised the local cinema on hoardings outside their garage/petrol station in return for which they received free tickets. Using these my Grandmother would take us to see selected films at the Odeon and later on my brother and I became regulars at Saturday morning pictures at the Regal – sixpence to get in plus tuppence ha'penny for an ice lolly during the interval. As I grew older I would sometimes bunk off school in the afternoon to go and see a film – something I now regret - although, to be honest, my only real regret is that I didn't do it often enough.

At art school I ran the college film society. I even worked in films, albeit briefly. As an eleven year old schoolboy I had had a small part in an advert for Ribena, the blackcurrant juice drink, and later on I worked as a runner on a couple of films but by then the twin lures of fame and fortune had lost their charm and all I really wanted to do was paint.

After moving to Lyme Regis I soon became a regular at the Regent, happily sitting through even the crumbiest of films. In the holiday season the town quadrupled in size and the cinema did good business which probably kept it solvent the rest of the year. However at midweek showings during the long winter months it was not unusual to be almost alone in the auditorium. Occasionally the projectionist, whose concentration was variable, might allow the film to go out of focus at which point a member of the audience would have to go and ask for it to be sharpened up. I remember once when I was almost the only customer having to go and ask if he would put the Cinemascope lens on – which he had forgotten to do – and feeling guilty that I had not only disturbed him but also quite possibly woken him up.

In the summer of 1981 I was invited by one of the usherettes to attend a secret, midnight, pre-release, staff-only viewing of 'The French Lieutenant's Woman' much of which had been filmed in the town. There were only a handful of us and, despite it being the height of summer, the cinema was freezing because the manager hadn't been told about the screening and no-one dared turn the heating on in case he found out. Consequently we all had to cuddle up together in the centre row just to keep warm.

The film enjoyed a long run in Lyme Regis mainly because almost all the townspeople had been involved in its making. One consequence of this mass involvement was that often during a showing one or more of the locals in the audience would point at the screen and whisper loudly to their companion, “Look - that's me!” I fondly remember one screening during which somebody spoke up during a quiet moment and - clearly referring to one of the locals over-acting her heart out as an extra in a street scene - said, “Look at her the silly cow!” at which point the woman herself who just happened to be sitting only a couple of rows in front, turned round and replied, “You can't talk, you fat, f***ing bitch!”

An undocumented but popular local belief was that another consequence of the filming of the French Lieutenant's Woman and the occupation of the town by its undeniably glamorous film crew was that nine months later there was a small but significant upturn in the local birthrate.

A few years ago I was commissioned by a fellow film fan to paint a cinema audience made up entirely of film stars from the 1950s and 60s (above). During its planning I was given permission by the manager to draw and photograph the empty theatre out of hours. In the finished painting most of the auditorium is invented, mainly because I had to make it bigger to accommodate all those actors, but the empty place at the front is a faithful portrait of one of the seats from the front row of the old Regent.

The cinema is now just an empty shell and that seat is gone along with the rest, although the latest news is that the owners have said that they will rebuild it - The Regent is dead, long live the Regent!

Too Many Santas

Winter, Royal Military Canal nr. Winchelsea 14"x10" Watercolour

 Humbug!

Well, someone has to say it and this year it's my turn.

I wasn't in the best of moods. It was the day before Christmas Eve and I was on my way to the Post Office to pay the surcharge on a letter that couldn't be delivered due to insufficient postage. Waiting to cross the road I was unexpectedly hit from behind and consequently almost stepped into the path of an approaching bus. Prepared to apologise for being in the way (as only an Englishman can in such circumstances) I looked round to see a young child wearing a Father Christmas hat and a cotton wool beard, holding a gun. He had been so engrossed in his running battle with another small Santa that he hadn't noticed me. I walked on.

As I continued I had the strange idea that the bus I'd just seen was being driven by Santa Claus. The next minute another bus came along towards me and, lo and behold, it was being driven by another Father Christmas in full costume: hat, tunic, beard, everything. As pretty much all the bus drivers in this part of the world are consistently miserable and unhelpful, the sight of two dressed in outfits inextricably connected with happiness, jollity and fun, jarred - it looked wrong - really wrong. I don't want to see a bus driven by a grumpy b*****d dressed as Santa – ever – and I really don't want to see more than one bus driven by him or her - it's doubly wrong. I passed several more Father Christmases en route – mostly out shopping or selling the Big Issue – so by the time I arrived at the post office my mood hadn't lightened at all.

I've mentioned the grumpiness of the local bus drivers but they are as nothing compared to the staff at the post office. They are so intimidating that there have been a couple of times when I was sorely tempted to have a stiff drink before visiting the post office. It can be a harrowing experience especially if the poor customer wants anything out of the ordinary such as postage for an unusually shaped parcel; postage to any country outside the UK; help completing an official form; etc. - basically anything other than buying a first class stamp. The only time they smile is when my innocent looking envelope touches the sides of the impossibly narrow slot used to decide between merely expensive or ludicrously extortionate postage. I don't have a drink, of course, because the golden rule of post office negotiation is to keep a clear head and a poker face.

Imagine my dismay as I walked in the door and saw that every member of staff was in costume. Two Santas and one elf. Not only jolly hats and costumes but also full make-up and probably boots to boot. Luckily I didn't have to speak. They took one look at the card instructing me to attend the local post office and pay the excess postage (plus handling charge) and sent me up the road to the sorting office.

I was charged £2 excess postage on the letter which was unstamped and addressed to 'The Householder'. It was from a local estate agent wishing me 'Season's Greetings' and asking if I wanted to sell my house. They will shortly be getting a similarly unstamped and oversized letter from me wishing them a Happy New Year.

Did I mention it was raining?

Happy Holidays!

Cilla and I

'Cinema' 50cm x 70cm Acrylic on Board

I fell out with Cilla Black in 1971. In fact she almost had me sacked from my job at the London Palladium. I was in my early twenties working as a theatre electrician, mainly as a way of getting a union card so that I could get into films. Among the shows I worked on was 'Aladdin' a classic Palladium pantomime starring Cilla Black.

One of my stage jobs was to 'page' Cilla's microphone cable. Paging a cable was basically keeping any trailing wires from tripping the performer. To do this I had to stand at the side of the stage, out of sight of the audience, with the microphone lead coiled in my hand. When Cilla moved towards my side of the stage I had to reel it in and when she moved to the other side I had to let it out. Simple. At least it should have been simple. Except that sometimes she would run across the stage – and fast. 

The sequence in question was near the end of the show; a filler to give the stage-hands time to prepare for the next big scene. She was good at working an audience and in this five minute section she would get them to sing along. To make it more entertaining she would get one half of the crowd singing one thing while those on the other side sang something else. To encourage the audience Cilla would run, full pelt, from one side of the stage to the other. At this point I was either furiously reeling in the microphone cable or letting it out as quickly as possible.

Although they couldn't see me I could see the audience. I loved watching them, their total concentration. Adults and children immersed in wonder. They were the embodiment of Coleridges idea of 'suspension of disbelief' so completely were they taken in by the spectacle before them. The audiences were, quite simply, beautiful. I often thought about painting them. In fact many years later I was commissioned to paint an audience; a cinema audience full of 1950s and 60s British film stars (see above).

But you don't want to know what I was looking at or thinking about – you want to know what happened next.

Cilla was running across the stage away from me when the microphone cable slid under a piece of scenery and stuck fast. The cable went taught, her arm was pulled out straight and she came to a very sudden stop. The force was so much it was a miracle that the microphone and its cable stayed connected. Somehow she stayed upright and kept hold of the microphone. The audience, who thought it was part of the act, loved it but I got a look from Cilla from across the stage that told me I was in deep trouble. There was nowhere to run and when she came off stage I got the full force of her anger. I can't repeat what she said but the gist of it was that I was an extremely low form of life at a very low position in the pecking order and that I would never work in the theatre (or, if she had anything to do with it, anywhere) ever again. She said this using the minimum of words - four, if I remember correctly, two of which were new to me.

In those days even the smallest human error was a sacking offence, no second chance. Amazingly the stage director, Tommy Hayes - a fearsome man who ran the stage with an iron fist in an iron glove, took me to one side and told me it would be OK if I just kept out of Cilla's way for the rest of the run. Which I did.

So I survived to page another cable another day which was, if I remember correctly, that of the, even less predictable Tom Jones...but that's another story...

What Do Artists Do All Day?

Giotto - The Last Judgment - Arena Chapel, Padua - 1306

A recent BBC Four television series asked the question 'What do artists do all day?' and repeatedly came up with the not very surprising answer that, on the whole, artists spend their day making art. Even so it's been a fascinating series - at least it has been for other artists.

In 2014 I became the 15th President of the Royal Institute of Painters in Water Colours which has given me a lot of things to do other than making art, the most enjoyable of which has been the opportunity to spend time with other artists talking about what we do. What has been surprising and enlightening in this is not the diversity of what artists do all day but the similarities, the shared experiences. It seems that while the making of art varies in many technical respects there is one universal constant - the thorny and intractable problem of how to turn an internal idea (a thought) into an external piece of art (a physical reality). Pier Paolo Pasolini sums it up beautifully in his 1970 film of The Decameron. The artist Giotto, played by Pasolini, appears during the film as a link between the stories taken from Boccaccio's book. Throughout the movie he and his assistants are seen working on a fresco in the Santa Chiara Church, Naples. Near the end of the film Giotto dreams of the Last Judgement which he will later paint in the Arena Chapel in Padua (see above). At the very end of the film Giotto and his assistants have finally completed their work in Naples and while they and the monks are celebrating he walks away from the group towards the painting and, standing alone, speaks to himself the final words of the film - "Why make a work of art...when it is so good just to dream?"

Oars Number Two

Seafront II  6" x 11"  Acrylic on Paper

 This is the second of the two paintings of my set of oars (see previous post). The oars are in exactly the same position as in the other painting.
 The oars were for Kate's boat, a two person inflatable dinghy designed for use as a tender for getting to and from a yacht but used by us for messing about on the rivers that surround Rye. I bought the boat on the internet. It being too big to post I arranged to meet the dinghy's vendor in the car park of a vast shopping centre near the Dartford Crossing in Essex, a half way point for each of us. When the hand-over was completed the seller asked me, "What boat have you got?" (meaning what sort of yacht, etc.). Not thinking I replied, "This one!" pointing at the inflatable he had just sold me. He turned around, got in his Range Rover and drove away without saying another word.

Oars Number One

Seafront I  6"x11"  Acrylic on Paper

 This is the first of two paintings of a set of oars. They are my oars, I had just bought them and wanted to paint them in all their aluminium and plastic glory they also just happened to fit well with the stainless steel railings in the picture.

 I bought Kate a boat for her fortieth birthday, an inflatable. When I collected it, it had everything apart from oars. The first oars I bought were wooden and beautiful but too heavy and not very efficient. These were the second set which I found on the internet. They are very light, fit neatly in the boat and are very handy when the battery of its electric outboard fails.

 Of course it is really a homage to Paulo Uccello.

Lindisfarne Castle

Lindisfarne Castle II 10x14 Acrylic on Board

 I had wanted to visit Holy Island and Lindisfarne Castle since seeing 'Cul-de-sac' the 1966 film by Roman Polanski which was set here. The island is separated from the mainland by a causeway which is under water except at low tide. I have done several paintings of the castle. This one is from the harbour. 

The Abandoned Croft

The Abandoned Croft 9"x10" Acrylic on Board

 Another painting of Sandaig/Camusfearna in the North West of Scotland. I worked on this in the studio, painting from a series of drawings and photographs. When away from the subject I find it better to work from several versions of source material rather than just one. More than halfway through the painting I realized that the design I had planned did not work and I had to make some alterations. No matter how carefully I plan a picture it almost always changes as I work on it.

Fishing

Fishing 10"x14" Watercolour

This painting is based on Padstow Harbour in Cornwall and connects with a childhood memory of fishing with my grandfather.

Steven Wright the Comedian said, “There's a fine line between fishing and just standing on the shore like an idiot.”

I've never caught a fish. My grandfather was a keen fisherman and sometimes took my brother and I with him. He said that it was easy and that anyone could catch a fish, successfully demonstrating this using only a length of cotton, a bent pin and a piece of bread. He was wrong.

Despite the lack of early success I persevered, occasionally sitting on a riverbank with rod and line - plenty of time to think but no fish. In fact I sometimes omitted the bait in order to guarantee thinking time. I needn't have bothered, the fish had other things to fry. Latterly my daughter discovered an interest and a gift for fishing and I would dutifully sit beside her quietly amazed at the vast shoals that would by-pass my hook in their haste to swim directly on to hers.

However I don't regret any of those hours spent beside rivers and seas - fishing without success has given me lots of useful thinking time and as Steven Wright also said, "You can't have everything. Where would you put it?"

Secret Pond

Secret Pond 10"x14" Watercolour

I discovered this place on an outing to look at and draw something else I had in mind for a painting. It is on farmland in a bowl scooped out of a field on the side of a hill surrounded by trees. From a distance it looked like a copse and even close up it only revealed itself as a pool at the very last moment, hence the title 'Secret Pond'.

Camusfearna

Camusfearna 9"x11" Acrylic on Board

Camusfearna is Gavin Maxwell's name for Sandaig on the mainland just across the water from Skye. It is where he wrote 'Ring of Bright Water' and it is an atmospheric place. It was a perfect Highland Autumn day - warm, dry and calm - even the midges were taking a break. I did a quick watercolour sketch and took some photos but it was too nice to work so I ate my lunch and lay on the rocks and looked at the side of Kate's face as the sunlight came streaming across the water and thought would'nt it be great if it could be like this all of the time.

Dusk

Dusk  36cm x 55cm  Watercolour

 I went to Amsterdam on a whim. Kate and I were staying in Belgium, where I was one of the invited artists at the 2012 International Watercolour Biennial, and had a few days to spare before the return crossing to Dover. I wanted to see the Jan Vermeer painting 'Het Melkmeisje' in the Rijksmuseum, which I did. Afterwards we wandered around the canals looking for a restaurant and found this. I had to go back in daylight to look at it properly. I probably left out more than I put in.

Night

Night - 14 x 20 - Watercolour

I think of this as my Atkinson Grimshaw Rheinhart Payne painting. I was very young when I discovered John Atkinson Grimshaw (1836-1893). He was famous for his townscapes and night scenes and these stayed with me as I grew up. I have been planning to do a night painting for a long time but to get really dark darks with watercolour is difficult so I kept putting it off. Ad Reinhardt (1913-1967) was an abstract painter who was known for some 'black paintings' he did near the end of his life. I first saw these while at school preparing for 'A' Level art. I was very impressed especially by his slightly immodest claim that they were the end of painting. At first sight they just look like plain black canvasses but after a while the viewer can see that they are made up of geometric shapes in slightly different hues and shades of black. For this painting, which is probably an anti-Reinhardt painting, I didn't use black but variations on Paynes Grey, a mixture of indigo, sienna and crimson lake developed by William Payne (1760-1830). I also used another innovation credited to Payne which was to create highlights by taking out areas of paint by wetting the surface and rubbing it with bread or rag (or, in my case, with a brush).  

Apple

Apple 16" x 12" Watercolour

This is the small painting I did as a demonstration in the Mall Galleries during the Royal Institute of Painters in Water Colours 201st exhibition which is on until 18 April 2013. I say 'demonstration' but my kind of painting is not entertaining in the way that most demonstrations are. I just sit there and paint and as I am a slow painter most of the audiences' time is spent watching the paint dry while I try to decide what to do next. Even so there were some brave souls who stayed to the end. Eventually, when everyone had gone home, I ate the apple.

Ivan Karp (1926-2012)

Footsball Palace - 21" x 29" - Watercolour

 

I heard, just the other day, that Ivan Karp had died. No big surprise, he was 86, even so, a spark has gone. Karp was the often outspoken owner of OK Harris in New York City. He represented some of the artists that inspired me during my student years, including: Claes Oldenburg, Robert Cottingham and Roy Lichtenstein. He was very helpful to young, emerging artists - giving advice and encouragement and suggesting other galleries if the work didn't suit him. I met him in 1984. I was living in the USA and had gone to New York to find a gallery to represent me. He wanted to show my work. He introduced me to Malcolm Morley, who had just won the inaugural Turner Prize. I think he was intrigued to find another realist British painter but one who worked in watercolours. I thought I'd arrived. In the end I chose not to show with OK Harris - I didn't like the terms or conditions and I knew I didn't have the confidence or stamina to be part of the New York art scene. This painting 'Footsball Palace' was one of the ones Ivan liked. The Footsball Palace, in Nags Head NC, with its foosball games, roller rink and bar which only served beer, has also gone. It really is the end of an era.

Auto Ecole

Auto Ecole - 10"x14" - Watercolour

This driving school shop front was in Cherbourg. It had everything that interested me: reflections, reflected light, a glimpsed interior, surface textures, geometry. At the time I was interested in the story of the Lamed Vavniks - thirty six people who, unknowingly, hold the world in balance. Maybe this is one of them.

Beach Huts

Sand - 14" x 21" - Watercolour

  

I like these municipal beach huts on the Cherbourg peninsula. They remind me of the Atlantic Wall - Hitler's WWII coastal defences. Not pretty, not even in keeping with seaside ambiance, but they will outlast most other beach huts (probably not one of the main things in their favour), and give a nice, solid surface to lean on while dusting the sand off your feet.

Pill Box

Pill Box - 10" x 14" - Watercolour

Pill boxes are among our least loved buildings which may be why I like them so much.

I was once caught in the middle of an argument between two foreign students learning English. Both had grandfathers who were involved in World War II. One grandparent, a German, had worked for the Organisation Todt and had been involved in the construction of the impressive Atlantic Wall beach defences in northern Europe. The other, a Frenchman, had been part of the forced-labour workforce who had been made to build the bunkers and fortifications near Caen. The young French student was describing how the workers had deliberately used a poor mix of concrete and half the number of reinforcement bars specified, in order to weaken the defences. The German student, torn between his anti-war sensibilities and the equally strong feeling that his engineer grandfather had been betrayed, said, "How could they have lived with such bad workmanship." In the hope of lightening the mood I said that we, in Britain, had built our own coastal defences. They both turned, regarding me with equal contempt, and said, "Yes, and it looks like it!"

This is another painting of the entrance to Rye Harbour, one of four which were awarded the Winsor & Newton/RI Award in the 200th exhibition of the Royal Institute of Painters in Water Colours at the Mall Galleries, London. The exhibition runs until Sunday 25 March 2012.

The Blues

Harbour Entrance - 10" x 14" - Watercolour

Oliver Wendell Holmes an American 19th century physician and author recounted this experience in a lecture at Harvard University, June 29, 1870.

"I once inhaled a pretty full dose of ether, with the determination to put on record, at the earliest moment of regaining consciousness, the thought I should find uppermost in my mind. The mighty music of the triumphal march into nothingness reverberated through my brain, and filled me with a sense of infinite possibilities, which made me an archangel for the moment. The veil of eternity was lifted. The one great truth which underlies all human experience, and is the key to all the mysteries that philosophy has sought in vain to solve, flashed upon me in a sudden revelation. Henceforth all was clear: a few words had lifted my intelligence to the level of the knowledge of the cherubim. As my natural condition returned, I remembered my resolution; and, staggering to my desk, I wrote, in ill-shaped straggling letters, the all-embracing truth still glimmering in my consciousness. The words were these (children may smile; the wise will ponder): "A strong smell of turpentine prevails throughout."."

In this painting cobalt blue pervades throughout.

This is one of four paintings of Rye Harbour which won the 2012 Winsor & Newton/RI Award at the 200th exhibition of the Royal Institute of Painters in Water Colours at the Mall Galleries, London. The exhibition opens Wednesday 14 March 2012 and runs until Sunday 25 March 2012.