Total Art Soul - for artists

A blog I created in the Spring which I thought I would share here (as it's started again!)

It's Sunday. It's 10 o'clock. I'm sitting at the kitchen table with a tea and the local paper. The weather is still a bit on the cold side but there is strong sunshine as Spring has finally arrived and my thoughts are turning to some jobs which need doing in the garden (or rather how I can avoid them until Jenny's impatience gets the better of her and she makes a start). I like Sundays. This quiet, rural corner of Suffolk is still relatively old fashioned and so reminds me of the Sundays of my childhood when everything was closed. People could relax, families would take a gentle walk to help digest the Sunday roast, brass bands could be heard in the distance performing in the park where old men played bowls on the green.....

Suddenly and without warning, my rambling nostalgic thoughts are savagely interrupted as the peace is shattered by an ear splitting crash, then another, then another. WTF! Wiping the spilled tea from my chin and putting my mug down I jump from my seat and head out front to see what's happening. The mind numbing racket has settled into a regular, deafening rhythm and I realise it's meant to be some type of music. Crash! Crash! Crash! It goes on and on monotonously.

At the end of my street, about 50 yards away there is a large and very old building in a poor state of repair which most of the time stands empty but I can tell this earth shattering noise is coming from there. Bang! Crash! Bang! Crash! Relentlessly it continues. I'm aware now of the people streaming toward the building. People in ghastly, garish clothing. Weird hair styles, ridiculous heavy make-up. Some look intimidating, others just pitiful. Cars are arriving from all directions, spilling out their cargo of more and more of these creatures. Shrill voices shrieking greetings to one another just add to the cacophony. A couple walk past me and, although I know they can't hear me above the noise, I mouth a profanity at them before there is a tug on my elbow and Jenny drags me inside. She's seen in the past how my temper can get me into trouble.

I get more and more worked up, tense inside, heart racing, blood boiling. I know this isn't good for me but I can't calm down.

Just as I'm fit to explode the noise stops, the blissful silence almost as deafening as the chaos before. What's happened? Have the police arrived? No. The relief is mercilessly short lived as within a minute my ears are assaulted by another barrage. Now there are spine chilling vocals, a terrible wailing as if every tortured soul from hell has been released at once. Even with every door and window of the house tightly closed there is no respite, no relief. On and on it goes and gradually my thoughts turn to violence.

There is a small door at the end of the building and I'm pretty sure that's where the worst of the sounds originated from. Like some ancient warrior visualising a forthcoming battle that he knows he can't survive, I'm thinking about kicking down this door and sending the dog in first for thirty seconds or so to cause some pandemonium of my own, then wading in myself to have at them with my torque wrench. Thankfully there is a reassuring hand on my shoulder to calm and dissuade me from doing anything rash, but I'm not sure how much more I can take as the noise changes once again to the original terrible, monotonous din. Crash! Bang! Crash! Bang! On it goes, now faster and even louder than before. Our eyes lock on to each others across the kitchen table as we wait it out, no conversation possible, none needed. Surely it can't be much longer. Bang! Crash! Bang! Crash! BANG!...........then silence......peace.....quiet.

As my ears adjust I can again hear the shrieking, shrill voices this time screaming farewells. Car doors slamming, tyres spinning, gravel spraying as they drive away. I go back out the front to watch the last of them leave, seemingly oblivious to the disruption and misery they've inflicted upon us. My quiet neighbourhood slowly returns to it's former peaceful normality and I'm left thinking..........

“Why oh why did we choose to live so close to a church”

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Continuing from my previous blog about my first trip to London. Well the day arrived. My second journey into London within a week, this time for the prize giving and preview evening at the Mall galleries. It was a stiflingly hot day and I wasn't sure what would be appropriate to wear for a 'do' like this. Tentatively opening my wardrobe and scrutinising what treasures hang within, I found that I seem to have acquired a different dog walking outfit for each day of the week plus various old bits of biking gear (those were the days), the next level up being my 'funerals and weddings' suit but very little in between. After much rummaging about I managed to find a few half decent shirts to choose from and a pair of reasonably presentable cargo pants. Coupled with my blue M&S cotton jacket my smart/casual look was complete. A symphony in blue and khaki! I've always been at the cutting edge of fashion me. This time I travelled from Ipswich station as, for the return trip, the late trains cease to venture out to my neck of the woods after about 9PM. The first thing I managed to do was get a bit lost in Ipswich (how difficult would it be for them to put a few signs out to help out of towners like me find the train station) but I got there in the nick of time and boarded my train with seconds to spare. The temperature seemed to rise by the minute and by the time the train reached London and I emerged into the giant greenhouse that is Liverpool Street Station, I was a hot and sweaty mess. It's always been the same with me, I could leave the house looking like James Bond in a DJ but within minutes I resemble RAB C. Nesbitt after a lock-in. Ah well onwards to resume battle with the tube. This time I'm a hardened and well seasoned traveller and not about to settle for any nonsense. As the doors slid open I launched myself into the fray, Japanese tourists and coffee drinking commuters scattered in all directions as I piled in and even managed to slide into a seat, narrowly beating a bloke wearing a Mexican football shirt to the last coveted place. Not so speedy this time eh! Gonzales? Now weave your way back to the aisle and stand with the other losers. I'm invincible!
Wow! it was absolutely roasting by the time I made my way across Trafalgar square. I wanted a quick look at the newly installed Nelson's ship in a bottle that I'd seen on last nights news. It's an attractive piece I think, although difficult to see the ship unless you stand far away but then you can't see the detail. Could have done with being a bit lower.
Upon entering the gallery I was given a name badge to wear and a welcoming cold drink, then I set off for a browse around the gallery. It's a magnificent space, really light and spacious although the temperature was getting high, even before the main hordes arrived. I spotted David Shepherd with Mandy Shepherd and Emily Lamb, in the adjoining room where they had their three generations exhibition along with guest artists Hazel Soan, Andrew Stock, Gary Hodges and Richard Symonds. I had been looking forward to seeing Richard's amazing pencil works. I'd seen on line the life sized tiger he had drawn and it was that which had inspired me to draw my life sized Murphy piece. That room though was dominated by the canvasses of Emily Lamb who's work I absolutely love. Quite affordable still too, if you are a collector. I took a few snaps with my trusty camera and then, just as I was really getting into David Bailey mode, it died a death! Silly me had put in the wrong batteries, leaving the freshly charged ones at home!
It took a while before I discovered where my painting had been hung, it was possibly the worst place in the room. A small piece of wall on it's own in a corner by a fire exit. I was quite disappointed by that but in the end I don't think it mattered too much, it seemed to attract it's fair share of attention and comments throughout the evening.
As the afternoon progressed nobody announced the winners as had been expected, it was going to be kept a surprise until the presentation later in the evening. However, I got chatting to a lady who turned out to be one of the judges and she let slip that I had nearly won the 'Wildlife In Action' category. Nearly! So no prize for me then. Later I spoke to another lady who had been present at the judging and she confirmed how they had deliberated quite a while before David decided on the winner. It crossed my mind that once it got really crowded I might be able to sneak up and knee him in the goolies for that, but I let it pass. I had about half a dozen photographs taken of myself with my painting by a press photographer. I'm not sure where they will be used, perhaps in the newsletter or on the website.

I had a nice long chat with Hazel Soan, a lovely lady and watercolour genius who was very complimentary about my meagre offering. (I reckon she just fancied me really) As five thirty approached it was time to keep an eye out for my guest for the evening. Jenny was unable to make it so I had thought it a good opportunity to invite one of my internet artist friends along. Some I have known for several years via various forums and social networking sites but never actually met. So I had chosen the lovely Tina Ashton to be my substitute WAG. Due to train disruptions, she almost hadn't made it but thankfully managed to get herself on a coach to London and arrived on time looking stunning in her new outfit, putting me to shame. Never mind, it was brilliant to actually meet after all this time and we instantly got on like a house on fire. So we got ourselves some champagne (the first of many, I like to make a profit where possible) and set off to inspect all of the exhibits in detail. The standard of work was extremely high in most cases and we were struck by the diversity in styles, media and subject. A really good exhibition. Thankfully Tina was able to take some more pictures using her phone camera.  

After a couple of hours, feet throbbing, voice cracking, it was time to find a seat and do a bit of people watching. We spotted David Gower, Robert Lindsey, Robert Powell, a few faces we couldn't put names to but the highlight of the night was when this elderly, smartly dressed chap slowly made his way toward us and as he turned we were thrilled to see it was Frank Thornton. Yes indeed! Captain Peacock himself! Now we are really mixing with the 'A' list. He paused to study my painting for quite a while (although he may just have been getting his breath) I resisted the urge to yell 'I'm Free!' Tina got excited that he might actually buy it but no, sadly he moved on. It's one for the CV though, Captain Peacock once appeared to think about buying an original Williams!

Then came the time for announcing the winners and the prize giving. David Gower kicked off with a speech followed by David Shepherd who spoke with passion about the foundation and some of the projects they have undertaken. He is quite an inspirational man and it's easy to see why the foundation is so successful. Prizes were announced by Robert Lindsey, details can be seen on the DSWF website, the over all winner being a bronze sculpture, 'Sinking Feeling' by Adam Binder. I liked it although I preferred his other piece 'Vantage Point', a bronze sculpture of a fox. Perhaps the polar bear pinched it by being more endangered.

We then went for another circuit of the gallery, chatting to one or two of the artists. Suddenly I spotted across the room one of the treasured red dots being applied to my painting! Great stuff! I wonder who bought it! Could it have been the Captain himself? It turned out to be a nice couple from Sark who came over for a quick chat. We didn't get their name but in retrospect the man looked suspiciously like Lord Barclay.....whereas his American wife looked suspiciously like one of the Desperate Housewives......I wonder............ We spotted that they had used my image on some of the publicity too, which was nice. The evening had cooled pleasantly as we took a slow stroll back across Trafalgar square, down the Strand to Charing Cross where Tina got in a cab and I got on the tube. I was sorry to say good bye, it would have been nice to spend a bit more time chatting but it was getting late, I didn't arrive home until about midnight as it was. 
So, a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon and evening. I found it quite inspirational to see so much high quality work in one show and it also helped me to get a better idea as to where I fit in to it all. I learned a lot and the experience gained will be very helpful in the future. I didn't feel too out of my depth and in fact I'm encouraged to put up my prices on new work from now on, and won't be doing any more commissions. It's exhibiting live for me now. A couple of large Glenfiddichs in the peace and cool of the garden finished off the day a treat.

Here's to next year!

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I'm a bit claustrophobic you see. I don't like crowds, noise, pollution, concrete jungles. I love the slow pace of life that East Suffolk offers. Fresh air, wide open spaces, peace and quiet. So as the day dawned, I wasn't relishing the thought of going into London to deliver my painting to the Mall Gallery for the DSWF WAY exhibition. I mean, I start to get stressed out heading into Aldeburgh so London and I, we're never going to get on. 



I've not been on a train for at least twelve years and wouldn't mind it being another twelve really. So it was with great trepidation and very little enthusiasm that I parked my van outside Saxmundham station and, hefting my big box containing my generously bubble-wrapped, precious painting, made my way out onto the platform. The train arrived on time, I found a seat and settled down for the two hour journey. I say settled down, as there was no space to stow my big box I had to wedge it in front of me and assume a kind of torturous yoga position. Trains have changed a lot since I last went on one. You can't open the bloody windows for a start! I'm average sized but could only just fit into my seat. There's just about enough leg room to suit Ronnie Corbett (when he were a lad). On the plus side, the toilet cubicle worked well. It's so small, you're wedged in so tightly that keeping your balance is no problem while watering the horse. I reversed out carefully but still managed to trip over some elderly blokes walking stick. It was stuffy in that train and I was relieved when we arrived at Liverpool Street for the next leg of my journey. The first tube train that came was quite full and before I could squeeze on with my big box I was shoved out of contention by hoards of fast moving people each with a paper cup of coffee in one hand (why does every one have to walk about with a drink?) and various items of seriously complex looking pieces of technology in the other. I waited for the next one which thankfully had a bit more space in it and after the one change, arrived safely at Charing Cross.
Emerging from the station it was a warm day and the sun had heated up the concrete so that Trafalgar Square felt like the inside of a chimenea as I trudged across carrying my by now, slightly scuffed and battered big box. I seemed to be attracting a lot of pigeons, perhaps they thought I was carrying a jumbo box of chips (sorry.... fries). I came alongside a man carrying a much smaller box than mine but the tell tale bits of bubble wrap protruding from it confirmed he was a fellow artist also making his way to the Mall Gallery. It turned out to be John Good and we made our way to the hand-in area together. The only thing the man behind the hand-in counter said to me was to "Remove all packaging and take it away with you". Too right mate I thought. You're not getting your hands on my big box. By now I had developed a strangely symbiotic relationship with it, in fact there was by now an impression of one corner of it on my chest.

So job done, about turn and head off back towards Trafalgar Square. As I picked my way through the now slightly disappointed looking pigeons who could obviously tell that my big box was now empty, The National Gallery building caught my attention and on the spur of the moment I went in. I've never been before and I'm unlikely to go again so decided I could spare an hour to see how it should be done. I was amazed at the sheer scale of some of the paintings. The images I've seen of Stubbs's Whistlejacket have never really impressed me but to see it in all of it's 10 foot tall glory is something else. I could have spent all day studying the details of the Canaletto's but the star for me was Turner. Again I think you have to see them in all of their original glory to fully appreciate them. I've never been much of a fan of Constable but it was nice to see the well known masterpieces in the flesh. But train times didn't allow me to stay too long (Saxmundham isn't particularly well served with trains) so reluctantly I left to get some lunch before the return journey. I went for a Sub. Stupidly I just asked for a BLT. Now in Leiston I would probably then be asked about the weather, perhaps what my plans for the day were while my BLT was being prepared. Here I was bombarded with questions from a very nice but not very fluently English speaking lady. Which bread? want it hot or cold? (erm...hot bacon, cold salad I think). Want sauce? Want gherkins in the salad? want cheese? want it both sides? ratatatat....on and on she went until I'd forgotten what I'd ordered in the first place. But it was very good and once finished, my big box and I made our way to the tube station. Safely back at Liverpool Street, sadly only to find I'd just missed my train! I had to wait an hour and three quarters for the next one so went for a pint in the nearest Wetherspoons. Ah! at last, somewhere I felt a bit more at home. Several pints of Ruddles later we boarded the Saxmundham train my big box and I, assumed the position and set off back. I shared my journey home with a little 2 year old boy called Steven who was plonked onto the seat next to me by his stressed out Mum who had to contend with her little daughter and another baby in a pram. "You don't mind mate do you?" . "Not at all" I said. Me and Steven got on really well and I told him all about my trip but (rather rudely I thought) by Chelmsford he was fast asleep. Man! I was glad to get back into my van at the station and drive home. I was shattered but took Murphy out for a romp to get some fresh air before settling down for the evening. Well, reading back confirms I'm turning in to Victor Meldrew, although if you've read this far you're pretty sad yourself! Got to do it all again in a few days time (but without the box) for the preview evening. I'm actually really looking forward to that though.

To be continued...........

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