Just before I carry on down memory lane. Something came to me just now as I reread my last post. I mentioned my schoolboy friend Frank Kelly. Just for the record it was Frank who told me Father Christmas didn't exist and several months after that bombshell his big brother told the pair of us the facts of life in quite Gracie detail as we all walked home from school.
OK back to the Art. My senior school did have art on it's walls. Above me in my form room was a print of Georges Seurat's "Bathers at Asnieres." Georges wasn't just a talented painter. He really studied the science of colour and along with the artist Paul Signac developed "Pointillism." You apply the paint as dots. Different colours very close together. Which fools the eye into seeing another colour entirely. It's worth mentioning that the invention of the camera made a lot of artists believe that a new way had to be found to paint and there by, give us a different way to see the world. Unfortunately Georges didn't have the long and successful career his abilities deserved. He died at the age of 31 his son died two weeks later barely a year old. His partner was carrying their second child at the time. That baby was also destined to die not long after it was born.
At the time I knew none of this. I just liked his work. It wasn't until I was in my twenties that I actually started to buy books on the artists I'd come to like and actively visit gallery's. I brought prints of their work and put those on my walls but that was all about to change.
Years and years ago a friend of mine called me up and asked if I could pop round to one of his long term customers as he was busy. The address was in a very nice part of Chelsea. I managed to find a space parked the van, filled the meter and walked up to the house. Knocked on the door, which was duly opened by a very old and very small woman. Maybe she might have been normal size and the front door very big. As I said it was a long time ago but I think you get the picture.
The hallway was plastered with paintings from floor to ceiling and all the way up the stairs. It was an amazing mix of styles, colours and sizes. After I'd sorted out the problem (a loose and drippy tap) and began to make my exit. I commented on the wonderful pictures.
"Oh that's nothing, come and look at these."
She lead me into the dinning room which again had an amazing collection of eclectic paintings. She let me walk round and study them all.
"You see my husband was a lawyer and one time he represented some miners. They had no money but he didn't mind. He made a good living. After the case was over they gave him some of the pictures they used to paint at their social clubs. In the 30's people had lots of hobbies. Then some poor artist needed my husband's help and more paintings. All the time he comes home with paintings. You know we had lots of dinner parties. I would cook and my husband would move the pictures around. Then our guests would arrive and they'd say "Oh John another painting, tell us the story" and he would tell them about the case and whether he won. He was a charming clever man, he always won. Then he would tell them about the picture, where it was or the style, you know. They were such wonderful evenings. Such stories."
Soon after that I brought a little water colour from a junk shop and haven't looked back.
Onwards, upwards and careering towards frames and fulfillment :)))
OK back to the Art. My senior school did have art on it's walls. Above me in my form room was a print of Georges Seurat's "Bathers at Asnieres." Georges wasn't just a talented painter. He really studied the science of colour and along with the artist Paul Signac developed "Pointillism." You apply the paint as dots. Different colours very close together. Which fools the eye into seeing another colour entirely. It's worth mentioning that the invention of the camera made a lot of artists believe that a new way had to be found to paint and there by, give us a different way to see the world. Unfortunately Georges didn't have the long and successful career his abilities deserved. He died at the age of 31 his son died two weeks later barely a year old. His partner was carrying their second child at the time. That baby was also destined to die not long after it was born.
At the time I knew none of this. I just liked his work. It wasn't until I was in my twenties that I actually started to buy books on the artists I'd come to like and actively visit gallery's. I brought prints of their work and put those on my walls but that was all about to change.
Years and years ago a friend of mine called me up and asked if I could pop round to one of his long term customers as he was busy. The address was in a very nice part of Chelsea. I managed to find a space parked the van, filled the meter and walked up to the house. Knocked on the door, which was duly opened by a very old and very small woman. Maybe she might have been normal size and the front door very big. As I said it was a long time ago but I think you get the picture.
The hallway was plastered with paintings from floor to ceiling and all the way up the stairs. It was an amazing mix of styles, colours and sizes. After I'd sorted out the problem (a loose and drippy tap) and began to make my exit. I commented on the wonderful pictures.
"Oh that's nothing, come and look at these."
She lead me into the dinning room which again had an amazing collection of eclectic paintings. She let me walk round and study them all.
"You see my husband was a lawyer and one time he represented some miners. They had no money but he didn't mind. He made a good living. After the case was over they gave him some of the pictures they used to paint at their social clubs. In the 30's people had lots of hobbies. Then some poor artist needed my husband's help and more paintings. All the time he comes home with paintings. You know we had lots of dinner parties. I would cook and my husband would move the pictures around. Then our guests would arrive and they'd say "Oh John another painting, tell us the story" and he would tell them about the case and whether he won. He was a charming clever man, he always won. Then he would tell them about the picture, where it was or the style, you know. They were such wonderful evenings. Such stories."
Soon after that I brought a little water colour from a junk shop and haven't looked back.
Onwards, upwards and careering towards frames and fulfillment :)))
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