The destroyed portrait

 This is a portrait commissioned by  Andy Corley, which he asked me to do as quickly as I could.  In the circumstances, I chose acrylic, and from a combination of sketches and photographs - it was difficult for him to sit for me in person.

He was happy with it; and perhaps I learned why he'd wanted it quickly, because some time after it was completed, he was found dead in his flat.    He had wanted something to be remembered by.

A pity, then, that his landlord or family, I'm not sure which, threw it into a skip when the flat was cleared.  I know no more than that - it's just possible, though I think unlikely, that someone retrieved it.  But the fact is that it can no longer be found - so its destruction is the most likely outcome; something that meant a lot to Andy would, you'd have thought, mean something to those who were closest to him.  Maybe they weren't as close as he'd thought.

I'll do another version, out of respect for him.  By the way, I know it's not a Rembrandt: but it IS what he wanted.  That should have counted for something, shouldn't it? 

A couple of charcoal and Indian inky-bits

 

Liquid charcoal, plus added hard charcoal work.

A but if black and white from various dates: liquid charcoal, plus dry; pure charcoal, with notes for painting; and charcoal plus water plus Indian ink, applied with cocktail stick, wrong end of a match, and dip pen. 

Roy Hattersley

 Another good Yorkshireman gone.  I invited him to speak to the Annual  Dinner of the Isle of Wight Labour Party - when we still had these  things; wish we still had.  We'd endured difficult times, and I wanted the boost which he would give to us: and  he did.... I never  expected him  to accept our invitation, but - he and his then wife turned up and spoke to us, enabled by a bottle or two; it made a great deal of difference, as he must have known it would.  It put us back in  the centre of the Labour movement, where we'd always belonged; and our vote clambered upwards, through difficult but at least less impossible times: he knew that the future did not  lie with revolutionary slogans and impossible  demands.  God  knows we've slumped back again since  then: but we'd never have made the progress we did in subsequent years but for the support of Roy Hattersley and Sir Gerald Kaufman - who also went out of his way to re-establish our reputation as a non-revolutionary but still socialist party.  I  could only wish that our politicians these days had their intelligence, articulacy, realism - and approachability.  

The great David Hockney and Roy Hattersely were very different people; but both of them inspired me in their very different ways, and both are a great loss - the one to art, the other to our politics.   And Gawd bless  the both of them.

David Hockney

 I posted this on the  Guardian's  comment page, and shared it with Painters Online: it's  not that I think any words of mine deserve repetition, but it's as near as I can come to a memorial tribute to the greatest British artist of our time.

Well, I knew it had to happen - he fought back from a stroke a few years ago, but physically had been on a long decline; as an artist however, he could still surprise you (and how he revelled in it, quietly chuckling away as he took a long drag on a cigarette). What I valued about him was that he was never obedient - to rules of painting, societal expectations, received opinion; but he didn't break rules just for the sake of breaking them: he was never so predictable. Though he used modern methods and equipment, he still valued traditional techniques, as witness his comment that acrylic paint is often at its best when used for glazing, the application of transparent colours over opacity - an ancient technique, one facilitated by the fast-drying medium.

 I don't know that his views on the camera obscura really add up, particularly when applied to Vermeer - but his pursuit of that opinion indicated his endless curiosity; and his courage in expressing it. I'm not sure that the book on which he collaborated added much to art history, since by definition its claims could not be proved. The point is, though, that in the end it doesn't matter - artists use tools of all kinds, are fully entitled to, and always have - the point lies in what they do with them; and as he tried everything he could lay hands on, he would have scorned the idea that some expressed at the time that this would have been "cheating", or that it in any way detracted from the reputation of artists who may have benefited from extraneous aids.

A look back to my 75th Birthday

 We had a famiily get together to celebrate my sister-in-law's - shouldn't that be sister's-in-law? - 75th birthday, and mine, which followed it.  

I was presented with painted birthday cards from my great niece, and great nephew - as I'm old, I forget ages; but I think something along the lines of  13, and 9.  Probably completely wrong.  However, they're clearly bent on artistic careers; or at least I hope they are, at least in the sense that they derive as much pleasure and consolation from art as I have for the last 60-plus years.  

So here we are: great nephew's work on the left, great niece's on the right. 

The Guardian, and the Pope

 I am not a Roman Catholic; I'm not even a Christian.  I am a reader of the Guardian - and I felt that their total avoidance of covering the Pope's Easter Message was deplorable.

Leo took the USA's promotion of a war of terror on civilians to pieces - the Guardian perhaps expected that, and saw no news value in it.  Well, shame on  them, and on editor Kath Viner.  The Pope's address was significant, and should have been promoted and celebrated as such.  Instead, we get the usual Guardian sell-out to Hello magazine standards of trashy journalism.

I have - admittedly minimally - supported the Guardian financially for some years now: I have been published in the paper, by a previous editor; I comment regularly on those VERY few articles on which it permits comment - my faith in it was never total.  And now?    I don' t  feel I've anything left in common with it; I don't feel it and I belong in the same company.  My fault, or theirs?  I think it's theirs. 

 Niton under water - my landlady, a carer, cut off by floodwater and can't get home to tend to her dogs (they'll probably just go to sleep and wait; dogs are pragmatists).

Now, Reform - which incidentally my landlady sort of supports: she might be a touch more skeptical now - claims that global climate change is all a hoax.  It's "just weather".  Well, we have had extreme weather before, which perhaps was not linked to climate change (though who knows?), but these extreme events are very unusual in my 75-year long lifetime - and I think it's beyond time that we started worrying about it and taking it seriously.  Even if it were not real, in the sense of it being a new phenomenon, it's certainly causing huge problems worldwide - and frankly: of course it's real.  Surely we can all SEE that?  Wildfires in the south eastern hemisphere,  now creeping into  Europe, already devastating the USA; melting glaciers and ice-caps; flooding - is this all supposed to be benign coincidence?  

I'm not a Green: I'm not impressed by Zac Polanski; but I don't really want to see  my home slide over the cliff, either.  We need to demand concrete, determined, planned action from government in order to protect the very ground on which we so shakily stand.  

Facebook, Computers, and the Whole Damn' Thing!

 I'm out of Facebook after having to buy a new computer: I've spent a month without any computer at all: mine turned up its toes and sought absolution on Christmas Day.  

So - well, there we are.  I've got an Ipad now, which (when I've learned to use it) should help me post better pictures (can't vouch for the artistic quality), I'm frozen out of Facebook for trying to add a third account (contrary to their terms and conditions, which I'd forgotten) when I couldn't get  back into my old accounts.

So Woe, as in Woe, is me!   Oi weh, oi gevalt, dammit.....

I'll just have to feed this blog and seek alternative social media outlets, won't I?  Pay attention, since that's what I'll do - damn' ee, Mr Zuckerberg, and your impenetrable platform, more difficult to get back into than  my bank account, and I hope you suffer the tortures of the damned.

This blog might get a little less art-centred, as I seek an alternative outlet: hold out for it: can you bear the suspense?