London reconnoitre ...

Currently, yours truly is int' big city and I always feel reet Yorkshire when I'm down 'ere!

Neither am I (well at least I hope I'm not) a Yorkshire zealot: one of those ex-pats that bore the pants of the locals, by seizing every opportunity to ram Yorkshire superiority down the throats of all those unfortunate enough to have been born elsewhere.  Many times have I been on the receiving end of this tedious characteristic, which seems to afflict certain individuals regardless of race, creed or culture.

So why am I suddenly Yorkshire aware, when I never give it a thought day to day?  I think it's because London is so cosmopolitan and huge, with that surging energy particular to great capital cities that I only ever  feel as if I 'sort of' know what I'm doing or how to do it, which produces a vague anxiety.  On the other hand, I know exactly how Harrogate works and the geography of the county.  In Yorkshire, I'm well adapted, but not quite so to London.

I've had to have lessons on the Oyster Card: a magic little card which allows you to pre-pay and zip on and off buses and tubes avoiding queues for tickets.  It's brilliant, but there is much to learn: how to top it up; where to top it up; entry and exit techniques. After much dithering during my training period, I am now pleased to say that I think I could pass as a local and am developing techniques for seamless travel on public transport.  Now, as I approach the barriers on the Underground, I am already eyeing them up in advance for the green exit arrows and no queues.  Card at the ready, now neatly tucked in my wallet (not clutched in sweaty hand), I glide to the barrier, slap the card on the reader with panache and exit with a nonchalant air.  A far cry from the embarrassed and timid novice, wedged at the barrier by a tutting and growing queue, when my gentle tap on the reader did not open sesame.  Thank God for the Underground Knight who released me.

Back home tonight, I called in to see Johnny, looking very dapper in an orange and yellow Chinese silk quilted jacket. I thought he must be on the mend.  'How are you?' I enquired.
'Could be better - as well as shingles, I've cracked a rib.'
'What have you been doing?'
'Well, I was feeling wonky, but I had to deliver some drawings to Stephen Neal's at the end of last week - they were only smallish and I had one under each arm.  I was going up the stairs when I slipped, twisted somehow and the painting became wedged edge-on between my ribs and my arm and crushed into my side as I lost balance.' He paused and I was sympathetic.

'Paul's just been round - he's doing my shopping.  He hadn't told Marta that I was ill.  She came round the other afternoon.  I was asleep - I'm having to nap when I can because I can't sleep for long with the discomfort.  Anyway, she tapped me.  I started awake, with a grunt - that made me scream with pain - Marta jumped back in shock - Paul stood in the doorway, smiling in sympathy - he knows what it feels like.

'Anyway, the Doctor says it'll take about ten days before I'm feeling a bit more comfortable.  I'm doing some work though - we've finished the video of the drawing.  I'm not sure how good it will be, given the state I've been in - but I think it will be OK.'

Under the weather

On Tuesday of this week, Johnny was somewhat down in the dumps.  'Deadlines,' he grumped, 'I've got to the end of the month ... I'm feeling really unwell and now I have all these decisions to make.  I'm not even drinking properly - it's a bad sign.'

It turns out, that our intrepid artist is suffering from shingles.  'But,' he said on the phone yesterday, 'at least I know what it is and I'm not worrying what it might be - I'll get better.'

Deadlines

Poor Johnny!  This is absolutely the week that the paintings for the exhibition have to be confirmed for inclusion in the catalogue, which is going to press imminently.  On Monday, I popped into the Studio to find Clive, Sarah and Johnny poring over the computer studying the images of paintings taken so far. 'These are the ones then?' said Clive.
'Well,'  said Johnny, 'they could be - but I've got others in the Studio that aren't quite finished yet - and I've been working on them with London in mind - but I can't say for certain they'll be ready - you could put these images in the catalogue and it doesn't really matter if ....'
'No,' said Clive, 'the photographs for the catalogue must be of the paintings that will be in the exhibition.'
'Well, what about using ten of those images for sure and then if I have one or two the new ones ready, I could include them as well?'

I think that was the compromise reached ... room for 'the wet one' ...

I am sure that Clive and Sarah would have liked the selection to be finalised.  I am sure that Johnny would have preferred to choose nearer the time - preferably the day before - and I bet even then there would be hesitation!

Unfinished business

The catalogue working party departed and Johnny refreshed his vodka and lemonade.  'This always happens,' he chuntered.  'I'm not feeling too hot, I've got so much to be doing in my Studio - the Sock is almost complete - there's only a small amount of work to do on it, BUT,' he paused for dramatic effect, 'I DAREN'T go near it in this state - in the wrong state, I could ruin it! This is what people don't understand - I can't just finish things to order - if I'm not in connection with the painting, then I can't work on it - it's not that simple - I can't just 'turn it on'.'

Patterns

As an eighteen year old, Johnny was given the sack from his job as a farm labourer in Bridlington. Why?  Because apart from his catastrophic release of hundreds of chickens into the countryside, the farmer was further exasperated by Johnny's artistic approach to ploughing furrows. No doubt the ensuing patterns were interesting and perhaps even beautiful, but definitely not practical or economic.

This fascination with pattern would appear to be genetic, because younger brother Phil did not impress the Dowager Lady Ingleby either, with his creative use of the lawnmower, when he was handyman at Ripley Castle (for a brief period) in the seventies.  She preferred the traditional checker board look.

Patterns cropped up by chance, when I showed Johnny the result of my recent encounter with a Molotov cigarette lighter.  Result?  Eyelashes resembling a geriatric nail brush and blistered eyelid - ouch!  'I did that once,' said Johnny. 'It was in the days of matches - I liked to strike a match and make a pattern on the striking board.'  (Well one does, doesn't one?)

He continued, 'I had lines on the board, but needed to make a spot.  I did this by twirling the match head against the board and it would burn a dark spot.  On this occasion, I twirled away, the end became incandescent, exploded and embedded itself in my cheek!'

Which it would, wouldn't it?

Paper

'Paper,' Johnny stressed, ' is incredibly,' pause for emphatic, full-on stare and further stare, 'important! It dictates how paint behaves - how you behave.'

We were talking about Matisse, one of Johnny's great mentors and someone to whom Johnny has returned to repeatedly: for understanding; teaching; enlightenment; moral support.

Two years ago, Johnny was in communion with Matisse and there were a lot of fishy paintings emerging, which are Johnny's homages to Matisse. Johnny's dilemma, was how to represent Matisse's cut-outs.  To cut them out, he felt was inappropriate, so he decided to paint them.  'Have you ever tried to paint a cut-out?'  he asked.
I confessed not.
'It is incredibly difficult to paint a cut out shape to look authentic,' he explained, 'and then, by accident, I discovered that the paper I was working on was veneered - a good quality top layer bonded to a poorer quality under layer.  Well, I was painting away and by accident nicked the top layer.  I discovered that I could peel the top layer off and reveal a perfectly white underneath.  I painted a flower - quite roughly and then carefully cut out precise petal shapes with a scalpel it was the solution to  the dilemma of the fish - to paint or cut - this did both, but differently!

Matisse's socks and fish

'Jesus, I said to myself - I want some more of this paper.  It came from Wiggin Temple in Leeds, so I went to buy some.  The smallest quantity they would sell me was a hundred sheets.  So I sold a painting and bought the paper.

'But,' he continued, mood more despondent, 'they'd changed the manufacturing process and I couldn't peel the top layer off ...'

Happy birthday Old Bean

It was Johnny's 74th birthday yesterday (13th), celebrated quietly at the Brasserie.  Johnny never wants to be the centre of attention, but there are a lot of us who want to share a bit of the day with him!  I sidled into the Brasserie around 6.30 last night and the birthday group was outside - the first time we have sat outside (albeit with heavy duty clothing) this year.  Is Spring really here?

Anyway, you can't let the birthday, of a much loved friend pass without some kind of marker.  I was very chuffed with my present to him this year.  Johnny is an avid cricket fan - I think it is as close as he gets to a religion.  I went to my first cricket match ever, with the Midddleton family in August 2006, when we watched England play Pakistan at Headingley, Leeds.

It was a scorching hot day and after an a hour or so, I decided that a hat was the order of the day and duly purchased a white canvas 'flowerpot' - not my idea of a siren fashion statement, but it was the best on offer and in any case, I didn't care because my head was beginning to throb ominously.  I've never worn it since, but it did save the day.


The sun slipped down the sky and by four o'clock, I had slipped down my seat.  Some of the England team were at the rim of the pitch, giving autographs.  'There's Pieterson, ' Becky yelped, 'I'll go for his autograph!'  No one had any paper, but we did have a pen and I had a white hat.  So Becky dashed off with it and the hat was duly christened.  Anxious not to be outdone, I managed to get the autograph of Dickie Bird.

Then the hat was packed away and since then I've travelled quite a bit and never properly unpacked - until now (now that I am about to pack up again and move).  I've been wanting to give the hat to Johnny for ages, but I couldn't find it, so it seemed synchronistic when I unearthed it last week, just before the birthday.  To the hat, I added the Observers book of Cricket and Johnny was delighted.

He was also delighted with his hand embroidered handkerchiefs from Vicki, who rightly pointed out that not many men use cotton hankies any more.

Johnny takes ages to unwrap presents ....

This weekend, Johnny has some decisions to make with the London folk and the Exhibition is eleven weeks away.                                                                                                                                                

Sock up-date

'I've spent seven hours today on the sock - it's getting very thick ... '

While Johnny was painting his sock, I've been to the doctors, resigned from my job, been into to town, paid in a cheque, been to Superdrug, Marks and Spencer (new jeans), bought dinner, drunk wine and got update on the sock.

Deadlines 2

There is a painting afoot .... it is a sock.

Turner is lurking in the wings ... deadlines are approaching .... questions need answers ... which paintings for the exhibition .... copy for the catalogue approved.  Johnny's helical world has to align, however briefly, with the linear world of dates, times and DEADLINES.

I saw a hint of Diva in Johnny the other night, 'I have not got time to spend on administration,' he huffed, 'I said at the start that I'd only do this if I didn't have to take it on,' he paused briefly for breath, 'I've got so much work to do in my Studio - I haven't time to go to meetings,  I want to paint!'
'Poor you,' I sympathised, 'Come on - don't get things out of proportion - you've got time -'
I was rudely interrupted. 'It's no good saying I've got plenty of time - bollocks!  Big Foot was the first painting I did, with the London Exhibition in mind...  I've been working on 'the Sock' now for six months, but I've got to get it right.  The Sock is significant.  I don't paint pictures - the significance of the sock is that the shape is more important than IT (function) is - out of context, with a frame round it - if you didn't know what a sock was...

'There are certain artists that are intrigued by shape.  All it is, is a sock on a background - it's not a sock, it's a shape....anyone could paint that sock - black paint, white paint.  But!'  he emphasised, 'there's a phenomena - they call it 'wall power'.  When you see a significant artist's painting, you love it - there's something about it that intrigues you ...

'With Big Foot, there isn't a picture there ... and the Sock is one step further ...

'If I can pull this off - if people can stand and look at this - it's a shape in an environment.  This is as far as I can go - I've been doing that sock for six months and it looks as if I've spent half an hour on it, because I'm putting the emotion into it ... that's what the Envelopes are about ...'

Washing

I'm not certain, but I have a hunch that the Sock may turn out to be the one that disturbs deadlines.  I hope the planets align.






Washing:  a sweater had fallen on the ground and frozen and Johnny pegged it on the line.  No one noticed the shape.

Video-ing with Don Quixote

Johnny has often said how much he would like to make of a video a drawing in progress.  As the Exhibition approaches, the dream may be coming closer ... but one can never tell, especially when Don Quixote is in charge.

'Well, how are things?'  I asked Johnny at early doors last week.  He fixed me with hooded eyes, that widened for emphasis, 'I am exhausted.  Coral and I have been working in the Studio - all day - 8 hours - Coral was knocking on the door at 9.30 this morning! And what have we got to show for it? - Nothing!'
'What on earth were you doing?'
'Video-ing.'
'Oh?'
'You remember Bob - he was in the Studio last week - the video guy?'
'Yes,' I replied, recalling a smiling, brown-curly-headed face in blue jeans.
'Well, he said that to produce a video of me creating a drawing from start to finish will need three cameras - one on the drawing, one on the model and one on the Studio.  Then,' he paused and looked intent, 'they will be cut and put together into a sequence.'
'Yes,' I said. I know nothing about filming, but it seemed sensible.
'So today,' Johnny continued, 'Coral and I had a go a making a video of me doing a drawing.'
'Well how many cameras did you have?' I enquired.
'One - mine - it took two hours to strap it to my head - we used loads and loads of Velcro in the end.  Then I couldn't remember whether it was on or off ... and when it was on, it wasn't looking at what I was looking at ... so I had to try and adjust my sight - but when I did that, I couldn't see what I was drawing - on the paper or off it ... it's been a disaster,' he closed gloomily.
Helpless with laughter, I enquired, 'And why did you do it - given that the expert said three cameras?'
'Well ...' he considered carefully, 'I needed to know - I know now.'