Wall-paper

Conversation with Matisse

What is most important: the art on the wall , or the art on the paper? No prizes for guessing which is important to Johnny.

Johnny likes to remain in contact with his paintings and when Johnny visits me, he usually disappears for a little while and I will find him somewhere, standing in front of one. I know he's saying, 'Hello,' and enjoying re-connecting with an old friend.  (He will tell me if he approves of its location and lighting - vanity?  They are his 'stars'.)

So imagine his dismay, when he visits friend P, to find that the house has been re-decorated.  'Where are my paintings?'  asks Johnny.
'Under the bed,' says P.
'Why?'
'My wife doesn't want to spoil the wallpaper.'

'His wife went out while we knocked the nails in,' said Johnny.

Attitude: on Art

'It's a matter of respect - it's given me a life.  I have to find out myself what a painting is all about - a lifetime isn't enough.  I love painting and finding out something about me and my experience of life - and I am intrigued.

All I've ever wanted is to do a good painting - it's the painting that matters.  You're forced into the position - because you're fucking hard up - that you've got to sell it - but you try to sell it to someone who appreciates what you're trying to do.'

I saw a mouse

Amstel

Where?
There on the stair - right there!
A little mouse with clogs on,
Well, I declare!
Going click clickety clack
On the stairs ...
In a windmill in old Amsterdam.

In the winter of 1983, Johnny was sharing an attic there with them.

Johnny recalls, 'The houses were very narrow but very tall - built on sand.  Terraced buildings are more stable and everyone has an attic.  It was quite romantic - like going back a hundred years - the area was the 'Montmartre of Amsterdam'.  The landlord lived in a flat about three floors below.

Amstel

'The mice were my house guests.  I'd buy a kebab or something, get into my sleeping bag and eat my meal by candle light.  The light caught their eyes and there would be a twinkling ring of them around my sleeping bag.  I'd give them the left overs away from my bed and I could hear them tucking in.

'I moved out of the attic and into a converted barge on the Amstel.  I studied how to paint water.'

.

Preparations begin

Artist's chair

Another June arrives and another summer seems to be busy elsewhere.  Perhaps that's why I have been suffering from a profound lethargy, which has dogged me since my return from foreign parts.

However, despite my state of mind, preparations for the exhibition are moving on regardless and this week, Jen came up from London to begin the task of writing the blurb for the catalogue.

She scribbled diligently for three hours, whilst Johnny recounted his life history.  It's hard work listening and writing and Johnny's deafness and quiet speech don't help.

'So it was an arts and crafts shop your father had?' Jen checked.
'No,' replied Johnny, 'he died of a heart attack'.