An itch that needed scratching
I was 27 when I first visited the National Gallery. That’s shocking but true. It’s also true that something had been brewing for a while. A sense of unrest and a deep-seated need to find a direction in life. More importantly it was a desire to be creative.
I had been working in West End theatres since returning from America in 1974. Stage crews were filled with painters, sculptors, poets, film makers, dancers, musicians, and out of work actors. I felt out of the mix. I couldn’t talk to people about differential equations or the stresses on a rocket. In fact I’d had enough of science and logic
I loved film, and I did have a hankering for getting into the movie business. Maybe even making films. I tried a few avenues. I even interviewed at Elstree Studios only to be told that a degree in rocket science overqualified me.
In early 1979, I began making some drawings. I even tried painting. I knew I needed lessons. Then I spoke with another stagehand. He was a sculptor and had studied at Chelsea College. I asked him how one went about getting into art school.
“You need a portfolio of work,” he said.
I had no idea what he was talking about. But I soon learned. I also began checking books out of my local library. Books on art and artists. I knew I needed to look at the real thing. I had a gallery in mind. It wasn’t far from Covent Garden, where I worked.
First visit to the National Gallery
A Damascene Conversion
I guess I spent a couple of hours walking around those marvelous rooms of great art. I was mesmerised, and having never understood what a Damascene conversion meant until that day. Yet, by the time I walked out onto Trafalgar Square I knew I was going to spend my life as a painter.
I began visiting the National Gallery on a regular basis. The painters who impressed me most were Turner, Rembrandt and Velázquez.
Light, colour, and beauty. Rain, Steam, and Speed – The Great Western Railway, 1844, Joseph Mallord William Turner, National Gallery, London
Tenderness and humanity rendered by a great artist’s manipulation of oil paint. A Woman bathing in a Stream (Hendrickje Stoffels?), 1654, Rembrandt, National Gallery, London
The power and majesty of Diego Velázquez, Portrait of Archbishop Fernando de Valdés, 1640-1645, National Gallery, London
Art School or Bust
The next obstacle was getting a place at an art school. Naivety and ignorance can be a blessing. Because if I knew now what I didn’t know then I would have had the nerve to apply to a college.
And so, the following year, 1980, I applied for a Foundation course in art at Camberwell Art School in South London.
You can read about this here.