2012 – at last!

     It's a story that must have been played out thousands of times over thousands of years - where two people live and work alongside each other but their relationship never goes any further. 

Then, one day, like in a smouldering woodpile, the tiniest spark causes a sudden ignition… a chain reaction, and the awkward silence and inactivity is replaced by a new, exciting, and inspirational reality. Nothing of the outward appearance has altered but the internal transformation is explosive and profound.

In this case, I am referring to my personal relationship with art and what happened to me during the autumn of 2012.

Having watched a TV programme about Leonardo da Vinci on the old portable TV in our little french cottage, I discovered something that both amazed and excited me. 

Over the years I had periodically  felt really quite miserable that I’d never managed to find the time to invest in painting and developing the kind of artistic skills the ‘old masters’ demonstrated. Then, in one sudden discovery, I learned that Leonardo had actually painted fewer than twenty oil paintings in his whole lifetime! To me, this was momentus, it meant that maybe it doesn’t take a whole lifetime to hone your skills and that it just might be possible to get good results in a much shorter period of time.

So, having worked a full fifty years, one day in September I remembered the promise I had always made myself – what I planned to do during my retirement. Maybe it wasn’t too late!

     I told my wife that I was going to drive into town to buy some oil paints and brushes to see if I could "do it or not".

St. Brierc was just fifteen minutes' drive from Moncontour where we lived during our regular holidays, and I made my way directly to the picturesque little art shop in the village square that I had passed by so many times before but had never made the time to visit.

Pascal - one of our French neighbours - had explained to me that a 'bijou' was a small and beautiful piece of jewellery, and that we English had lifted the word to describe a small and beautiful room. I guess he was right because that was exactly the word that came to mind as I entered a den full of creative goodies.

I explained to the owner I was just starting out (now three years older than Rembrandt was when he died… I was definitely a slow starter!) and soon, I was travelling home, raring to set the world on fire with my beginner's oil painting kit.

I had bought a smallish canvas and a larger 'canvas-textured' board, not knowing the difference but deciding the best way to find out would be to paint on both.

     First up was the board, and I thought I would start by painting a picture of Moncontour from the road that rises toward Quessoy (pronounced kess—wah by the French). I worked on it for two days outdoors ('plein air' in artistic parlance) before retreating to the warmth of our kitchen due to the weather getting colder. I decided that, since I was in France, I should maybe let myself be influenced by the impressionists and so the picture came together sort of 'impressionistic'. I was quite pleased with the result and questioned if this should be my 'style' from now on?

However, some days later I found an old postcard of St. Michaels Mount, Cornwall in the drawer and was once more inspired. This time I tackled the 50 x 40c/m canvas I'd bought at the same time.

The kitchen had become a quiet place since our children had grown up and found better ways to amuse themselves than travelling to boring old Brittany with their mum and dad for holidays. And, during these days of my newfound artistic freedom, my wife Sue would go shopping or visiting neighbours leaving me to get on with my painting.

Painting like this, I discovered a new kind of solitude… so peaceful and enjoyable. This was indeed a great discovery for me; just me, my canvas, paints and brushes. My new family!

     Although St. Michael's Mount isn't as majestic as Le mont St Michel, the picture nevertheless also turned out pretty good and I was filled with satisfaction, excitement, and hope. Our next-door neighbour liked the picture but thought it really funny that the English had their own version of Le Mont St Michel - and with exactly the same name!

I’d exaggerated some of the colours to give it greater appeal but then asked myself questions like: "does it actually give it greater appeal"? "Why should I want to give it greater appeal"? "Should I maybe be re-painting the same picture again without exaggerating anything? And what real difference would that make"? And so the questions started.

     I remembered hearing that Monet had once painted the same scene twice – once with his right eye closed and once with his left eye closed. But this was because he had a cataract problem – and the difference turned out to be amazing. The one painted with his good eye turned out, as you might expect, pretty good, but the one painted with the cataract in his eye turned out to be a blooming 'Monet'!

The more I thought about these things, the more my mind was focussed on art and the greater was the urge to understand more and to look deeper.

     Following our holiday, we returned to England, and I was filled with excitement of where my newfound hobby could take me. Looking at everything differently now - with artists eyes – my first ever portrait was inspired whilst talking over the garden wall to my next-door neighbour Roger. I couldn't help noticing how perfect the lighting was and asked if I could take his photograph.

It was a sunny day with a bright blue sky. The sun was behind him, illuminating him from behind whilst reflected light from the wall between us illuminated his face and also provided great catch-lights in the eyes.

His face and hat also picked up some of the blue light from the sky. And because I knew he was a retired schoolteacher, I also suggested he looked over his glasses as if signalling his dissatisfaction to a student. I worked from one of the photographs I took and the next morning I just stared in bewilderment. It was my first portrait and I couldn't help wondering how long I'd been able to paint like this. It was like receiving a beautiful and valuable unexpected gift.

From there, I tended to concentrate more on my portraiture as it was my portraits that seemed to impress people more than landscapes and seascapes.

     Joe is my youngest son who played the drums in a rock band at the time, and when he saw my portrait of Roger, he immediately asked if I would paint a portrait of him.

I surprised him by not painting him going crazy on the drums, but instead, while he was sleeping. I decided the skin tones should be warm and deep as I thought it matched the warmth and intimacy of his bedroom.

there's a poem in every image, sound and movement of all that is

...

© 2024 All rights reserved Website created by Grant Parker. All Artwork and stated Views on this site is the copyright of the originating artists. Images may not be copied or used in any way without their prior permission in writing from the artist. Cookies