I’ve just returned from a peaceful week in the East Sussex village of Herstmonceux. There was much walking (and some falling down in the mud) through fields, countryside and surrounding villages; most refreshing.
‘Etching’s not drawing exactly, but it’s a sort of drawing.’
Lucian Freud
I’ve just realised that it’s three months since I last touched an etching plate – well, worked on one that is. Three months. THREE MONTHS! That’s a quarter of a year. Way too long. I’ve been drawing and painting a bit during that time, so not completely idle creativiely, but it’s definitely time to get back to my core business.
I’ve been thinking of making some etchings with just line work; working more quickly and energetically, straight on the plate without preliminary drawings. I think I became bogged down with the process of aquatinting and with working and working and working the plate… the last few images have taken three or four months each to complete. I need some quick-fix-instant-gratification etching – not that etching is ever quick-fix exactly.
As a prelude to this, never being one to rush into things, I’ve been looking at Lucian Freud’s etchings. Fantastic things; beautiful, skilful, intuitive, sensitive, atmospheric… most definitely inspiring. Here are some for your delight and edification. And if you want to investigate further, get Lucian Freud: The Painter’s Etchings. An excellent book.
Here are some of this week’s doodles from my sketchbook. I picked up some rather satisfyingly shaped pine cones whilst vising the old military hospital cemetery at Netley. I love this place; it’s so peaceful and quiet. Perfect when one is feeling in need of solitude, which is ironic really considering it’s pretty crowded underground. They don’t say much though, the dead. These drawings made me really scrutinise this little piece of the natural world; so intricate and well-made. Lead me to think about Uncle Henry and his passion for flora and fauna – and how understandable that is. All this natural stuff around us, even in a built up city… we so easily take it for granted. We don’t even see it half the time.
Seeds and gravestones. I could go all philosophical about the juxtaposition between beginnings and endings, birth and death. But I won’t.
Legion of gravestone sundials
Row upon row, uniform, solid, stationary, silent;
Shadows diurnal creep.
Dead soldiers in eternal ranks.
On Saturday I travelled down to Portsmouth Museum to see the Birds, Beasts and Bugs exhibition; a collection of over 10,000 items (apparently) belonging to Henry Leopold Foster Guermonprez, my great great uncle. These items include stuffed birds and animals, pickled fish and other sea creatures, case upon case of insects pinned in orderly ranks, plus many of his tools. Nets, microscope, jars, test tubes, his water colour set and many, many records and letters. Most of the specimens were collected by Henry himself in Sussex around the Bognor area but he also had a trail of people bringing dead creatures to his door and he occasionally bought more unusual specimens already preserved. He kept meticulous records of where, when and by whom each specimen was found and carefully labelled each with the information. Henry was born in London in 1858. His father, Jean Henri Guermonprez, came over from Belgium in the 1850s and married an English woman, Charlotte Sarah Foster. The family moved from their home in Chelsea to Bognor in about 1892 and by 1897, Henry was married to the long-suffering Clara Sophia Phelps. I say long suffering because by all accounts, she – along with the rest of the family; Henry’s four children and his sister Harriet – was roped into Henry’s escapades with dead things. One of the display boards at the museum tells of how Clara stood on a chair holding a swan by its legs whilst it was skinned. Of course, there’s no evidence to suggest that Clara was an unwilling participant, even though she does look rather severe in the couple of photographs there are of her in the exhibition. Clearly Henry’s enthusiasm for flora and fauna was infectious; the children collected specimens for him and he had them and his sister making drawings and water colours of plants, fish, insects and birds – anything that (had once) lived. Henry carried out most of the taxidermy himself and mounted the stuffed birds and animals on pieces of cork float washed up on the beach from local fishing boats.
Henry and Clara had four children, Harry (my family connection on my father’s side), Jean, Walter and Stella. One can imagine them all tramping through the fields and along the shore always on the lookout for an interesting new something for Father. The exhibition displays many watercolours made by them and Henry, who was himself a proficient water colourist. Harry, the eldest son, my father’s uncle, went on to develop his own, quite different enthusiasm for amateur film making and co-founded the Bognor Regis Film Society (see my blog post of 9 May 2009).
Although trained as an architect, there is no evidence that Henry ever actually practiced. Legend has it that he stayed at home to look after his parents as the family was independently wealthy. Certainly these responsibilities didn’t stop him from having four children and spending much time on his interests. He did exercise his architectural training though in drawing up plans for an extension to Dalkeith (the family home) to house a small museum. These plans are on display at the exhibition. The extension was never built; however his home was open to anyone who wished to view his collection. There's a sweet letter from a schoolboy who wrote to express his thanks for having been shown around the collection by the master of the house. He dabbled in archaeology too and was involved in the discovery of the remains of a 13th century chapel at Manor Farm (Barton Manor), Nyetimber. He also had a hand in the discovery of a number of Bronze Age axes or palstaves in Bognor.
It all seems quite idyllic to me; an eternal summer. My overall impression of this distant relative, this typical Victorian collector, is that he was someone who was overflowing with a passion for natural history which he managed to communicate to those around him. I'd like to think that his family and friends benefited from his enthusiasm as much as those he invited into his home to see his collection, and indeed those who will enjoy it for years to come.
The kitchen fitters have done their work so I have my studio back now. The daily drawing slipped somewhat over the last couple of weeks (not that it was daily before that – more like every other daily…) so trying to get back on track now. Continuing the theme of still life with narrative, this drawing is of part of an old standard lamp which my grandmother had in her sitting room. I remember the carved lion’s head with the brass ring through its mouth fascinated and spooked me when I was a kid – it is slightly sinister (and appealing to my inner goth). I’d like to know how old it is and where it came from; I have a vague recollection that someone said something about it being used as a prop in theatrical productions somewhere but sadly there’s no one left to ask now so I guess I’ll never know.
Apparently the motif of a lion’s head holding a ring in its mouth dates back to Roman times when it was a popular decoration on furniture, the ring often being used as a handle. It regained popularity in the early to mid-18th century and can still be seen today in the form of door knockers. In Roman times, the lion head mask was a symbol of strength, courage and majesty.
I made this drawing over the course of three balmy summer evenings this week, sitting with the doors of the studio wide open. Sweet. I find it very useful to look at the scanned image afterwards; it often appears quite different and highlights elements I hadn’t noticed before. And sometimes I have to resist the urge to tinker further with a finished image.
Day six and the kitchen works are still doing. The plasterers arrived at some unearthly hour this morning; painful but it’s good to be getting it all done in one go rather than dragging it out. It’s beginning to look like a kitchen again now although still no sink or cooker. The absence of the sink has been the worst thing; you don’t realise how much you rely on it until it’s not there. We’ve resorted to paper plates to minimise the awkwardness of trying to wash up in a small cloakroom basin. It’s like camping only worse! The studio has been full of kitchen parts, dishwasher and workmen all week so no printing or painting sadly. I have been drawing though; with a collection of small objects (above) which don’t take up much space, I’m pursuing my still life studies. Quick sketches of these four figures which I gathered together in a random but connected way… they seemed to fit well together, similar size and colour. Brass bell, Buddha and bodies. The brass bell has been knocking around since I was a kid – I remember playing with it when I was only just old enough to remember. The jade Buddha figure is a relatively recent acquisition and the two armless, legless, headless torsos I made from FIMO whilst doing A level art at sixth form, too many years ago now. They are quite satisfying shapes to draw and remind me of a fairly pivotal time in my art career. A little paint next I think.
At last! The fitters are in and the new kitchen is underway. It’s going to take two weeks to complete because the floors, walls and ceiling need doing too; pipes need fixing, electrics need rewiring, gas supplies need capping. Plasterers, plumbers, electricians, carpenters… it’s a quite a production down there. And also in the studio which is full of new kitchen parts, dishwasher and workmen. I was hoping to be able to continue working in there but that doesn’t look hopeful, at least not for the next few days.
Meadus died in 1970 at the young age of 39 but left behind a huge amount of work. He was self-taught and experimented with a range of styles. Much of his work focused on townscapes; he made many drawings of Southampton’s urban sprawl but it’s a drawing of Swaythling Railway Station which has been used on the commemorative plaque at Eric Meadus Close.
For me, the evening was more than just a chance to look at a large number of Meadus’s drawings and paintings. It so happens that the drawing of the railway station belongs to my cousin; he kindly allowed it to be reproduced for the plaque and loaned it, along with another drawing and two paintings, to the gallery for the show. He’s been an avid collector of Meadus’s work since before the artist died. I don’t get to see him and his wife that often so it was most enjoyable to be able to catch up in the civilised surroundings of an art gallery.
I’ll probably get shot down for this; my feeling is that Meadus’s work is a bit variable. I don’t think his figurative work is as strong as his townscapes, some of which are quite charming. His drawings of Southampton's urban townscapes are distinctive and spare, the lumpy, little houses arranged all higgledy-piggledy. The locations are recognisable to those familiar with local housing estates – I was particularly taken with a drawing made from the hill at the top of Athelstan Road, looking out over the rooftops, the clusters of houses bisected by the river winding through. Nicely composed.
Meadus worked full-time at the now vanished Pirelli General here in Southampton until he died. He would go out sketching in his lunch hour and considered that ‘a day without drawing is a waste’. Judging by the amount of work he produced during his artistic career, he was pretty committed to his art. It made me reflect on my own work and in particular drawing, something I don’t do enough of. I taught a drawing class for Southampton Art Society last evening and heard myself telling my students to practice - draw, draw, draw, anything and everything. It’s the basis of what artists do after all. So, it’s back to basics for me too. I’m off to the studio to practice what I teach.
Eric Meadus, Self-portrait
Collection of Southampton City Art Gallery
I am painting again. Having dabbled briefly last summer, I put the paint and brushes away and returned to my core business of etching. It’s been a slow year though and I’ve only produced one print I’m happy with. I think I’ve got a bit bogged down with process; the way I work takes so long – which would be okay if I could get regular studio time. Back to basics then. Drawing and painting. Working quickly and loosely with line and colour. The colour bit is particularly challenging as you can see from the work in progress above. My etchings are quite painterly but pretty much monochrome so I’m enjoying playing with colour. And being able to alter the composition more easily.
So this is a good thing and of course, it’s not really going rogue (even though my inner etcher is whispering ‘traitor!’ in my ear, and ‘you’ve gone over to the dark side…’) as many printmakers paint. And the smell of oil paint is almost as nice as etching ink…
The 2011 BP Portrait Award opened at the National Portrait Gallery last week so with much excitement I hot-footed it up to London at the weekend to have a look at this year’s selection. The only problem with going to see a show when it’s just opened (or just before it finishes) is that it’s pretty crowded. There was much weaving and jostling as we dodged from one painting to another, all out of sequence and diving for a free space wherever there was one. Not how one wants to experience a show really but I enjoyed it nonetheless. The BP Portrait Award is a prestigious annual competition which attracts entrants from all over the world. This year there were 2,372 submissions, which doesn’t sound that many actually when you consider that the competition has been going for 32 years and is therefore renowned throughout the art world here and abroad. Maybe portraiture just isn’t that popular these days.
55 works were selected; out of those, the prizes were awarded as follows:
First – Wim Heldens, Distracted
Second – Louis Smith, Holly
Third – Ian Cumberland, Just to Feel Normal 
Young Artist Prize – Sertan Saltan, Mrs Cerna
Travel Award – Jo Fraser, Flora MacGregor
It’s disappointing that there doesn’t seem to be anything published about how the judges came to their decision. Apparently they select without knowing who the paintings are by to avoid any form of bias. These things are always so subjective though, and I find I rarely agree with the decisions. I really liked third prize winner Ian Cumberland’s Just to Feel Normal (take note of the size – 1500 x 1000 mm - not a small painting) but the first and second prize winning paintings, well… meh.
There were many other striking works in the show but one that particularly stood out for me (probably because it had a narrative element) was I could have been a contender by Wendy Elia (at the top of this post). There’s plenty going on in this painting which is an interesting take on the family portrait. It shows the artist herself with her children and grandchildren, some in photographs and postcards. The title adds another layer of meaning relating to her career as an artist and a woman in the art world.
I also liked David Carter at Home by Richard Brazier. The perspective was interesting as were the surroundings; I like the way the sculpture on the table echoes the pattern on the carpet. I also like the slightly uncomfortable way the subject is sitting. The diagonals of the legs disappearing out of the canvas give the feeling that maybe the subject was anxious to be off – even though he’s wearing his slippers! 
There is the usual range of sizes from the gargantuan Holly with its imposing frame to the rather sweet and intimate Portrait of my father by Tomas Georgeson at just 300 x 230 mm. Smaller still are Matthew Schofield’s Six Decades, a series of six paintings each 10 cm square. Who said big is beautiful?
This year’s BP Portrait Award has the usual high standard of work and is well worth a look. If you’re interested in portraiture check it out.
