Road to Hell o2

I type this sleepy eyed from a sleepy little B&B in a sleepy little village in Suffolk as my body tries to come to terms with the major physical jolt that is casually referred to as ‘moving the clocks back’. I find as an artist who is no longer on the treadmill of clocking in at specific times that the adjustment back to a normal routine takes longer and longer. In old money, the time would be 7:45, I’d be warm and cosy in bed and just looking forward to my full English. As it is, it’s only 6:45 and I can’t sleep….

This time last week or should I say This old time last week, I was getting up in another B&B in Tunbridge Wells, or had I got another hour to go? I find time shifts more confusing than watching Back to the Future…

Anyway, It was the first day of a three day session at the Search Press Studios to photograph and document my work as I produced three step by step paintings for my book, How To Paint Flowers in Acrylics. I’d arrived the previous night driving along the now slumbering M25. Upon arrival in Southborough (a suburb of Tonbridge), I expended my year’s allocation of parking petrol looking for a space to put my car. Eventually, I managed to manoeuvre into a tight spot somewhere near Hastings. Nightmares ran through my head of someone breaking in and stealing all my precious paintings and so with a lot of huffing and puffing, I made several sweaty trips to the B&B, humping all my work and art equipment into the safety of the boarding house.
The next day, I arrived at the studios to meet Edd (my editor!) and Paul (the photographer) after coffees and settling in, I was directed to a small table surrounded by massive lights, booms and very expensive cameras. To one side was a set of computer screens and equipment that would put Goonhilly to shame. Nervously, I squeezed into position, tucked my elbows in and started to work on the first of the set pieces. Edd sat besides me and studiously made notes of my technique, thoughts and colours. Periodically, I would pause for photographs to be taken of key features. The camera would be swung in at all angles and sheets of polystyrene would be wedged under my nose to help cut reflections and get that perfect shot. This went on for several hours with a break for lunch. By the end of the day, exhausted, two of the paintings had been completed, it was good to be so well on. On the second day I completed the last canvas and then did all the twiddley bits to camera, brush strokes, palette knife techniques and more polystyrene. On the third day I could rest, as Juan, the artistic director was summoned. Artistic directors are like artists but much more focussed on minutia. As we delight in rusty old barns, so Juan would take great delight in examining my old tubes of paint, broken worn out brushes or become fascinated by the patina of paint around the lip of the jug I store my brushes in. Even I became quite enthusiastic about the beauty of a close focus shot of the edge of a piece of curved canvas sheet.
Things were running very smoothly until there was a loud BANG! We all simultaneously jumped out of our skins! After putting them back on, we looked to the right at all the heaters, wires and lights, Paul ran over and frantically started sniffing all his equipment. Unable to find anything, we suspected that a heater had shorted out. Paul looked relieved that none of his expensive equipment was damaged. We continued until lunchtime and then called it a wrap.
I made it back on the M25 before it woke up again and was home by teatime.

Road to Hell o

According to a recent newspaper article, drivers stuck in jams on the M25 can be excused for thinking they have been stranded for a lifetime – because the truth turns out to be even worse. One stretch of London’s orbital motorway, is reputed to have caused 118 years of hold-ups in only 12 months, according to official figures. As I drove down last Wednesday, I didn’t realise I was about to age another 118 years in a day. What’s the M25 got to do with art you may ask? Well, for me it’s the yellow tarmacked road to the next stage in my artistic career at the Emerald city, Royal Tunbridge Wells. The last time I visited this place was approximately 46 years ago to holiday with my mum and dad in auntie Betty’s house. In those days there was no M25 so after setting off in the dark and driving through plagues of moths(funny what you remember) our black Austin A40 would reach the mouth of the Dartford tunnel at about lunchtime, when we would stop to think about our mouths. It was when mum thought about her mouth that she realised her false teeth were missing! (an eighteenth birthday present). After gumming down a few sandwiches we pressed on and reached auntie Betty’s house by late afternoon. A frantic phonecall to my elder brothers still at home(an probably partying) got the said gnashers dispatched by Royal Mail. Amazingly, they arrived the next day, astonishing considering that this Christmas we lost and failed to receive a record amount of parcels ourselves! Anyway I digress just like Ronnie Corbett in that comfy chair… I was fortunate enough late last year to get a commission from Search Press to produce a book entitled How to Paint Flowers in Acrylics and last week was my first meeting, to meet the team which includes Edd the editor (Yes! He must have been born to the job). A direct route to meet the team is around the M25. Past experience of driving on this monster when I worked in Ascot had taught me to treat the journey like a military operation, leaving nothing to chance. M1? No that would mean spending longer travelling east on the Haietlik, M11? No that would mean travelling on the second biggest carpark in the UK, the dreaded A14. The A1? Yes, that’s got to be the best option, then I can cut to the M11 at Hatfield if there’s a problem. As I drove down at 7:00am the nice lady radio traffic reporter reported that the M25 was closed eastbound due to a jackknifed lorry! Not to worry I thought, it’ll be cleared in the two hours it takes to reach the Lindworm. As I approached Hatfield still no go. I pull off and reprogram the Sat nav. It shows a route to Ockenden that takes me through north east London. “Great” I thought, not only will I be competing with every man jack coming off the Nagual but I’ll also have to be on the lookout for footpads and highway men. I decide to abort. As I turn around the nice traffic lady says that the Sceadugenga has reopened. The Chris Rea song stops revolving in my head at that point. I arrive just half an hour late, thirsty and busting for the loo, the nice people at Search Press give me a soothing cuppa and we plan the book. Back home now just taking a little time out tio write this blog before painting and writing like a mad thimg in the hope that this will be the best flower painting book Search Press have ever launched. It’s nice to know someone’s smiling down on me…