Saturday 31 January 2015

Don't mention the war

I have begun two major projects for 2015, so I think it's going to be a more hectic year than last.

One of them involves taking on an apprentice, which is something I thought I would never do, but someone has to do the hard work in my dotage.

The young man who is settling down under my scrawny wing is already a highly skilled stonemason, but I am going to teach him the magic which does not get taught in colleges.

As Cro will vouch, I only ever made anything which could be called 'Fine Art' during the last few months of art school, and even this involved digging a trench. Sadly, this masterpiece no longer exists, because a new wing of the college was built over it a year or so after I left. If it was still there, it could be seen from space, but only with modern technology.

The bulk of my three year sculpture course was spent in learning every technique employed by a sculptor, and this included bronze-casting, a little stone-carving, forge work and metalwork, wood-turning, plaster, clay and a few other things which loosely could fall into this category, including some quite spectacular explosive devices which almost killed a woman out walking with her poodle one day. The noise was heard by some friends taking a walk over three miles away, so it must have deafened the poodle.

For some reason, I once used the painting studio to make a massive, 8 foot square rendition of the Nazi flag in three colours (the usual ones) and as I was putting the finishing touches to it, a Polish painting teacher who had a rough time during the war happened to walk past, and he became apoplectic with rage and horror.

He went straight to the Principal and demanded that I should be expelled immediately, sparking off an internal enquiry where I was represented by one of my sculpture teachers - a young, Northern woman who actually damaged her career by supporting me against the Pole's vehemence. I don't think I was truly grateful to her for that, but I was a bit of a twat at the time, if I am not still (no comments).

The gist of her argument was - aside from me being a bit of a twat - that I did not know what I was doing, but having been born a few years after the War, was fascinated with everything that it entailed and insensitive to, plus ignorant of, the feelings of others who had survived it.

Anyway, I survived that little war and came off undeservedly unscathed.

When everyone was busy setting up their shows for the worthless 'Surrey Diploma' (which, if you were a photographer, was a qualification you did not mention at job interviews) I made my first trip to Scotland, in the company of two 2nd year girls and a friend in Sculpture who had set up his show, but then changed his mind by smashing the lot up with a large axe. He was - and still is - a very mild mannered man, but nobody went near him when he was wielding the axe.

When we got back, everyone was moaning about the grades they had received from the examining board, but this was water off a duck's back to me, having seen the beautiful Highlands for the first time. We had hitch-hiked, and the journey up took three days.

There were only two true painters at this art college - Cro and another chap who remains Cro's friend to this day.

They had given this friend some appallingly low grade which only just scraped through as a pass, and he was justifiably bitter about it. His paintings actually taught me - for the first time - what true painting was all about, which was more than any teacher managed to do in four years.

Art colleges were - and probably still are - a cross between monasteries and mental hospitals. Thank heaven I stuck to techniques and had the foresight that I would never make a true Fine Artist. I am a sculptor, but in the true, old-fashioned sense of the word, and that word has nothing to do with Saachi's preoccupations.

15 comments:

  1. Two comments here Tom:
    Are you sure it was the beautiful Highlands which made you not care about the grades or did it have something to do with those two second year girls?
    Be sure to let me know if there are any more 'explosions' in the offing, so that I make sure not to be walking my terrier anywhere near.

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    1. I didn't get anywhere with my female companion, despite a solid two weeks of trying. Now I remember, she looked like one of those dolls of Boy George which kids bought in the 80s.

      My exploding days are over, Weave. Your terrier's safe - from me at any rate.

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  2. Darling Tom,

    This is, we feel, a perfect time For you to take on an apprentice. Inevitably, working in such close quarters with another person will bring its challenges and its difficulties, but it will also bring new ideas and joys of discovery.

    Young people are our future, we really do believe that, and in training an apprentice you will not only be sharing hard earned skills and techniques but will also be shaping the future in some small part.

    It is time. You have so much to give and others have so much to learn from you. You are an artist and have a highly creative mind. But, new freedoms are perhaps calling you, new adventures are waiting and life is short. Enjoy! Explosions are only a new apprentice away.....

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    1. That's just how I sold the idea to my client - heavy on the heritage and light on the laziness.

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  3. Perhaps it is because I was listening to Miles Davis while reading your post Tom, but I love the way your weave your stories. Sarcasm, truth, insight, your humble "twatdom" self depreciation. One day your descendants will be quite grateful for all you've told...and sculpted. On another note..We have hesitated to bring an intern onto our farm. So much trouble to teach new people and yet we complain there are no new farmer generations coming on. Time to rethink our selfish ways. Thanks for the kick in the arse Tom.

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    1. Well you tend to lose a lot of time with interns and apprentices. The thing is that I am not paying for my one, which is how I can afford him.

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  4. I remember my days at Art School with great fondness, the freedom of expression via the arts has stayed with me.

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  5. There is no middle ground at art school, me and friend Morris were permanently stoned and those that weren't were in the monastery category painting like saints. This also applied to the tutors. I didn't learn anything about art in five years except that which I taught myself but I did learn not to care about what anybody says or thinks about me or what I am doing. You are very good to take on an apprentice with the all the red tape it entails to take one on if you are self-employed. I hope he learns well from you.

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    1. He will learn things he doesn't expect to, and I am not having to deal with the red tape.

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    2. He is very lucky to be apprenticed to you if all you say here is true.

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    3. The first thing I have taught him is that almost everything is a mixture of common sense and bullshit.

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  6. I once slept inside your circular 'trench'.

    My main recollection of your college work is the bronze castings, and the side-by-side bike. What larks, eh?

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    1. People used to shag inside it too.

      I have no recollection of a side by side bike. Are you sure that was me?

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    2. I do remember hurtling into the yard of the old people's home opposite on a home-made bike thing and getting bolloxed by the matron, but I don't think I made it. I remember you giving her an earful back as well - I was youthfully impressed.

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