I visited my dad today – and while I was there, he showed me some of his recent
sketches.
He used to paint when I was younger. He took it up as a hobby, going to the local
art club once a week.
Sometimes they’d
be on the lookout for models, so I’d volunteer my services. I found it hard to
stay still for an extended period, so I’d take a book to keep me occupied. This
resulted in a shedload of pictures of me looking at my lap; probably not the
sort of thing you’d want to grace your walls.
(It’s worth
clarifying that I did it fully-clothed.)
My dad
specialised in watercolours, though he’d also do the occasional in oils. He’d
sell the odd one here and there; there were a few on permanent display
at the carvery at the Gordon Craig Theatre, which I’d often go and look at when I
went to their weekly drama club.
(The theatre ran the drama club. Not the carvery; that would just be weird.)
He shared a
studio on Stevenage High Street with another artist, splitting the rent at the
ridiculously low price of 50p a week. He only gave the space up relatively
recently, which was a shame; it must have been nice to have a place to
concentrate on his artwork.
I only went there
a few times. It was packed with canvasses, some framed and some not – plus a
couple of attempts at sculpture; it looked like the last refuge of a tortured
artist.
Eventually work
got in the way, giving him less time to paint. Then, a couple of months back he
retired – and slowly he’s started to regain his interest. He meets up with a
few friends once a week, driving to a different location to do a spot
of sketching.
Today was the
first time I’d seen what he'd been up to. They're great, with lovely composition; I
wish I could draw like that.
It’s nice to see him at it once again. I hope he keeps it up.