Gallery News

Gallery News

Gallery News

Gallery News

Gallery News

PAP

It's one of those painting days where nothing seems to go according to plan. It's my own fault - I just grabbed my bag and ran out the door, forgetting the 1st rule of PAP: ALWAYS CHECK YOUR STUFF.

So I get to the Crescent (yeah, yeah, I know I've done it a million times already, but I've got this idea see ....) and I find I haven't got all my paints and I've only got my reject brushes. On top of this there's a bitter wind so I almost give up before I start. But I don't and you can judge for yourself what painting with sticks looks like without any cadmium red. I guess it could have been worse. I say that of course, but that's ignoring the guy who stood behind me for five minutes - way too close (he doesn't need to stand that close. why's he standing that close? is there something in my ear?) and ... humming! Grrrr

Roll on spring.

Close to the edge

26/02/09

It's cold, grey and windy. Oh yes, don't forget the wind. Perfect for finishing the cold, grey painting of GPS started way back on the 29th Jan. Only, they've gone and set up a mass of road works right in the way - I'm not averse to a bit of real life grit in my paintings, but this would be a bit much.

Not dispirited, I find another small bit of board in the back of the car and head further into town. The board is a bit warped, but I figure it will do. I end up in front of Pulteney Bridge. It's an odd thing, but as I start to paint I feel particularly nervous - probably one or all of the following, take your pick:

• it's a small painting so I know I really should be finishing it in one session
• the subject is quite tricky with lots of subtle angles and lots of detail
• I'm very much out in the open and overlooked by the tourists along Grand Parade
• the painting starts off going really rubbishy.

I have three encounters:

1. Tourist: "Can you move please so we can take a photo." What?! Don't they know I am a tourist attraction?

2. Another tourist: "Can you take a photo of us please?" One of these days I am just going to lose it and run amok with my size 5 filbert hog hacking and slashing and leaving a pile of tourists brushed to death in my wake. (No I won't - you can't use this as evidence in my trial, anyway it will all end with me taking my own life by guzzling a 120ml tube of cadmium red - ha! ha! see you on the other side suckers!)

3. Man asks me if I was painting up by the Royal Crescent a few weeks ago (Yes, it could have been me) because while he was looking at my painting he met a woman who was also looking at my painting. He wants to shake my hand because he has been out on his first date with her and it's all down to my painting!

He then proceeds to talk about star signs (he's a believer) and get this - he and she are Cancer & Pisces (two water signs, obviously a good match) and me and mine are Pisces & Cancer (cue spooky music) - and then, get this again, he lives right next to my studio ... This is okay, because I don't think he's crazy. Then he tells me that I look like Sting and I know he isn't crazy because it has been noted before - admittedly, not for some time, due primarily to said fading rock star stoically holding onto his hair - but I am wearing a hat so yeah, the likeness is uncanny. Rock on ...)

All the while we're talking, I'm packing up (having rescued the painting and now being quite pleased with myself). I put the painting against the railings and, for a moment, forget about the wind. (Where oh where is my trusty cardboard box when I need it?) I turn to dismantle the easel and then 'flip' the painting is blown over and and I look around to see it lying face down in the dirt. Damn! But wait, there's still hope: the warp in the board could come to my rescue. I pick up the painting and, relief - look there's no paint on the ground at all, ha! But then I realise why there's no paint on the ground - the ground is on the paint - Big Pooh Word (my daughter reads this blog) - all my lovely sky, covered in brown speckles. Sigh.

27/02/09

Back to last week's inspiration and today I'm using canvas rather than board to paint on. (It's got a cleaner edge, which will mean I can frame it with the edge showing - make a feature of it.) Canvas has a different feel with the brushes and the paint and as I'm not sure of the results I steer away from any crowds and wander up Marlborough Lane. The light catches the chimney tops leading up towards Lansdown Crescent and yes - that's it - I'm sold.

Spring must be coming because it's warming up (ooo - insightful comment) Sun out - hat off, sun in - hat on. On off on off on off.

Van man: "Am I in your way here? I can back it up a bit if you want." !? He does and the van then acts as a shade for the canvas while not blocking any of my view - that is definitely something that doesn't happen every day.

Uninspired

Last week I went to Bristol, ostensibly to have an all over body massage and a session in a flotation sensory deprivation tank (don't ask*), but while I was there I went to check out some galleries in Clifton.

I was disappointed, nay horrified, at the dearth of said artistic establishments in the posh bit of Bristol. I went in the lone outpost of Innocent Fine Art - I had lunch with the owner ten years ago before I became a painter, but she doesn't recognise me and I don't say anything. This week, back in Bath, I try and redress the balance by walking round a few galleries and it's like a different world with one on every street. Finest of the fine galleries (apart, obviously, from the one that shows my paintings) is Mauger modern art and I find myself INSPIRED by two artists in particular: Nathan James and Guy Denning. I move on to not quite the finest of fine galleries Beaux Art and am similarly excited by the paintings here (not that I like them, but just the use of big old blank space within the pictures). Every so often, you (or I or artist's in general if it applies) need an extra external stimulus to get excited about your (or my or everyone's in general) own work. Surely, all this has got to be leading up to an exciting painting week ...

19/02/09

The issue is the outside bit of the paintings - I like it; all unfinished and a bit pencilly, but it's not working in my usual traditional frames. I spend the morning preparing some canvases as one solution and then I try and rework a painting of the Royal Crescent. It's already been framed, in a gallery window and everything, but it didn't seem to quite work (and obviously didn't sell). I try reworking the edges and the more paint I put on, the more the thing looks unfinished. In the end I cover up all the writing** and almost any trace of white. If I'm going to work with white on the edge it's going to have to be all or nothing as leaving small traces showing through just annoys me. Anyway, judge for yourself:

See, still not right. I still prefer the 'before'. More reworking required.

I also mess about with some little one's of venice, again experimenting with how to finish the edges. 

Overall the day does not live up to expectations. Maybe tomorrow.

20/02/09

Damn. The day doesn't start well when I step in dog pooh outside my studio door. The injustice of this is magnified by being inside - it shouldn't be there - how did it get there?

Damn, damn, dammity damn. I'm itching to get outside to use the canvases, just to do something with a paint brush and I'm stuck in the office trying to set up the accounts software for the studios. We (me and Claire) give up around 4.00 and I've just got time to rush out and do a quick sketch. I start walking around aimlessly, trying to find a subject. I get taken by these blue clouds bobbing along the hills on the south side of the city and suddenly I've got to get a clear view of them. Victoria park and the front of the Crescent is a waste of time with trees and architecture constantly getting in the way. I haven't time or the energy to climb higher so I end up in the allotments. A bit of panic starts to get hold as the clouds continue to move in the opposite direction to the sun and I'm in danger of missing the moment, but I set up quickly and slap some paint on. Shoulder muscles ease slightly (without the necessity of pummeling by scary woman with greasy hands) when I get the sky just about right before the colours change (those clouds are so blue). I then turn my attention to the bottom of the painting and the dark brown smudge that is the allotments. A shed - I know, I'll put a shed in. All sounds good, but whatever I do it's not coming out right. I  try highlights, pencil, reworking the angles, but to no avail. I'm just about resigning myself to the failure, when someone lights a bonfire. Praise be, just what the painting needed. Aaaaaand ..... relaxxxxx.

Not quite the breakthrough I was looking for, but there's always next week.

* okay ask. It wasn't on my list of 100 things to do before I die (henceforth to be known as my bucket list after the movie and because, yes I can take it, it's a much better name), but I was given a voucher so on it went, just so I could cross it off and because it sounded interesting.

I'll keep it brief:

Massage

• she (the masseur) announced at the outset that she could be a bit rough - 'ha', said me, ' bring it on'. 
• Not sure you could say that the next hour was a pleasure - most of the time it was far too close to being painful. 
• Lot's of smelly oils and music (eastern twangy stuff, obviously).
• 'all over' didn't mean 'all over', but it was as close as you could get this side of legal, even if twiddling my ears and pulling my toes all seemed a bit unnecessary.

Floatation (cos that's how they spelt it in the brochure)

• 5 minutes interesting bobble about
• 25 minutes being bored
• 30 minutes fallen asleep

It was all at this place called the relaxation centre and I'm still not convinced. The masseur seemed particularly disappointed when I said I didn't feel any different after the event.

** This painting originally came from a blog free period, so for posterity I wrote down the words before I covered them up:

"17/04/08  I started this painting a couple of months ago and the angle of the sun makes the shadows a lie, but that's okay.

3 schoolgirls come over and ask to be in the painting. I point out that they are no longer in my view. They decide that they'd only end up as indistinguishable blobs anyway. They make me laugh with their questions:

'Are you rich?'

'Do you have a girlfriend?'

They swear casually, but I don't say anything - I just hope that my own daughter doesn't feel the need to talk like that."

Inside and Out

08/02/2009

I'm standing, painting, in the window of an art gallery which is holding an exhibition of my work - It's like I am art! ... or perhaps a performing monkey.

Still it could be worse - I've got my back to the window so I can't see or hear anyone outside. That said, they can see what I'm painting, so the pressure's on to make it half way decent. I have occasional cause to regret my decision to paint the interior of the gallery itself (oo er - painter becomes art & gallery becomes painting - derderdoodooderderdoodoo - twilight zone or what?)

3 things better that being outdoors:

1. It's warmer;
2. There's a continuous supply coffee, lunch et al from the friendly gallery staff; and
3. I can't hear any shouts of abuse from passing builders.

11/02/2009

I start by finishing the Lansdown painting - it doesn't take long and not much happens. lol makes me promise to show her the finished painting - I agree, but don't warn her that I'm going to be writing all over it.

Afternoon and there's a bit of sun, so I storm into town determined to finish the painting of Quiet Street (or is it John Street?). The shadows aren't quite as they were when I started the thing back in November, but I make a few adjustments and it's all good.

I should have a big tourist information sign on my head because I get a long stream of interruptions:

• Where's the Chapel Row Gallery?
• Do you know how to get to the Theatre Royal?
• Where's the Post Office?
• Where's the you know, er, that crescent place? (This accompanied by hand gestures trying to describe the world renowned georgian architectural masterpiece with a few finger twiddles.)
• And finally some guy in a car (yes, I am beckoned over as if I'm not actually busy doing something) who's looking for a hotel in Newbridge. He's so far off the mark, all I can do is wave him vaguely in the right direction and wonder why he didn't think to bring a map.

Only other conversation of note:

Young woman: "What's your name?"

Me: "Ben, Ben Hughes."

YW: "I did a project on you."

Me: "...."

I'm embarrassed, she's embarrassed, I smile, she laughs and I think we're okay, but before I can actually say anything she's gone.

 

Back on the Blog

It's been a little under a year and I find myself inexorably drawn back to the blog. It isn't big and it isn't clever, but I find myself needing the discipline of the weekly confessional to help drive the paintings forward. Like some furtive flasher I've had a taste of it and now I can't resist the urge to burden the world with my ramblings - just one more, it can't hurt, surely, and if I'm quick and I do it in the dark, I won't get caught - no one will ever know ... 

I have no pretensions that this is anything other than for me, so I apologise if you were looking for something more. It's just too easy to let the days and weeks slip by without making that trek into town and standing in front of the easel in front of the public in the freezing cold. That said I've not been out painting this week and therefore there's no new picture to post - I could burden you with everything I've done since the last blog, but I'll settle for the portrait of Jim and Charlie. For anyone who may vaguely recollect previous blogs when I accosted a regular passerby while I was painting on the street and asked if I could do his portrait, voila the results.

No new paintings then, but I post this anyway because I am New Year Resolved and, well, we'll see how long it lasts.

P.S. For all previous blogs check out blog.myspace.com/bens_blog