I feel like the proverbial artist in his garret, surrounded here as I am, with paints brushes etc, and the smell of linseed oil and turpentine all pervasive.The canvas is there too on my battered old easel, staring at me blankly, with a hint of reproach at my tardiness. But I am determined not to be rushed.
It seems an age since I made any money. It is an age. Whether from art or any other means. When the warm weather arrives I will have to get out there and persuade the public to sit for portraits. Also I feel a determination to hold an exhibition, and not just in the ramshackle gallery I am making here.
|Memory from childhood. Title: 'The wicked Miss Dee at bath time'. Click to enlarge.|
I did earn something today though. My friend Chris the builder phoned me. He had killed a couple of rabbits whilst digging with his JCB, and knowing of my phenomenal bushcraft skills, he needed me to gut them for him. He intended to make a rabbit stew. Good for him. Waste not, want not, as the saying goes.
He paid me for this service: Three bags of logs and a bottle of red wine. I don't particularly like wine, but I might drink it. Just to help me forget how much I owe the bank!
Being an artist is not an easy life. I started being serious about it almost 50 years ago. I have sold lots of my work over the years, so there must be some merit in what I do. I certainly wouldn't recommend it to a young person as a way of life though.
Now here I am approaching 65 years, and do you know what? I think I can paint OK. I have a belief in myself. I'm going to be famous! World renowned! Yes that's right, world renowned!
Well you know my work, and some of you live in other parts of the world to me. Could you do me a favour please? Spread the word. Thanks. Much appreciated.