my life as a artist

lots of van dycks but none by dick

Monday 8th September 2008 11:27 PM

On Friday night I attended the private view of the 'Artexny' exhibition at Castle Howard, in aid of York against Cancer (I think Cancer won 3-1). 'Artexny', in this case, is not the art of painting textured ceilings, but is an ungainly, hybrid lump of a word meaning 'art exhibition North Yorkshire'. It was a fizzy tie and black champagne do, involving thir(s)ty artists and a couple of hundred we-are-worthies, who were ferried from the car-park to the tradesman's entrance in a big, tractor-drawn toy train, made of hardboard and bunting, decorated with domed silhouettes in pleasant shades of cream and wedgwood blue. I'm glad to say that the train ride, though slow and vaguely humiliating, was completely free of charge.

Castle Hogwart, when it was built, was the largest private dwelling in England, and is one of the finest you-call-that-living examples of eighteenth century bling. Every room is crammed to bursting with busts, urns and cherubs, the walls filled, frame to frame, with old masters of Venetian landscapes and three-chinned kings. It was like having seven Sunday dinners in a row.

However, in a dark corridor, on the long labyrinthine journey to the toilet, I came across a fourth century Greek bust of Dionysius, huge, stoned and dreadlocked. Earthy, exuberant, sensuous and inscrutable, his eyes were rolled heavenwards, either in apprehension of the ecstatic vision, or in Frankie Howard-style dismay at all the surrounding Apollonic knick-knacks of polite society.

In my 'you-can't-tell-it's-from-a-car-boot-sale but-I'll-probably-tell-you-anyway' cream linen suit, amongst the penguin tide of black suits, I felt singular and creamy. The finger buffet consisted of weird canapés and those miniature sandwiches with the crusts cut off, so one doesn't have to do much chewing. The champagne ran out too early, and they didn't have any Guinness, so I larged it on elderflower cordial.

Seeing two women looking at and discussing my work, I informed them that I was the artist. One of them looked at me in surprise, and said, 'Oh, I thought they were done by a child.'

'Thanks' I said, expertly flicking a stilton mousse canapé into her handbag, 'Picasso said he was in his eighties before he learnt to paint like a child'.

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Wasn't Picasso the artist with the brown sticky fingers?

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Posted by hippy in the horn , on Thursday 11th September 2008, 5:36 PM


Steve, you obviously missed his Blue period.. and the Pink one too.

And another thing, surely Picasso learned to paint like a child when he was a child, and then as he grew un-learned those abilities.. along with canape skimming.

Posted by Tom , on Tuesday 9th September 2008, 5:02 PM


Fair point Rory, but I suspect that Picasso's 'painting like a child' involved more than just drawing willies on other artists' pictures...

Posted by Steve , on Tuesday 9th September 2008, 11:37 AM


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