The Accidental Artist

Last week, tumbles and all, only offered up two new paintings. One a homage to a friend of mines granny, Mary Robinson, and the other a trusty English Motorway System painting, number four I believe. It was really a week of new school visits, sports days and my lads bravely embracing new beginnings. But hey, these are the ingredients of life. 

The end of the week brought the West Lancashire Open in which a friend and I have paintings. Old habits die hard and I got a little drunk on the free wine. Hey, I make no apology, its been a long week.

Chapel Gallery...West Lancashire Open

I was dressed in shorts and a cap, nothing like these smartly attired folk above, and offered up one or two vocal opinions towards the end of the night. Eek!

The real art came afterwards, on a diversion to Blackpool, my old home town, with my girlfriend on the way back from the Exhibition. I still love Blackpool and its eccentricities. Its motto 'Progress' seems to have propelled it into the 21st century with a fury.

The moon and the Glitterball

Blackpool Vanishes

The amazing Comedy Carpet, beneath the tower

We wandered around my old haunts, some now sadly closed ( The Stanley Arms!), had a pint in Scrooges Wine Bar for old times sake, and took in the slightly scary Friday night atmosphere.  Blackpool is a crazy, crazy place. I would not like to live there now. It has changed, and rightly so. It has been inherited by a world that I find myself increasingly alienated from. Bless it though, with its charm and utter weirdness.

Sunday morning brought a visit to Sarah Thomas' wayfarer blog and a video interview with the lovely Edward Acland of Sprint Mill up in Cumbria. By sheer coincidence the Mill was open on Sunday as part of the NGS . It seemed too tempting to resist so off we went....WOW....what a place, what a guy, and lovely family to boot. We even met Sarah, post swim, in the river by the Mill.

 Basically, Edward adopted a ruined Mill, on the River Sprint 40 years ago and adapted it to a small holding and a rather eccentric, and beautiful living museum for all manner of resting rural and farm implements, interspersed with personal collections and artefacts. In fact scrub 'museum', this place it very much alive and in vibrant good health. 

The bottom image is a selection of Edwards reclaimed double glazing units, recycled into frames for his collages. They are beautifully arranged and aesthetically pleasing items. Edward is an artist by nature, not design. His work is full of integrity and wonder, from a man who seemed to have fallen into 'art' as a by-product of his lifestyle, an accidental artist. Amazing.

The rest of the small holding is as amazing, and very much a working farm. The families hand crafted furniture is fab.

This chair was surprisingly sturdy and comfortable. Sweet.

So there we have it. My week brought to quite a fine end. I even managed to sneak a pint of Windermere Pale at the Hawkshead Brewery on the way back. Ohhhhh, yes, how I love the hoppy goodness. Farewell for now Cumbria. A place of constant beauty and surprise.

  

From the beginning

At this stage in my life I define myself by two things, being a dad and being an artist. I've always had some kind of drawing implement in my hand, right from the early days. My boys (5 and 7) seem no different, they love drawing and painting and its beautiful to see. Their mum and I split up last year, but yeah, life goes on. I'm there for my lads every morning, evening, holiday and the rest. I love them to bits, those crazy wee men.

 


 Life hasn't always been like this. I was happily married to my boys mam, for seven years or so. I stayed home and looked after my lads, it was a crazy time, and a time I'll always be thankful for. I've worked MANY jobs and being a full time parent tops them all in terms of how DAMN SCARY, hard and full on it is.

 So yeah, finding myself alone, in a new place, joint access to the boys and a CV about as effective as saying 'Lost at sea', I've found myself returning to my passion of painting. I'd been to art college years back and all that gumpf, and despite this I still love to push pigment around canvas. Haha, yes, Fine Art degrees are great primers for navel gazing in-between shifts at Starbucks. Aye, so bollocks to that. The dreaded axe of JSA loomed and with nowt to lose, it was time to paint my way to freedom, hmmm, or at least to the next top up on my electricity key card.

Ok, I admit, the plan is ongoing, the income is intermittent (but its THERE), I'm precariously skint and in danger of death but fuck it. It became worth it the first time I heard my youngest tell his teacher his dad was an artist. I even managed to buy him a few birthday presents (weep). I was asked to do a talk at school, and I got some studio space, yay. Despite the positives, life remains tricky. Going through a divorce, navigating those emotional waters, is a constant woe. There has been bereavement, and times of real sadness and uncertainty. Things could be so much harder though. People could stop buying. The lights could go out. The drones could strike, my wife's solicitors could call a hit.  Yeah, so really, I'm not complaining. I have a lady friend who despite living 200 miles away, supports and loves the stuff I do. And of course I have the dudes. And they just ROCK.

Find me on twitter too...https://twitter.com/LoneDadPainting
me n dude the younger