I think our creative lives should be our deepest love, the place where we are most fully ourselves and discover who we might become/have been and how this intersects with our times. A while back I decided that I must leave the studio both grateful and fulfilled, if the day has been disappointing or a struggle that is part of the vocation even part of the fun.  This summer there have been a spate of woodcuts which I am now printing in all sorts of different colour ways with Chine Collé inserts. These give me great pleasure.

Swimming into deep waters, woodcut and Chine Collé, October, 2024

The Imaginary Institution of India, has just opened at The Barbican. It is a miracle, exactly the right show at the right time for me! A thorough survey of Indian visual arts of the period 1975-1998. It was over thirty years since I studied at MS University Baroda and in many ways I never came back from there. So many incredible talents are represented but my stand outs are Gieve Patel, K.P.Krishnakumar, my professor (to whom I owe so much) Gulammohammed Sheikh and his wife Nilima Sheikh, whose work is a standout contribution. It was a period of radical narrative art in which two generations of artists attempted to find an authentically Indian post-colonial set of voices that addressed the urgent realities of social, political and personal life.  What made this project more compelling was the ambition of recovering a broad range of visual traditions from the sub-continent’s culturally diverse heritage yet in a contemporary idiom. Don’t miss it!

Nilema Sheikh, Shamiana, 1996, hanging screens of casein tempera on canvas

Gulammmohammed Sheikh, Speechless City, 1975, oil on canvas

Having been very privileged to teach at The National Gallery for the last twelve years I am struck by the mysterious ways in which the paintings shift in the mind’s eye. The collection has the ability to present entirely different experiences on different days, each work capable of metamorphosing with each encounter. Sometimes two or three works suggest a chain of thought or sympathetic relationship that alters their individual reading. After seeing Sheikh’s painting Speechless City, 1975, Sassetta seemed to be more Indian or global and contemporary than ever. He is one of my creative touchstones, a chromatic world I can return to in pilgrim like manner when jaded or in need of solace.  Introducing other artists to his work and the process of slow, deep looking and drawn transcription is an abiding source of profound pleasure as well as immense personal benefit.

The Funeral of Saint Francis, Sassetta, © National Gallery Collection

The collections of London, museums, galleries and other artists studios provide an endlessly protein diet of stimulation, a dialectic that grows ever richer over time. If I run out of steam there are a roster of holiday destinations I like to go and draw at.  Some of my absolute favourites are in the V&A’s encyclopaedic collection of stained glass, ceramic and tapestry rooms. The most frequently visited is the exquisite Devonshire Hunting Tapestries on the top floor.  The dimly lit light sensitive gallery, pervades a somnambulistic mood where the eyes struggle to find the forms that emerge from the 15c woven surface. The subject is a bizarre fusion of violent bear/boar/bird hunting with a Gothic fashion show placed in a giddy picture plane that rears up and simultaneously recedes unexpectedly. 

The Devonshire Hunting Tapestries (detail), 1425-1430, probably made in Arras, France. Museum no. T.204-1957. © Victoria and Albert Museum, London

Once a week I meet up with a loose bunch of local gents called the coffee boyfriends for a one hour unscripted natter at the amazing institution that is L’Angolo, in Kensal Rise. A true survivor of the significance of Italian café scene that was the back bone of London post war social life in Soho and beyond. Here delicious home cooked fresh dishes and mind altering macchiatos are served with warmth and humour. I love the local non-corporatised aspects of London eateries, where they can be found, and the marvellous almost random friendships that often spring up at them.  Not sure why the man in the photo looks so grumpy he is holding a caffeine elixir!

The business of life often squeezes reading to snatched short periods and so the short story form has become a favourite. Recently a friend introduced me to Robert Walser’s Berlin Stories from 1907-9. They are not really stories at all, more immersive experiences of the street, theatre, or flaneur wanderings. Sly, manipulative, wry almost metaphysical ramblings in highly abbreviated form. A joy. 

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