I went through a bit of rediscovery recently. Something I was forced to do at school, quite enjoyed and went on to be reasonably good at. I’m talking about art. Painting and drawing and the like. And it was all by accident really. But a lovely accident that could get me back in to the wonderful world of art and all of its beautiful escapism. In which I am professionally trained (escapism, not art).
It all came about through a brilliant local charity who asked me to paint a picture to donate to an auction, which would then be sold for millions and the charity would never have to fundraise again. They even supplied me with a range of paints and an easel. All that was missing was the paint brushes and an inquisitive moustache.
The remit from the charity was clear; paint whatever you like but nothing rude, like a penis or boobies (it’s a fine line this art thing eh?). This was very exciting for me. And it was a very familiar feeling of excitement. Something I remember as a child. I grew up in a small village in Nottinghamshire, with my parents and two younger brothers. I had a wonderful childhood but in terms of things to do for kids, it was limited, compared to growing up in a place like Brighton, for example.
Basically, you had to make your own entertainment. My two brothers loved the great outdoors and spent a lot of time burning up country lanes on their motorbike or shooting stuff out of trees with their air rifle. Meanwhile, I would retreat to my bedroom and draw comics. I created my very own superhero, ‘Ironfist’ and I went on to draw and make several series’ of the comic, purely for my own entertainment. I couldn’t have been more than seven or eight and they were some of the happiest times of my life.
As a result, this also became one of my favourite subjects at school and one that I really understood. The whole creative process really gave me a lot of pleasure and set me on the long and winding road to the things I’m doing now. The art went so well in fact, that I continued to pursue throughout my early years, accumulating in an O-level (one of four I might add) and my one and only A-level. I was encouraged to go to art school but by this time I was ‘dabbling’ in drink and drugs and chasing girls and this was a period that kick-started a whole decade of ill-informed decisions and no real direction (I went to college to study hairdressing instead -more girls).
Anyway, fast forward twenty years and I’m a man with a clearer idea of what makes me happy and painting and drawing, despite the period of inactivity, is back in my life.
We get there in the end, don’t we?