To be an Artist!

Of the many books of contemporary artists presently available some are of the 'how to' sort while others eulogise the artist. The former would be written by the artist, of course, the latter, by a hopefully sympathetic, separate author. While one would be a working aid found on the studio shelves, the latter would more likely be on the coffee table and prey to the 'Art' critics. This book of mine is a hybrid. I plan for it to grace the coffee table but also to tell the enthusiast how I paint my pictures. I am a 'I know what I like' kind of painter and have little time for the conventions except when they serve my purpose. I cannot claim to teach all aspects of painting, nor even of watercolour painting. In that context I aim only to explain how and why I paint as I do.

 

My life has been thus far a mix of several separate and different phases – Yorkshire working class boyhood, naval officer, surveyor, lecturer – and while the artist has been present like a thread interwoven in all, only in this final phase has it pushed through to predominate. My techniques, style, choice of subjects – all are the result of the ingredients of my life, so it is inevitable that the book is to some degree autobiographical. I have developed over the years a strong scepticism towards the pontifications of art 'experts' and, in my own case I am afraid lest abstruse and esoteric qualities are attributed to my work. For I simply paint what I like to see; my motivation is quite simply the joy of observing and painting the scene – usually English and rural but not exclusively – and may aim is to convey my pleasure and veneration to the eye and the heart of the beholder.

 

Of course I am no better than the next man at writing objectively about myself. But my work with a smattering of evidence from my archives and my thoughts will reveal the man I am. My wish is simply that, by the time the reader has reached the end of this book, both I and my paintings will be regarded as old friends and accepted, warts and all.

 

As a schoolgirl in Skipton, North Yorkshire, my wife Rose had taken singing lessons from Connie Harwood. Connie was a well known pianist and mother of Elizabeth Harwood, a Kathleen Ferrier prizewinner and internationally known soprano. Rose had a promising career ahead of her but her marriage to me put an end to it, career, lessons and all. An end, that is until seventeen years later when she proposed that she might take up her singing again while I might get back to doing a bit of painting. The 'Harwood connection' was to feature in completely unexpected and dramatic way in the years that followed. By this time we were living in Hook End, for a retired sailor an appropriately named hamlet near Brentwood in Essex. The evening class is exactly what I needed: the last thing I wanted after a day's lecturing was to receive another one and Frankie Cummins, who ran the class was a tonic. A true democrat, Frankie arranged for a model or a still life each week, for those who wished to use them, but we were free to work in any medium on any subject of our own choosing. There was no instruction as such simply well-informed, unbiased opinion and advice. In the class I flirted with oils and acrylics and was found wanting in both. The two hours duration of the class was never long enough for my finicky style and I reverted increasingly to my old favourite, watercolour and pencil drawing.

 

 

I took to progressing a watercolour during the week and taking it to the class, perhaps to complete or for the critical comment from Frankie and my class-mates. I have retained these efforts (in my attic) and feel shame when I compare them with my work I produced in my teens and early twenties. There was some progress, of course, though I think it was more to encourage me than as an investment when Frankie paid me five pounds for my first ever sale. However, when the publishers of my book 'Sea Surveying' asked for suggestions for the jacket design I was able to submit a watercolour which they found acceptable. I intended to keep up the classes for a second year – the social side was as much fun as the artistic – but the new students wanted to get their O and A levels and the class became serious and the spell was broken. However the bug had bitten and I continued to paint with increasing keenness and dedication. 'Dedication' is the important word here it is the spirit that maintains the adrenalin flow when nothing seems to go right, and the application when other pressures and attractions intrude. I was constantly searching for subject material from this time, always seeing things in the context of a possible painting, but, incredible as it seems to me now, I was frequently in a quandary and wondering what to paint. Also, my technique had not begun to gel, my style had not yet evolved. Like the young lieutenant of twenty years earlier, I had not yet decided in what to specialise, nor was I satisfied with an unlimited choice. I was a ship adrift, its engines at full power and a landfall to make but with no hand at the wheel. Certain facets of my art were clear to me however.

 

My character and professional background mitigated against a freedom of expression. Not for me the abstract or impressionist style: I was firmly and irrevocably in the earliest niche and, at best, could hope to be merely an interpreter, not a creator. But this was not a draw-back as I saw it. To interpret with skill the wonders of landscape in all moods of light and weather and season seems to me a laudable ability for which to strive. The same influences in my life gave me an eye for detail and sense of the correctness of things. I am irritated by a picture which shows the sun shining full upon the north side of a church: the length and intensity of shadows must relate to the apparent time of day and season of the year: All tractors must not look alike, sheep must be identifiable as belonging to a particular part of the country, and stone walls should look different according to whether they are in Yorkshire, the Lake District or the Cotswolds. With these traits and a drive to paint I discovered a fascination with nature which has never faded. How can anyone depict to perfection the ever-changing reflections on a lake, the stony bed of a stream seen through crystal-clear water, the march of clouds across the sky on a bright windy day or the emerging buds on a sycamore in Spring? In the knowledge that perfection is unattainable I found amusement and comfort in Peter Ustinov's book 'The Loser':

 

“It is always the young who are depressed at failure. I know, However, that the road to success is paved with little failures, just as that to experience is paved with errors”.

 

Failures and errors were old enemies! 

 

At this time, the early seventies I was reading all I could find about artists and by artists. Without realising it I was looking for one I could identify with, on whose work I might model my own. I assumed that every artist whose work I studied must be more proficient than me – after all, they were in print! Since I neither empathised with, nor admired the great majority I was totally confused. Meanwhile, I continued to paint and found a preference for subjects gradually emerging. It seemed I was not to be a marine artist, the natural assumption of a lifetime at sea, certainly, marine subjects were the most numerous in my early efforts. Maybe the limitations of the settings put me off – all those flat horizons – or the limited centres of interest – always ships. By the same reasoning – not enough variety – I favoured trees without their almost always green foliage. I liked hills and the relief they gave to a subject, and inland waters which, more often than not – and unlike the sea – produced interesting reflections; I like the sheep and stone walls and farms of my native North-country. Incidentally, it was not that I actively disliked the sea and marine subjects, and I positively enjoyed harbour scenes. While I was becoming happier in choosing my subjects I was still conscious of severe shortcomings in my technique and that my paintings lacked character and mood. Enter Rowland Hilder! He had published his book 'Starting with Watercolours' (Studio Vista) in 1966 and it was in its third reprint by the time my daughter bought me a copy for Father's Day in 1973. Its illustrations were supplemented by the collection I had made already of Hilder card and calendar subjects published by Royles and this splendid little book became my bible.

 

I was not destined to evolve as a second Hilder, but his work had an immediate appeal for me. His rural winter settings were my favourites too and, while his home is in Kent and I am a Yorkshireman I saw in his technique the way to achieve the atmospheric qualities I sought after so much. The mixes he describes in 'Starting with Watercolours' were completely strange to me – cadmium lemon and lamp black to produce green indeed! - and intensely exciting. For the first time I was taken out of my inhibited self: I wanted to do the exercises suggested, to note and use the hints and advise offered and, most important – to experiment for myself. I like to think I am now my own man as an artist. But it is with gratitude that I claim to be an apostle of Rowland Hilder and, in those days, I would have been very proud had someone accused me of producing a recognisable Hilder! Hilder advocates the utmost simplification of treatment: “...it is important to make each statement in the most simple and direct manner that you can...” 

 

(R. Hilder 'Painting landscapes in Watercolour' Collins 1983). I am unable to do this to my own satisfaction for reasons already given. However, a maxim much used by the sales manager in my days with the housing manufacturer was 'Turn a setback into an opportunity' and from the start I set out to develop a style which exploited my careful draughtman's hand. In due course I was to be introduced to the work of Andrew Wyeth, whose style is as much more detailed than mine as Hilder's was more simple. The way I paint today is the result of the influence of these two artists, chiefly, and others I much admire among whom I would list Robert Bateman, Terence Cuneo, David Shephard, Joseph Farquharson, Henry Bright, Thomas Girtin, and Canaletto. It was from Hilder's book that I 'discovered' masking medium. This was to produce the single most important advance I was ever to make: to be freed from the painstaking business of painting around objects and immediate and remarkable effect on my technique and style.

 

Rowland Hilder was responsible for much more than this, however. His book gave me license to shun the long accepted rules of the purists by dint of the philosophy 'if it work's it must be right', and encouraged me to seek my own style without artificial constraints. Whilst I found that masking was a boon, and the disregard of the rules could be a welcome release, I was a long time learning that these freedoms exacted severe penalties from the careless and inexperienced. As with the techniques in any occupation, practice and the skill that develops from practice are essential. Badly handled, masking medium, sponge and blade – even the brush and pen – can be more of a curse than a blessing! I was soon producing about one painting per week and it was not long before those aunts, cousins, neighbours and friends who showed an interest were owners of an Ingham original. The going rate was about fifteen pounds (framed) and these are now monuments to my lack of skill which taunt me whenever I visit their resting places.

 

While I made sketches in the proper manner, both in the field and for composition purposes prior to embarking upon a painting. I needed more than this. For one thing I had no imagination to speak and sketches, though they served to record shapes, were of little help in filling in the colours and mood, and paintings made from the sketches alone, despite copious annotations, were lacklustre and bland. Secondly, I had a job which, then, was as rewarding and demanding as my hobby and I was not mentally attuned to sketching the pastoral scene at a leisurely pace in situ. (Remember too, I favoured winter subjects!). My work took me far afield on field-schemes, conferences and courses, and visits to our parents and relatives in North Yorkshire took us frequently to that lovely area. I needed to record subjects, skies, detail with accuracy and speed. The answer was photography of course. I purchased a camera and my modus operandi changed/ My sketching became limited almost to composition layouts alone. Instead, I started to build a library of photographic references which is today constantly extended and up-dated. Photography became an interest for me in its own right.

 

At a production rate of fifty paintings per year I needed to find outlets. I never did see the point of committing hours of work, however enjoyable or lacking in merit, to the attic. Further, I have always believed that any creative work, be it architecture or flower arranging, is only truly rewarding when subjected to appraisal and comment by others. Certainly, as soon as I complete a painting I hasten to get a second opinion – and a third, fourth, etc. if possible. The least biased opinion is that of the buying public and this has the added advantage of having a merit grading defined by their will to pay the asking price. For the 'amateur' artist the number of outlets available is virtually unlimited. I patronised church fêtes and village art festivals. I hired a market stall for one pound and sold ten paintings in a day, and I sold half a dozen on Saturday afternoon from a pitch on some riverside railings. However, these local exhibitions soon soured. I never did join an art club or society and was greeted with suspicion by those who sensed that I might be a professional. The word that I was a lecturer strengthened the hostility, notwithstanding my subject was surveying, not art.

 

As in the past a setback had to be turned into an opportunity and I turned to new outlets. Small galleries in Skipton, Brentwood and Shenfield took my work, always framed by myself and on a sale-or-return basis. They asked twenty five to thirty percent commission and had little trouble selling. This modest progress prompted me to look further afield and I began to enter for the annual exhibitions at the Mall Galleries in London sponsored by the Federation of British Artists. I also entered for a couple of competitions through the artist and leisure painter magazines and received 'highly commended' awards. Through the exhibitions of the R.I. - the Royal Institute for Painters in Watercolour – I met several of the members. Colin Kent in particular was a valued source of encouragement. He lived fairly near to me and took the trouble to visit and spend time appraising my work. His own marvellously subtle tonal style was nothing like my own but this served only to reinforce the pertinence of his advice and opinion. I appreciated Colin's exhortations to put aside what I read in books and magazines and to experiment. 

 

“Identify what you want to say about landscape... go mad for a month, forget about producing pictures, break the rules and try applying paint with other things than a brush and see what happens. You will produce a lot of rubbish but it's the only way of finding out one's potential. There is the problem of course in being different just for the sake of being different which is as bad as being too restrictive. However, providing one keeps in mind what one is trying to say a few exciting things can result”.

 

On another tack, he countered my worries over my pernickerty style.

 

“Don't be concerned that you get fussy over detail – so much work goes too far the other way – too broad and too loose. It is obvious that you like portraying detail in landscape but may I suggest that you restrict the detail to those items in the subject that first caught your attention and treat the remainder in a broader manner – this is where experiments would help”.

 

Six months later he was telling me: “This striving for atmosphere sounds great but make sure you don't compromise, i.e. one message, not two”.

 

He commended Sydney Nolan's work to me for its simple but incredibly atmospheric portrayal of the Australian landscape.I have never succeeded in applying that particular lesson, to so completely change my style would be akin to the old-fashioned practice of forcing a left had child to write with his right hand – and that was a battle I had already won! But to be conscious of this advise was a great help and sobering influence while I continued in my own way to strive for atmosphere in my paintings.

 

 

I shall never forget the enormous pleasure I felt when, one of his 'advisory visits' Colin stated  “You have discovered the quality of light”.

 

In 1977 I entered the Laing Calender competition sponsored by the Mall Galleries and my first painting to be reproduced, apart from that for the book jacket 'Starbotton, Wharfedale' was selected. The original was sold for eighty pounds and I was paid the princely sum of one hundred pounds for the reproduction rights – far and away the most I had earned from one painting up to that point.

 

Life had its downs as well as ups, of course. In February 1977 Rose, by now my most valued and honest critic and collaborator, had to undergo surgery and rest up for a couple of months. At work and in my Hydrographical duties all was harassment. Commenting on a painting just completed, my diary noted:

“Took an awful long time and not very successful at the end of it all. Long period of lethargy, not helped by the corrosive atmosphere at work – too many students, too few staff, too many hours, not enough rooms, too many courses”.

 

I had to go to Canada while Rose's convalescence was far from complete, and a painting submitted to a print-publishing company was rejected. However, 1977 was Silver Jubilee year (Queen Elizabeth II's 25th anniversary as Monarch), opportunities for the amateur abounded and I participated in seven exhibitions between May and December.

 

The 1977 Royal Institute exhibition had a spin-off benefit for me. Grace Collinge, involved with a gallery for trade customers in Manchester, had seen my work when at the Mall Galleries for the concurrent Pastel Artists exhibitions. She got in touch and I began to supply my paintings to her on a regular basis. Now, my pictures were bought outright, unframed. While I had previously painted subjects mainly from the Essex area (where I lived at the time) – elms and broad, flat acres of ploughed land – the Skipton Gallery and now this new one resulted in a swing to the North-country subjects almost exclusively. This pleased me since my style and inclinations were best suited to the limestone and millstone grit of that region. But it also meant that I ceased to exhibit in my home area. I was no longer able to meet the buyers of my work and 'sell myself' alongside my paintings. This I felt (and still feel) is a major drawback. In the same year I wrote to Boots the Chemist (a national pharmacist and retail chain in the UK), misguidedly soliciting their interest in my work for reproduction. I received a kind and helpful reply from John Marchese who explained that Boots did not publish original work and suggested that I submit my work to an attached list of publishers, one of whom was Royle Publications Limited. I duly sent a large photograph of one of my paintings to Royles and although it was politely declined, it was to lead to a remarkable chain of events. The story is one to savour but, like a shaggy dog story, the greater measure of enjoyment is in the telling, not the hearing. So I shall limit myself to the bare facts.

 

About a month after my first submission to Royle's, and with a second batch already submitted, Rose read in the local newspaper an article about Elizabeth Harwood, now apparently living in our locality an due to give a recital for charity in Chelmsford near to where we lived. Rose attended the concert renewed her old acquaintance with Elizabeth and her mother and arranged to take singing lessons again under Connie after the twenty-two year break. Subsequently, Rose learned that Elizabeth was now Mrs. Julian Royle, Managing Director of Royle Publications. On Friday 13th January, 1978, Julian phoned to inform me that two subjects from that second batch of originals had been selected for the Royle card ranges and calendars. Thus began a happy association which has continued on both a business and private level ever since. The story's punchline is that Royle's Art Director was at the time Rowland Hilder! The first two subjects to be accepted by Royle's after alterations suggested by Rowland were 'Hubberholme' and 'Staithes'. The former was used as a birthday card subject, the latter for the British Petroleum calendar and later for the Artists' Britain calendar. In the succeeding years I was to benefit – in common with a great many unknown artists – from the collaborative and friendly attitude of Royle's staff, from Julian and Rowland to almost everyone involved in the process of transforming a work of art into a card or calendar on the retailer's display.

 

In July 1978 Elizabeth and Julian held and 'At Home' for artists, buyers and their own staff. On that balmy summer's evening I was privileged to meet, among others, Vernon Ward, whose soft, colourful flower paintings and landscapes have given so much pleasure to so many over the years. And I was able to talk at leisure with Rowland Hilder and his wife Edith for the first time. It was an event of very special memory.

 

In my notes from that period I remark that my aspirations were influenced in several ways. Should I aim for membership of the exclusive R.I. or concentrate on reproduction with limited editions as my goal? On the other hand I had galleries to supply – the income over and above my polytechnic salary was welcome and to have a following in North Yorkshire – Derbyshire – Essex areas served by the galleries was a source of some pleasure. What had happened from my original wish to paint for fun? I had to admit it the whole thing was fun, to a greater degree by far than simply painting for my private pleasure could ever be. Exhibiting my work, chatting with purchasers, dealing-even disagreeing – with gallery owners, travelling to London to submit my originals to Royles or for the R.I. and other exhibitions at the Mall Galleries – all was hugely enjoyable.

 

This was a busy time, with all in the world of art before me. I now supplied my paintings to all the galleries unframed and this left me free to concentrate on my painting. What a relief it was to throw away the 'patent-can't fail' mitring devices accumulated over the years. And always at my side there was (and is, praise the Lord!) my Rose. She is able to see my work objectively and has a happy knack of predicting what will please the buying public. At the same time he is able practically to read my mind even when I cannot – a precious combination of gifts. She is so honest that, when I am wrong in a business discussion she will keep silent rather than takes sides against me or fight for something she feels is not right. For this she is respected for her opinions by those that I deal with and I am probably given more license than I would otherwise merit. If there was anything at that time to detract from the Euphoria of my circumstances it was that I yearned to be accepted as a watercolourist pe se, not solely as a specialist painter of the Dales and Essex. This was a conceit that was not to be realised for several years to come – indeed I still worry that a subject outside my normal ambit might not find a buyer! The yen to see my work in print was as strong as ever. Royles continued to publish a satisfying number of my subjects in card and calender form but print still seemed far away. However, 1980 was to bring changes in my world that would channel my thoughts into more pressing directions.

 

The owner of the gallery in Skipton changed and I had been approaching others also, so I was dealing with strangers and had new relationships to build up. Then, most tragically, Grace Collinge died after a prolonged and brave struggle again breast cancer and that close and happy association died with her. I desperately wanted to find a new source of collaboration. While at Royles I could not have wished for better and more friendly guidance in painting and reproduction. Grace had been the comparable influence on the gallery and private sales front. Never a businessman at heart (nor diplomat, come to that) I had no idea whether the prices asked for my work were about right, whether the proportions allotted to me were equitable, whether the royalties paid on my published work were at the 'usual' rate, and so on. I needed to trust those with whom I was dealing absolutely implicitly. One truth that emerged from several directions was that, to succeed, a one-man exhibition was an essential step. Non of my contacts at that time was capable of making this possible, yet it was clear that the sort of relationship which could generate such as exhibition might offer in addition the business guidance I was looking for. 

 

As I have remarked earlier, the idea of reproducing my original watercolours for publication as cards, calendars and best of all prints, had appealed to me for a long time. After all, an original painting, once sold is forever lost to all but a small circle of people close to the purchaser. It is lost also to the artist as an advertisement of his talent and for its earning capacity. A print, on the other hand, perpetuates the artist's work and reaches a much wider public. A print is incidentally, considerably more profitable than a card or calendar version of a painting, but at that time (1980) it was clear that Royles were not ready to launch a print of my work.

 

 

In October 1980 I was approached by a Bradford firm interested in my work for reproduction and I agreed to collaborate with them on a series of six subjects in the first instance – two at my normal painting size 360mm x 540mm and four at about 120mm x 180mm, in all a total of 28,000. This was not a limited edition venture! The firm marketed energetically, exhibiting at two of the UK's trade fair venues the National Exhibition Centre in Birmingham and Olympia in London. Also calling at outlets of all kinds, from public houses to greeting cards shops, souvenir and fancy good shops and furniture stores. There was opposition to this move, much of it from Rose and others close to me. They felt that I was cheapening my art by allowing it to be touted in such unprestigious market-places. As if to support their case the firm went into voluntary liquidation in 1983, shortly after my two year contract with them had expired. In consequence I received only five pence in the pound for royalties unpaid on liquidation and 14000 prints were sold off by the receiver with no royalties paid at all. However, in retrospect, I still think the exercise was worthwhile. It was satisfying to see my pictures here and there and, although their quality was nothing to write home about, they have given pleasure to many (I assume) and publicised my name without detracting from my reputation. Also, I sold all but one of the originals to the management of the firm at prices well above those obtained previously, and in the two years of my dealings with them I received several hundred pounds that I otherwise would not have earned.

 

Valuable lessons were learned. It says much for the open-minded attitude of the Royle people that they invited me to discuss the draft agreement with their expert in contractual law, and the final; document agreed with the marketing firm was about as watertight as it was possible to be. The agreement contained several important points:

 

• The copyright in the originals was retained by me
• The marketing company was given exclusive rights for two years to reproduce my originals for sale as prints, but not as cards or in calendar form, nor were rights granted as to prints made subsequently from subjects first used for cards or calendars (thus preserving my dealings with the Royles
• The royalty rate was defined as 10 per cent of the price net of Value Added Tax charged by the marketing company. The half yearly payment of royalties was stipulated as due within 45 days of the end of the royalty period (in fact the payment was very late on every occasion but this is common throughout the business I believe
• Access by me to the firm's accounts on request was agreed
• (Most important) on termination of the agreement, unless renegotiated, it was agreed that the surplus stock should be either sold, with royalties payable as normally, or destroyed and certified as such.

 

The moral is in spite of a cast-iron contract, be sure also that your business associates are financially sound, reputable and in constant touch. If there is evidence (or suspicion) of high-handedness, unexplained delay in making payments, prevarication or procrastination, or any sort of untrustworthiness, do not continue to supply them and seek legal advice immediately concerning any debts unpaid beyond a reasonable time. But the best advise is to be sure with whom you are dealing before entering any commitments with them.

 

It was a happy day when, in 1981, I was contacted by Michael Mosley of the Granby Gallery in Bakewell Derbyshire. Unbeknown to me, Mike had been a regular purchaser of my work from Grace's trade gallery in Manchester when the supply dried up. Not one to admit defeat easily, he reached me through the Royle's of whom he is a customer as a retailer of greeting cards through his stationery shop next door to the gallery. At our first meeting in February, we agreed on far-reaching steps. To cut out the middleman was obviously of immediate benefit to us both. My income from my paintings doubled. So successful was Mike as a dealer that his gallery prices exceeded those at my existing outlets in Yorkshire and Essex to an extent that I felt bound to withdraw my paintings from them, having first inviting those dealers to match Mike's prices. I have covered these aspects at some length because they are of great importance to an artist trying to make his way in the world. Business sense and ethical behaviour are qualities that play no part in the painting of a picture, but are indispensable in the selling of it.

 

Another 'dirty word' in the artist's vocabulary is 'commission' when applied to the dealers share of the proceeds of the sale. The rate of commission charged by dealers vary greatly from one gallery to another. The range might be sated from twenty five to fifty five percent, but even this can be grossly misleading. For example, twenty five per cent of a retail price of four hundred pounds is of course, one hundred pounds. But if V.A.T (at fifteen percent) and the cost of the frame (about thirty pounds) are deducted, then the same rate of commission is about eighty pounds. One hundred pounds would represent around thirty one percent in this calculation. For the sake of interest, the commission charged at the Mall Gallery exhibitions in London is one third of the sale price plus V.A.T. The cost of framing is met by the artist, and he has submission and hanging fees to pay in addition, as well as the expense and hassle of delivering the paintings to the gallery, collecting those not accepted, then collecting those not sold at the end of the Exhibition. A dealer who simply takes one's framed paintings on a sale or return basis, and who has no mailing list of possible clients, does not advertise or hold special promotions or exhibitions, should not ask more than twenty five percent. On the other hand, a well known, well found establishment will probably demand forty percent of the sale price less V.A.T. And framing costs. In return however, the paintings will fetch a higher price, they will be well presented, publicised and, normally, sold without difficulty. The dealer is likely to pursue a positive selling policy, he will maintain a mailing list of customers, past and potential and will probably build up a following of people who know and like one's work. In many cases, galleries of this calibre buy paintings outright and the question of commission does not arise. However, the prudent artist with calculate a notional commission rate so that he is aware of the value of his work on the open market.

 

Michael Mosley and I came to a long-term, special arrangement made possible by the granting of virtual exclusivity of my work to the Granby Gallery. A number of my paintings would be displayed at all times in the Gallery to keep my name in the public eye, so to speak. But the majority of them would be set a side to stock a one-man show at two-yearly intervals – a procedure we termed 'squirreling!' An agreed advance was paid on receipt of new works in order to ensure a basic income for me, and the balance of my agreed share paid following the sale of each painting. I was therefore able to benefit from any increase there may have been in selling prices between my supply of the work and its sale. Between forty and sixty paintings are required for a one-man exhibition in our case. Our agreements are unwritten, incidentally, since we find that mutual trust is sufficient commitment, even through the thankfully rare incidence of disharmony. For private commissions there are special arrangements. The subject for a private commission is usually one without universal appeal (it is often the client's house, for example) and the client must expect not to decline to accept the completed work, barring disasters! Further it necessitates special visits to the subject and the artist must work to the clients specification, and a premium is charged over the usual selling price, therefore. Since the artist has more of the work in touch with client than he would have in the case of a speculative painting, he will expect a larger share of the proceeds than normally. Another feature of the Mosley-Ingham agreement was the submission of all subjects to Royle's for possible recordings for future use as card, calendar or print subjects, before supply to the gallery. 

 

It is important to note (and to inform purchasers of the originals) that the copyright in a work of art remains with the artist unless it is specifically included in the terms of the sale of the work. Such an arrangement (to the sell the original with copyright) is rare and should command a considerably higher price than the original painting alone. For the subject to be use in reproduction, it is necessary to make a perfect photographic, positive transparency of it – a job for an industrial photographic organisation. The original is then released to the Gallery. The transparencies may be shown to prospective clients for commercial orders, and used by the editorial staff when planning future ranges and lines, as well as for the actual reproduction process. The agreements with publishers granting them the right to reproduce one's work are more straightforward than that other in my limited experience. Their printed forms are open to alteration by mutual agreement, of course, and the artist must appreciate that they were drafted originally with the publishers' interests primarily in mind. An advance of royalties is usual. The rate of royalties paid will vary with the intended use of the work and may be from two and a half percent to fifteen percent of the net trade price. Because the cards in a range will be changed quite frequently, and the life of the calendar is limited by definition, it may be advisable to negotiate a single fee rather than a royalty. It may well be that this will exceed the royalties amassed except in the case of the most popular of subjects and, contrary to the royalty arrangement, such payment will be made in advance. Any publisher's agreement will contain a clause prohibiting the artist from granting an interest in the copyright to anyone else for the intended use as stated in the agreement, and another which reserves for the publisher an option on the copyright for other purposes in the next two years. Thus for example, an agreement to cover the purchase of an interest in the copyright for the reproduction of a subject in the form of a card or calendar may prohibit its use for the same purpose by anyone else, ever, and reserve the right for the publisher to use the subject for, say, a print if required, a separate agreement would be negotiated, of course. In the meantime, no other party may be sold an interest in the copyright.

 

September 1982 was the date set by Mike and me for our exhibition. Royle's offered a 'preview of the preview' by inviting us to show my paintings at a two-day exhibition in their showroom in London immediately prior to the opening in Bakewell. Thus it was that my fifty paintings were hung in the illustrious company of works by Rowland Hilder, Basil Ede, Ray Evans and Antony Flemming. - A proud moment for me. The Bakewell show was a triumph for Mike and me and the staff of the Granby Gallery. Twenty five paintings paintings were sold at the preview and forty seven in all during the next sixteen days. Mike had nurtured a loyal following by selling a limited number of objects during the preceding 18 months and advertising at intervals in the county magazines. The exhibition was publicised by taking additional space, both in the local magazines and in selected national Sunday newspapers. Valuable editorial copy was obtained in the county magazine and a specially painted subject was used for its cover picture. The Exhibition showed beyond doubt that this is the most efficient way of selling pictures. The preview provided and object-lesson: cheese and wine were dispensed while mike and I paid personal attention to guests. Previous purchasers of my originals were on the invitation list (the compilation of which was analogous to that for a wedding, with all its hazards!) and they were excellent ambassadors for us. Mike did not miss the chance of building upon this success, and retrospective reports appeared in the local and trade press. Another potential triumph was the publication of thirteen of my paintings (one per month plus a cover picture) for the 1983 Halifax Building Society calendar. The planning and liaison with Royles and the client were smooth and efficient. This was the largest commercial calendar order of the year for Royles and , to be frank, I thought I had arrived! However, another lesson was about to be learned. The resulting fan-mail comprised six letters, non of which progressed to become future business. Ah! Well.

 

The relationship with Mike progressed steadily through mutual respect and friendship. It became our practice for Rose and me to stay with Mike and Dorothy two or three times each year, to go on photographic forays into Derbyshire and Staffordshire to acquire material for future subjects. These were - and are – most enjoyable times, reciprocated when Dorothy and Mike drop by to collect my latest batch of originals. It was on a visit to Mike's farm in August in 1893 that I asked if he would consider acting as my agent. With characteristic thoughtfulness he agreed but suggested that a written contract was not necessary – this would be a first for him as well as me, he would be feeling his way and we should 'play it by ear' until we saw how it turned out. What does an agent do that a dealer doesn't? First, let us size up the good dealer:

 

• He has the experience and nous to identify selling opportunities and the nerve to exploit them.
• He does not wait for patrons to appear, rather he takes the initiative and he goes out to them
• He charges good prices which increase steadily as he creates and increasing demand for the artist's work.

 

On the minus side (from the artist's point of view)

 

• He may feel that, because of his contract with his customers, he knows better than the artist which subjects will sell and that he should therefore be able to dictate what the artist will paint.
• He will want exclusivity, but this will be one way only, he will not sell one artist's work to the exclusion of all others, of course he will cramp experimentation by encouraging the painting of subjects he knows will find a ready buyer. In a gallery outside London thee subjects will usually be scenes from the locality of the gallery, and the artist can only too easily slide into a comfortable rut.
• For calendar commissions a range of subjects is required, usually of seasonal variations but frequently of geographical coverage also, and this might well conflict with the dealer's wishes since he will be expected to find buyers for the originals. The agent will have a different point of view.
• An agent will be interested in all possible outlets – hotel chains. Multiple stores, multi-national corporations and so on. He will research the market for prints, he will safeguard the artist’s interests in dealings with clients, printers and publishers, he will negotiate fees and charges and he will solicit and service both private and commercial commissions. In this case the agent will have every right to assume exclusivity. 
• He will handle the accounts with the various clients leaving the artist free to concentrate on doing what he is best able to do. He will have a say in the subjects to be painted and he will naturally receive a commission on all income accruing

 

Mike's agency efforts showed results in several directions. The number of subjects selected for inclusion in Roles cards and calendar ranges increased, my works were shown in an exhibition in a large Surrey store and my works were used exclusively for the 1986 Derbyshire Building Society calendar and the 1987 calendar for Rank Hooves McDougall. The two most notable events during the agency period were my one-man exhibition at Harrods, and the launch of my first fine art print by Royle Publications. The print was launched at the Spring fair in March 1985at the National Exhibition Centre in Birmingham. I had painted the original in late 1983 and noted in my diary:

 

“Started this one last week as means from recovering from a slump, intending that it should be a subject for a print. It worked, but it remains to be seen if it is suitable”.

 

I very rarely paint at full sheet size (Imperial 550 x 770m) and I do not know to this day what made me think of it as a potential print before I began, distinct from all the dozens that I know are not. I wish that I did, for I would have a patent method of acquiring fame and riches! I can think of a few clues, however. The subject is a great favourite, it was the same as that selected for 'Winter in the Dales', my first Christmas card, and I had painted it a couple of other times as well, in different seasons and moods. Having suffered a period 'in the doldrums' I would turn to a pet subject for light relief, and a means of achieving a good result with the least difficulty and risk. This had happened often, but never before with a full imperial sheet!

 

By Christmas 1985 the print had sold 2300 copies and was into its second printing. I had entitled the original 'Spring's firstborn' for the lamb in the shepherd's arms. But Royles were looking for a title with universal appeal, one that did not require close inspection of the painting and some deduction before it's import was clear and they settled upon 'Down from the Hills'. An improvement I thought. The print subsequently came fifth in the Fine Art Trade Guild list of the top ten selling prints.

Events at the Polytechnic stared to intrude upon my artistic interests in late 1983. Selected snippets from my diary tell the story with appropriate brevity.

 

9.12.83:           'Letter from Director appealing to lecturers over 50 to take voluntary retirement. I very tempted,       Rose petrified'

 

16.12.83:         'I do not intend to take early retirement...'

27. 1.84:          'We seem to agree that it would be best to wait two years, but I wouldn't mind going now – the    shine has long since gone'

8.2.84:             'Suddenly decided I must apply for early retirement'....

 

10.2.84:           'Posted retirement application'

 

5.3.84:             'Retirement approved'

 

30.3.84:           'Last day'

 

31.3.84:           'To the Cotswolds, house-hunting'

 

My retirement from the polytechnic was necessarily accompanied by my resignation from all my committees in the surveying and academic fields. I retired also as Hon. Secretary of the Hydrographic Society, but to my great pride I was created (with the retiring Hon. Treasurer) one of its first two Emeritus Members. I sought election to the Council and accepted a place on the Editorial Board of the Hydrographic Journal. It would have been a pity to throw away my experience in the society's affairs, but these actions were not entirely altruistic. I was able at last to indulge completely in my painting, but it is also important to have other, completely different interests to avoid stagnation. In addition, the society's work would keep me in regular touch with my old friends and colleagues. The September exhibition in Bakewell was again a great success.

 

For several months after occupying our new home in Gloucestershire, in October I did very little painting and a great deal of DIY (home improvements). Among my first priorities was the fitting out of the former integral garage as my first ever studio! I bought a second hand bicycle of the folding variety to take in the car for material-gathering expeditions. Gradually I fell into a sort of routine. In theory this was – morning, painting, -afternoon, walk or cycle ride, followed by jobs around the house or garden -evening 'pottering', writing, preparing paintings, progressing paintings, completing paintings, doing the accounts, watching tv or just relaxing! On good days about fortnightly intervals, Rose and I go off into the hills. 'The Hills' might be the nearby Cotswolds, but it might likely be the Yorkshire moors and the dales, based on my father's home in Skipton, the Lake District for a couple of days away from it all, or the Derbyshire Peak District based on Mike's at Bakewell. Hydrographic Society Council meetings in London, Editorial Board meetings in Bristol and visits to our Grandson (and his parents of course!) mean that he routine is not rigidly followed. All this activity is very necessary to maintain a high level of variety and interest in what could so easily become a solitary and sedentary existence. Continuing progression in my artistic endeavours will hopefully ensure that life is never dull.

 

The DIY projects had to be curtailed in early 1985, leaving many jobs undone (thus putting us on a par with normal households!) So that I might get enough paintings ready for Harrods exhibition in September. This was an interesting experiment. While it offered the opportunity to spread my name abroad and possibly open up new vistas it was not a profitable venture either for Mike or myself. Naturally. Harrods required a substantial proportion of the sale price and, at the same time, did not want to see too large a premium added to the usual selling prices. It was different from a normal gallery exhibition in one major aspect. Harrods, being a store, was offering my work for sale to its patrons in the same way as the goods in all its other departments. If a painting was purchased, it was wrapped up and taken away, leaving gaps in the display until it was rearranged. In a gallery exhibition, success is evidenced by the accumulation of red stickers and the pictures, at Harrods, it was marked by a shrinking of the display area! Our aim was achieved more or less. The paintings were seen by a large cross section of the public, many of them American, and were well received. Fifteen of the thirty five paintings were sold over their two weeks on show, and those remaining were sold in Bakewell within a few weeks following the London exhibition.

 

In late October 1985, Rose and I visited the USA at the invitation of the branch of the Hydrographic Society. Acting on recommendation by Julian Royle, I took the opportunity to call on a Gallery in Washington DC and, following on from this was agreed that I should supply Cotswold subjects – a favourite haunt of the American tourist, of course – to test the water. My plans for the future are otherwise vague. Progress with variety seems to have occurred in the past with only the occasional nudge from myself and I hope for this to continue. Obviously I shall keep up my card-and -calendar association with Royles, and the Granby Gallery connection. Commission work is lucrative but of little use for promotion or continuity and I prefer to see my work in print and distributed widely. The limited Edition is still my goal.

 

Writing a book can be fun – but cathartic too!

 

As I write I am about to cross the V.A.T frontier. Since 1976 I have been blessed with a most excellent accountant, and have felt I should scarcely move without his nod. May he preserve me from the wrath of the V.A.T man as he has hitherto from the Inland Revenue!

 

I must close this chapter with one last cautionary tale.

 

With very few exceptions I have liked and respected those I have met in the art world. While it is different entirely from the surveying and teaching professions the most successful members of all occupations -often rivals in business – get along on a personal level very well indeed. But in any occupation there are limits. I have always maintained with some perverse pride that I am no businessman. My biggest mistake among many has been to seek in my business association colleagues who will tolerate this deficiency and look after my interests along with their own. Erroneously I have called this 'trust', but in fact such a demand is unfair and doomed to disappointment. A friendly associate will tolerate some shortcomings and will probably help one out of the occasional scrape as long as it does not harm his own interests. But there must always be a quid pro quo, either financial or moral. Assuming one is not in need of charity, the associate should not be expected to be an altruist. Rather than seek a 'minder' (wife and accountant apart!) one should acquire business acumen, or be content o have one's affairs wholly in the hands of one's associates. That I can look forward with optimism and confidence to a future with my business friendships intact is to their credit, not mine.

 

The Harrods venture brought our need for Mike and me to review our arrangement. It was clear to me that we would both like to revert to our previous dealer-artist relationship. I missed my meetings at Royles and the opportunities to meet with clients and other artists, and I felt the urge to enter once more the annual exhibitions at the Mall Galleries. For his part, Mike was keen to concentrate more on his gallery sales and exhibitions, mine amongst them of course, and would like to be relieved of the onerous responsibilities of overseeing my business dealings.

 

Almost none of these points was included in the marketing firm's own draft agreement. While all are prudent inclusions, whose observance would be a complete safeguard for both parties, the sad fact is that, upon liquidation, the Receiver maintained that the agreement was void (having terminated prior to liquidation, despite the fact that observance of the last clause – destruction of the surplus stock – had been demanded in writing from the date of termination. I had no entitlement to the remaining stock but could be treated as an unsecured creditor with regard to the royalty payment outstanding. My legal advisor opined that this was a bluff of the sort commonly used in such circumstances, safe in the knowledge that it would not worth my while to sue.