Growing pains & lessons learned
“Wisdom is usually only gained by accident, or as a result of a cock-up!”
Mike Skidmore 2012
The following stories are true episodes in my life, and I would like to think that each tale told, taught me something valuable, if only in hindsight.
FRUIT GUMS & ROWNTREE’S PASTELS
My family moved from South Shields to Pontefract in Yorkshire when I was around the age of 10.
A new school and the distinctiveness of a Geordie accent, meant I quickly merited special attention from the other kids – mostly mimicry, but sometimes accompanied by a bit of a thump. I was fairly unused to bullying and it came as a bit of a shock, especially as I didn’t have the know-how to deal with it. Many times after school I would run home in tears and lock myself in the bathroom.
My father didn’t help – I lost a new pair of gloves one winter, and as a punishment he made me wear a large pair of socks on my hands to school. Half the class ran around the playground wearing their socks on their hands making ridiculous Geordie ‘why-aye’ noises, whilst a handful of others took the opportunity to beat me up.
It all subsided over time, but I always felt like an outsider at that school. At break time I just used to wander about on my own, longing for a bit of attention – the friendship sort – and looking for opportunities to change things for the better. I remember well the day I thought I had found my chance.
There were two particular scallywags who hung out together, and one of them lived at a confectioners shop, owned by his parents. He had managed to steal a large quantity of Fruit Gums, which must have inspired the intrepid pair to set about starting a Fruit Gum gang. Members were by invitation only and received ‘secret’ bits of paper to gain entry to the gang. I longed for one of those bits of paper so much!
Every lunch time they would all get together and suck constantly on large quantities of fruit gums, whilst regularly comparing tongue colour. It all seemed so cool, (or whatever word we used then), and I ached to join in whilst watching alone from the far side of the playground.
And then I had it – my first strategy. The next morning, having raided my savings, I bought an armful of Rowntree’s Pastels, as it seemed to me that they were the arch rival sweets to Fruit Gums.
I distributed my own invitations. At lunch time, all those invited, and a fair few others, descended upon me, took a pack of Pastels each and left. I was popular for about 5 minutes. I just skulked away and went back to being Mr Invisible!
An expensive exercise it was, but I learned my very first valuable lesson in creativity – it’s always better to be original!
THE ART OF ADOLESCENCE
As I reached the age of 14 my hormones were growing faster than my common sense. This was difficult to cope with, as I attended an all boys Grammar School that was a bus ride away from the nearest girl’s school. Consequently, we had to make do with telling ridiculous stories of the countless girls we had snogged, and even more outrageous stories of actual conquests. Some of the colourful rubbish we used to talk still makes me laugh, as our one-track minds, and libido-fuelled competitiveness, kept us constantly trying to outdo each other with ever taller tales.
And this gave me an idea!
I had discovered I could draw quite well. This talent, allied to my Mum’s clothing catalogues, meant I had a ready supply of pictures showing women in saucy underwear to use as artistic reference (there is something wonderfully evocative about the word ‘saucy’, such a shame that language like this died out with the likes of Sid James, and his gravelly laugh).
I took some of my drawings to school to show off and gain a few credibility points. They went down very well indeed. So well in fact, that I was offered money for them.
Thus my first business was born.
It went from strength to strength as I began to get even more adventurous, drawing the voluptuous ladies without their brassieres. It wasn’t easy though, as I had to peer at the photographs from all angles to try and make out the detail beneath the lace. Sometimes I even employed the services of an old Victorian (oh, the irony) magnifying glass that was kept in the sideboard.
Of course I got caught eventually. I was hauled off by my form teacher, who was embarrassingly for both of us, a female (I’m really, really sorry Miss), to see the headmaster. He waved the drawings about, called me a ‘Gutter Snipe’ as I recall, and threatened to tell my parents if it happened again. Naturally, he kept the offending material!
That was the only year I didn’t win the art prize.
So, what was the lesson? Well, given how lucrative the porn market is these days, maybe it is this: when you come up with a great idea, persevere, and don’t be put off by a bit of consumer resistance!
Perhaps a better way to think of it is, if you have a talent, don’t be afraid to share it, as you never know where it might lead.
You decide!
AN ART COLLEGE EXPERIENCE
I remember my first morning in Cardiff, walking from the dreary digs I’d found myself in, to the art college I’d ended up at. I was uncharacteristically unsure of myself, and the long walk on a wet, grey morning added a sense of foreboding. My ego had taken a beating after being turned down by Norwich School of Art, my first choice college, and I was carrying the weighty burden of that let-down on my young shoulders. I was so used to being the centre of attention and flattered by all who saw my work, that I took my popularity for granted. Being relegated to a second choice was something I just wasn’t equipped to handle.
In reality I was too immature, too naive, too unprepared and a whole host of other ‘toos’, to be ready for any art college experience, let alone the one I found myself in. Gap years were not the thing in my day sadly.
I was also almost two years younger than everyone else at college, due to the fact that I went straight into a Foundation course from ‘O’ levels, rather than sit my ‘As’ (that is another story to tell). What a difference this made, not only was my view of the world basic, but I had rarely been outside of a Yorkshire mining micro-community, which was itself living ten years behind everyone else.
We had been asked by the College to bring along some work that we had completed over the summer recess. Once assembled in a group and introduced to the year’s tutors we were asked to put our work up on a large wall.
I then received my first experience of a critique, probably better described as an assassination.
Most of the work on show was abstract in nature, with a couple of performance art concepts, most of which engaged the tutors and resulted in a fair exchange of views. The remaining handful of figurative painters then received a tirade of criticism. My turn duly came, with one lecturer, who became my head of year, stating that I had done a drawing of little depth, in order to show everyone that I thought I could draw, when obviously, I couldn’t.
I never recovered from that comment. It was like a dagger through the heart, I felt humiliated in front of my contemporaries and permanently labelled a failure, unable to recover any respect in the eyes of the tutors. My future as an artist went from potential to ‘no chance’ in one cruel slap.
My situation felt unrecoverable, and the only thing that saw me through three years at that college was my stubbornness. But instead of sticking to my original plan of becoming a portrait painter I lurched from one subject or style to another. Why? Because, in hindsight, I was trying to come up with something that would win me some approval from the very people whose bi-weekly ‘crits’ I had come to fear.
All it would have taken was for one of them to put an arm around my shoulder, point out some positives in my ability and give me a little encouragement, and things could have been so very different.
I gave up painting for 12 valuable years after I left art college.
I learned a great deal from this period in my life, and take some pleasure in believing that I have achieved a fair bit, inspite of what I experienced.
In my teaching I have developed an approach that builds upon what I learned in those early days which centre on two key principles. Firstly, know something of the student and why they are there. Secondly, identify the positives in their work and build upon them. This will equip the student with the confidence and ability to address other challenges.
Although there is so much more I could say in summary, I’ll leave you to your own conclusions.
FIRST REAL COMMISSION
Post art college, I spent a year packing books for Readers Digest in Aylesbury. It was a mindless and monotonous job, picking books off a line and placing them in boxes along with a ‘free gift’. It did get exciting now and again such as when the free gift was changed, or when one of us caught a large spider, or better still, a wasp, to include as an added extra.
I was approached by my supervisor one day, a lady in her forties I would guess, and asked to do a drawing of her twins – a boy and a girl. Although I had left art college vowing to attack pastures new, the opportunity to earn a Tenner was very appealing. I agreed.
At break time, sharing a tea with my usual group of lady book-packers, I told them of the commission. To a woman they burst out laughing, and on pushing them for more information I was told, “you haven’t seen the kids”!
It was only when I was presented with a photograph for reference that I got the point.
Now most portraits have a challenging feature or two to negotiate, but in this case, the word ‘challenge’ was an understatement. Each child had quite a severe squint behind large National Health glasses. Remember the ones – pink for girls, blue for boys? Added to this, each had teeth that made quite a statement, and the sort of hair that defies gravity. It was the first time I had ever faced having to make a decision based upon applying ‘artistic licence’ or dealing the cards straight.
My creative integrity kicked in and I went for the latter. Wrong decision! My supervisor was not pleased. She claimed the drawing looked nothing like her children, refused to pay and then appeared to give me every shitty job in the place until the day I left.
Simple lesson here – don’t say yes to a commission until you see what you have let yourself in for.
I can actually see her point today as a parent, if not as an artist. In hindsight I could have played things down somewhat and given her the picture she wanted, rather than play at the principled artist. It’s not as if the picture would have been seen and appreciated by anyone other than family and friends.
What a plonker!