Yesterday I was thinking about stuff, and how it passes though your life. When we were little my Dad always sat in a bent wood arm chair at the table. When he died my brother had the chair. I would recognise it anywhere: the colour, the grain on the seating. When I tried to draw it though I wasn’t sure of its geometry. What was the back like? How many legs? Legs?
Here’s a drawing.
Then I realised that yesterday Dad would have been been 72
Happy Birthday Dad.
I’m not going to insert an essay on William Scott here. But here’s one from the Guardian.
Looking at his paintings at the Tate and reading around the subject I was caught by his referencing of domestic interiors. Which made me think of a kitchen I know well and enjoy being. I expect the people who know this kitchen will recognise it. I spent a few days trying to paint what it meant rather than what it looks like. Lets hope now I’m back in London i wont forget ALL about it.