liam o'farrell's art blog

My blogs have moved!

2011-06-16T09:49:00.000-07:00

Dear Visitor..

From now on all my blogs will be contained within my new site at:
http://www.liamofarrell.com/my-blog/

You will still be able to make comments and as normal and I hope that you do.

Thank you for stopping by

Best wishes

Liam

Watercolour paintings from a recent trip to Cuba

2011-04-27T00:58:00.000-07:00

First thoughts on Havana

Imagine taking the wonderful, captivating, exciting architecture of Fortnum and masons’ in London’s Mayfair, emptying it out, then leaving it to rot for 30 years and finally moving a pound shop in. That’s what almost the whole of Havana is like.

I admittedly this introduction reads as a disaster but there is something about this broken city that makes you fall in love with it.

My initial impression was wonder and fear in equal measure. Wonder because the standard of care in the architecture is very high and deliciously eccentric. Inexplicably mixing The Baroque, Gothic Revival and Art Nouveau in a single street. It should not work but somehow it just does. Whoever built Havana was clearly making a statement of civic pride, independence and prosperity as one sees in Seville or Barcelona.

And fear because although Havana is majestic it is also near derelict. You look down a dimly lit street, both sides littered with abandoned cars and abandoned dog’s. You can just pick out a gang of teenagers sitting on bins smoking and doing not a lot. Hmm do you go for a walk down here? Nope! You decide to try another street only to be greeted by more or less the same scene.

In the end you have to either stay inside or ‘risk it’. Once you do venture out however you realise you were viewing the world through Western European eyes. Clearly Havana has been neglected, though not by the people who live there. You soon realise they are just doing their best to get by and making the best of what they have. So despite appearances you soon discover walking about is pretty safe. Havana has much to offer for a city and too much to go into here though you get the best of music, people, architecture and if you are into Ernest Hemmingway or the early history of the Italian Mafia then Havana is a must.

The community

I decided I wanted to paint the average street in Havana. Just a normal community away from any tourist areas. In Western European cities your community does not live on your street it lives on your phone. Your street is the place where you sleep and hide from your community.

In Cuba most people do not have mobile phones and certainly no computers with the internet to be swallowed up by. That in combination with the tropical climate means a greater part of a Cubans day is spent on the street in front of their homes chatting and gossiping with the neighbours.

So when I sat up against a corrugated iron wall, pulled out by drawing board and began my picture I was noticed immediately. I was being studied with quiet long looks from doorways, the street and the balconies above. The whole street was looking at me. I confess I felt a slight renewing of the tension I experienced when I first arrived in Havana. I decided I would carry on and if they didn’t want me there I would just quietly retreat.

No matter where you paint in the world you are always approached first by the very old and the very young. After a few minutes an elderly man came out of his house and told me he liked my picture and he used to be an illustrator prior to his retirement. Another elderly man ran out of his house, handed me a photograph of a painting he did and before I had a chance to say thank you promptly ran back into his house again. I saw him a few minutes later peering at me over his balcony. I waved and said thanks. He smiled.

The children came next. You can tell the state of a community by the state of its children and these were spotlessly clean, well fed and stoically polite. There were three children initially and this later increased to ten. They organised themselves around so each had a decent view of the proceedings. Small at the front, large at the back. They would watch for half an hour or so, disappear for an hour to play and reappear later to see how things were going. Over the day I also chatted to many of the residents and I was made to feel very welcome and was even invited to a party. The parents liked me especially as I baby sat their kids all day!

The cars

Prior to visiting Cuba I was told that pre-Castro 1950’s American cars were still being used on a regular basis. I assumed these would be just a few tourist catching oddities as is the old Routemaster red bus is in London. Driven only for weddings and other special occasions.

On arrival however I could not have been more wrong. At least 20% of the traffic in Havana are these wonderful gas guzzling remnants of a bygone age.

Some are gleaming although most are battered, rumbling, consumptive old wrecks which evoke the long lost names of Mercury, Studebaker, Buick and Plymouth. Despite their state the owners clearly take pride in these vehicles and you can’t help wanting to cheer and clap when one of these heaps manages to stumble away from a traffic light for what must be near on the millionth time.

When they are not being driven they are being tinkered with and repaired. No surprises there as the whole of Cuba is in a permanent state of (dis)repair.

Slavery, Sugar plantations and the The Iznaga Tower
This tower was built in 1816 by Alejo Iznaga as an ‘Up yours’ single finger salute to his hated brother and rival Pedro who lived some ways across the valley. Beneath the tower Alejo also treated himself to a wonderful, airy and opulent mansion to reside in.

His 350 or so slaves however were forced to endure short, exhausting and miserable lives in wood and banana leaf huts under a searing tropical sun. One can only imagine what these hapless persons thought on the day their Lord and Master also hit on the wild idea of using his new tower as a spying point to ensure they are all working hard enough. As transgressors were spotted there would be a ringing of a large bell to gain attention, followed by the bellowing of chastisements and punishments dolled from the lofty height.

Alejo must have been a real neighbour from hell.

Making a living

For a communist country there certainly is a fair bit of free enterprise or be it on a small scale. Older Cubans tend to scratch a living either selling fruit, and cigars or occasionally posing for photographs for passing tourists.

Old men and young girls

Around the tourist hotels and pools in Havana it is not uncommon to see elderly European men with Cuban girls who are barely in their teens. These ‘couples’ appear oblivious to the neck breaking double takes they sponsor all around them.

Merely witnessing these relationships makes one feel uncomfortably complicit.

liamofarrell.com

I am working on an oil painting of Brick Lane.

2011-03-27T10:07:00.000-07:00

Well technically it is Sclater Street although most people will know it a part of Brick Lane market.

Brick Lane
Click on the image to see it larger

Like any area in transition there are quite distinctive parts. On the south side can be found the Bengali community who replaced the Jewish community, and in the north side you will find the self appointed Shoreditch trendy’s on fixed wheel bikes ‘Oh yeah! The maintenance is significantly reduced on fixed wheel, it’s a MUST buy!’ Jammed in between however is this tiny market. The only demography here seems to be poverty which is found in all shapes, ages and sizes.

Women chatting

Click on the image to see it larger

The new railway line above their heads is now linking London East to West and this is bringing in huge investments of area regeneration money. The significant word of course is ‘area’. As with most regeneration projects it is for the area and not for the people who live there. They will have to go and live elsewhere. So with rents rocketing all around them these people will not be here for much longer.

Man walking
Click on the image to see it larger

I drew the main part of the market and some of the locals: A friendly atmosphere. I considered taking out the four meter graffiti monkey head malevolently leering over us, In the end however I felt it was a rather fitting metaphor for the fate of this small community so in it stays.

Cello player
Click on the image to see it larger

liamofarrell.com

Threadneedle disaster at Southend-on-Sea and Clacton-on-Sea

2011-03-18T05:49:00.000-07:00

At the weekend I went to Southend-on-Sea and Clacton-on-Sea to paint something for the Threadneedle Prize. I was most excited and planned it for weeks. This over planning was the beginning of the as yet unseen problem. In my ferment i had it all done it in my head first before checking the places out. I wanted it all too much. Like the child that gets too excited about going to a party and ends up being sick 10 minutes after arrival and has to be taken home.

Well i got to Southend-on-Sea at 8.30 am on Sunday and quickly I became a mess. My Mojo completely deserted me and my pencil and paint went on strike. I was left wondering around eating chips and drinking tea out of a plastic cup. Defeated I decided to try Clacton-on-Sea for inspiration. I bet no one has said that before.

I got lost on the way and it took me two hours to get there. Clacton-on-Sea was worse than Clacton-on-Sea. An empty well!

Near the pier there is a Wetherspoons which was packed full of Sunday locals having cheap beer and food. It did not take the smokers outside and their children long to notice me. I occasionally get mistaken for a vagrant when i sit in the street drawing. Well here I don’t think they thought i was a vagrant but I just didn’t look like them. One girl of about 12 shouted “hey! You look like a twat” Her father guffawed with savage approval and her friend continued, a podgy whelp she was “Nice outfit!”. On it went while I was trying to draw. Dozy cider slapped faces idly gazing on, I was the only interesting thing to look at I presume.

I decided to go over to a shop window and draw me (more laughter) if only to see what the fuss was all about. I have not surprisingly a sad face and I do look different from them I suppose. I feel however “twat” was rather harsh.

Click on the image to see it larger

It started to rain and left with nothing in the bag aside from some sardines I bought in a fish shop near the sea front. On the way back the windscreen wipers packed up and i almost got killed on the A13 at Dagenham.

My life feels like an Alan Bennett short story. In fact as I read back what I have written I can hear his cosy northern brogue. ‘Ohh what will Mam say?’

To lick my wounds I decided to paint some of my Sardines. Satisfying to do. The trick is to get them looking shiny. Il have another, calmer go at the Threadneedle Prize next week.

Click on the image to see it larger

liamofarrell.com

finished oil painting of a family allotment

2011-03-04T00:37:00.000-08:00

In a previous blog or two i went through the process of how i build a painting up from the drawing stage. Since that time i have painted the picture and it sits below. You may notice there are a few changes since the initial drawing. I have taken out the landscape at the back as i preferred the zig zag of the rooftops.. I have also taken out the two children because I felt that they cluttered the composition and the eye was left wondering about in the middle.

I don’t often change my mind at the last minute though for this painting it was the right decision. The cabbages were great fun to do. I was surprised how much purple and lilac they contain.

Click on the image to see it larger

liamofarrell.com

Modern British Sculpture at the Royal Academy of Arts - A laymans point of view

2011-03-03T12:39:00.000-08:00

It all started with that latrine, you know the one, originally cast to be just another receptacle in the privies of Paris. Then in 1917 it was re-cast by Duchamp to take centre stage in a revolution. He signed it, interestingly not with own his name, and boldly declared that anything can be art. This simple act created a seismic shift in the world of sculpture which still resonates today.

The exhibition begins from 1920 just three years after Duchamp's ‘Fountain’ and ends at more or less the present day. It tracks the vibrant and creative the freedom the 20th Century released and also pin points, to my mind at least, the place where it all started to go wrong. More about this later.

The first rooms feature works by Barbara Hepworth, Eric Gill and Jacob Epstein next to their ancient, long dead influences. These artists flocked to the Victoria and Albert and British museums and drew on the powerful, passionate and raw influences they found and re interpreted them for a modern world. You can also clearly see the creative touchstones of Picasso’s genius pick-and plunder-and-mix approach to painting and sculpture. It was he after all that said ‘Great artists steal. ‘

The next room contains the single alabaster sculpture of Jacob Epstein’s ‘Adam’.

To me, Epstein represents Adam just seconds after nibbling on the forbidden fruit. Here we see him, awakened, head thrown back and charging smartly through Eden hunting down his Eve. Sporting, it has to be said, a vast, swinging, bludgeoning member. She, as yet unseen, pretending to run away!

The twin set and pearls crowd were stopped in their tracks. The shock of knowing where to look delivering the all too familiar ‘not knowing where to look’ feeling. Adam proudly uncaring shooed them into the next room only to be met by Queen Victoria, her un-amused face staring directly over our heads back at Adam. Surely this positioning was deliberate?

Adam and Victoria stare each other down

Click to see larger

Moving through, you will find ceramics followed by a room containing a single work by Henry Moore and another by Barbara Hepworth. Moore’s is a reclining, writhing androgynous figure and Hepworth’s a sharply worked stone facial silhouette. Both these pieces were created in the 1950s and you can see in both a desire to communicate to the whole of post-war Britain. A naive, optimistic place where they hoped to make it fit for heroes with a long awaited national health service and the Grammar schools which were soon to deliver us Alan Bennett, Mike Leigh and a fistful of Prime Ministers. Although these pieces are ‘accessible’ (now a dirty word) they are still challenging. They urge you to look again at the human figure and relook at the shapes and emotions we all exhibit and perform. ‘What am I like?.. really?’

Moore and Hepworth

Click to see larger

Where it goes wrong
Someone far smarter than me once said “You don’t just leave a job! You go to one”. Here, to me at least, there seems to be an abandonment of the figure in sculpture. Which is fine, but it needed to be replaced with something worthwhile. This to me (with the very rare example) has not happened.

This is the stage of exhibition where the visitors become more interesting than the exhibits. Here we have the ubiquitous pile of bricks by Carl Andre who is American anyway, which is snappily entitled ‘Equivalent VIII’. The visitors stand before it. Children snigger and adults squint and become confused and throw each other glances for re assurance as if to say ‘Tell me what to think’.

The highlight of the room was naturally Damien Hirst. He delivered to us a sealed glass room containing an abandoned BBQ with raw meat scattered about. In amongst this were thousands of flies and maggots feasting on the rotting food. Subsequently these flying, hapless exhibits were being lured in by an ultra violet light before finally succumbing to the merciless appetite of an eclectic insect killer.

The Hirst BBQ

Click to see larger

Like the footballers of today who once got buses to the match with their fans but now distance themselves from the plebs in monstrous cars with blacked out windows, here too the artists have distanced themselves with the smoke and mirrors of alleged intellectuality. This made all the more obvious with the sublime beauty of Moore and Epstein just meters away.

I suppose many will say that the great creative tide of the late 20th century has completely washed over me. I have disappeared beneath the waves while above Cap’n Emin and Boson Opie ride high and dry down Dean Street for another celebratory rum ration at Grouchos. I don’t feel like that. I feel like the tide has gone out to an arid scratch on the horizon and I’m sitting on the abandoned beach sniffing a latrine and only Damien’s flies for company.

Now there’s a painting!

Exhibition runs from:
22nd Januray to the 7th April

Royal Academy of Arts
Burlington House
Piccadilly
London W1J 0BD
Royal Academy of Arts opening times

10am-6pm Saturday-Thursday (last admission to galleries 5.30pm)
10am-10pm Friday (last admission to galleries 9.30pm)

liamofarrell.com

getting a painting onto board

2011-01-15T11:59:00.000-08:00

I paint on board. This is first primed with the acrylic gesso. I paint the gesso on with two or three coats. Once dry it forms a tough and forgivable surface to take oil paint. Now I need to get my composition onto the board.

My work does not go edge to edge. I choose only what is needed and simply leave out everything else. This creates A void of white. Many artists use voids to focus the eye though these voids are more often very dark or even black. Caravaggio would probably be the greatest exponent of this technique.

To get my void I trace around the outer edge of the composition in the centre of the board and mask out the outer area to preserve the white. Painting straight onto white can make colours look jumpy, sharp and somehow unrelated to each other. So I paint on a ground of dark brown which will give the final painting a warmer and more harmonious feel.

While the brown ground is still wet I place my drawing over the top and tape it down. Taking a 5H pencil I trace over the drawing. Drawing over the top has the affect of making the oil paint stick to the back of the paper. This leaves a white outline of the composition when I lift it off. Once this is dry I have a clear idea of where you need to paint and it will never rub out or shift. I can now begin the painting.

liamofarrell.com

adding all the elements together for a painting

2011-01-15T11:19:00.000-08:00

All the separate elements of the painting are finally pulled together in the composition. There is no real rule on how to achieve this aside from moving things around, re tracing, looking at it all in a mirror and eventually it just starts to 'work'. This process can be a little frustrating and always seems to take me twice as long as I first estimated. It gets there in the end though. Time to paint at last.

liamofarrell.com

creating a composition

2011-01-15T11:03:00.000-08:00

Once the characters have been created they are placed into a series of small compositions. Though these will make a larger painting, each smaller composition has to work in itself. Each can be separated out and make a single painting on its own. I feel this helps the eye move across the whole painting comfortably.

Click on the image to view it larger

http://www.liamofarrell.com/

the beginnings of an oil painting

2011-01-10T14:10:00.000-08:00

I though I would blog the process I use in developing an oil painting.

Initially it begins with a very simple idea or message. This is often very loose and oddly for a painter who paints a lot of architecture the characters can come first. These are often based on people who I have met or seen as a normal part of my day. They are often drawn on the spot, simply developed at home without any reference or photographed if I have a camera handy. All pretty rough at this stage.

I have started to put together some ideas on characters I may want to use below. Many will be abandoned for good or reincarnated in a later picture.

http://www.liamofarrell.com/

norman rockwell's america from the 15 december - 27 march 2011. a layman's point of view

2011-01-04T11:43:00.000-08:00

In between Christmas and New Year I took a freezing trip south of the river (always scary for a North Londoner) to the Dulwich Picture Gallery (DPG) to see the Norman Rockwell exhibition.

Although the DPG is tricky to get to and no doubt suffers as a consequence, it is an ideal space to show an exhibition of Rockwell, as once inside the gallery, you firstly have to pass through the gallery’s permanent exhibition of old masters. Here you are treated to what are clearly some of Rockwell’s key influences. The collection has some fine Rembrandts, A room featuring Poussin with all his theatre and a great personal treat for me, the mood gripping brush of Velasquez in the shape of a portrait of King Philip IV of Spain. Philip of the doomed Hapsburg dynasty which not long after disappeared down an interbreeding induced plug hole. All these and more are a fine introduction to Rockwell and well worth the trip on their own.

A bit about Norman
Norman Percevel Rockwell was born on February 3, 1894 in New York. As a child he showed huge early promise and enthusiasm as an illustrator and was working professionally by the time he was 18. His unique style was developed illustrating magazines and books. His first big break came in 1916 gaining a commission to illustrate the national Saturday Evening Post. He went on to regularly illustrate the Saturday Evening Post for an astonishing 47 years with 323 covers until 1963. The Ken Barlow of art! This body of work in the process, making him the most popular American illustrator of the 20th Century. Testament to this was Rockwell's Breaking Home Ties which sold for $15.4 million at a 2006 Sotheby’s auction.

His style became so well known that it even had its own name ‘Rockwellian’. This being a ubiquitous view of America somewhere in between the Waltons and Little House on the Prairie with handfuls of Mom’s of apple pie jammed in between the gaps should any reality dare to peep through. This way of seeing is the essence of what has made Norman Rockwell loved and vilified in equal measure.

The Exhibition
There are 40 original paintings spanning the whole of Rockwell’s career placed in loose chronological order. Adding to this, along one long wall are copies of all 323 covers of the Saturday Evening Post. Whatever one may think of Rockwell, you cannot help but be impressed by such an extensive body of work and he clearly put everything he had into each one.

Click on the image to see it larger

I had only seen copies of Rockwell’s paintings before now and these were often reproductions of the Saturday Evening Post. I believe I was subconsciously expecting the originals to be marginally sepia and around 40 cms tall. I could not have been more wrong.

The first painting you see is at least 80cm high and is entitled ‘The Volunteer Fireman’. A portrayal of a man and boy running to quench a fire which is out of shot. Typically Rockwell in composition, exhibiting his genius in telling a huge story in a single scene. Why do we know the boy is his son and not just a passer by? That just has to be the family dog and not a stray, no doubt about it. The father is rushing to put the fire out and his son is rushing to see a bigger fire.
The colours are brilliant and vibrant. Rockwell has used the trick of putting the opposite shades of red and green together so they excite and rebound against each other. The blaze is massive and very hot. A fantastic piece of illustration.

Click on the image to see it larger

An illustrator has no time for the viewers to ponder the image, quietly stroking their chins as one would in a gallery. It has to shout its message over the din and jostle of the magazine rack and ‘The Volunteer Fireman’ exhibits this skill perfectly and is an object lesson for anyone wishing to a pursue a career in illustration.

All through the exhibition you are treated to a master of brushwork and the expressive skill of characterisation. Particular favourites of mine being:

The Charwomen in the theatre
The bridge game
Threading the Needle

Click on the image to see it larger

The politics
I don’t think you can go to a Norman Rockwell exhibition without looking at the political context. If he just stuck to Mark Twain books then politics would not be an issue. He did however work for media publications.

It needs to be emphasized that the Saturday Evening Post was not a current affairs magazine featuring the latest news and politics. It was essentially a showcase for short stories, hence the Rockwell covers. Over the years it featured authors such as::

Ray Bradbury
Agatha Christie
William Faulkner
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Edgar Allan Poe
John Steinbeck

That said, I did my best to look through all 323 covers of the Saturday Evening Post (I may be wrong as there were so many) and it appears that The Post missed out the entire Vietnam War where the USA endured 58,000 dead. And the only non white person I saw was an African American as a railway porter overloaded with suitcases.

For me, the illustrations individually are delicious although what they leave out the as a 47 year body of work feels rather disturbing.

This exhibition gives a fascinating visual touchstone on how certain elements of America still wants to see itself, what it believes in and consequently what it is prepared to defend. This is deep within the conservative politics of The USA.

“We're going to keep trying to strengthen the American family. To make them more like the Waltons and less like the Simpsons.”
George H. W. Bush

But is it real? Was it ever real? Of course the answer is no. And that is how Rockwell should be viewed. An illustrator painting unreality.

A footnote on Norman

I have been an illustrator myself and as I wrote this I couldn’t help thinking that if my editor scythed out vast swathes of history I don’t think I could have carried on. Digging a little deeper, I found that there was a bit more to Norman that meets the eye so to speak. He had a life long struggle with depression and may have been bipolar (manic depressive) He was treated for depression by renowned analyst Erik Erikson, who said that “He painted his happiness, but did not live it”. Alongside this, his wife drank herself to death. Hardly ‘Rockwellian’!

There may be a small clue to this in the shape of a painting which was produced for an advert but never used. A sullen and isolated little girl staring out at us surrounded by adults set in a dark background looking at her intently.

Click on the image to see it larger

This surely could only be suitable for advertising the NSPCC! Truly disturbing.

Maybe his work was his escape? He painted a bright, happy optimistic world for decades to chase away the demons of real living? An escapist? I don’t know.

To summarise
I do not, like many totally blame Rockwell for an airbrushing of reality worthy of Stalin himself. I remind myself that he was not an artist. He was an illustrator working for a ‘Today’s news is tomorrow’s apple pie paper’ short stories magazine which was in a sales scrap just like any other publication. He had to deliver exactly what was needed for 47 years within briefs so tight that they would make Tom Jones squint. That is how he needs to be seen and he did it brilliantly.

drawings for the bath art prize

2011-01-03T04:36:00.000-08:00

We went to Bath over the new year and I took time out to get wrapped up and get a few sketches together as a spot of pre planning for the Bath Art Prize in the summer. I am not sure which one i shall do yet.

I think I will go back in the spring to have another look and make my decision then. In the meant time here they are.

liamofarrell.com

london seen – nine man show 10 january – 10 february 2011

2011-01-03T04:24:00.000-08:00

At the LLEWELLYN ALEXANDER (Fine Paintings) LTD London

I have a water colour exhibition at the Llewellyn Alexander in Waterloo. All six are scenes of London. Do pop along if you have the time. Chase away the January blues!

"Familiar and unusual scenes of London by this group of nine well-established artists: Dianne Branscombe, Roy Connelly, Lisa Graa Jensen, Mark Harrison, Terry McKivragan, Liam O’Farrell, Nancy Petley-Jones, Nadia Tsakova and Robert E Wells. Oils & Watercolours."

Leadenhal Market

Whitechapel Market

LLEWELLYN ALEXANDER (Fine Paintings) LTD London
Gallery Open 10am to 7:30pm Monday to Saturday:
124 -126 The Cut, Waterloo, London SE1 8LN UK (Opposite the Old Vic Theatre)
Tel: 0207 620 1322/1324 Fax: 0207 928 9469
gallery@LlewellynAlexander.com

liamofarrell.com

christmas cracker 2010 exhibition at byard art in cambridge

2010-11-21T11:26:00.000-08:00

An inspirational Christmas collection of paintings, sculptures, original prints, ceramics, glass, textiles, craft and exclusive jewellery will be on show in the gallery.

I will be showing three paintings at the show (see two below) and the opening times are:

Byard Art, Cambridge Monday – Saturday 9.30am – 5.30pm & Sunday 11am – 4pm Closed on Bank Holidays
Please contact me with any queries.

Byard Art Gallery

14 King's Parade
Cambridge
CB2 1SJ
United Kingdom
+44 (0) 1223 464646
info@byardart.co.uk

Finchingfield Essex

St Johns College Cambridge

Whitechapel Road

A christmas show at panter and hall

2010-11-21T11:14:00.000-08:00

When I plan my paintings of the gardens, allotments and such I often do small studies for reference. Secondly i have begun to collect those dreadful discarded ornaments that are found in charity shops. I suspect these are just picked up in house clearances and handed to the shops en masse. They all have a story to tell I am sure and i rather like them.

Anyway I put the two together and painted a few still lives. These whimsies have been spotted by those nice people at Panter and Hall and they have requested five for their Christmas show. So here they are. Do pop along if you are in the area.

William Cashmore recalls his family’s annual trip to Sutton-on-Sea

2010-10-29T08:31:00.000-07:00

I have had alot of feedback about a painting i did of Sutton-on-Sea. To add fun to the mix here is a great article by William Cashmore about his younger years holidaying in Sutton-on-Sea in the sixties and seventies. This featured in 'The Spectator' in 2008.

I grew up in Portsmouth myself and can relate to much of it. Lord the water was defiantly colder then.

William Cashmore recalls his family’s annual trip to the Lincolnshire coast

The end of an era this year for the Cashmore family. My mother sold her holiday house in Sutton on Sea, a small, unassuming seaside place (not resort) in Lincolnshire. From 1956 onwards we went there every year. Many of my contemporaries had their favourite holiday destination, but theirs always seemed smarter or trendier — Rock in Cornwall or Aldeburgh in Suffolk. We had Sutton. Not picturesque, not lively, but a sandy beach, bathing huts and, above all, glorious simplicity.

My father always made the same joke packing the car before the drive from Nottingham. ‘How many months are we going for?’ he used to say as my mother wobbled out with another duffel bag or famously, in 1973, a big bowl of beef dripping which she couldn’t bear to waste.

All six of us crammed into the Austin Cambridge which had a wonderful bench seat in the front. We were allowed Five Boys chocolate but had to listen to my younger sister saying, ‘Are we nearly there yet?’ for most of the journey. We often stopped for cheese cobs just over the Nottinghamshire–Lincolnshire border, but one year we were late setting off so had fish and chips in West Bridgford, less than two miles from our home.

The first evening we always took a stroll along the front, admired the beach and the flat North Sea and felt the health-inducing wind battering our faces, but really we were more interested in the ‘changes’: repairs to the sea defences, erected after the floods of 1953, or the appearance of the crazy golf next to the bowling green. In 1970, I actually wrote a postcard to my grandmother announcing the appearance of ‘garrish’ (sic) red chairs in the Corner Cafe (or ‘Cayfe’ as we pronounced it to make it sound more upmarket).

Sometimes we rented a huge house called Norbury and shared it with another family; the Tansleys or the Marwoods. I love that putting of the definite article in front of the family name. It reminds me of the story of the keen gallery attendant at Tate Britain who helpfully asked a lost-looking family, ‘Are you looking for the Turners?’ and they stared back in amazement and said, ‘But we are the Turners.’

We spent hours on the beach digging huge walls to ‘beat the tide’. No poncey sandcastles for us. Although the poncey factor went up when the Tansleys, egged on by my elder sister, arranged a beach wedding ceremony. I married Philippa Tansley 11 times one summer. At four o’clock we were called up from the beach for iced buns; bread rolls with a great dollop of icing sugar. My brother once got sent back for the spades and when he came back the buns had all gone. It was the last time I saw him cry.

Mind you, we strayed in 1975 when the Woodsends, a posher family, persuaded us to go to Robin Hood’s Bay. Exciting place, but not Sutton. Right at the end of those school summer holidays, my mother could bear it no longer and bundled us all into her Triumph Herald. We had milk shakes in the Corner Cafe, rented a council beach hut and paddled to our hearts’ content. The quintessence of absence making the heart grow fonder.

As we became grumpy teenagers we went less but my mother and father battled on, especially after 1983 when they bought a small terraced house near the beach front. I was up at Cambridge by then but, despite the allure of global escapades with more worldly-wise undergraduates, I usually gave Sutton the annual once-over.

But it was the beginning of the end. New in-laws couldn’t see Sutton’s attractions. Houses were being bought in France and grandchildren didn’t want ‘that sort of holiday’. My younger sister kept at it until a year or so ago but even she tired of her own daughter’s insistent, ‘Are we nearly there yet?’

Last year I made a brief, probably final visit. I can always stay in the Bacchus in Sutton or the more upmarket Grange and Links in Sandilands if I want to go again. But I guess it’s best to leave it alone and let the memories do the work. Prince Philip, after those floods in 1953, said, ‘I can’t understand why anyone would want to go on holiday there anyway.’ My father never forgave him for that. But he would forgive my mother for selling up. After all, ‘How many months are we going for?’ Not so many these days.

New web blog

2010-10-25T09:17:00.000-07:00

I have recently joined a new blog advertising British Artists. The creator describes it as a ‘fine art encyclopaedia’ and is beginning with around 100 artists and hopes to grow it from there.,

The web address is at:

http://www.art-fine.co.uk

My small contribution is at:

http://www.art-fine.co.uk/liam-ofarrell/liam-ofarrell-biography/

Do drop by

liam

the whitechapel road

2010-08-31T05:25:00.000-07:00

This is the Whitechapel Road in East London. I have painted this scene a number of times and i am still drawn to it. A street like this will at first site appear static, unchanging. Though on closer observation you notice it is in constant flux, some changes are subtle, some obvious. There is however a commonality in these refinements. They are forced by necessity.

It would be very unlikely that a change occurs purely for the aesthetic. The windows are renewed because the others were rotten. The signage replaced because the previous business went broke. The walls are painted because their prior shabby state was affecting trade. And ‘Those satellite dishes’ have to go... It’s all cable now’. The rough hands of commerce squeeze hard here. High competition to the right meets low margins to the left. Constant change without ever looking new.

For at least 700 years this road and its human players have been on a permanent ‘Make do and mend’ ticket. This tension creates vibrancy and excitement as living on the edge tends to do. Combine that with the mix and match architecture and you have a unique cocktail. Walk here and you will get wrapped up in the sell and the thrill of the £1 purchase. You can’t help feeling that you HAVE to buy something, ‘Of course I need two kilos of tomatoes and a nylon zip up bag just to keep them in, doesn’t everyone?’

The earnest need for trade also generates a feeling of acceptance, all are welcome here. Consequently the rejected of London are drawn to this place. They come to be with the like minded, to feel normal. It’s most famous outcast being Joseph Merrick (The Elephant man) who allowed himself to be exhibited in the shop second from right and later lived over the road in the Royal London Hospital until his death. If the Whitechapel Road was in need of a saint then beatification would certainly go to this hopeful, charming, wounded man.

a painting in sutton-on-sea

2010-08-30T10:19:00.000-07:00

I have recently been commissioned to paint a scene in Sutton-On-Sea. The client’s mother used to own a house in the town though she is now too elderly to visit so he thought a painting which would recall many a happy holiday would make a nice present for her.

I had never heard of Sutton-On-Sea though after searching in Google I discovered that it is in Lincolnshire. I could not find much more information aside from adverts for pubs and chip shops. The largest contribution about the town was in Wikipedia which said:

Sutton-on-Sea
'It is host to a post office, a few public houses, a Spar store, a hotel, and a paddling pool on the front. The A52 to Skegness runs through the town.'

So in so far as the ever growing internet is concerned the core function of this community is to provide a road from somewhere unspecified to Skegness. I couldn’t wait to get there!

I left London at around 6am and planned to be on site by around 9.30 and thankfully the journey was uneventful. My client had carefully marked some key points which he felt would be interesting subjects to paint. He had chosen about a dozen or so and most were down the High Street which in itself was only a few hundred yards long. The buildings were a mixture of Victorian and 1970’s architecture. And just as Wikipedia had promised there was a Spar too.

The choice was simple. Nicks Knacks junk shop. A building rammed with a genuinely brilliant clutter of ‘stuff' that seems to spill into the street. The chap who runs the place (Nick?) is a fine fella and supplied me with cups of coffee all day and a chair too. Nick's Nacks appear to be a more that just a shop. It is a meeting point and general focus for the many of the locals. I quickly sketched them as they passed or paused outside to pass the time of day. Often with a bag of chips in hand.

It would be very easy to miss Sutton-on-Sea if you are on your way to Skegness from somewhere unspecified, though if you do go, then pop into Nick's Knacks and lose yourself for an hour or two.

I hope you like the painting.

liamofarrell.com

In the royal academy summer exhibition for another year

2010-06-12T09:48:00.000-07:00

Really pleased that the Royal Academy has again accepted one of my paintings for The Summer Exhibition. And I am happy to say it has sold before the opening.

This allotment by the sea may seem fantasy though the site is not entirely fictitious. It is based on my mum’s allotment in Portsmouth which is located right on the beach front. A lovely spot though rumour has it developers are poised to snap it up for luxury housing. This ‘rumour’ is the basic siege rumour of all allotments in England so a pinch of (salty sea) salt can be taken with that… I hope!

You can find more details about the painting in a previous Blog.

liamofarrell.com

A visit to betws garmon, wales

2010-05-12T08:40:00.000-07:00

I managed to do a few paintings on a short break to Wales, staying in a tiny village at the foot of Mount Snowdon, Betws Garmon. An idyllic place to the point of surreal. Of course you had a view of the perfect mountain range from the front door step, in addition, however, you are also provided with a clear as glass bubbling stream full of trout. And a steam railway at the end of the garden, which (wait for it!) you can thumb down for a lift and hop on when you like. As far as I know none of these things are available in Hackney where I live.

Just around the corner I painted a caravan in a field. The owner pops around each evening and mows the field. The field is tended so well you could bowl on it. I asked him what he was preparing the field for. Tourist camping maybe? It turned out to be nothing whatsoever, he just seems to like mowing. He mowed I painted.

We popped over to Bangor for a while. There was a chap and his wife running a small kiosk on the pier. They sold crab lines and tea towels etc. He was not Welsh so I asked him what brought him to Wales. 'Ohhh' he said with a worried face. 'I couldnt' stand the rat race of Dorset!' No need to ask whether he had ever lived in London.

Just down the road was the local church. I am generally used to painting empty churches. This one was full. Full of song as much as people. Big rousing Welsh chapel songs. Very tidy! I sat painted in the churchyard all the way through two services. I had company mind. A mouse, it which flitted in and out of my feet looking for scraps. They have plenty of these in Hackney.

liamofarrell.com

watercolour and oil painting exhibition in London

2010-01-11T13:44:00.000-08:00

Latest news.
I have an exhibition entitled London Scene, A Capital Exhibition at the Llewellyn Alexander Gallery in waterloo. Exhibiting both watercolour and oil paintings. From the 11 January - 10 February 2010.

Gallery Open 10am to 7:30pm Monday to Saturday:
124 -126 The Cut, Waterloo, London SE1 8LN UK
(Opposite the Old Vic Theatre)
Tel: 020 7620 1322/1324 Fax: 020 7928 9469

liamofarrell.com

I have an article in the guardian regarding "stop and search" watercolouring

2009-12-19T08:21:00.000-08:00

See the article here

Taking a photograph in a public place has become the quickest way to attract police attention, as increasing numbers of photographers can verify. But now it has emerged that anti-terrorism officers are uneasy about a far less sophisticated piece of surveillance technology: the watercolour brush and canvas.

Liam O'Farrell, an artist who exhibited at this year's Royal Academy summer show, has described how he had been questioned and searched by police twice inside a week while painting a scene close to City airport in east London.

The artist contacted the Guardian following a series of incidents in Britain in which photographers, tourists and students were stopped under anti-terrorism laws.

The situation was highlighted in last Saturday's Guardian when a reporter, Paul Lewis, described being questioned within two minutes of taking photographs of the Gherkin building in the City of London.

In a similar spirit of inquiry, Lewis went to the London Eye, central London, today armed with an easel, canvas and acrylic paints.

What O'Farrell called, perhaps inevitably, his "brush with the police", began when he set up his equipment on a grass bank adjoining a public road just south of City airport. With his back to the complex he set about painting a composite scene of terrace houses and the Tate & Lyle sugar factory a few streets away.

Inside half an hour two Metropolitan police officers from the specialist unit based at the airport arrived in a patrol car and demanded to know what he was doing, saying he had been spotted on a CCTV camera.

"I told them, 'I'm hardly a terrorist, I'm watercolouring'. One policeman said, 'you're not painting the airport, are you?' I told him I was painting the sugar factory. He said 'no one paints factories'. I told him Lowry painted loads of factories and made a mint. He got a bit touchy then."

For 15 minutes, O'Farrell said, one officer checked his identification on a radio while another searched his bag. "They said I had 'weird paraphernalia' with me. I said 'it's a flask of coffee and an iPod'."

O'Farrell said he had returned to the same spot a week later to complete the work and was interrogated again, by two other officers.

"I told them I was just doing a watercolour of the sugar factory. One of them said 'no one does watercolours of factories'. I told them about Lowry – it was groundhog day. It was extraordinary.

"Then one said 'I can see what you're doing now, I'd be a bit more concerned if you were painting the airport'. I remember from my art history that centuries ago in China artists were murdered in case they [painted] maps and roads. But in the days of digital photography I hardly think a watercolourist painting an airport would be some sort of international threat." The experience left him baffled. "I've been painting in Moscow, in Vietnam, Ukraine, and all I get round me are bunches of kids. If the police come by they're just curious about the painting. It's extraordinary what happened to me."

The incident took place in the summer of 2007, O'Farrell said, and he was prompted to write after hearing about recent events.

A spokesman said the Met's assistant commissioner, John Yates, had reminded officers last week that they should not stop photographers without reason. "Anyone could imagine why an airport is seen as a sensitive site, but we are aware that there are issues of communication with officers about what they can and can't do, which is why John Yates has taken these measures," he said.

Today the advice was seemingly being heeded. The Guardian's reporter spent a couple of hours creating his rendition of the London Eye on a winter afternoon, and, barring a polite request from a security guard to move to a different section of the riverside thoroughfare, received no official attention whatsoever. The only other interest came from tourists keen to see the work's progress

I have a letter in the guardian on friday 18th december

2009-12-17T09:44:00.001-08:00

I was stopped and searched twice near London City airport – for watercolouring! I was not even facing the airport. I was painting the Tate and Lyle sugar factory opposite. They said they saw me on a camera and thought that "no one would want to paint a factory". I explained that LS Lowry did loads. Then they said I could be an anarchist and I was carrying "suspicious paraphernalia" – this being a flask of coffee and an iPod. Oh, and a box of watercolours.

Once they had all my gear out, rummaged through what identity documentation I had and double-checked it on a few radios, they were satisfied I was just "weird" and left me to it. Until the next week, when I went back to finish off the picture and had to go through the same rigmarole all over again.

I have painted in Ukraine, Russia, Vietnam and plenty of other "controlled" states, and have never been questioned about watercolour anarchism.

http://www.liamofarrell.com/

the allotment fair

2009-12-06T08:51:00.000-08:00

am currently working on an oil painting and the preparatory drawing is below. The painting is based on an event at my mum’s allotment.

As the growing season nears its end the members organise an “Allotment show”. Quite a jovial affair. They pitch a large marquee, have a jumble sale and sell cake. At least thirty varieties of cake. So much cake!

The culmination of the show is the grand prize giving for the finest fruits and vegetables. They have the usual categories, ‘Largest pumpkin’, ‘Best onions’ and so on. Each winner is presented with a small trophy and large applause. No better way to while away a late summer afternoon.

Drawing note:
I really struggled to make the child at the rear column come alive. I was looking for somewhere between “Butter wouldn’t melt in the mouth” as a first impression, then on closer inspection “Precocious little bastard”. The subtleties of this contrast eluded me. I finally discovered a child painted by Michelangelo on the wall of the Sistine Chapel, and he appeared to have what i was lookng for. Interestingly the child was frozen in purgatory awaiting the lord’s judgment. Perhaps the great man was searching for this good/bad expression too?

I am not Michelangelo so of course I am still not sure I have captured him. I will try to work him up at the painting stage. We shall see,

liamofarrell.com

three watercolours sold on the first day

2009-11-13T08:26:00.000-08:00

All good news that three of my six paintings have sold on the first day of the exhibition at the Llewellyn Alexander Gallery in waterloo. One of which is featured below. It is of the bridges above Bourough Market. When i was painting it every second person kept telling me "That pub was in Bridget Jones' Diary!". I have never seen the film myself. I will be painting the fish market in oils in 2010. Should be fun.

liamofarrell.com

art exhibition in waterloo

2009-11-01T11:45:00.000-08:00

Latest news
I have an eight man show at the Llewellyn Alexander Gallery in waterloo. Exhibiting both watercolour and oil paintings. It starts on the 8 – 28 November. Private view on Wednesday 4th.

Gallery Open 10am to 7:30pm Monday to Saturday:
124 -126 The Cut, Waterloo, London SE1 8LN UK
(Opposite the Old Vic Theatre)
Tel: 020 7620 1322/1324 Fax: 020 7928 9469

The Garden

liamofarrell.com

Has the world finally discovered damian hirsts' true talent?

2009-10-15T06:23:00.000-07:00

Brian Sewell
http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/arts/review-23756950-stop-it-damien-hirst-youre-embarrassing-yourself.do;jsessionid=F5D2C9B5BAF88C12E664A66BDFE633F1
I take this as licence, for this occasion only, to declare this detestable exhibition fucking dreadful.

The Guardian
http://www.guardian.co.uk/artanddesign/2009/oct/14/damien-hirst-paintings-wallace-collection
At its worst, Hirst's drawing just looks amateurish and adolescent. His brushwork lacks that oomph and panache that makes you believe in the painter's lies. He can't yet carry it off.

Telegraph
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/art/6329047/It-couldnt-get-worse-for-Damien-Hirst.html
Reading Hirst's comments in this Saturday's Telegraph Review, in which he invoked his own name alongside those of genuine 20th century masters such as Bacon and Mark Rothko, you couldn't help feeling you were living in a world that had lost touch with some fundamental reality.

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/visual_arts/article6872591.ece
The paintings are dreadful. Think Francis Bacon meets Adrian Mole.

liamofarrell.com

a quick thought on art

2009-09-16T09:08:00.000-07:00

To say that a work of art is good but incomprehensible to the majority of men, is the same as saying of some kind of food that it is very good but that most people can't eat it.
Leo Tolstoy

liamofarrell.com

the garden: a new oil painting

2009-09-11T06:02:00.000-07:00

I have recently finished another oil painting. ‘The Garden’. Oddly, all the plants are poisonous. You will find Hemlock (little sprigs of white flowers bottom left) among them. Socrates was forced to take Hemlock for upsetting his fellow Greeks.

The daddy of them all however would be the Castor plant (the red one mid right). The husk of its seeds contain ricin. An amount of ricin the size of a grain of salt will kill any human. Which is why it was great favourite of the KGB. It makes even the deadly Hemlock look like an antiseptic mouth wash.

Note:
The hubrisious grower has not yet notice the poison ivy climbing the rake. Too busy looking proud. The overgrown garden is in the process of turning on its faithful soon to be victim who has so diligently nurtured them.

I suppose it is a ‘Reap what you sow’ allegory. We all in reap what we sow in the end.

liamofarrell.com

Where is british art heading? are the yba's really dead?

2009-09-05T02:53:00.000-07:00

I attended a debate at the Mall Galleries Threadneedle Prize this evening. Where is British art heading? Are the YBAs really dead? Who or what is going to replace them? Attending were leading Brit artist Bob and Roberta Smith, writer and broadcaster Brian Sewell and realist painter and Threadneedle selector Jock McFadyen for a lively and topical debate during The Threadneedle Prize exhibition. Arts columnist Karen Wright chaired the panel.

Brian opened with the statement:"Twenty years or so ago I attended a debate like this and I said that British art was more or less dead. Now there are two things that happen when something dies. First it pisses itself, and second it shits itself. Well the YBA (Young British Artists) are the ensuing piss and shit from the rotting corpse of British art and its time for change."

Well now there is an opening (rubbing hands together).

As the debate/battle went on however I found that the points drifted somewhat and stayed very much in the present. Some lamenting the dreadful current state of the teaching standards in our art colleges, others blaming Messers Saatchi and Serota for all the worlds ills. This was further hampered somewhat by Jock McFadyen who insisted that the YBA's did not exist at all which led nowhere. Brian broadsided his vast dictionary across Jocks bows in reprise. (The crowd jeered!)

There was also an undertow from some members of the audience promoting the HATE of contemporary art no matter what. Culminating in one or two pointless, personal and spiteful comments directed at Bob Smith (who seemed a fine chap to me). They at the same time viewing Brain as an artistic messiah. Brian seemed uncomfortable with his new promotion to 'the right hand of the father' and shifted in his chair.

No final decision was made on the future of our art though I did rather enjoy it all the same. Lots of long words with a touch of the Hogarthian cock pit!

liamofarrell.com

a completed picture of columbia road market

2009-08-31T01:50:00.000-07:00

After much aggravation in the initial drawing stage I have finally completed the painting of Columbia Road Market. It was a challenge to do and took much longer than I first anticipated. I just kept adding figures. The last being the small girl in the front. I also had to redo the shadows below the figures three or times. I got there in the end.

liamofarrell.com

staycation

2009-08-15T08:56:00.000-07:00

We had one of those notorious “staycations”. Camping in Yorkshire. The campsite was in Glaisdale, this being a tiny village in the nook of the North Yorkshire moors. I say campsite. Really it was just a small patchwork of fields huddled around a few stone built farm buildings.

It is ruled by well meaning octogenarian martinet. She had festooned the whole site with impromptu signage warning that you transgress at your peril. It was everywhere. Everything had a sign, with a punishment to match.

She spotted me sketching and I was cornered. Once she was satisfied I was not checking up on her from the council I was marched into the house to see her dads drawings. After the tour was complete she insisted on showing me what she was most proud of. Even more than dads drawings! A framed certificate which was presented for winning a gooseberry competition. On closer inspection I noticed it was dated. Dated 1944! I could help feeling a little scared.

After escapingI painted a picture of nearby Robin Hoods Bay.Lovely place too.

liamofarell.com

a sketch of columbia road

2009-08-02T09:11:00.001-07:00

I am currently battling away with a painting of Columbia road flower market. I say battling because when the market is open it is utter mayhem.

A virtual 80’s trading floor at the summit of a black Wednesday. There are great eddying tides of people heavy with boxes of plants and flowers elbowing each other out of the way. I found it impossible to stay in a steady position. And ended up getting bellowed by a so called ‘Yummy Mummy’ with three children and told to ‘Get out of the fucking way!’. Charming!

I have finally decided to cheat. I went to the market on a day it was closed and worked in the buildings. I moved the odd warehouse around a little for composition sake. It was bliss. I did however have to go back to sketch in the people and the stalls. This I achieved by jamming myself into doorways and in the gaps in between each plot, avoiding all irate parents. I eventually escaped with what I wanted.

The oil painting seems to be coming on. I have painted the street with serenity rather than the floral rugby scrum it actually is. The bloody memory is too brutal.

More on my site

liamofarrell.com

the leaves are green?

2009-07-02T10:08:00.000-07:00

I visited the Stanley Spencer Gallery the other week and like many artists I jammed my nose right up to the canvas to dissect the mysteries of technique and style.

I noticed flecks of sky blue on the top of the leaves. It was pure blue and fairly strong as well. I stood back and of course it worked perfectly.

With that in mind I decided (Pedanticly) to take a photograph of a bush and with the aid of Photoshop pick out the separate colours. Sure enough dear old Stanley was totally correct. Blue there was; pure blue and plenty of it. Obviously the leaf is taking the colour from the sky just as the sky is reflected in water. There was also a rather dark gray and fairly vibrant yellow. As for the greens; there were far too many to enumerate. I have highlighted a few.

Visit my site

liamofarrell.com

royal academy summer exhibition

2009-06-14T10:44:00.000-07:00

I am pleased to say that my recent work "Waiting' successfully made it into the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition this year. (click on the image to view it larger)

The opening event was an odd day. I expected to turn up at Burlington House, have a few glasses of wine with the great and the good then finally search the rooms to see if my picture was in a ‘prime place’ to add a further boost to the day.

Not a bit of it. In the square we were all assembled (even the great and the good) only to be trooped over to St James’ Church across Piccadilly for a service of thanks. Such an odd thing to see Tracey Emin singing hymns and behaving impeccably while sporting her RA medal. I felt rather disappointed. A little part of me wanted her to be plastered and do something outrageous in front of the vicar.

I recalled church at school where Brian Hanson always played up and got into trouble. My companions and I would giggle deliciously as he was led out once more by the furious Miss Ferris. Dear old Brian. Naughty in front of God!

Don’t be too good Tracey.

liamofarrell.com