Travels with my Art

Plantec Distribution Warehouse

2011-07-23T05:24:00.000-07:00

OK so it’s a factory!

But it’s a commission from a company who wanted a couple of paintings of their holding centres for a new showroom/lobby. So how to make a painting from an unpromising photograph? I enjoyed depicting the smartness of the building front to the right, but keeping a ‘watercolour’ look. The left hand side was relieved by the softness of the hillside behind and greatly helped by the distant church tower, and the red post box on the gates. I created ‘movement’ in the sky to relieve the ‘static’ lines of the warehouse. I might yet put a couple of figures by the vans as it just seems to want something else there. Where does one stop?

I hope they like it!

A Painting of St.Michaels, Duntisbourne Rouse

2011-04-13T10:56:00.000-07:00

Last Friday was the most beautiful warm and sunny Spring day so I packed up my paints to seek pastures new, and do some painting ‘en plein air’. I had not been down the Duntisbourne valley before (just west of Cirencester) but with daffodils lining the lanes it was the place to be ‘far from the madding crowd’.

With mixed results I sat and daubed, but in the afternoon came across this obscure spot, not even signposted from the road. It is a tiny Saxon church with a ‘saddle back’ roof on the tower – it is a bit crooked, it’s not just my painting! It was the most peaceful spot in which to sit and paint, in the shade of an old ivy-clad wall. The valley dropped away to a babbling brook far below, and when the shadows had lengthened too far for me to follow, I found myself reluctant to return once again to the world.

It is well-known that many churches built on sacred pagan sites were dedicated to St. Michael (who legend has it fought with the angels against the devil). I wonder if this were the case here?

St Michael's Church, Duntisbourne Rouse - An Original Watercolour Painting.

Malmesbury Abbey Painting

2011-04-13T10:50:00.000-07:00

Why do I like Malmesbury so much? The Abbey surely has much to do with it. I sang there with my choir (Wessex Male Choir) last year, and the atmosphere and acoustics were lovely. But in Spring weather such as we have had recently I decided to ‘get around’ to painting it, as I have intended to ever since we sang there.

A victim of the dissolution of the monasteries, if only there were more of it left, with its soaring spire, but I suppose we should be grateful that what is still there is so beautiful. The empty arches have a poetry and poignancy about them and speak to me of the temporary nature of our lives.

It is a busy architectural subject, so I have tried to keep the colours and shadows soft, as of a bright but hazy Spring morning. Turner painted it beautifully once, from afar, but I’ve not let that put me off!

Malmesbury Abbey - An Original Watercolour Painting

Painting Water and Bridges

2011-03-17T10:16:00.000-07:00

This is an unusual subject for me – a bridge on Exmoor, (but do you know which one?) It’s a famous one, and very old. I was commissioned to paint this as a birthday present for someone. I used burnt sienna as a base wash behind much of it which gives it the reddish wintry look. The beech leaves on the ground and in the distant trees seemed to demand it.

The trees were entirely moss covered and green, so no burnt umber or real browns in the painting. Instead Paynes Grey to darken trees, and also to darken the water. So the ‘warmth’ of the colours come from warm blues and grays instead of browns and ochres. This adds to the more wintry feel of the season than a summer view would give. Sorry about all that technical stuff – but unusual colour scheme for me, but I enjoyed painting it!

Now I’d like to go for a long walk there with my wife Gill & dog Truffle!

The Radcliffe Camera, Oxford

2011-02-21T07:20:00.000-08:00

I return to Oxford again and again to paint as I love architectural subjects, and Oxford contains some of the finest buildings in the world. I’m not sure this painting is completely finished yet, but with watercolour it’s usually best to stop while you’re winning, and not overwork a subject. Why the angle chosen in the picture? When you approach Radcliffe Square from the High, through a narrow pedestrian lane, the Camera is suddenly there in front of you, and I wanted to evoke the ‘impact’ it has when you first round the corner and look up.

I’ve just suggested the Bodleian Library in the background. I’m never certain a painting has ‘worked’ when I’ve just finished it, but I certainly enjoyed working on it, and that’s important to me!

The Radcliffe Camera was designed in the English Palladian Style by James Gibbs between 1737 and 1748, and is believed to have been the first circular library to be built in England.

Springtime at Arlington Row, Bibury

2011-02-09T10:53:00.000-08:00

Wishful thinking whilst we’re still in February, but I just painted this one for the cover of my ‘Cotswolds in Watercolour 2012’ Calendar, which needs to be printed soon, to be in the shops by Easter.

I’ve painted this view a number of times before, but each time it comes out differently. I had to leave room in sky for the title! Doesn’t it make you long for those days when you can laze on the warm grass in the sunshine, having a nap on the picnic rug.

The High and Queens College, Oxford

2011-01-19T11:49:00.000-08:00

It’s usually sunny in my paintings, but here there are people with umbrellas, and the mood is restrained and a little damp! I found a line drawing of this view in a drawer, which I drew many years ago, and realised that I never actually turned it into a painting.

I only used two colours in this; yellow ochre, and cobalt blue. They give an interesting scale of blue, and grey greens to gold. I love the architecture on the High, and the muted colours suit the feeling of a wet day.

Original Watercolour Painting of Oxford for Sale.

Chipping Campden in Snow

2011-01-18T13:35:00.000-08:00

The recent snow has inspired me to paint a number of snowscenes, and in this depiction of the Almshouses in Chipping Campden, I am revisiting a scene I have painted before. This is partly to contribute to an ‘Artist’s Guide to the Cotswolds’ on which I am working, and hope to finish in a month or so.

It will be a sort of souvenir guide, but instead of photos it will have paintings and line drawings, as well as my own personal commentaries on the towns and villages. It’s an exercise in concise English as there are so many places in the Cotswolds which must be included. I have not put any figures in this picture, as I wanted it to be serene and uspoilt, like the snow before anyone has appeared and messed it up with footprints!

Cotswold Paintings and Watercolours by Chris Fothergill

Northleach Market Place – but as you have never seen it before

2010-12-14T10:40:00.000-08:00

Eh? I hear you say, wait a minute, the left hand side of the painting is recognisable, but what is that building on the right?

In fact the picture above is a painting by Chris Fothergill, but a very close copy of an ink and watercolour painting of the Market Place by an artist, Frederick Stockdale. The original is in a museum in Devizes, Wiltshire, and came to light last year, untitled, but has since been traced to Northleach, and the artist verified.

The marvellous thing about it is it reveals for the first time what the old Market Hall (the building on column supports to the right) actually looked like, with the High Market Cross in the immediate foreground. It has long been known that the Market Hall existed and it has shown on old plans of the town, but until now there has been no image of it, as it was demolished in the 1820’s, which pre-dates even the earliest photography. As the rest of the Market Place and the Church is so accurately and well observed, even the pub sign showing a white horse (the name of the pub then, which is now the Sherborne Arms), then it is almost certainly a faithful rendition. The poor condition of the hall with its windows filled, and crumbling edges is quite apparent.

I was very excited to have such a new side of Northleach revealed, and couldn’t wait to copy the painting for myself. The artist’s use of pen and watercolour style is so similar to my own that it came easily to produce a copy, and I believe at a glance one would be hard put to tell the difference. Originally I was going to keep it for myself, but someone in the town persuaded me to sell it to them, and then another person persuaded me to paint another copy for them! After which I decided I would produce a small edition of fine art copies of 100 numbered and signed Giclee prints on watercolour paper.

These Market Place Prints of Northleach are now available for purchase;

The image size is approx 13” x 8” and framed approx 19” x 14”.
I’m offering them at £79.00 fully framed with a single washlined double mount in a quiet gold frame. (Unframed mounted and packaged £49.00)

Actually I did paint it once more for myself so I would have an original on my wall, but with a seasonal difference! See below:

Happy Christmas!

Let it Snow!

2010-12-07T03:11:00.000-08:00

Arlington Row, Bibury in the snow.
I love painting snow, it’s so rewarding and pretty! But only from the comfort and warmth of my studio. Actually I did stand and do an drawing of the Bibury picture on the spot, but half an hour is enough. I have tried painting in the extreme cold – you put one wash of watercolour on the paper, and half an hour later it’s still wet! That’s my excuse anyway.

Snow at The Mill, Fairford.
A well know view to local people, and a chance to indulge in painting an old Mill in the snow reflected in water. An interesting challenge in tone and colour, but the view is balanced out by the church in the distance, and it’s a very Cotswold view. This was painted a few days ago just before doing the Fairford Advent Market on Friday evening. It was -2 degrees all evening! But the painting drew a lot of interest among the residents, and I may sell it yet!

Original watercolour paintings - Including Snow Scenes of the Cotswolds.

‘A Street in Northleach’ by L. S. Lowry 1947

2010-11-25T12:03:00.000-08:00

(This painting is a copy by me, in acrylic paints on canvas)

Which is in fact ‘The Green, Northleach’ featuring Tudor House, home to Fothergills Gallery for 15 years from 1994 to 2010, to the left hand side of the painting!

This painting by Lowry came to light recently in Christie’s auction house, and sold for around £265,000. So what you may ask? Well I was tickled to think that our old shop was painted by Lowry at all.

I knew he had been to Northleach and done a charcoal sketch of The Green, as I had seen a copy of it, but I didn’t know he had gone on to do a painting.

It is set in the bitter winter of 1947, with children playing in the snow. I was so taken with the scene that I decided to paint a copy of Lowry’s original. Stretching a canvas to the original size of 18” x 21.5” I painted a thick layer of titanium white over the canvas in a rough texture as one might artex a ceiling. Then painting in the outlines with ivory black I began blocking in colours and putting in figures, then painting around them, and adding thin colour over thick, then more white. I studied the paintwork on the original (online!) and Lowry obviously worked back and forth in all sorts of ways. I found out that he only ever used five colours in oils; flake white, ivory black, vermillion, Prussian blue and yellow ochre. Getting into the mind of another artist is never easy, and I only used acrylics instead of oils so that I could accomplish the painting quickly and the thick paint would dry fast.

It was a fascinating exercise, and I was pleased with the result, which on the face of it is quite similar to the original. I put a thinnest watery grey wash over the top afterwards to age the thick paint, and some button polish near the edges to give a mucky patina.

Great fun, but I don’t think I’ll get £265,00 for it! The Ox House Wine Company in the Market Place, Northleach might just hang it in their Wine Bar though, it should make a good talking point!

Christmas Bonanza at the Westwoods Centre Northleach

2010-11-11T03:36:00.000-08:00

Saturday 13th November
10.00am - 4.00pm

Experience a magical Christmas shopping extravaganza.... Plenty of gift ideas and festive delights for family & friends.

FREE PARKING ~ FREE ADMISSION

SPRING CHICKEN CARDS & GIFTS
We'll have a selection of our best-selling Spring Chicken cards and gifts from our Spring Chicken online store........Cards, Mugs, Teatowels and Aprons, Paper Napkins, Bottle Bags, Coasters and more!

Plus Cotswold Calendars, Cards, Paintings and Prints by Chris.

www.northleachbonanza.co.uk

Christmas Fayre

2010-11-05T13:04:00.000-07:00

Aldsworth Village Hall, Glos.

Sunday 9th November 10.00am - 2.00pm
Christmas gift ideas, cards, falconry, art, raffle, local food items, beauty, jewellery, toys, Cotswold wine, & much more. All made or sourced locally or local enterprises. I shall be there selling my wares!

In Aid of Aldsworth village fund.

Travels with my Art - The Cities of Umbria 2010

2010-10-13T03:19:00.000-07:00

An Artist’s Eye

2010-09-15T12:02:00.000-07:00

Yikes! My solo annual exhibition of paintings in the Westwoods Centre Northleach is only three weeks away! How did that happen? Will I pull it all together in time? I always get pre-exhibition nerves at this point, as it feels as though my soul will be on display to the public very shortly.

It is just four months ago that I sat in Todi, in Umbria on a sunny morning and painted the watercolour pictured here in this blog entry. It depicts the main doorway to the ‘Duomo’ or Cathedral in Todi, and is a reasonably accurate portrayal of the subject with its slightly rose tinted stone. Or have I painted it through rose-tinted spectacles? In fact there were workmen around the steps restoring the stonework with noisy machinery and red plastic tape connecting bollards around the place. So I painted selectively – my general rule is to leave out anything I like, but not to insert anything that isn’t there.

This is of course known as ‘artist’s licence’ and some artists are very economical with the truth. Turner was a shocker, and actually moved buildings in Venice around all over the place in his paintings to suit his mood. I like to paint what I see, but only some of it! Traffic lights, cars? It depends; my mood is essentially romantic.

Painting for me is a celebration of light, architecture and landscape, and I can only hope that people will enjoy seeing some of the world through ‘my eyes’ in my show next month.

EXHIBITION OF PAINTINGSNew paintings and drawings from Chris’ recent travels at home and abroad. Including the Cotswolds, Venice and ‘Impressions of the Cities of Umbria’ from a visit to Italy in the Spring of this year.

Westwoods Centre, Northleach. GL54 3QJSaturday 9th - Sunday 10th October
10.00am - 4.00pm

Painting of Assisi

2010-08-19T12:51:00.000-07:00

I’ve been meaning to produce a painting from a sketch of Assisi I did in May. But where to start? The photo I took at the time was very flat and colourless as it was raining most of the day! However the view was lovely and in my minds eye I could see it in early evening light with a misty landscape in the distance. So I’ve worked up a small watercolour sketch to sort things out.

It’s a good example of simplifying a complicated subject as much as possible; bold cypress trees in bring the foreground closer; misty distance creates recession.

Simple colour scheme, contrasting churches with landscape.

I think I’ve got it – all I have to do now is paint it! It will a lovely subject for my exhibition, if I can get it right.

Wish me luck! I’ll need it.

Judy Adamson's Art and Design blog: Guest Post by Chris Fothergill - On the Back of an...

2010-08-16T02:47:00.000-07:00

Judy Adamson's Art and Design blog: Guest Post by Chris Fothergill - On the Back of an...: "I'm sure many of our readers will be able to identify with today's guest post by Chris Fothergill - I certainly can and frequently bemoan th..."

New collection of greeting card designs.

2010-08-07T05:51:00.000-07:00

Whilst I am generally known for my watercolours, I also have a humorous side to my work and over the years my cartoons have been used for illustrations, birthday cards, commissions, brochures, publications, marketing material and more.

Now thanks to the joy of the internet (and a bit of technical help from my wife!) - you can purchase items online from Fothergills Emporium!

Greeting cards, mouse mats, mugs and more.....you can even customise your message inside the cards!

We're adding products daily so if you have a request for an item in a particular design or caption - send it through and we'll see if we can help!

UK store: http://www.zazzle.co.uk/Fothergills
US store: http://www.greetingcarduniverse.com/fothergillscards

On Travel (written on a plane home on 29 May 2010)

2010-08-07T01:01:00.000-07:00

There are many reasons that compel people to travel. For some it is pleasure, or a holiday; for others it is business. Young persons will spread their wings on gap years; older parents will visit their offspring who have started families abroad.

I love to travel to escape from the pressures of my everyday existence; to leave behind the familiar with a sense of adventure where I can become someone I would like to be, for a short while.

But I am a bad tourist. I will travel with high expectations to a beautiful historic sunny destination; arrive with a sense of exhilaration and drink a coffee at a table sitting outside with a view: but then the child in me will be bored. I wish I could leave him behind, but he is always with me, so even reading guidebooks and dutifully taking photos, or riding on tourist road trains, he will be restless and pulling at my jacket complaining. So I have to supply him with a pencil and sketchbook, and a box of paints. Better still, I set him off on a ‘mission’ to go on a trail of old cities to report on the picturesque; or even set him on a challenge of journalising in words and drawings on a theme.

Thus it was that I brought my restless fidgety child to Umbria, Italy, to find the places in his picture book and seek them out; then find more of his own, and make a new picture book he can call his own.

The child is of course me, a person who is nervous and uncomfortable in his own skin; unable to relax or settle inwardly unless… unless what exactly?

Inspiration – that is what I seek, and I am inspired or not by what I see or hear around me, even in the most ordinary minutiae of life. Perhaps it is the sense of wonder that is my greatest talent; it is my most developed sense. The ability to wonder at an older couple walking past; she telling him off for not shaving that morning. Or a child chasing pigeons.

It is about standing back from life, and looking afresh around us. We are so busy hunting, gathering, eating, sleeping, making love or arguing, that its easy to forget what a strange and wonderful place the world is. The desire to draw and paint, on paper or in words, is the call to others to say ‘Hey, look at this – doesn’t that make you feel good?’

Others like to express themselves through dancing or singing, or maybe cooking or mathematics, and that’s fine too. My lot seems to be to wonder, but I need to express that wonder, and somehow ‘report’ on it. That is the lot of the artist and writer.

Both the article and the drawing above were done in the blank pages at the back of books I was reading, while travelling on planes and at the airport. You know what it’s like, you want to write something down but you don’t have a notebook or any paper on you. That must be why fiction books usually have a couple of blank pages at the back!

'Dawn after rain on the Piazzetta, Venice'.

2010-07-19T11:23:00.000-07:00

Yes I know it's a mouthful as a title, but it explains why this painting looks blustery, wet and cool! I remember going for a run before breakfast on one trip to Venice, in March. It was damp and mouldy, but quite atmospheric. I painted this view in acrylics on board, unusual for me, but as a warm-up sketch for a watercolour. I like it as it is though, and will put it in my Autumn show.

More acrylics on the way I think.

On the fun of sketching from life.

2010-07-06T02:13:00.000-07:00

I was in London a week or two ago, seeking inspiration for painting. It must have been the only day for weeks that was NOT sunny! But still there is something about drawing directly from life in cities that I love to do.

These are three of the sketches I came up with, along the river by the City. Straight in with a pen, and add a minimum of colour wash if I have time. I’m hoping to do some paintings from these drawings, but the most fun is always the drawing itself on the spot, even if they do turn out a bit clumsy and squiffy in places.

The challenge is to keep the freshness of the sketches in the final painting. I tend to tidy things up too much when I try to paint ‘properly’. Perhaps I should try painting left handed.

Northleach Charter Fair

2010-06-23T08:30:00.000-07:00

Northleach Charter Fair on Saturday 27th June.

Find me in the market place, with my sketchbooks and paints! I'll be launching my new Northleach print, plus I'll have my 2011 cotswold calendar available for sale (signed on request!) and a selection of recent original paintings and sketches.

Come and talk to the artist!!
Charter Fair Starts 12.00 noon.
http://northleachcommunity.blogspot.com/

Post Script: Great day had by all - glorious sunshine and lots of visitors. Well done to the organisers! We enjoyed ourselves too!

Read all about it in the Wilts & Glos:
http://www.wiltsglosstandard.co.uk/news

My new Northleach Print is available through my website:
www.fothergillsgallery.co.uk

Piaggio van and washing machine at Assisi

2010-06-22T02:24:00.000-07:00

OK, the title is a bit long, but along the cobbled and ancient backstreets of these hilltowns, this is just the sort of thing you see on a corner, and I like the absurdity of these little vans as they cheerfully bob up and down the streets......... I want one!

House portrait of the week

2010-06-22T02:18:00.000-07:00

I had to be there early in the day for this one; the back garden and yard are a sun trap in the morning, and the tree sprinkles dappled shade over the end of the house. Note the clock and bell over the patio doors. I left the foreground deliberately a little untidy and overgrown as it breaks up the squareness of the house and makes the scene more 'lived in' and friendly I think!

Painting of the week 7 June 2010

2010-06-07T06:08:00.000-07:00

From ‘Impressions of the Cities of Umbria’

In the city of Orvieto, Southern Umbria, Italy

I had to admit I was lost. The twelve sided tower of Sant’ Andrea was what I was looking for, and although I had been there earlier in the day, the light had been against me. Now the sun was shining, but I couldn’t retrace my steps. Then, round a corner, and a charming view was before me amongst the cobbled backstreets of Orvieto. I gave up on my search, sat in the shade and did a pen sketch on my cartridge paper block. Serendipity is the art of travel.

Sunday 23 May Return to Todi

2010-06-03T01:23:00.000-07:00

Writing this back at Perugia Farmhouse in early evening, sitting on a chair in bright sunshine overlooking a magnificent hilltop view across Perugia and the hills. Awoke this morning to a clear blue sky, and a warmth that was to last the day. I decided to return to Todi for the morning, as it was en route back, and at nine I was at the Porta Romana. Walking up the steep cobbled via Roma, I felt like I was the only person in the city, save a few older souls making their way to Mass.

However as I emerged into the Palazzo del Popolo there was a flower festival setting up, so I sat to one side, and painted a small detailed study of the main door to the Duomo. After a coffee the place was busying up, and I couldn’t resist doing a sketch of the delightful scene before me, in the book, which will make a lovely painting, with its colour, and festivities. Being happy in my surroundings, I carried on and drew again from a different angle. The light was so good I took lots of photographs before exhausting myself and returning to the car. I decided to return to Perugia Farmhouse by the slowest and prettiest route, but stopped almost immediately outside Todi, on impulse to record another quick watercolour of the city from a distance which came off OK. And all this on a day I was going to take it easier!

It’s been an enjoyable finish to an inspiring week; and the drive back, dawdling up hill and down dale via Masciarno, Spina and Pila was a treat. It seems like an indulgence at this point of great uncertainty in my circumstances, to spend a week in Italy with an old book, retracing the footsteps of another artist A.Pisa and the writer Edward Hutton. But then it is important, at a crossroads in life, when all is not clear, to believe in one’s own ‘story’. You create it with your family life and your work, and if you stop have faith in it, then it can lead to disappointment and regrets in old age. Better to keep writing the story as you would wish it to be; and weather the overcast day until the sun shines once more.

Saturday 22 May Spoleto

2010-06-03T01:16:00.000-07:00

With only one week’s sojurn in the Umbrian landscape I have been necessarily selective in the places to which I have been. EH went on to Cita della Pieve (for the sake of Perugio, his birthplace), Foligno, Montefalco, Fabriano, and even Urbino, which now I now longer in Umbria, but way to the east, deep in Le Marche. But it was the frescos of Luca Signorelli, and paintings by Piero della Francesca and other Umbrian artists that he sought. My agenda is different.

Thus, as EH said; “Spoleto is a beautiful city of rose colour set on a high hill”, I set off back across country to the east, through high, twisting roads to reach Spoleto by nine this morning. Remarkably, I found a free parking area immediately to the north, and lower edge of the city walls, and climbed up through the narrow streets seeking coffee and inspiration. Pausing halfway up to consult the town plan I had wickedly torn from my DK book, I found I had left my spectacles in the car. No choice but to turn back. My arms are no longer long enough to read or draw. The trouble with all these hilltop towns, is that you either have to walk up, or down. Twenty minutes later I was ready for my first cappuccino of the day.

Without preconceptions of Spoleto, I was not disappointed, The sun shone for the morning, with reservations, and I settled to the view in the sketch book looking down over the Duomo and city from the via della Rocca. This held great appeal for me, despite the fact that the tower was shrouded in scaffolding and plastic sheeting. Thankfully local postcards provide the missing detail.

Down and round the corner and the façade of the Duomo was striking in its setting. I sat and drew it on my cartridge block, but somehow I haven’t quite ‘got it’. The drawing is in some way weak. It is a difficult perspective, and the solidity of the scene is missing. As I stopped for lunch the sunshine, erratic now momentarily blessed the Piazza della Liberta, and I thought what a lovely painting it would make with it’s cafes and air of joi-de-vivre. My sketch in the sketch book was fun to do, and I continued to sit there and write postcards to neglected friends, to prolong the moment.

After this the afternoon was getting on, and the weariness from my week was catching up. It’s hard on the limbs treading the steep slopes of Umbria, and crouching for hours on a canvas stool! I continued to photograph what I could, then found my way back to the car and set off to the west. The drive from Spoleto to Acquasparta is rather magical in the evening sunlight. The roads however require much concentration, as they are mountainous and unexpected. I managed to stop once, where the road widened out, by a crumbling farmhouse which detained me for a small sketch in my book, of which I may make something in due course. And just before returning to the hotel another farm on a small hillside looked so ‘typico’ in the evening sun, that again I had to try and catch an impression in the book.

There is a ‘last day’ feel about today, even though I have another full day tomorrow before flying home on Monday. I shall be content if I take home no more that I already have.

Friday 21 May Orvieto

2010-06-02T01:35:00.000-07:00

Promising morning, and wind my way across country to Orvieto, but on reaching the outskirts a moment’s inattention causes me to be swept on the toll paying Autostrada from Rome to Florence! After 23 kilometres of drumming my fingers on the steering wheel I come off at a small town called Fabro. To calm myself I stop at a bar for a coffee.

As in all small towns in Italy, you can go through a single darkened doorway in a shabby façade, but inside is a spotless counter showcasing mouthwatering pastries, and all is inviting and smells like heaven. The young woman serving was on her mobile, but looked quizzically at me. I removed my Panama (now sadly deteriorating) and said “Un cappuccino and uno di questi” pointing to a custard filled confection with my name on it.

She multi-tasked admirably, and I was much cheered by the delicious fare which I gratefully consumed sitting between the enormous TV screen showing football, and another elaborate screen with Lotto information on it. Two older men cheerfully shouted across the room at each other at intervals, and I felt glad to be in Italy. On paying, she was still on her mobile talking, but with eyebrow movements, and pointing at the till, she conveyed to me that she needed 1.80 euros. Now that was good value! Before getting back into the car, I paused to smoke a cigar in the street for a few minutes, and watched the town of Fabro go about its business at nine in the morning.

Now Fabro is about as remote a town as you will find in the heart of Italy. On the borders of Umbria and Tuscany it’s near to, well, it isn’t near to anywhere, or at least nowhere worth mentioning. And yet it looked both prosperous and thriving. It had many well kept shops, and seemed tidy and up to date. The residents as far as I could tell were friendly and content. I wanted to live there. Climbing back into the car, I waited for a tractor to pass, then pulled out behind it, hoping it wasn’t going all the way to Orvieto. A hundred yards later he turned into a layby and gave a cheery smile and wave as I passed. I decided to drive the 23 kms back to Orvieto on the ‘ordinary ‘ road as I couldn’t face the Autostrada again, and didn’t want to end up in Rome. The route was about as straight as an unravelled small intestine, but much prettier!

Orvieto was a delight from the moment I arrived. Way up on a platform of volcanic rock, with sheer edges; where Todi is soft and inviting from its approach, Orvieto is forbidding and defensive. But once you have climbed its natural ramparts, and parked up, it’s a different story. The gardens (Guardini Pubblico) have to be wandered into before tackling the climb into the rest of the city. Leafy and sun-dappled with views over the outcrop that are breathtaking, across the soft inner heart of the region, one is fortified for the climb to the Duomo and the day ahead.

I spent the first hour or more exploring, and taking as many photographs as possible while the sun was revealing Orvieto in all her magnificence and intimate detail. A good move as the afternoon became overcast. Finally I came to the Duomo, which is of course entirely unchanged since EH. It’s all about colour, the façade, but I couldn’t spend the time to paint, so the sketch in my book had to suffice. I enjoyed sitting in the same spot as ‘A.Pisa’ from 1903 or whenever, when he too had to size up the daunting perspectives involved.

Like me, I’m sure he sketch first and painted later on this occasion. On the city walls find a pleasing angle with the tower of S. Giovanni in. Draw it and colour wash on new cartridge block purchased today.

Press on to draw church of Sant’ Andrea with its unusual 12 sided bell tower. Not the prettiest, but an interesting church and history and a charming piazza. Get distracted on the way by a back street view, which I stop to draw on impulse (also in cartridge block). Feel very satisfied as I hurry back to the card to save feeding any more euros into the car park meter.
The return journey via Todi was blessed by early evening sunshine, perhaps the best of the day for revealing the landscape at this time of the year.

As far as the colour plates in the original book ‘The Cities of Umbria’ are concerned, I have now visited all of the ones I had intended to; excepting one in Assisi and one in Perugia, both of which I was unable to find, but neither of which are of importance, but rather are compositions which the artist came across by chance originally, much as I have done in the others I have included so far. Two more days to go; what next?

Thursday 20 May Todi

2010-06-02T01:27:00.000-07:00

Rise to bright sunshine! A wonderful surprise and I’m parked in Todi by 8.30am. Do the sketch on this page immediately as it was irresistible (if not in EH) the hill top church of S.Fortunato to the right, and below Santa Maria della Consolazione. I am immediately taken with Todi, and after a delicious pastry and coffee, take as many photos as possible again while the sun is bright. I need not have worried today. Settle down to work, and first tackle the Duomo ( in the sketchbook).

To my amazement the tower appears to have been completely rebuilt since 1905, although this is not mentioned in my DK (Dorling Kindersley ‘Umbria’) guidebook. In EH there was an additional six sided upper storey with some sort of castellations and a short spire. Now the tower is squared off at its natural top, and instead of twin arches, there are single arched openings, one above the other into the belltower. Otherwise the façade is unchanged. Lovely.

Turning around 180 from the same spot, one sees the Palazzo del Popolo (Palazzo Pubblico in EH). This is entirely unchanged, but most enjoyable to draw, so that was the next one in the sketchbook. I was in good spirits already, when from the middle of the square a young voice calls out “Hi Chris!”. I look around, and an Italian schoolboy is delighted to see me again. It was one of the schoolparty that annoyed me in Spello.

As I waved back, another, a girl calls out “Hey Chris!” and smiles. It was charming and I eat my words from yesterday in Spello. How unexpected to be cheerfully hailed by an acquaintance in the middle of an Umbrian Piazza.

The day was fine, and I was keen to keep my last appointment, with Santa Maria della Consolazione. Not illustrated in EH, but very much recommended by the author as one of the finest Renaissance churches around. I entered the church, which was empty save for a cleaner, and sat for some time. It was indeed a cleansing experience. A perfect domed cross inside, it is uncluttered and pure, and retains the intention of simplicity and wonder. I could not find an obvious view to draw the exterior, so postponed this, and returning to the car, drove off into the hills. I photographed some views of Todi, and other subjects but didn’t settle (apart from one small sketch across some farms and hills). Then I had a brainwave and bought some food and wine/beer from a supermercato, and returned to my ‘ghost’ hotel (still no-one else visible) and spent the late afternoon and evening finishing off drawings etc on my terrace overlooking the hills.

Today as I wandered around the ancient walls of Todi and wound my way up on foot through the wooded and steep ‘via Serpentine’ path from S.Maria della Consolazione, I heard a cuckoo, and pausing to gaze across the sweet, quiet hills, I thought I could feel the real Umbria getting through. It is as though on arrival Umbria threw its rain at me, its wind and clouds and darkness, but I persevered. I kept drawing, ruined two watercolours and soldiered on, drenched, through Assisi. Then, quite simply this morning, she threw open her arms and said;” Look, this is how I can be, a paradise to rival any Arcadia of the ancients; come to me with an open heart and I will feed your soul!”. Now I’m beginning to sound like EH!

Wednesday 19 May Assisi / Spello

2010-06-01T01:40:00.000-07:00

Rise early, and out at 7.30 (check out of farmhouse) and head for Assisi. Easy drive, and park in probably the most expensive farmhouse in Assisi. Then an expensive coffee and pastry sets the tone for the day. Still, the farmhouse cost less than expected as it was early season. Not sunny, but at least dry; mist on the hills. All lanes and piazzax are very beautiful, and well cared for. Immediately find the first view, of the Basilica of St. Francesco, and draw in sketchbook. Unchanged but for the foreground; no donkey like in EH, but still unspoilt. Lovely subject, enjoy the drawing and look inside the church. Onwards and upwards; end up at the top of the hill at the ‘Rocca Maggiore’. It wasn’t on my agenda, but as I’d made the effort to get to the top, and couldn’t find the other view I was after, it looked a promising subject.

After all the ‘industry of St.Francis I had experienced below, it was something primal, and of the earth, this crumbling fortress, rising against the great hills all round; the mist and clouds rolling past, heightening the senses. I drew the impression (in the sketch book) and then, quite literally stumbled on the rough ground across the vies that until that point had been denied to me, looking down and across the church of Santa Chiara and the Duomo San Rufino. This was simply entitled ‘Assisi’ in Eh and beautifully painted by the artist ‘A.Pisa’. I didn’t recognise it immediately, as the foreground has sprung up with very large cypress trees in the last century!

Another drawing in the sketchbook from the same angle and I was very pleased with it as it has potential and am grateful to have located the view. Having finished the drawing, rain was threatening, so it was time for coffee and to regroup. On descending the hill, the heaven opened, so I made for the car, but was unable to retrace my steps to find the Mojana car park. Soaking wet, I walked in a big circle before asking the way, and squelching my way back to the car park, which relieved me of 9 euros for my day. Ah well, what’s an hour?

The rain was now incessant, so I gave up on Assisi, and headed for the next hotel, outside Todi, but as the afternoon was still in hand I thought I would call at Spello, for a late luch and seek out the ‘Porta Veneris’ which looked intriguing in EH.

I arrived surprisingly easily in Spello, parked free, and straight away came across the Porta Veneris. Never mind lunch, the rain was easing off, so I took some photos and tried to settle to a view. Now after all the churches and excitement of Assisi, an old Roman gate may not seem so much, but it has changed very substantially since 1905. It seems to me that two or three dwellings; little more than hovels, had been built around the structure by the look of plates in the old book, but these have now been long since demolished. Why did ‘A Pisa’ choose to paint this gate twice, once from above, and once below? It doesn’t seem an important subject, but he must have liked it. And so, what best for me to draw now? I puzzled and photographed, and had another coffee whilst deciding and looked around the rest of Spello (Northleach sized – didn’t take long!). When I returned to draw, it was still raining a bit, and I tried for a while to draw, but these pages refuse to take graphite when wet, the pencil slides about to no avail. The rain wouldn’t stop, and then a group of unusually forward and quite cheeky Italian schoolchildren chased me away. I usually like schoolchildren, but these were a bit out of control, and got up my nose. So I left Spello in the rain, but with some satisfaction to have explored another view from the book in a short time.

A lot of fun and games finding the road from Spello to Acquasparta cross country (but scenery to die for en route from Spoleto despite the lack of sunlight). Challenging driving, but the little diesel Lancia Ypsilon laps it up! Unfortunately my Google print out fails me – the hotel is nowhere to be found, so I phone up, and they’re actually several miles away in Colevalencia instead. The Holiday Hill Hotel is comfortable with a large swimming pool, bar, restaurant etc. But am I the only guest? The pool is drained, the bar and restaurant closed and all is quiet, only two other cars there. So I shower and shave and come down for a glass of wine (the bar is opened for me) and I sit alone on the sofas in the lobby writing in this book! The opposite of Perugia Farmhouse. I realise as I sit here that apart from a pastry for breakfast I haven’t eaten all day. Feel OK – the second glass of wine is getting through. Slap up breakfast in Todi tomorrow then?

Tuesday evening, back at Farmhouse

2010-06-01T01:29:00.000-07:00

…After the last entry, still spitting with rain, manage to draw very quick perspective of the Via delle Occhi (in sketchbook) and finish off in the car. Houses and all very similar to plate in EH, but neater and tidier, and a tree to the left, which helps the composition!

Sociable evening in farmhouse; usual mobile chat with Gill, then have conversations with Australian woman (Felicity), Carla (also Aussie) and a young Canadian couple. F is living in Umbria and has a passion for art history, religious studies and international culture, so learn much of Umbrian attitudes to life, and also ‘Barbarana’ a sort of Almanack based semi-pagan earth culture, which even figures on Spar calendars, it’s so mainstream. Obviously very big here F reckons it’s more important than religion to many.

Tuesday 18 May - Gubbio

2010-06-01T01:22:00.000-07:00

Last night I was fed up, so I went to bed early, finished the ‘difficult’ sudoku from last Sunday’s Independent, then slept for ten hours to 8 o’clock this morning (but for the usual call of nature in the dark; the sleeping hills all around look wonderful at night, twinkling lights on dark masses). So much for an early start, but straight out in the car, and into fog. Manage to struggle past Perugia on to the Gubbio road, and the day clears to arrive at fabulous medieval Gubbio in bright sunshine. Spirits soar; coffee with a view from the Piazza Quaranta Martiri the get stuck in. Photograph as much as possible whilst the sun shines. First draw the Porta Romana in sketchbook. Not in EH, but why not?

On to the Palazzo Publicco and do detailed pen and ink drawing on smooth watercolour pad. Now called the Palazzo dei Consoli. An unforgiving subject, but I’ve got it I think. Draw from a slightly different angle than EH as it suits me better, compositionally. It is much the same as in EH, but since restored with glass in the upper windows. Lunch, then on the S. Giovanni Battista, which has been completely restored since !905, with a new rose window. (The one in the book was half bricked up, with a wooden door in the middle). I find the whole city charming, quite captivating, and would return. Halfway through attempting watercolour of S.G.Battista, the sun has gone, and the rain comes. Run for cover; not a bad stab at a watercolour impression, but not good light and fighting the day, so ultimately spoiled. Pouring as writing this in café, having tea, and time to go home. (Now 5.30 where did the day go?). A good one though, considering.

Monday evening 6.30 at tourist café, Perugia Fontiveggio station

2010-06-01T01:17:00.001-07:00

..and just finished a cheap bowl of lasagne at a cheap tourist café. I just can’t get the hang of Italy. The rain stopped, but had robbed me of half the afternoon. I returned to the view across to Assisi and did a pen and wash impression based on the pencil drawing from the previous page. That cheered me up, as that’s 3 items that are usable which is fine for the first day. The last two hours were the usual confusion for me trying to return to the station – Perugia is a maze! Go round in circles, cross ring roads, up and down the public escalators; eventually a local ‘granny’ starts talking to me, and pushes me on to a bus to the station. I had wanted to walk to find a meal on route, but I’ve ended up in this café, which is an oasis of peace, even if it is grotty, and the vegetables were stone cold. But it does have a toilet! (Lots don’t). Impressions of Perugia? Old city; scenic, chic; surrounding urban sprawl ugly, noisy, smelly and worse than Gloucester. I think I’m just tired. Go home.

Monday 17 May 7.30am at the bus stop Perugia

2010-05-31T10:37:00.000-07:00

Well, last night was good value. After two more beers at the ‘Bar Olympia’ I was best friends with ‘Salvatore’, an enthusiastic local who engaged me in conversation; his English not much better than my Italian but we were helped by the girl behind the bar who had worked in England. I bought him a drink, and whilst he smoked one of my cigars he pulled me aside and told me “not to trust the Perugini”. He said his family comes from Naples, but the Perugini are very close. They don’t like outsiders, although once they accept you they will look after you like family. Me, Stefano (the bar owner) and Lucky ( his dog) were all great pals by the time I left. There’s a wonderful view from the Farmhouse, a panorama of blue green hills which were all twinkling in the half-light as I returned along the track to be greeted by the farm dog, the geese and the cockerel.

Later on Monday, rained off in café in Perugia.

Bus into Perugia – the road surfaces are awful! I nearly took my teeth out and put them in my pocket, it was so boneshaking. The outskirts of Perugia are typical urban Italy; noisy, fumy, industrial, confusing and wearisome to the pedestrian. Then suddenly through an old gateway, and we go back in time. The Palazzo Pubblico has not changed at all, although it is now known as the Palazzo dei Priori. I did a drawing in this sketchbook with no cheating at all and it was much the same as the Plate 2 from EH.

Eventually I found the Porta Augusta, but it is known here as the Arco Etrusca which threw me off the trail. I arrived to find it a gridlocked traffic nightmare, with no goatherd driving goats in front of it. There was a café though, and after a coffee, I drew the second sketch form exactly the same angle as in Plate 1 of EH and it too is quite unchanged. A hundred years on it still looks as though it is about to fall down! After that I got lost as usual. Oh, plate 3, the Piazza del Mercato, was the there but without a market there, there wasn’t much to draw, so I moved on finding a view off the edge of the city across the hills. I was about to embark upon a drawing, but was seriously rained off, so I’m huddled here until the rain passes.

Sunday evening in ‘Bar Olympia’, near Perugia

2010-05-30T04:56:00.000-07:00

..and the usual fun and games to the start of the trip. What did I expect? Why to arrive in sunny Italy, find a bus from Perugia airport to the main city centre, thence to get a bus to the ‘Perugia Farmhouse Backpackers Hostel’ as directed to on the website. Then tomorrow morning to return to the airport, pick up the hire car, and we’re off!

The reality? I arrive in the early afternoon to the airport of Sant’ Egidio, which is a village hall in the middle of nowhere. Not a bus in sight, just hovering taxi drivers looking to strip me on as many euros as possible. It’s also overcast, and it’s been raining. So, I have a coffee and pastry (cheap and wonderful!) at the airport ‘Tabacchi’ and then go to the Hertz booth to see if I can pick up the car a day early. They’re OK about it, but they don’t have a ‘clean’ one for me, only one (a Lancia) with a few bumps and dents on it. Much better!

I’m not so worried about driving it! So, I risk my life on the roads, but despite having printed off Google maps, spend a good hour driving all around the outskirts of Perugia, ending up on goat tracks, main roads, unknown villages, all on dreadful roads full of potholes. And we moan about out frosted roads this year! Eventually by sheer persistence and some cavalier u-turns I reach the Perugia Farmhouse.

It’s wonderful. Rustic in a sort of 1970’s bad plumbing sense. Reminds me of my first experiences in Italy. Shower, shave and emerge into a cool evening landscape and start to form impressions away from travel stress. We are surrounding by dark blue green hills, cypress trees, vines and olives. But it is not dry and arid, but verdant and sweet, and quite unlike any other part of Italy I have yet experienced. I am already intrigued

Departure

2010-05-30T03:56:00.000-07:00

Sunday 16 May At the airport (Stansted)

Security checked, breakfasted, and texted to next of kin. On finishing my breakfast (in Frankie and Bennie’s) the Italian waiter commented “It’s good you are flying this morning; the airport is due to close again at 5o’clock today (due to more volcanic ash from Iceland). My luck seems to have been like that for some time; I feel blessed in the decisions I have made, and how they have somehow worked out for me. “There but for the grace of God” as the saying goes. And feeling ‘blessed’ is perhaps appropriate as I head fro the hills of ‘Umbria Mystica” as it is sometimes known.

But why Umbria? Edward Hutton brought with him a wealth of knowledge concerning Renaissance Art and history. He visited when the Grand Tour was still alive in Europe and was most interested in the ‘Lucas’ and Peruginos’ in all the churches and cathedrals he visited. I have no such education nor academic interest in old paintings, frescoes or altarpieces. The baggage with which I travel is more personal. Not being a good tourist, I have to bring my sketchbook and watercolour pads along in order to feel ‘connected’ to my surroundings. It is of course the architecture of the old cities, the landscape as a setting, and atmosphere of the whole region that I shall be seeking out, and of which hopefully, (Deo Volente) I shall be recording my ‘impressions’.

Impressions of the Cities of Umbria

2010-05-30T03:50:00.000-07:00

Sunday 16th – Monday 24th May 2010

This was inspired by the purchase of an old book by the same name, written by Edward Hutton, and published by Methuen, in 1905, with 20 colour plates taken from original watercolours by ‘A.Pisa’.

The book was found by chance in an Oxfam shop in Highgate one Sunday morning; I was immediately taken by the spirit of the book, and in particular by the attractive watercolours. I wondered what these old cities and hilltowns are like now? And how would I paint and draw them..?

Sketch of the Week

2010-05-07T01:15:00.000-07:00

Old folk sitting on a bench in Cirencester today! I took a surreptitious photo but was spotted by the old chap with glasses. The two ladies on the right were having a good old chat while waiting for the bus. And why not?
I painted this first just with a brush, and then drew the outlines afterwards. Makes the thing slightly chaotic, but I like the freshness it gives.

Architectural Sketch of the Week

2010-05-07T01:08:00.000-07:00

These two ‘cottages’ are not actually within the Cotswolds, so it’s brick and brown tiled roofs, but they’re rather smart, and sit in nice sized plots. The development is still only just past the planning stage, so the building hasn’t yet started, but I’m pretty confident this is what it will look like.

St. Andrew’s Church Chedworth

2010-04-19T04:59:00.000-07:00

At last a sunny day that is warm enough to lure me out into the open air with my paints! I don’t mind a bit of outdoor sketching with a pencil when it’s freezing cold in the winter, but sitting on a painting stool for a couple of hours trying to abstract my mind is almost impossible when hypothermia starts to set in.

I wandered lonely as a cloud, floating on high o’er vales and hills, but then stopped the car at Chedworth as the Church in the morning sunlight caught my eye. The Cotswolds are rather brown and grey at the beginning of March, even when it’s sunny, but the churchyard with its grass, and yew trees looked warm and inviting, so I decided to look no further, and set up camp with my paintbox.

It’s quite a complicated architectural subject, but the advantage of painting on the spot is there is no time to fuss with unnecessary detail. In the studio I would have made far more of it, but I rather like it as it is! ...............Summer is on the way.

Summer's Morning in Northleach

2010-04-19T04:53:00.000-07:00

Monday April 19th....

Summer's morning at Northleach - a watercolour painting by Chris Fothergill This is surely the finest view in Northleach, showing the southern aspect of the Church which its magnificent porch and windows. The setting from the top of the ‘Vicar’s Field’ with sheep grazing in the morning light add to the composition.

I have of course painted this view many times over the last 20 years, but this time we have the cool light of a Cotswold early summer’s morning.

The sky is making no promises for the day, so we enjoy the moment. I think I may make some limited edition prints of this painting. Watch this space for more news!

The Joys of Outdoor Painting

2010-03-23T02:28:00.000-07:00

Hills Near Gretton, Winchcombe, Glos.

It was a bright, brisk March morning first thing, and the sun streaming through the kitchen window lured me out to paint ‘en plein air’ as they say. I packed the thermos and paints, and headed for Hailes Abbey – somewhere local, but somewhere new to draw. On arrival I found it closed until the new season starts again next week.

Never mind, the surrounding hills are lovely, if now under cloud cover. I seemed to remember that the nearby village of Gretton was very pretty and had ‘views’ so off I went again - to find a ‘road closed’ notice and diversions, which I followed for several miles, reaching my destination eventually, in the rain.

Undeterred, I opened the thermos, and had a cup of tea in the car. The rain stopped, as it does and, determined not to go home empty handed, I took out the sketchbook, and started on a modest impression of the landscape, the result of which is shown here.

The light was unremitting grey, and some passing cars were using their headlights, which I thought was unnecessary. Still I enjoyed the act of painting hills from life, and like a fisherman in the rain, gained something from the experience.

Architectural Impression of the Week

2010-03-17T11:10:00.000-07:00

It’s a row of three cottages in Oxfordshire, being tastefully converted, which presently is a building site.

My job is to paint it for the brochure, so in go the hollyhocks, and spring flowers! Rather cheerful painting this in a cold mid-March.

I hope they like it!

Early light, Santa Maria della Salute, Venice

2010-03-17T10:59:00.000-07:00

Busy with artist’s impressions last week, but I managed to get going on this oil painting, which is as yet unfinished.

I love the freedom of oils, and the subtlety of tone and colour, but I’m not very experienced with them.

A mysterious subject such as this is perfect for experimentation, as the painting is all about atmosphere and suggestion. Maybe I’ll finish it next week.

The Oldest Clock in Venice

2007-04-05T05:42:00.000-07:00

I finished this little painting on my 50th birthday, last week; appropriately enough as it is very much to do with the passage of time.

The clock is reputedly one of the oldest in Venice, on the church of San Giacomo de Rialto, which is just behind the Rialto market. I did the pen and watercolour drawing from my sketchbook. It's only a modest little pen and ink impression, but its just the sort of thing I love to do 'on the spot'. Subjects like this just make me want to sit and draw them, and always have done.

The clock only has one hand, and the dial is 24 hour. Apparently it never worked properly when it was first built, (c.1490s?)and has never kept good time in its history. However the Venetians are very fond of it.

It may not give you the correct time of day, but it will always give you a sense of the timeless nature of Venice.

8 Patio des Naranjos

2007-03-10T10:17:00.000-08:00

As soon I walked through the 14th century Moorish arch into the Patio de los Naranjos (Court of Orange Trees), a feeling of peace descended upon me. I’m not prone to these things, but water from a sculptural stone fountain played in the middle of a walled garden, set about with orange trees and some cypress. People sat here and there in the shade, or walked in slow contemplation, and the enclosed feeling of the walls was protective rather than oppressive. One obvious view called to me, so I parked myself in a shady corner, and out came the sketch pad.

At this point I have to produce some photographic evidence that some women can’t resist sidling up to an artist at work! Well, it makes up for the others. “Do you mind if I sit next to you and my friend takes a photograph?” Then they cuddle up to you for a minute, peering at your efforts. “Wow, that’s nice”. It makes my day. Pathetic, I know.

I toyed with looking around the vaulted Byzantine crypt of the Mosque that was on all the postcards. However, it was early evening, and I wanted more yet before knocking off.

An old woman caught my eye, sitting on the steps in front of an impressive arched doorway set into the walls of the Mosque. She had a blanket next to her with small things on it for sale. The way she sat, so still, seemed timeless against the huge old doors, so I discreetly made some quick sketches, and took a photograph, hoping to remember the atmosphere for a later painting. (I did paint it some months on, and sold the painting, but forgot to photo it for the records). I do have the quick sketch still; perhaps I shall paint it again.

I discovered in a café later on that I didn’t like Calamares.

* * * *

San Giorgio Maggiore, Venice

2007-03-09T09:53:00.000-08:00

I finished painting this watercolour today; there's a bit more fiddling about with the gondolas in the foreground, but it's finished in the sense that it's now best left alone! Am I pleased with it? As much as I ever am with a painting. It's worked for me as a whole, and that's the most important thing. The light is supposed to be the last sunlight of the day, and I aimed for a very calm atmosphere.

The sea is not easy to paint in watercolour; and the lack of reflection in the water is deliberate. In Venice the lagoon is part of the sea, and it almost never is still enough to make reflections of the buildings. The foreground is busy enough that I wanted to keep simplicity in the water texture.

Should I have made the gondolas darker? Maybe, but I didn't want to draw too much attention from the main focus of the painting; the shadow across the entrance to the church of San Giorgio Maggiore. So I kept the foreground soft, and put the lamp on the left to balance the tower as part of the composition.

One of the reasons I love painting Venice so much, is that I feel as though I am back there again for much of the time.

Use of masking fluid in watercolour

2007-03-07T10:38:00.000-08:00

I've started a painting this week in my 'classic' watercolour style! By that I suppose I mean that the painting is carefully composed, with a preliminary pencil sketch (not shown here) to work out tonal values, composition and atmosphere. I love this view; of the island of San Giorgio Maggiore in Venice and have drawn and painted it before several times. But now I wanted to do something different, and it occurred to me that if I darkened the sky to have the buildings lighter than the sky, I could get feeling of strong late sunlight at the end of the day.

I rarely use masking fluid, but here it comes into its own. By masking off the outline of the buildings, one can do more than several strong washes of colour in the sky, with no dabbling about, and the buildings will really stand out in front, as they would in a bold flash of sunlight.

I didn't do any preliminary drawing apart from the silhouette before painting the sky, just in case it all went pear-shaped and I had to start again! That's from bitter experience! This time I was OK, and as you can see in the right hand picture, whilst waiting for washes of colour to dry, I have drawn in the gondolas in the foreground, painting one in first to work out what I liked, before committing myself to the rest.

I'm looking forward to continuing tomorrow; its not in the bag just yet.

7 La Mesquita

2007-03-06T13:34:00.000-08:00

Showered and refreshed, I emerged back on to the street, bordering on to the railway sidings that my modest hotel overlooked, in what was clearly an unfashionable quarter of the city. Just as when you bang your head for long enough against a wall, it’s lovely when you stop; the absence of clutching a heavy suitcase raised my spirits considerably. Also it was only one o’clock, the sun was shining in a clear blue sky and Cordoba was waiting for me.

If one wishes to sketch in an unknown city, then it pays to visit the postcard stands first. They will present all the best and most obvious views the place has to offer, and it saves a lot of time. Of course one may not wish to paint merely the ‘postcard views’. There are many more subtle and interesting subjects and compositions one can tackle, given a certain sensitivity and imagination.

It would be a shame to miss the blockbusters, though wouldn’t it? Imagine going to Sydney, and not realising until you came home that there was an opera house with a bridge next to it.

One view that was clearly a cracker, from the number of postcard spinners that paid tribute to it, was the skyline of the old city of Cordoba. Looking from the south side of the river, back across the Roman bridge, the fabulous Moorish Mosque ‘La Mesquita’ dominated the composition, hills blue in the distance cooling the heat of the stone in the foreground. More importantly, it was my sort of view, so out came the paints.

For an hour or more, I quietly worked up a rough and ready pen and ink and colour wash impression of the scene. I was quite pleased with it; a nice souvenir, and good to paint from later. Boy the afternoon was hot though! I was working in a spot with no shade, and in my earlier excitement had left the hotel without my hat. Working with the sun behind me, I could manage, but I needed a break, and some shade.

Now some people may wonder why the stereotypical artist wears a silk scarf or cravat, and a wide brimmed hat. Style, yes, and maybe all artists are posers. But I have discovered the origins of such attire. Very early on in my painting career I discovered that if you tried to paint ‘into the light’ ie facing the sun, then within minutes you are blinded to colour and you cannot see anything you are drawing or painting on your pad. So, you turn the other way, and draw what’s behind you. Ah, that’s better. Two hours later you have finished, but on packing up, you find the back of your neck is red as a lobster. So; the brim on the hat acts as a sunshade when you paint towards light, and the silk scarf protects your neck from sunburn. Quid pro quo. Ergo factum and all that. Alright so these days you can wear sunglasses and a baseball cap on backwards, but it’s not me, OK?

Seeking refreshment, I read in my guidebook that the Mosque I had been painting had a courtyard with fountains and shade within its precincts, so off I went for my next drawing stop.

* * * *

6 Cordoba

2007-03-06T12:39:00.000-08:00

From an early age, the sound of the Classical or Spanish guitar has had a profound effect upon me, evoking moods or even memories, of places to which I have never been. I am not talking of the rhythms of Flamenco, but rather the more restrained music of the classical guitar repertoire. One evening in my early teens, I happened to see a television programme featuring the great guitarist Andrés Segovia, sitting in the Alhambra Palace playing ‘Memories of the Alhambra’, with fountains and shadows playing around a sunny courtyard. I was hooked, and embarked upon several years of lessons upon the instrument. To this day I intermittently attempt to play such classics as the “Suite Espanol” by Isaac Albeniz. ‘Seville’ ‘Cordoba’, and ‘Granada’ are the names of three of the pieces in the Suite; a series of musical postcards from Andalucia.

Such are the romantic associations with these beautiful tunes, in my mind’s eye, that I was keen to visit all three of these old Moorish cities during the seven days of my visit to Spain. And so the next morning I packed my bags for Granada; hungry to visit the fountains and courtyards of the Alhambra Palace, which I knew rose up out of the city, into the foothills of the Sierra Nevada.

* * *

At least the bus station was next door to my hotel, so off I went to get a bus to the train station; only to be told that there were no buses connecting the bus and railway stations together.

Obviously no-one had thought of that.

It was a little over a mile across town to the railway station, but my mistrust of taxi drivers prevented me from making eye contact with any of them around me, so I set off on foot, clutching my heavy case to my chest. Forty minutes, I thought cheerfully; coffee en route.

Ten minutes later I slumped into a chair outside a shady café. The day was coming on hot, and my backpack had already soaked the back of my shirt. I had a coffee and croissant and watched Spain go by in the early morning sunshine. Duly refreshed, I stood, loaded my bags on board, and looked at the long straight road east. ‘Why am I so bloody mean?’ I thought to myself. I hailed the next taxi, and was at the station in ten minutes for less than the price of a beer.

Unfortunately there were to be no trains to Granada until much later in the day, but wasting a whole day out of my painting schedule travelling and waiting in stations was not on. There was a train to Cordoba almost immediately though, so I boarded that, rather enjoying the sudden change of plan; easy to accomplish when you haven’t booked hotels, and you have no travelling companion with whom to argue.

The railway terminus at Cordoba has a bus station adjoining it. This was much more promising. I had used the two-hour train journey to inspect the street map of Cordoba from my pocket guide, and locate two hotels I had found (on the Internet back at home) which were reasonably priced and handy for both the station and the old part of the city. No repeat of my experience in Seville thank you very much.

Misreading the signs, I found myself leaving the station through the bus entrance, running out of footpath, and eventually dodging coaches swinging through the vast arches that were not designed for pedestrian use. Realising I was at the wrong end of the shooting match, I turned in another wrong direction and tramped three sides around the entire station complex; a vast blank wall to my left the entire time; passing nobody except for one other person with a case struggling in the opposite direction. We avoided eye contact. My circumlocution presented me back to the top of some escalators, leading down to the platform where I had started. Dripping with great discs of sweat around my armpits, I realised that it could well be another one of those days. The hotels wouldn’t be far away though; I knew that.

They weren’t far away, they were just full.

Clearly internet advertising was successful for them. A largely fruitless further half-hour washed me up in a rather impressive square called the Plaza del Tendillas. Definitely coffee time.

One of the joys of being in Spain and Italy at the right time of the year (which is most of it) is sitting out of doors drinking coffee and watching the world go by. I could take it up full time in retirement. Probably die of caffeine overdose after eighteen months mind you. On this occasion I pulled out my sketchbook on the basis that if I couldn’t find a hotel, there’s no point in wasting the day. There was a girl feeding pigeons, which I made a passable impression of with my pencil, and behind her a tall elegant rounded façade of a building, topped with a white cupola, upon which perched a flamboyant equestrian statue. The sort of stuff I like to have a stab at. It was better than hotel hunting, and boosted my spirits. I was sure I was going to like Cordoba.

I didn’t for the remainder of the morning. It is a mystery to this day how, despite possessing an adequate street map of Cordoba, I found myself back at one of the hotels I had started with. Hesitating outside, I hastily constructed a sentence from my phrase book, returned inside, and asked the signor at reception if he knew of any other inexpensive hotel I might try. He must have understood me, as he was most forthcoming. I grasped most of his response through a series of mutual arm waving, nods and wild gesticulations; which go a long way in any language.

Focusing all my attention on retaining what tattered sense of direction I still had, I staggered under the weight of my bags for two short streets before rounding the last corner to confront; yes you’ve probably guessed by now, hand on heart and hope to die, the railway station was right in front of me, the hotel next door.

Handy for the journey back I thought. Chronically optimistic to the end.

* * *

5 Plaza d'Espana

2007-03-06T12:30:00.000-08:00

The first day had been a great success by my standards. My first painting was not a disaster, and I had two other drawings under my belt, which I liked, and could later paint from, in the studio. Giddy with my success I hopped out of bed the following morning, and promptly folded on to the floor. Ow! – My calf muscles had gone to jelly. How many miles had I walked the previous day? Not many, on the map, but the trouble with being in a foreign city, looking for interesting views, is that every side street beckons you down it, to just see what’s round the corner. Not having the restraining influence of my family, I cannot resist, and am lured by sirens up every avenue and down every street. Add to that the night of my arrival, tramping every inch of northern Seville with two heavy bags for hours on end, and my ankles were in rebellion. I resolved to be more disciplined, and conserve my time and energy for sketching.

After a hot and reviving shower, I peered through the blinds of my hotel window to gauge the light (this is something artists do) and plan my day's itinerary. It was an unrewarding experience, as the window opened into the bottom of a well in the middle of the hotel. Actually it didn’t open, but if I craned my neck upwards, with my nose on the glass, and head resting on the window sill I could just see a square inch of grey light at the top of the well, which I presumed to be sky. It was non-committal, and I had to wash my face again afterwards, so I decided to play it by ear, and presently stepped boldly out of the hotel front door into sunny Seville for painting day two.

Or rather I hobbled out on to a cool and overcast morning. The traffic by the bus station was smelly and I could have been on the Edgeware road in March. Now I’m not entirely a fair weather painter. Much as the sun always seem to shine in my paintings, experience has taught me to interpret, sometimes extensively, scenes before me. It’s called artistic license. Some people would call it taking bloody liberties with the truth, but then who wants to see parked cars, and ‘No Entry’ signs in paintings on the wall? Much better to leave out the rubbish, and if you have to put something in an otherwise uninteresting corner to stoke up the composition, have a woman walking a dog instead. An old painter friend once told me that, even if people are familiar with a view, you can leave out practically anything, and they won’t notice; but don’t put anything in that isn’t there, or they won’t buy it.

I used to think an artistic license was something you were given when you graduated from Art School, but being self-taught I never got one. Would that make me an illegal artist? What an exciting idea. Or I suppose I would only be practising illegally if I actually sold the paintings. Well most of the time I’d be alright then.

However, this morning my spirits were dampened. This was the sort of light that is my worst enemy. Heavy cloud, dark and glowering overhead, only lightening to the edges of the horizon. All around, dramatic perspectives, and rich architectural details were flattened, and drained of shadow, interest and colour. The bright spanish light I had come to revel in, and capture would prove elusive today. I wasn’t about to be beaten, but it was going to be a fight.

I stooged about. Drank some coffee, had my shoes shined again, bought some postcards, and wandered around the souvenir shops. Normally I love the souvenir shops, and only reward myself with them after earning a session with my painting efforts, but this morning even they lost their appeal. Maybe it’ll brighten up later I’d thought, but by mid-morning I was so awash with coffee I was like a walking hot-water bottle. It was time to grasp the bullet, so I bit the nettle by the horns and headed off to the Plaza de Espana.

The guide book had promised great things; a beautiful park, horse-drawn carriages, fountains playing in the sunlight (Huh!) and a sweeping curvacious slice of moorish architecture with towers, arches, bridges and lots of fiddly bits, which I usually like. Well I didn’t. It’s no good, I wasn’t in the mood. Even if I had liked it on a good day I wouldn’t have liked it then, and it wasn’t what I’d have liked on the best of days which made it even worse on a bad day. Oh you know what I mean. I was down in the dumps.

A lot of painting is about confidence. I don’t play cricket but I understand that morale has a profound effect on the game, even at the highest level. When the tables start to turn against a side, and a crack in the defences opens up, there can be a phenomenon known as a batting collapse. On a week’s painting trip this can be a real worry. It only takes a couple of bad or uninspired paintings, for the muse to flee in disgust (she is so fickle) and a batting collapse will ensue. Some would say just take the rest of the day off, and relax, but they don’t know how bad it can be to fail on paper, and, horrified with your efforts, feel as though you’ll never paint well again. It is as though the ‘magic painting cap’ I wear that enables me to draw, has been plucked from my head and thrown into the river. This may all sound over-dramatic, but I am inclined to be maudlin when I get fed-up. It’s part of the artistic temperament. (That’s my excuse).

The Plaza de Espana; alright it’s not my thing; but it is impressive. A vast and decoratively ornate structure, it was built in 1929 as a pavilion for the great Iberian-American Fair.(You didn’t go?) Intended to impress, it is a tribute to tiling, and depicts the many diverse regions of Spain in painted tiles all along the front of the collonade. It now serves the purpose of being somewhere to send the tourists in the middle of the day, where they can all go and photograph themselves and ease the congestion in the cathedral precincts.

I settled myself down behind an archway, and drew. It was something to do. Immediately below me, on the lower terrace, a woman was selling castanets, on a blanket, to passers-by. Clearly an expert herself, with a virtuosic flourish of limbs, she would reel off a loud rattling sound reminiscent of those rolling timetables in railway stations. She was doing a brisk trade, and the almost continuous rattling, punctuated by cries of “Castanets!” and a cackling laugh, lulled me into a sort of daydreaming stupor. Many people assume that when artists work, all their attention is taken up considering perspective and composition, or the relative merits of cerulean blue or gamboge, but this is far from the truth. My old Irish painter friend Geoffrey F.Woodworth reckoned that most of the time spent in watercolour painting was waiting for colour washes to dry. He used to practise playing his ukelele during such lulls in activity. Not having brought my ukelele with me (for health reasons) I found myself working up a limerick.

An old man from the Plaza de Espana
Would not stop repeating “Manyana”
His wife cried “You’re crazy!”
He replied “No, just lazy,
For why do today what, um….

Well that’s the trouble, I couldn’t find a rhyme for the last line. I suppose I should have considered that before investing my energy in the rest of the limerick; but my life doesn’t work like that.

It was still teasing me, and nearly cost me an accident crossing the Avenida de Carlos V, as I wandered into the Barrio de Santa Cruz. Now this was more like it. Whitewashed houses huddling around narrow cobbled streets; winding alleyways opening out into picturesque courtyards littered with café tables and people drinking and relaxing. Balconies overhanging with jasmine, terracotta roofs, pots and fountains. If I wasn’t going to stage a recovery here, then I might as well go back to my hotel room for a nap. (It did cross my mind) Rounding a corner, a composition caught my eye that was irresistible. A tall brightly painted house faced me, with flowery balconies, an arched colonnade at the top, pretty windows next to a café with a red awning, and…well all the rest. Perfect subject, rotten light. I would just have to use my imagination. On a good day, experience has taught me to pull a light cord in my head; switch on the sunshine; and see all the deep shadows in my mind’s eye. Sulkily, I took off my backpack, which cleverly opens out into a stool; sat on it, and went to work.

For such an ‘over the top’ subject, I chose to use pen and ink to draw first, and washed in bright colours; mauve in the shadows to make the scene as sunny as possible. After an hour, something was still missing in the middle – but what? It was all going a bit better than I had dared to hope. I didn’t want to ruin it now. A small nun with a walking stick conveniently tottered into view. Perfecto! A focal point; the small black and white figure complementing the two brightly coloured women in dresses standing by the front of the café on the right. In she went.

Definitely time for a beer. Who cares I’d skipped lunch and it was mid afternoon. I was back on track.

* * * * *

4 Torre del Oro

2007-02-26T13:53:00.000-08:00

Endless souvenir shops, outdoor cafes and warmly inviting streets provided displacement activities that carried me to that time of day when its too early to go home, but its too late to start much new. My ramblings had taken me to the banks of the Guadalquivir river, which provides a beautiful breathing space from north to south through an otherwise hectic city. At the end of a long paved promenade stood an impressive single round tower, set about with palm trees. I recognised it from lots of travel brochures, so guessed it must be important. The Torre del Oro or 'Golden tower' was a thirteenth century Almohad fortification, so called because it was once covered in gilded azulejos (whatever they are - they're not in my phrasebook).
The early evening light provided perfect shadows in all the right places, so out came the sketchbook, and a happy relaxed hour passed, with happy relaxed people wandering around in the warm sunshine, nobody in a hurry to go anywhere.

Have you ever had a picnic by the river with cattle nearby? If so, you will have noticed that eventually their curiosity overcomes their natural animal shyness; and before you’ve poured the tea out there’s a pitch invasion, and they’re trampling the cucumber sandwiches. Well, painting in public places is just the same. In what other circumstances would a single man be sitting alone, and have single women come along and strike up a conversation, even ask personal questions and sit close to you? As a friend of mine pointed out recently – “Sounds a great way to draw the birds!” I don’t draw birds of course.

So there I was, minding my own business and perhaps feeling a little too pleased with my own work, when this rather attractive dusky Spanish woman looks over my shoulder and murmurs praise and encouragement in broken English. This intrusion was a little less invasive than cows at a picnic, so I happily struck up what conversation I could with the little vocabulary we had in common. Mostly I just nodded and smiled, like those toy dogs that you used to see in the back windows of the cars in front. Then she suddenly asked a direct question;

“Would you do a painting of my niňa?”

My throat went dry and I swallowed. I had no idea what a niňa was, but my imagination ran riot. This wasn’t the sort of proposition one got every day, even in England. I gave a sort of nervous laugh, saying “Uno momento…” and turning with my back half to her, rummaged through my bag for the pocket dictionary. I can’t tell you what went through my head before my finger ran down the appropriate page and found the translation ‘daughter’. I looked up and saw her little girl running up to us. She was very pretty, but I don’t do portraits, so I had to disappoint her.

Time to knock off for a beer then.

3 Seville Cathedral

2007-02-26T13:49:00.000-08:00

Seville Cathedral is big. Reputedly the third biggest in the world, topped only by St. Pauls in London, and that other big one in Rome. Visiting any such tourist hot-spot one has to fight off the sense of being a processed pea, amongst throngs of other visitors, turnstiles, gift shops, and those displays filled with illuminated slides. (Does anyone actually buy those things?) It was worth it. The entrance fee was modest, and atmosphere friendly and calm. Like many Cathedrals, the vast interior is broken up by a forest of huge fluted columns, thrusting upwards to a flamboyant ballet of gothic fan tracery, dancing away into the gloom.

David Roberts, the great Victorian painter depicted its interior; the columns as large as giant redwoods, people like ants at the bottom, and apocalyptic rays of sunlight lending a visionary air to the unbelievably huge scene. I found it a bit dark. Blinding sunlight outside, I nearly walked into some of the columns, the light was so poor, and that was after my eyes had adjusted. Huge banks of votive candles ablaze on all sides didn't so much contribute to the illumination as dazzle one's vision like oncoming headlights on a dark road. I stumbled around in the gloom searching for the entrance to the tower, haunted by my catholic upbringing, and wondering if it wasn't perhaps time to think about glasses.

The ascent of the tower was a surprise. My expectation was of a never-ending narrow stone spiral staircase with occasional glimpses through slots in the wall, your eyes stinging with the wind in them as you peer out at a vista of one degree. In fact you ascend by a series of ramps that hug the inside of each of the four walls of the tower. Each ramp has a number at the top so you know how many there are to go.
I think there were thirty-six in all, but I'd have preferred steps, they're easier on the calf muscles. I wondered if a European directive had ordered the Cathedral to fit the ramps for disabled access, but apparently the Moors built the tower so that they could ride to the top on horseback. What the hell does a horse want with a view across Seville? Personally I would have liked to do the ascent on a trial motorbike, although meeting a horse coming down the other way would be a worry.

Finally I emerged, with lots of other panting tourists, into the bell chamber, with openings on all four sides affording magnificent views across the entire city. The inside of the belfry was fascinating too; hung all about with impressive great bells, and an incomprehensible array of arcane machinery, pulleys, levers, cogs, chunky beams and brickwork, that’s about as far away from watchmaking as you can get in the timekeeping industry. I made a mental note to attempt a perspective drawing later, but first looked for a good angle across the city.

The view south had it for me. In all other directions an interesting, but compositionally meaningless, jumble of rooftops stretched away to grey suburbs in the distance; an endless uniformity of apartment blocks standing out there like an audience looking back at me. To the south though, I gazed over two beautiful cupolas sitting on lower roofs of the cathedral, which were worth drawing on their own. Festooned with turrets, carved stonework, rich in architectural detailing, and with buttresses flying everywhere, it was all most satisfying. As if that weren't enough, beyond lay an aerial view of many of Seville's finest monuments: the Alcazar fortress, the Plaza d'Espana, the Plaza del Triunfo, and the old Tobacco factory (now part of the University) which provided the setting for Carmen in Bizet's opera, immortalizing an idiotically romantic notion of factory life in nineteenth century Spain. Finally in the distance the Guadalquivir River stretched to the horizon, spanned by a suspension bridge silhouetted against a blur of industrialisation, cranes and apartment blocks dotted about the greyness. I couldn't wait to sharpen my pencil.

It is of course a ridiculously ambitious subject for a painting, but I didn't care. The challenge of drawing it was irresistible. I was reminded of a boy on television some years ago, who had an incredible ability to take in such a cityscape at a glance, and then sit down and draw the entire thing from memory, both in perspective, and without any mistakes in the layout of the buildings or anything. He paid for this talent by having some sort of autism or other personality disorder. Sadly, although my personality is very disordered, I still have to do all my drawing whilst in front of the subject. Which is a shame, because it was a most uncomfortable position I had to stand in. Wedged into a corner, I was jostled and jogged constantly by rude tourists, pointing right across my face, and leaning digital technology of all sorts against my left ear. Occasionally someone would peer right into my drawing pad, so I could only see the back of their head, and then look back at me, as though I were from another planet. It may have been too hot for lunch earlier, but one hundred metres up, a howling cold wind was whipping my hair, and freezing my fingers, so I could barely hold the pencil.

Early stages of frostbite may account for me losing my pencil over the balcony edge at one point. (Actually I think a bored American youth was chewing gum so hard that his lower jaw knocked it out of my hand but I can't prove it). This was more an irritation than a disaster, as long experience as a travelling artist has born fruit, and taught me to carry more than one pencil. My jacket bristles with pencils. The average stationary wholesaler would envy the stock of pencils I have built up in my jacket over the years. Pausing to sharpen up a spare, a disturbing thought crossed my mind. At breakfast one morning the previous week, my young daughter Charlotte had exclaimed;

"Dad, did you know that if you dropped 50p off the top of the Eiffel Tower, and it hit someone at the bottom, it would go right through them?"

Visions uncomfortably arose in my mind's eye, as I could see some poor Japanese tourist gazing upward in rapt contemplation, to be cut down by a 2B graphite aquarelle, like Harold in the battle of Hastings. A distant siren howled far below in the city. I pulled myself together, sirens are always howling far below in cities.

The cupolas were finished and I was just wishing I'd left more room above them on the page, when a voice behind me spoke, and a hand touched me on the shoulder. I started, (nearly losing another pencil) and looking round my heart nearly missed a beat. A uniformed man addressed me in Spanish. I could see the headline

"LOCAL ARTIST HELD ON SPANISH MANSLAUGHTER CHARGE"

It was 4.30 and the tower was closing for the day.

2 La Giralda

2007-02-26T13:37:00.000-08:00

I slept like a baby. I don't know why people use that expression to describe deep, refreshing and uninterrupted slumber; my experience of babies calls to mind continual waking in the night accompanied by crying, chewing of blankets and uncontrolled pooing. Fortunately I wasn't teething.

A different and cheerful city greeted me, as I emerged blinking into the noisy urban sunlight from my hotel. Yes, even the sunshine is noisy in Spain. The hotel turned out to be not only cheap, but quite serviceable and in an excellent location, only ten minutes walk from Seville Cathedral, and La Giralda; my first stop of the day. Well, actually a café on the Avenida de Construction was my first stop, for café con leche y una tostada, to set myself up for my first days painting. This was after all, a business trip. (I have to say that officially as I'm claiming all my expenses against tax). The Fothergills Gallery Summer Exhibition was only a couple of months away, and 'Impressions of Spain' had already been billed as a cornerstone of the show.

Drinking coffee outdoors in the warm morning sunshine was a treat in itself after the cold grey wet winter I had just left behind. As I was seated in contemplation, a voice called my attention. A small man stood in front of me, talking unintelligibly. He was bending forwards, offering me a wooden box with a ramp constructed on top. I thought perhaps it was a model of some Inca temple he was trying to persuade me to buy, but as I couldn't think of a use for one I endeavoured to communicate this. As soon as I spoke he said " Ah, Inglese! " and then exclaimed "Shoeshine!" and burst out laughing, repeating the word again, as if it was a joke he'd just been told. I tried to smile and shrug him off but he was most insistent. Oh what the hell, they were dusty after the previous nights tramping, and my shoes did have a long road ahead this week. I assented, and he proceeded with a most elaborate ritual.

With my left foot placed on the ramp of the Inca temple, first the laces were tucked in, then some shoehorn-type pieces were inserted in the top of the shoe to protect my socks. A huge shoe brush was produced which danced around my foot with great panache, as a sort of preamble. He then unscrewed the top from a bottle and poured some reddish-brown liquid on to a small mop brush with a long handle ( I would have paid good money for that brush). Thereafter a massaging operation began which will remain one of my life's great experiences. Lovingly the liquid was applied, and all the while in Spanish he was trying to explain to me about his large family - nueve bambini - nine children, and other stuff, which passed me by. The polish had to dry, before the procedure was repeated on the other foot. In between each part, he would make an announcement, as though describing the stages of a Zen tea ceremony. Finally, the big brush returned, and with a vigour that surprised me for his age, he burnished my shoes to a gloss that I could have shaved in the reflection of. The production of a cloth at the end seemed superfluous, but allowed him a few more theatrical flourishes of the hand that I would not have missed. Finally, he announced once again "Shoeshine!" and I could have burst into applause. "Quanto es?" I asked. "Mille" he replied. "Mille?- that's a thousand pesetas, why that’s four quid." He shrugged and held up eight fingers and a thumb- "nueve bambini"- he repeated. I handed over the money. "Cigarrerra?" he asked. I'd have given him anything. I opened my tin of small cigars and he took one seeming delighted. Lighting one for myself as well, I reflected that I had paid more and got less from an evening at the theatre before now.

* * *

One of the problems with a painting trip is that there are usually far more subjects to paint than one could ever sketch or deal with in the given period, and consequently it can be hard to settle to one view in favour of another. The previous year, in Venice, I had decided against climbing the Campanile in St. Mark's Square (as, alas, sightseeing has so often to be sacrificed for sketching time), assuming that there would not be a paintable view from the top apart from a dense jumble of rooftops. Subsequently I saw a fabulous line drawing of the view stretching across the lagoon, in a book of paintings of Venice, and kicked myself for dismissing it.

Thus, in Seville, I had determined to visit the top of the tower adjoining the Cathedral, known as La Giralda. Almost a hundred metres tall, its exterior is highly decorated with Moorish ornaments, fine arches and delicate arabesques. A perfect fusion of Christian and Muslim inspiration, it has become a symbol of Seville, and deservedly appears on postcards, thimbles and T-shirts throughout the city. A classic view of it, from the walls of the adjacent Alcazar fortress must have been painted a thousand times before, by a thousand different artists, but I wasn't going to miss out; I'd come all this way and now it was my turn. I settled down in a shady spot and, in typical English fashion, painted my way through the Siesta period of the day.

'How do you know when a painting is finished?' I am sometimes asked. With a watercolour, it's usually when it suddenly starts getting worse and not better every time you touch it. Then there's nothing more you can do with it, even if you don't like it, except perhaps sell it. In this case I became bored with my staring at my efforts. "TIREDNESS KILLS PAINTINGS, TAKE A BREAK" appeared on a motorway sign in my brain, so I packed up and wandered off for refreshment. Too hot for lunch, so I had an ice-cream (why do they taste so good in hot countries?), and then decided it was time to sample the view from the top of the Giralda.

Canal View of Venice

2007-02-26T12:38:00.000-08:00

Today, after a recent experimentation with acrylic paints and more adventurous brushstrokes, I have returned to my traditional watercolour style, to paint a view of Venice; the canal (Rio dei Mendicanti) by the Campo SS.Giovanni e Paulo. I have drawn the view on the spot in Venice, and painted and drawn it twice since. I do paint from photographs sometimes, but always do a drawing first. I have long since lost the photograph of this view, but I have my drawings, and I use whatever artistic licence I please to produce a composition and colours that appeals to me.

What first fascinated me about the view was the chimneys on the roof on the top left of the picture. They are about six feet tall, and really are leaning at rakish angles, looking as if they are about to tumble into the canal! I expect they'll still be there next time I go.

I painted the picture over two days, and used only four colours; yellow ochre, burnt umber, light red and prussian blue. I wanted a 'simple' colour scheme that expressed the atmosphere of Venetian architecture. The painting isn't really about colour; its about composition, light and reflections. I enjoyed doing it, and am reasonably pleased with it. (I don't always like my paintings when I'm finished).

Introduction to Spain 2001

2007-02-26T12:29:00.000-08:00

An Artist in Andalucia

Introduction

At the age of thirteen, my first encounter with the Mediterranean climate was unexpected and wonderful. Stepping off the BEA Vanguard passenger jet on to the shimmering tarmac of Valetta airport, Malta, in July 1970, I was immediately intoxicated by the exotic scents in the air, the hot dry wind, and intense reflected light from the ground. At an age without preconceptions of travel, Life burst in upon me afresh; full of infinite possibilities and excitement. By the time I returned from our family holiday, two weeks later, a distinct change had occurred in me, rivalled in my youth only by puberty. My life was now in colour where before it was in black and white. I had discovered a new world in my imagination, where I could live as a painter in a foreign land, with dry dusty paths and fig trees, breathtaking sunshine and the sound of crickets at night. White stone, warm seas, a hot breeze that ruffles your shirtsleeves and carries the scent of wild sage to your nostrils. In short, I had become a romantic, and one day I would be that artist.
I had already started to learn to play the Spanish (or Classical) guitar, when one evening during my mid-teens I happened to see a television programme featuring the great guitarist Segovia, sitting in the Alhambra Palace, playing 'Memories of the Alhambra', with fountains and shadows playing around a sunny courtyard. I was hooked. The music of Spain had completed the land that held my personal myth. It was to be another thirty years before I actually visited the country of my dreams.

1 Seville

2007-02-23T13:20:00.000-08:00

Apart from the flights I didn't book anything in advance. It seemed a far more romantic notion to just arrive in Andalucia; me with a backpack, and a whole new world to be discovered. Inevitably, reality turns out to be a little more bracing than the sunny expectations of one's dreams.

The flight was delayed, and I with my backpack, (and one heavy suitcase), was finally processed out of Seville airport at 10.30pm. It was a Sunday night, and the tourist information point, and in fact anything that looked like a useful counter, had the shutters down. There was no sign of a bus station about, only a line of predatory taxis outside, and a multi-storey car park in the gloom behind. Procrastinating, I wandered up and down, avoiding eye contact with smoking groups of taxi drivers. Eventually feeling conspicuous, I went back inside, and looked up some sort of equivalent to "how far, how much, centre of Seville, and cheap hotel". I had no idea how many miles we were from the centre of town, or where I wanted to go, and I have a deep-seated mistrust of foreign taxi drivers. To them I must surely have appeared to be a walking bag of pesetas wearing a panama hat with "Take me for a ride" on the front.

However the hour was late and I had to find a hotel. I took a deep breath, and strode purposefully out into the night. Right in front of me was a bus with ‘Sevilla Centro’ lighting the windscreen.

One hundred and thirty pesetas later (50p) I stepped off on to the Puerta de Jerez, a sort of Picadilly Circus but thick with palm trees and exotic scents. As I crossed the road, a happy band of revellers rounded the corner. Four beautiful young women in full flamenco dress, escorted by two handsome young swains carrying guitar cases, passed by, clearly on their way to, or from, a wonderful evening. They were young, happy and singing, and a frisson of excitement lifted me on to the Avenida de Construction to go and find all those cheap and plentiful hotels mentioned in my Insight Pocket Guide to Southern Spain.

A very useful book with maps, itineraries; where to find whatever it is you mustn't miss for how much, and how to use the telephones. I had done some homework in advance, so headed for the Cathedral, as I was sure that just to the north of it was deepest hotel country. Suddenly, a spectacular glimpse of "La Giralda", the pinnacle of Seville Cathedral, came into view. A famously beautiful Moorish minaret, capped with a Christian belfry, it was floodlit against a sky of black ink, and scores of swallows caught in the light were soaring and swooping high above the tower, seemingly as excited as I was to be there. I walked on air to my hotel.

An hour and a half later I hadn't found it. According to the map I had walked every street in Northern Seville, and hadn't even found a single hotel, let alone one that was cheap, or even open. I exaggerate. There was one facing me, on the opposite side of a huge square, by the bus station. The huge glass lozenge filled most of my vision, announced "El Splendido" over the door and had more stars than I could see in the sky. Could I really spend my entire weeks allowance on a few hours kip?

My suitcase had become an unspeakable burden, particularly since the strap had parted company with the rest of the case as I’d come off the bus. My ankles hurt, my arms trembled with fatigue, and all that prevented me from kipping on a bench under a palm tree was the thought of all the undesirable types that seemed ever present in the shadows all around. I just wanted to stop, but standing alone at midnight with luggage, and hat on, I couldn't seem to merge in with my surroundings.

In the distance a star winked at me. It was a neon sign announcing "HOSTAL" in vertical letters that was malfunctioning and flickering. I was drawn to it, like the Magi to the Star of David. In a narrow side street a dimly lit door protected with wrought iron supported a sign saying ‘Empujar’. My heart sank. The words ‘Closed’ and ‘Full’ sprang to mind. Wearily I disengaged my luggage, extracted a pocket Spanish dictionary from my backpack, and thumbed through its pages, straining my eyes to finally read the word ‘Push’.

Three flights of stairs later, I delivered the sentence from my phrasebook that I'd been rehearsing all evening; and after lots of waving of arms, pointing and nodding, keys rattled in a door and I flopped on to a bed. Perhaps presumptuously, I thanked my guardian angel, saying, "We did it!"

Van Gogh's Boots

2007-02-16T04:52:00.000-08:00

Where better to start 'Travels with my Art' than with Van Gogh's boots? I know from experience how weary his feet must have been when he'd finished a day's painting 'en plein air'.

The picture here shows a copy I made of Van Gogh's original painting (from a postcard). I have just started painting in acrylics, after many years of watercolour as my main medium. Seeking inspiration one day, I saw the postcard on my wall, and made a copy. I did it in less than two hours, but am convinced that Van Gogh would have done it quicker. The brushtrokes are bold and quick, and I became bogged down in copying them all; he would have simply painted the boots. It gave me a good insight into his painting techniques.