There was that time in Bournemouth. One of the summer holidays of guaranteed sunshine. I was about six years old and one afternoon I had my portrait done by a woman near to the beach. It was done in pastels, I think. It must have been pastels because they smudged, and if you rubbed a patch the colour came off on your finger. The artist signed it. I was very happy with the portrait. Go and show it to people, said Mum, said Dad. Show it around. In the guest house. I ran down to the kitchens. ‘Look at this,’ … Continue reading PASTEL

The first buyer

She said she was bored. Then she shot upright and said that I should paint her. I was cool to the idea, at first, coming out of the blue like that. But as she talked about it, I began to see that it might be quite interesting. She was going to undress, and drape herself on the couch, and as she was very tired, she’d most probably fall fast asleep. I could capture the essence in her sleeping face, she said. Some clue to the processes that operated inside her while she was unconscious. I could show her as she really was, … Continue reading The first buyer