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| Vincent Lines. A J Pavey. Oil on board |
My first experience of the art world was at Hastings School of Art (in the county of Sussex), which I attended at age 15 in 1959. I went there because no one – myself included – had any idea what I might ‘do’ in the absence of any academic or vocational leanings. I had the idea that I might do something in printing, on the basis that I was ‘good with my hands’ — as the phrase then went. I took my folder of work along to the art school; was interviewed by the principal, Vincent Lines RA – a man with a great shock of red hair; and was accepted because of work I had done at home. ‘Printing’ was never mentioned again. I started a two–year course leading to the Intermediate Examination in Arts & Crafts – a much more thorough equivalent of the current one–year foundation course. My course covered the following:
1/
Life drawing
2/
Drawing from the life, i.e. drawing objects in the studio, or
drawing in the immediate environment of the town and seaside
3/
Composition—which always meant figure composition—carried out
in gouache, which we regarded (wrongfully, of course) as a cheaper and cleaner
form of oil paint (see Postlude on this)
4/
Lithography
5/
Etching
6/
Clay modelling
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| Figure studies. Pen and ink |
I've given the listing in more or less the hierarchy it took, yet
there was no sense that in working on 3/ through to 6/ you could forget about 1/
and 2/ – so that it held together
very well. Out of a staff of about five, two teachers worked nearly full time,
and were the mainstay of the teaching staff. Both of these teachers
had attended art schools similar to Hastings, and both were very good
draughtsmen. They were our principal life drawing teachers, and would
customarily make corrective drawings on the margins of our sheets. (These
‘illustrational’ drawings were done with full confidence.) With regard to the
practice of life drawing, in some senses a Renaissance model of excellence hovered before us (and to
some extent weighed on us). And yet what we were encouraged to emulate was a
model rather along Impressionist lines (as perhaps of Pissarro). So we were
generally taught to suggest form, rather than to produce
highly finished drawings indicating every muscle. (High finish and facsimile were capital sins in our book.) And this perhaps explains the oddity – conservatism aside – of an art school carrying on in 1959 as if the
revolutionary art of Picasso, Brancusi, Matisse, and the rest, had never been
produced. We were simply being taught – or guided towards – what it was possible
for us to comprehend and actually begin to do.
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| Box of screws in my father's workshop. Pen and ink |
On the question of the extent to which we were effectively taught,
I can only go on my own experience, because at the time the topic was never
raised… And my experience was that only one of the teachers at Hastings at that
time really had the gift of teaching: Donald Scott, or ‘Scotty’ as we called
him. If I could at this distance put into words the nature of this man’s
relationship to the materials of his craft and at the same time convey the
intonation of his voice and the characteristics of his bodily movements – then
we would have a new teaching! I’ll try a little: I remember how he would
somehow push or rub the pencil or Conté crayon over the surface of the paper,
accenting or outlining where necessary. (Quite different to the other life
teacher’s deliberation and close attention to form – which even so was a marvel in
its way.) It is not too much to say – I am sure that it’s true – that this man
taught me all that I needed to know and all that I could be taught. It was one
of those lucky accidents that I came across him at the right time – and perhaps
at the right age – because I have a sense that it would not have worked had I
been older. However, I really do not know about that.
So far, I have said nothing about the social and inspirational
aspect of the art school. It was, for all its provinciality, a lively place.
Some students came from other parts of the country—Wales and Norfolk, for
example – and I made some good friendships – even while experiencing all the
usual turmoil and doubts inseparable from teenage. And if our heroes were
principally the Impressionists (with whom we tended to lump Degas and Toulouse
Lautrec), yet it was exciting and genuinely inspiring – and it saved us from
the fate of immediate (and mostly very dull) local employment. The atmosphere
was wonderful too, of course, with all the paraphernalia of the studios, the
lithography and etching presses, the viscid printing inks, and so forth. What I
have said in the last paragraph is of course a kind of part answer to why I
think Hastings School of Art was valuable – at that time at least. However, on
the question of mediocrity, and the point of training or teaching so many
students whose work lacked – and would undoubtedly continue to lack – originality, well, I tend to have my doubts (and wondered about it at the back
of my mind at the time). Yet, if art schools are considered alongside schools,
colleges, and universities generally, is it not the case that a considerable
number of students are average? However, I have caught myself out there, because I would not
equate average with mediocre. And I suppose is the problem: we expect art students to either be very good or to show
more than a little promise – otherwise why sign up? The truth is hard – and I have to quote from memory, because I cannot trace the source (although I do know that it was written by one of the broadsheet critics in 2003): “Most artists have about five years good work in them; the rest is consolidation, a career.”
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| Lithography press. Pen and wash. 1960 |
The story of my art school days post–Hastings was not a
particularly happy one. For those students who passed the Intermediate, the
next step was usually to move to one of the larger art schools, in London or
one of the bigger cities. Students then had to choose a specialisation, which
at that time meant either painting or graphic design or illustration – the only
other option being silkscreen, as far as I remember. As with the original
decision to go to art school, I concurred with my teachers that I had better do
graphic design and illustration, because the prospects of earning a living as a
painter were bleak – as always! And certainly I was far too green for the
latter option, and would have floundered hopelessly. So I enrolled at
Camberwell (1961) on the graphics/illustration course. However, I hated it!
Moreover, I frittered much of my time
away miserably. (Why I never voiced my feelings, or the teachers never took me
to task, I cannot answer. I blame myself rather than my teachers, who were certainly
approachable and I am sure would have helped me. Nevertheless, things were
badly in need of being brought into
the open, and it simply did not happen.)
As far as the course was concerned, I do remember questioning what
we were doing – much more than I had at Hastings. With illustration in
particular, I remember wondering how you could possibly teach it (and I might
also have questioned why we were proposing to practice the dying art of illustration – children’s
book illustration apart – and who anyway, could have taught an Ernest Shepherd or a Quentin Blake?). Looking back, I think that a lot of us would have
been much happier if we had been able to continue with some of the media that
we had already been using in our foundation years. For example, had I been able
to continue with lithography – without any compulsion to think about illustration
or graphic design – I think I would have felt quite differently about things.
Others might have chosen etching and woodcutting, poster art, gouache (learning
the unique features of that medium), collage and photography, construction in
wood and metal. (Why, also, couldn’t we have done some oil painting without having to be
‘painters’?) And really I think it would have been much better for us if we had
hardly cared at all what we were going to do when we left. I don’t think it
would have made too much difference to most of us. Those who wanted to tailor
their work to the demands of the commercial studios could do so – everything
was at hand at the art school. Many took that course, though how many of those
survived for long in the highly pressured world of the 1960s graphic design
studios I wouldn’t like to say. Not too many I guess. This is not to say that
none of us were suited for such a life – a few seemed to thrive on it. But it
was a world away from our foundation course – and pretty well the diametric
opposite of all those ‘visions that hovered before us’ in the early days. So it
was confused and confusing, and I’m not sure that any of us quite knew where to
put our energies. I am not sure the teachers knew either, but it was hardly
anyone’s fault – we were all involved in a course for which there were no
textbooks…
I had nothing to do with the painters at Camberwell, but as far as
I remember, the concentration was on painting the nude. Moreover, students were taught in the William Coldstream manner – with a
great deal of attention paid to measurement, and with many weeks spent on a
single pose. Usually all the plumb lines and position–marking red Xs
would be left visible on the paintings. I make no comment on any of this.
Postlude
The Brassey Institute
Hastings School of Art was, until the late 1970s, situated above
the public library in the Brassey Institute. Thomas Brassey was a railway
entrepreneur and philanthropist who retired to Hastings and it seems that the
institute he founded was first called The Brassey Institute of Arts and
Sciences – which I would guess was established somewhere around 1900. I cannot
find much about it, but a website on Alfred Crocker Leighton, artist and
educator, gives the information that he was educated at the Brassey Institute
and the Royal College of Art. His dates are 1901–1965, so certainly the
institute was up and running by about 1917. I have a feeling that its history
would be very interesting, but fear there would be precious little to go on.
Gouache
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| Lamb bones, 1985. Gouache |
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