{"id":1310,"date":"2022-08-20T16:46:01","date_gmt":"2022-08-20T16:46:01","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/?p=1310"},"modified":"2022-08-20T16:46:06","modified_gmt":"2022-08-20T16:46:06","slug":"paintings-of-the-mind","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/paintings-of-the-mind\/1310\/","title":{"rendered":"Paintings of the Mind"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Your two-up two-down is in a row of terraces on a scratch of land between Manchester and Stockport: a molehill overlooked by high-rise concrete. A secret pleasure is flicking through channels while he\u2019s out at his club. A hundred stations yet nothing on. Then you are held by a figure, grey hair, less a face than a tombstone resting on a neck. An air of gravitas in that stony apparition. You pay attention.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The figure, well-spoken, a smoker\u2019s cough like brown smog, is talking about his \u2018artistic evolution\u2019. The Slade, the teachers and influencers, the bohemian friends: names are dropped like Pollock paint splashes. A commitment all his years to art and sculpture; up at six a.m., seven days a week. He mentions the well-off family he\u2019d rebelled against. They\u2019d come round when fame\u2019s sprig had bedecked him. He could afford to rebel, of course. Opportunities in his palm like a purse of ducats.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

            As he speaks, you sense your own past being laid bare before you like some nude on a canvas. You want to avert your eyes from it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            His art philosophy? \u2018Fearlessness,\u2019 he says. He\u2019d been vilified when young. Gradually his \u2018hideous\u2019 creations had been discovered to be \u2018of value\u2019, \u2018unique\u2019, \u2018treasures of the nation\u2019.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            You too have a collection of pictures. For decades you\u2019ve refused to look at them. Now reluctantly you do so. Item one: teenage pleasure. A scholarship at eighteen, in early sixties London, and three months where you learn about the craft, your potential, yourself. Ripples outwards of understanding on existence\u2019s surface. Item two: the sorrowful mother, careworn features, widow\u2019s weeds, bony fingers held out in suppliance. Item three: the funeral train back to Manchester; your father\u2019s death is your own. The bright future is now a corpse, the carriage a coffin taking it to its burial. Item four: the grind. \u2018I can\u2019t support you any more,\u2019 your mother is saying. \u2018I need you at home.\u2019 You start work in an office, you know you will never paint again, you meet a young man, pleasant, unimaginative. He\u2019ll do. He won\u2019t remind you of what you\u2019ve lost. Item five: the present, work done, children grown, retirement amongst the slovenly and ugly.     <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            He was at the Slade the year after you. No summons home for him. They were probably glad to see his back, an independent-minded adolescent. You hear wisdom in his voice, a take on life that is individual, perhaps shaped by his unthwarted creative instinct. Someone who has discovered how to unpick those fetters of restraint. Do you admire him?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            You turn off the tv. The bare walls of your thimble-small sitting room now display the five framed life-studies. They will never come down, they will stare at you until your mortal departure. When he returns from the club, he will not notice them, he will not ask you what is on your mind. He never does. You will get up at six a.m. tomorrow and look at them. And look. And look.  <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Your two-up two-down is in a row of terraces on a scratch of land between Manchester and Stockport: a molehill overlooked by high-rise concrete. A secret pleasure is flicking through channels while he\u2019s out at his club. A hundred stations yet nothing on. Then you are held by a figure, grey hair, less a face […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"rop_custom_images_group":[],"rop_custom_messages_group":[],"rop_publish_now":"initial","rop_publish_now_accounts":{"facebook_10158782359051062_103813597863211":"","twitter_1225722811282530305_1225722811282530305":""},"rop_publish_now_history":[],"rop_publish_now_status":"pending","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[597,646],"tags":[8,20,72],"class_list":["post-1310","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-597","category-august-2022-envy","tag-he","tag-his","tag-your"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pbrNJE-l8","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1310","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1310"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1310\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1312,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1310\/revisions\/1312"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1310"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1310"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.swanseawriterscircle.co.uk\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1310"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}