Serendipity

Two months ago I wrote this post about the recent Paul Nash exhibition. It had rave reviews (the exhibition, not my blog post, sadly) in the press. The general feeling was that at long last, Nash was receiving the recogition he deserved as one of the most significant British artists of the inter-war years.

Two days ago, I found this letter tucked away in a first edition of a novel called "Stanton" by Desmond Coke:

Stupidly, I hadn't noticed it when I was sorting through the books that had just arrived. It was only later, when someone said that they'd found a letter by someone called Paul Nash, that I realised what we had found.

In the letter, Nash praises Desmond Coke for his novel about life at a public school, but gently chides him for being too coy about the homosexual relationships that were common in that environment. Whether Coke read Nash's comments is uncertain. The letter is dated April 7th 1931; Desmond Coke's obituary appeared in The Times on April 28th.

I have contacted an auction house and at some point the letter will be up for sale. In the meantime, I'm enjoying being the temporary custodian of a piece of history.

Madness Visible

I have ranted on several occasions about vanity publishing, but perhaps I was wrong. Without self-publishing, the world would be denied an opportunity to read this book, which I found yesterday:

I've read the blurb several times and I'm still not sure what it's about, but perhaps I should let the author explain:

The idea for writing "Heritage and Nelson" was conceived by the realization that so much of our heritage is fast disappearing and once lost can never be regained. I can think of no better example of heritage than Nelson and his Captains combined with the strength of English oak. I have gone back to the times when rocks, mountains, seas, plants and creatures were born, for all these things have a bearing on our lives today. "Why?" you may ask "Go back to the mists of the beginning?" - because everything in nature is born.

Does that clear it up for you?

The book seems to be in three parts, beginning with a brief overview of the geological history of the earth, up to the birth of Lord Nelson. This neatly leads into the middle part of the book - a celebration of the life of Lord Nelson. However, the book's true purpose remains a mystery until we reach the third and final section, when it is revealed that "Heritage and Nelson" is actually all about the author, Les Winter:

Here are a few photos, with Les Winters' original captions:

"Les Winter in a very thoughtful mood while actually working on this book"

"The wall above the fireplace in the Nelson bar"

"Actor Producer John Neville and Les Winter share a joke on the bowling green"

"The author finds time to relax for a few moments with friends in the bar of "The Lord Nelson"

Enter "Mine Host"

As you can see, the book is a complete Winterfest.

"Heritage and Nelson" seems to imply that Les Winter is part of some apostolic succession of great Englishmen and, for all I know, perhaps he is, or was. The dustjacket blurb gives a brief biographical sketch of the author's life, mentioning that he is "dead keen" on natural beers, local archaeology, folk lore and nature, but manages to tell us very little about the man himself.

I suspect that he was a "character".

Self-published books are usually a poor imitation of professionally produced ones, but occasionally I come across ones like "Heritage and Nelson", which have a mad genius about them. They are the outsider art of the book world, possessing a unique vision that defies the conventionally accepted criteria of what constitutes a good book.

With the best will in the world, Les Winter has written an utterly absurd book, which probably should never have been published, but in another life it could have been a rip-roaring blog. It's a great pity for Les that he was born in 1920.

Something New

Many thanks to Richard at Grey Area for mentioning the show of work by the art students at Hastings Art College. I went yesterday and it was one of the best things I've seen for a long time.

It was really refreshing to see the work of people who hadn't become part of the system and while some pieces were quite derivative of artists like Grayson Perry, Tracy Emin and the Chapman brothers (who are Hastings alumni), there were others that had a very strong voice of their own.

But derivative or not, nothing I saw was boring.

I almost didn't go. My wife was given a new book to proof-read and needed a clear weekend to meet the deadline. I was on child duty. Was it really worth going if I had to drag two very reluctant boys with me?

In the end, my oldest son wasn't well enough to go and quarantined himself in cyberspace. I decided to take a chance with my younger son, hoping that he'd be have a slightly less jaded attitude towards anything that smacked of culture. To my surprise and delight, he loved the show. He was captivated by the sculptures and installations, laughed at the deliberately absurd pieces and described some works as "beautiful".

At four years old, my son had no idea what "art" was and treated the exhibition as a thing of entertainment and wonder. Having him with me actually enhanced the experience.

Here's a selection of the range of exhibits on display:



For some reason, this was my son's favourite, although he was also very taken with the exhibits in this room:

Later, during some fish and chips on the seafront, my son went into a reverie. I asked him what he was thinking and he replied "I'm imagining what fun I would have if I was at the place where they make things."



I've always liked the more traditional equestrian clothing, but I think I could get used to these.


These are five separate frames, with a depth of more than ten feet between the first and the last. As you can see, viewed from the front they form a whole.

This is one of a series of cheeky illustrations that use quotations from Shakespeare.

I really liked the way the work was exhibited and loved the building, which has beautiful sea views like this:

The college will shortly be moving to a new purpose built building, so this was my first and last visit to the Archery Road campus.

Finally, I came to the display of work by Richard's Graphic Communications students:

I loved this and really want to get hold of one - I'm going to make enquiries. Being a true hypocrite, I went shopping at Tesco this afternoon. I feel dirty now, and not in a good way either.


Eat your heart out, John Hinde. These postcards are better than anything you'll see on sale at the gift shops and tourist information centres.

I was very impressed with these jacket designs for four dystopian classics. I trust that they would get the thumbs-up from James, at Caustic Cover Critic.



Without the cultural baggage and self-importance of the "art world", this exhibition was fresh, funny and fearless. It did everything that art should do, but so often fails to once it has become labeled and commodified. That doesn't mean that everything in it was brilliant, but even in the less impressive works - the sub-Tracy Emin canvases or the imitation Grayson Perrys - there was still an authentic voice.

It's a great pity that this exhibition lasts for only a few days before disappearing into the ether. What will happen to these students? How many of them will be able to make a living from their talents, particularly in our new austere financial climate? With funding for the arts under a greater threat than ever, the outlook seems bleak.

But art always seems to thrive during difficult times, when people need it more than ever. So perhaps, after the rather depressing era of Brit Art and silly money, we are about to enter a golden age.

Justified and Ancient

There are days when I wonder why I'm spending such a large chunk of my short life in a job that pays so little. But apart from the obvious reasons, there are books like these that make it all worthwhile:

Somebody found it this morning, while they were unloading a delivery of dusty crates in the warehouse. It doesn't look much on the outside and at first glance, the inside isn't particularly promising:

It's an old Bible. We get hundreds of them every month and they're rarely worth any money, even if they're two hundred years old. But as soon as I started reading the text, I knew that there was something special about this book. Then I found this:

I have never held a book that's 420 years old before. Everyone in the office had a David Attenborough moment, talking in hushed voices, as if a normal volume would cause the pages to turn to dust.

It even has music (or should that be sweete musick?):

And in another section, published the following year, there's one of several beautiful woodcuts:

I might work too many hours and the money is dreadful, but I would be loath to turn my back on a job that provides moments like these.