Art - Panderjam

Art

by Philip Evans

A hundred years ago when I was in my teens I went to an Art School in the evenings.

I could draw a bit, but the principal reason for my attendance was the hope of getting into the ‘life’ class, where I understood that a naked woman sat around while we students drew her.

In those day s the chances of seeing a naked woman was about as remote as seeing a policeman in the street in these modern times.

I never achieved my aim... The nearest I got was the ‘still life’ class where we drew vases of flowers, or apples and lemons in a bowl, which did not do a lot for a pubescent teenager.

Then, for some reason I have never been able to fathom, I was placed in the “Surrealist” class. I never understood what it was all about, except that it had something to do with the subconscious, and men with strange names like Dali and Magritte.

After one class the lady instructor told us to take a pad and pencil to bed with us, and the moment we awoke next morning, write down our waking thoughts

I ask you! A ripe teenager writing down my waking thoughts! What if my mother had seen it! I mean nowadays, nobody would take much notice- but in those days? I could have been arrested!

It put me off that entire modern art thing. Great big stones with holes in them, and the Dada Movement headed by people with names like Duchamp and Schwitters who made art collages from dustbins, tram-tickets and broken glass. And they are still at it, only now it’s called the “Turner Prize” Talk about the Emperor’s Clothes!

No I like a good old proper art in frames, with a bloke leading a horse and cart through a stream to a water mill.

All that Stuff gives me the Schwitters.

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