Clearing my Dad’s Studio

A studio is a very special place. It’s an intensely personal and practical space, usually private. The focus is on functionality above all else and with that comes a particular aesthetic beauty. A temple to creativity; a limbic space where the potential is palpable; tangible in the atmosphere.

I remember watching Hartbeat each week with my father and sister. After we had watched Tony Hart, we all sat round the kitchen table and painted. 

My Dad would’ve been in his late 40s early 50s and he hadn’t touched any art materials since he was at school. This was the beginning of him becoming a hobby painter. Something he took increasingly seriously over the next years, especially after his early retirement; watching videos, taking courses, joining clubs and societies and buying lots of art equipment. Often he painted the same scene again and again, trying to refine his technique with incredible patience.

Going into my Dad‘s studio after his death was one of the most heartbreaking things I’ve done. Everything left as if he were about to return. The atmosphere and the smell heavy with his presence. Unfortunately he’s never going to return to his studio and all the projects, sketchbooks and the paints that were just squeezed out, have been waiting for a long time.

I still haven’t completely emptied the studio, but 3 car loads brought home all the finished work and most of the art materials. Sorting through the huge amount of work was so emotional, a task much bigger than I had anticipated. I was transported through my childhood, remembering him painting particular pieces, our family holidays documented. 

It’s incredible to chart the progress of his 30+ year art career through his paintings. He was absolutely at his peak in the 2000s, all those hours of practice showing. He was completely prolific and loved his involvement in local clubs, sometimes attending 3 different sessions a week.

After sorting through all the artwork and picking out what my sister and I wanted to keep, we had a small mountain of artwork left over. I wanted to share his work with those who knew him and so decided to put up an exhibition of his work at his Wake as my gift to him and celebration of the interest we shared.

He was a very modest man and would never have dreamed of putting on an exhibition of his work, although he did exhibit as part of societies and clubs. 

I could just hear him say “No don’t put that one out, nobody will want to see that one!” 

Getting all the work up on the wall in just 90mins before the church service was pretty stressful, especially when the venue forgot our booking and didn’t show up!  Luckily my brilliant family are well versed at putting on a show in a pinch and with four pairs of able hands we managed it. 

It was wonderful to share the work with the guests, many of whom featured in the scenes or were with him when he made preliminary sketches. Everyone was invited to take a piece home with them , I think my Dad would have been pretty chuffed to have his work enjoyed by friends and family- isn’t that the aim of all artists? And it means we don’t have piles of work sitting unseen in draws.

This process has made me think of my own archive. The quantity of what I am leaving behind, it’s made me be even more brutal with what I keep and what I throw away. Amassing stuff is a necessary part of being an artist, it’s how you improve, but I am happy to get rid of some of the evidence, for the space I get back in my plan chest!

So as I return to my own studio, I think of my dear Daddy also enjoying the buzz of a project, the excitement of creating something. I want to remember him purposefully pottering about in his cabin, the radio on, occupied for happy hours, cup of tea on the desk; as I do the same.

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