• cakesinthestaffroombrianmosesIt might be a bit suspect to go round taking photographs in school staff room toilets, but I had to get a picture of Brian Moses’s poem, Cakes in the Staffroom, that had been lovingly posted on the wall of the Robin Hood School Staff Toilet .

    This poem is the absolutely truth. There must be something about teaching that makes you crave cake and sugar and cream!

    I was treated to a lovely buffet lunch in the staff room, which culminated in the cakes, which had been baked by one of the staff, who’s name I forgot to get. ( I really am not a journalist.) Hidden under all the cream were sponge rolls, mini black forest gateaux style cupcakes and fruit jelly tarts. Scrumptious was the only word. All beaten by hand, no electric mixers involved, and in was obvious. The sponge was so light.

    My darling wife tells me you can’t make a cake by hand as well as you can my electric whisker, but I know differently. Once I made a Victoria Sponge Cake that I still dream of. All beaten by hand with a wooden spoon. I wish I knew what I did right that day. I do know that we have a useless oven that couldn’t cook a cake evenly if it tried. That doesn’t help.

    Anyway. The teachers went quite gooey when the cakes came out, and became quite animated when wine was mentioned, so I can say categorically, that Brian Moses has got teachers taped!robinhoodcakes

  • maypoleI had a wonderful day yesterday at Robin Hood School, Kingston Vale. I didn’t get a picture of the school. I was tired and forgot at the end of the day. It is a wonderful example of a 1950s school. I can imagine the original children lined up for their cod liver oil and orange juice before sitting around a sun lamp for five minutes to get their vitamin D. The very name of the school evokes the period. England was a little obsessed with Robin Hood and Chaucer and all things Olde Englande at the time.

    Tucked away in the corner of the gymn is a maypole! Beutifully made of what looks like beech, with a turned top – a real piece of craftsmanship and again, evocative of the time the school was built when England was full of historical pageants and a return to folk roots. I wonder what other interesting things lie hidden around the place? The Stage is wonderful, all curved lines and spirally staircases. On one wall outside, is a stone carving which looks as though it could be an Eric Gill or by one of his followers. Again, forgot to take a picture. I’m not a good Journalist. The school was in a beautiful setting. You would think you were out in the country.

    robinhoodmurallistIt was the school’s Arts Fortnight, organised by the tireless Deputy Head, Julie Smith. My name was added to the impressive list of authors and illustrators, who have previously visited the school, that is painted on the Arts Fortnight Mural that grows each year. It reads like a who’s who of children’s books. I feel honoured to join the list. You may notice Ricky Rocket floating along underneath one of Anthony Browne’s gorillas.

    The children had certainly done their homework on my website and seemed to know more about me then I did! Many thanks for a great day.

  • BP_Imagine_Mobile_208x208My darling wife went to the BP Portrait exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery, yesterday. She brought me the catalogue home for a present. While there are many pictures that I like, there are some that I just don”t get.

    They are photographs that are painstakingly recreated in oil paint on canvas. Why? I want to know who took the photo, after all they are the real portraitst. The painter is just the craftsman that reproduces the image that already exists. I can only think that it is an attempt to add value to a photo. You obviously feel you are getting your money’s worth when you get oil on canvas. After all, any idiot can take a photo, can’t they? Hang it on your wall and hear the oohs and aahs of appreciation. “Why!” your friends will exclaim. “That’s amazing – you’d think it was a photograph!” That’s because it is a photograph.

    When the camera relieved the artist of having to create realistic portraits for their customers, artists were free to experiment and interpret the world in their own way. This is how modern art came about. Picasso and Monet didn’t have to paint pictures that looked like anything anymore. They could have fun and paint pictures for the sake of painting them and for the sake of exploring the potential of art, to express themselves as creative artists, to explain the human condition.

    I’m in thrall to the camera and the realistic image as much as anyone else. I’d love to break away and draw freely like Quentin Blake, but something makes me want to make sure the image is recognisable and representative. Perhaps I should get over it and work at it.

    I’m an illustrator. I like to tell stories with my pictures. When I left art college I had a brilliant crit from the art department at The Radio Times. They said I made you want to turn the pages of my illustrations to find out what happens next. They needed one-off editorial illustrations that said everything in one image. They saved me a lot of time. “Go and see book publishers,” they told me. “Don’t waste your time with magazines and newspapers.”

    When I look at the portraits in the catalogue, the ones I like are the illustrations. The one’s that tell you about the person and their life. The paintings that make you want to know more.

    Slavishly copying a photograph so you can see every hair and stitch of the clothing with out an obvious brushmark says, “Don’t look at the person in the portrait, look at what a clever craftsman I am.” I’m not sure what that says about the human condition other than humans can be robots too.