Moonlight and the Loch

Keith McAllister

Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

I have always been fascinated with the idea of painting something from a night scene. After seeing a few fantastic paintings of moonlight landscapes created so brilliantly by artist friends of mine I thought it was high time I had a go.

The challenge was to paint something from imagination/memory based on nothing much more than an idea taken from an old fishing trip I took on the Isle of Lewis, Outer Hebrides, many years ago. I remembered a lovely Loch that sat secluded high in heather-covered mountains far from the rest of the world. And I thought of how lonely and quiet it would feel at night lit by a bright full moon, and then the inspiration to paint set in.

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Finding some old snapshots from my trip proved largely fruitless but I was not detoured as I concluded that not painting solely from my imagination would be the wrong course of action, and any reference material would probably hinder the result rather than be of any great help. Many a time photographic reference material can make the resulting paintings seem stale and lifeless if they are relied upon too heavily.  I love photography, but I know too well from years of experience that photos often need to be shelved before you sacrifice the ‘feel’ of a painting in favour of a faithful rendition of what was already a perfectly adequate photograph. With this way of thinking I often prefer to work from sketches and hope I took the time to be walking around with a pencil and paper when it comes to painting a scene retrospectively. Once again, in this particular case, the sketchbook did not exist either and I was left with a 20” X 30” blank canvas with no frame of reference other than an image locked in my head. I carried on undeterred.

The fact that I did not catch anything in this particular loch during my fishing only tainted the pleasure of painting the scene if I dwelt on the little fact too long. So, I ignored that rather completely and started blocking out large sections of the canvas to get rid of the large expanse of white as quickly as possible. Without killing this bleached-out background no judgement of tone or colour could be made reliably and so it became a frantic washing over the primer with Burnt Umber and Indigo in a blur of large brushes until I could highlight the moonlight and start building form out of the darkness.

Even if I say so myself the water came out nicely in this painting. It was done quickly and effectively by blotching the canvas with flat-head brushes in a staggered horizontal approach and highlighting the reflected moonlight where appropriate. It probably took less than an hour to render and I was very pleased with the final aesthetic. However, the battle between subtle definition and ignorable detail made the distant hills a bit of a battle. Too much either way would either make them stand out too much or make them completely unremarkable.

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In the end the battle of having everything to look at but nothing in particular became a real balancing act. I did not particularly want to attract all the attention to any one part of the painting but rather that the landscape would be appreciated as a whole and employ the feeling of peace and tranquillity. Offering a little sense of movement to the water and scattered light omitting I just wanted the lonesome melancholy of a hidden loch away from everywhere and silent.

Adversely I struggled to photograph the painting properly when it was finished, for my records, and still think the picture-of-the-picture is too contrasted in the process. The original work has a nice dull finish and is far more subtle in tonal variation, so the camera has come back to haunt me again. Anyway, if you want to go see the painting it is at a gallery in Wiltshire, so just contact Guy at The Smithy guy@thesmithy.gallery

www.kmcallister.co.uk

 

 

 

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British Deer in Oil Colour

 

It has been a long time since I took a stab and painting British wildlife again. This is primarily due to my belief that perhaps my landscape paintings of the UK fall second best to my renditions of my beloved East Africa. I have always struggled with the swapping out of colours and techniques that would make a convincing rendering of willow, oak and bracken rather than acacia trees and sweeping horizons in tropical sunlight. However, recently I think I have managed a bit of progress with this adaptation.

Keith McAllister

‘Memories of October’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

In truth I have lived in the UK now longer than I have in Kenya and Zaire (DR of Congo) but it has still taken a while to get the light and colours just right on my painting pallet. Added to this it has also taken a fair number of miles trekking through forests and along fenland walkways to get an idea of what the landscape is capable of in different light, and one that is far softer at times than that I was used too. In these landscape scenes pinks and reds bleed into setting sunlight and dappled light falls as slowly as the rain through pine trees to the bracken below in the early hours of winter mornings. And this is what I had to get used to and somehow translate into linseed oil.

In the autumn following the rutting deer is a spectacle more people should take the time to observe. Watching mature Fallow Stags competing with one another and assuming their platforms is a sight to behold. Getting into position to observe this spectacle out of sight and causing minimal disturbance, and trying to get the wind right too, is a bit a trick but well worth the effort. Arriving before the forest awakens and witnessing the cold soft dawn light permeate slowly through the frost is miraculous.

Keith McAllister

‘Summer Jac’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

Contrasting the winter walks in forests is walking along the farmland on summer evenings and watching Muntjac break into a clearing as they dwell along the waterways in East Anglia and thrive. Many a late afternoon is filled with sightings or, at the very least, hearing their barks near my residence in a little village just outside Cambridge.

I painted ‘Summer Jac’ in tribute to these little dear, who originated in China and were introduced to the British Countryside over a century ago. They are now so commonplace that they can be considered as ‘ours’ now too.

There are six deer species now considered to be part of our national wildlife and only two are indigenous, strictly speaking. Roe Deer and Red Deer have been part of British Wildlife from the offset and enjoy healthy populations through England, Wales and Scotland to this day. Follow Deer did live on our mainland at one stage but became extinct naturally before their reintroduction many centuries ago, giving them a unique status amongst our deer species. But the new comers to the UK are Reeves Muntjac (from China), Chinese Water Deer (self-explanatory) and Sika Deer (from Japan). Although the original Muntjac species brought over by Mr Reeves was of an Indian variety they were considered too aggressive as lawn deer on our country estates and so the Chinese muntjac was adopted, and later became wild.

Keith McAllister

‘Meadow’s End’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

There is great pleasure to be had looking at British Wildlife and I look forward to getting on to painting foxes, pheasants and birds soon enough. However, sometimes the landscape stands up on its own without the need for a deer, or any animal for that matter, depicted walking across the foreground. Anyway, I will keep at it and hope you enjoy the results thus far.

Keith McAllister

‘Winter Fen’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

 

www.kmcallister.co.uk

 

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A Place Called Peace

Alex Walker’s Serian, Maasai Mara

Big Country

‘Big Country’ original oil painting by Keith McAllister

The warn path was lit dimly by the soft flicker from the many lanterns leading away from the dinning tent. Discretely escorted by the watchman my wife and I walked hand in hand towards our enormously luxurious tent and where the bush opened up to the waterfront we were left to safely proceed into seclusion.

Clare went to potter about the open-sided safari style tent as I retired onto the wooden platform, to assume a position of being comfortably suspended in a deck chair. I reached for my old pipe and lit the tobacco, watching the plume of smoke drift southward along the corridor of the river. In this part of the sanctuary almost every part of the Mara River is channeled by steep banks leading down to the hippos and crocodiles but here the lawn led straight down to the water’s edge to form part of our own private garden for the few days we were in camp. Alone but for the sound of the river rushing across the boulders on the bend, we settled down to the first couple of days as man and wife.

The first time I heard of Serian Lodges was through a visit from Alex Walker and wildlife photographer Mike Hax as they came through London. I had just started working for Anderson Wheeler and had moved my paintings across from Holland & Holland to the new showroom in Shepherd Market. Alex and Mike came by and we all bailed out to the local pub and closed up the gun-room for the evening. The result was a great afternoon of sharing ideas and information about our respective professions all based around wildlife and safaris. Before the evening was out Alex and I were getting on like a pair of old troopers and he invited me down to Serian as an open invitation and to feel free to decorate the place with wildlife paintings if I felt so inspired. In the years that followed I kept this invitation in the back of my mind and when planning a honeymoon I sent a message to Alex and was welcomed with open arms.

On a fine morning Clare and I landed at Jomo Kenyatta Airport and organised a taxi across town in the early hours, heading towards Wilson Airport to catch a connecting flight down to the Mara. The eastern skyline was beginning to glow and people were already starting their daily commutes to work. All the sights and sounds so reassuringly familiar to me, from the years of previous residency in Nairobi, brought a comfort more heart-warming than that received in the soft tingle of light from the struggling sunrise. I love this part of the world in all its glory and grime, from the snow caps of Mount Kenya to the dust of Kibera, it is all so much a part of what molded me.

Musing over the early Nairobi dawn I noticed my wife had fallen asleep and left the overseeing of the taxi ride to me. As a person who un-enviably can never sleep on planes, trains or automobiles it made sense to leave me on watch.

After some initial confusion we eventually scrambled into the correct hangar to await our flight. I was, however, bemused by the fact that this little airport had become so overgrown during the years which had lapsed since my last visit. Private charter companies of every catchy name imaginable plastered their slogans above every door and along the sides of corrugated walls. And as the morning came into bloom we were finally whisked off into the cotton clouds and edged the city to pass over open miles of scrub and grasslands to the west. The sun-baked earth beneath was featured with small circular manyatas (a collection of huts) and cattle trails. These scars scratched and marked the land as the city became nothing more than a memory in a sleep deprived haze. As the light became keener so did my eagerness to attend every detail and reawaken my senses with my beloved Kenya.

OITO

‘Out in the Open’ original oil painting by Keith McAllister

Animals could be seen across the spotted plains as we descended towards the conservancy just outside the Maasai Mara National Park and I was keen to see how my wife was responding to all the spectacle of such natural beauty. I looked across the fuselage only to notice Clare had fallen asleep again, like a narcoleptic Kathryn Hepburn discovering the wilds of Africa through the backs of her eyelids.  Leaning over I shook her arm, smiled and pointed past her at the landscape below.

“Look!”

She sprang to life and from that moment never stopped marveling at the wonders of this great wilderness over the remaining six days in the bush.

After landing on the dusty bush-style airstrip we were taken on a short game drive back towards the luxury camp. We had a chance to familiarize ourselves with the Toyota Land Cruiser and quickly establish where the drinks were stored. After cracking open a cold Tusker beer I sat back and let the sharp morning sunlight bite my skin and become soothed by the cool breeze. There were wildebeest, impala, zebras and elephant all within glancing distance as we settled down to safari life.

As a wedding present to myself I had purchased a little mirrorless Sony Alpha 7, which could take advantage of my old manual Nikon lenses I had long since thought retired. It took a bit of fiddling about but to my delight it all looked like it had survived the journey and was ready for the days ahead. I soon discovered that the staff at Serian take a tremendous amount of consideration of their guests, when I spotted a couple of purpose made sandbags neatly placed on the iron roll-bars. These make every photographer’s life easier as they are as stable as any tripod and far less awkward to manoeuvre. I placed an old 100-500mm lens at the ready and soon remembered how much I hated carrying the lens around, as it weighs as much as a Sherman Tank.

Clare was blown away by the wildlife found in every direction while I was content with a bottle of suds and affording the oportunity of discovering the capabilities of my new little camera. Content with our individual entertainments we gently bumped and swayed over the terrain.

Once we were finally within walking distance of camp, we had to cross the infamous rope bridge that transcends the width of the rushing Mara River.  Below unsteady feet the great torrent froths angrily at the rocks and boulders it has to navigate, but the swell sounds like nothing more than a soothing backdrop in a riverine paradise once safely on the other side. As I saw Clare crossing with the porters carrying her luggage on their heads I despaired at having packed my camera away as the picture of this would have served well in compounding my Hepburn analogy. It is an image that will stay with me none the less.

Roisin met us in camp and was our host during our stay. A more hospitable and gracious hostess cannot be found, I assure you. Every wish and desire was pandered to. Although, I must say, the magical Ngare Serian takes all agitation immediately away from you and any reasonable requirement already anticipated. Cold drinks, warm water, clean sheets, beautiful food, camp fires and kerosene lamps, vales of mosquito nets and four poster beds, private rooms with wrap around wooden decking and a bath you could fit a walrus in, are all offered as a home away from home.

warthogs

Warthog study, oil on canvas by Keith McAllister

Serian is a Maasai word for peace, and Serian Luxury Camps are split in two with Ngare Serian being the more secluded and intimate of the two. We were now in the most peaceful part of Eden as we settled in and drank some sparkling wine before lunch was served in the main tent. This was our first day on honeymoon and all we could think to do was sit down and drift into a contended half slumber, happy to be far from the stress that had been akin to a white wedding. Although it had been a glorious occasion we could not have been farther from it when banked safely in the warmth of Serian.

Soon enough however we had been fully fed and were back in the vehicle with James Kipetu, our trustworthy guide and companion, taking every effort to make our safari experience one to remember. A more knowledgeable guide would be very hard to find and we both felt fortunate to have a walking encyclopedia and experienced driver at hand.

With Kipetu at the helm we had breakfasts and dinners in the Mara North Conservancy and spent less and less time back at the camp. After game drives that ran into the evening, we would be met with freshly made hot chocolate and escorted to our bedroom only to be up and out again in the early mornings encouraged by Kipetu’s ability to find us everything from lions to aardvarks. He was good humoured and made sure we were happy and content at every occasion while keeping our impact on the landscape to a minimum. Fastidiously tidy and not prone to being reckless he made sure we left places as we found them, unpacking and packing plates and cutlery, food and drinks, and running the Land Cruiser like a well-disciplined ship over a sea of golden grasses and mottled shrubs. Tirelessly he captained our little party across dozens of square miles, stopping to glass the horizon for big cats and any of the Big Five.

One evening Roisin suggested that we spend the night at ‘the tree house.’ Kipetu dutifully met us behind the dinning tent with a spear in hand and walked us along the embankment towards the lofty double bed and little platform overlooking a clearing along the riverside. He also carried a flashlight and I had asked him to bring one of the fishing rods the camp has tucked away. Trying my luck in the chocolate coloured swirl I soon determined that my time in Zanzibar would more likely be a place to find successful fishing experiences, and left dreams of big fish to the latter half of the honeymoon. With every cast my confidence in likely success ebbed and my attentions redirected upon the many hippopotamuses found within walking distance.

We stayed the night at the tree house as suggested, with Kipetu sleeping in a nearby tent in case of any emergency. Darkness descended and the hippos ascended, out of the water and milled around some 15 feet beneath our bedding. We could shine our torches on to their scratched hides as they foraged. For a couple of minutes we even watched a Genet Cat appear beside a bush to our right. It was all rather magical and crowned by the fact that the sun rose across the opposite bank in the morning and from our elevated line of sight we could see the whole landscape evolve into morning.

One fine morning we ventured into the main game park and waited patiently for a chance to witness the hordes of wildebeest struggle across the flowing river. Time and again Kipetu got us in perfect position but the animals did not venture the crossing and we eventually came home without witnessing this natural wonder; such is safari. I was apologetic to my wife, as I had seen these crossings before, but she was utterly delighted with the day’s events and could not find disadvantage. Kipetu, on the other hand, had fallen silent, probably expecting us to be disappointed in some way. We tried in vain to lift his spirits and eventually resigned to distraction tactics.

“Find us a leopard,” was the challenge set, as if the poor man had not already excelled himself with prowling lions, feeding cheetahs, mating lions, cheetah cubs, aardvarks and a dozen other trump cards.

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‘With Intent’ original oil painting by Keith McAllister

This ‘leopard game’ lasted the remainder of the trip and was the greatest adventure, as it lead us to the most remote and secluded corners of the conservancy. I knew from years of playing this particular game that the chances of success are less than remote. Even though we were setting poor Kipetu up for a likely fail he seemed to feed off of our inexhaustible willingness to at least try, and the three of us had many a laugh at the hundreds of leopard-shaped bushes one often finds in pursuit of this most illusive panther. Let me warn those of you that do not know this game that Panthera Pardus eventually becomes better known to most holiday makers as Panthera Vicious-rumour.

Some years previously I took my brother-in-law to Kenya and we found two leopards, and in two different game parks, within a couple of days of each sighting. However, I must point out to those of you anticipating a safari to Kenya in the near future, that this is indeed a rare achievement. The fact that I also saw a Black Rhino in Nairobi National Park only a few hours before picking him up from the airport and then went on to tick off the rest of The Big Five in one ten day safari is rarer still.

As the game was continually played we often stopped in quiet thickets with the engine of the vehicle turned off and just sat basking in silence, staring at Topi, Zebra and Buffalo until they grew less curious and fed quietly all around us.

Searching with his binoculars he would then turn around and say, “perhaps we should try over there?” pointing to a far off outcropping in the collection of stunted trees. At the suggestion the vehicle would spark into life and off we went in search of old Chui (the Swahili word for leopard).

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‘Defiance’ original oil painting by Keith McAllister

The three of us also managed to fit in a visit to town to walk around the local market under the midday sun, when any sensible leopard would be held up in thickets and out of the heat. Another distraction was offered when I told Roisin that I particularly appreciated the chef’s chapatttis and could never manage making them competently back home. I was then invited to the camp kitchen to learn the necessary techniques from the camp chefs who never failed in delivering the most wonderful meals to us, whether in camp or when picnicking in the bush. This was tremendously good fun and serves as another example of how willing everyone at Serian is at accommodating your interests.

Every minute of our time at Serian was filled with wonderful experiences. Offering words in Swahili and Maasai as they came to me from the recesses of patchy memory would usually result in laughter amongst the staff and the feeling of comradory and good humour really made it hard to leave when our time had eventually lapsed. However, it had to all come to an inevitable end and it was eventually time to head onward to Stonetown, Zanzibar.

Without ever finding our leopard we headed slowly back to the runway and said our goodbyes to Kipetu, promising to meet each other again and to stay in touch. It was genuinely sad to say goodbye to so many wonderful people who had been so hospitable to us.

The days had gone by slowly, full of excitement and luxurious comforts. It was fantastic to honeymoon in a place cherished in childhood, as I think it helped explain to my wife in some part why her husband sometimes stares absently at the horizon longing to see elephants and roaming lions in places where none are to be found. I can see them if a let my imagination return to places like these; I can make a wilderness out of barren landscape if I just drift far enough through memory.

‘Before The Rain’ original oil painting by Keith McAllister

 

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Lake Albert: The Ugandan Side

Painting of a Bushbuck

‘In The Silent Places’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

I remember clambering down the ridge in the back of a beat-up Land Rover and making our way slowly to the valley floor. The land opened up and the way became clearer and less leisurely as we started speeding up towards the lodge. Turacos had submitted territory to the Weaver Birds as the land turned from forest to brush and savannah. And Ugandan Kob and Oiribi became commonplace sightings in the growing shadow, cast from by cliffs in the late afternoon. To the west the land fell once more and landed on the shores of Lake Albert.

That was then, and I preferred the ruggedness.

Now the mountains have been blasted away and the tarmac road cuts its formidable impression all the way to the lake’s edge. Trucks and bulldozers sputter and jolt, or lay idle, where once there were only pockets of trees in a sea of humming grass, aroused in the evenings by the gentle breeze. The herds of wildlife have learned of heavy machinery and some of the romance has been scarred; a black mark on a once tranquil and forgotten land. And why?

OIL!

It is progress for Uganda and the finance ministers, but I still preferred the peace and quiet I found in my first visit to Kabwoya.

The commotion will not last forever and the tarmac road might look more at home when the workmen stop tampering it into the soft red soil and the antelope use it as an exaggerated game trail. Hopefully the traffic will be light and the buffalo will go back to their perpetual attitude of indifference.

*             *             *

I grabbed the rifle and jumped into the open-top Land Rover. We headed out into the silence and cut the engine where the land rolled gently on the escarpment. The land here was not yet in the shadow of the late afternoon and the Kob idled across the plain feeding as they went.

Resting the rifle on my shoulders I stepped out of the vehicle and felt so much at home for someone just passing through, again.

There is something so very awakening about walking through the bush with a rifle shouldered, and being equipped with a good hunting knife and well-worn boats. None of it is necessary, of course, as I could walk through this land un-armed in a tailored suit if I wanted to. The only thing to worry about is Nile Buffalo and running out of water, and both can be avoided with a little bit of forward thinking.

buffalo sketch

The first time I ever set foot on the soils of Kabwoya the earth felt more solid than it was expected to. After an international flight, a few days loafing around Kampala and a few hours of rocking around in a 4X4 the ground seemed low and firm, and the brittle grass crunched underfoot. It was well worth the journey from London to get there. I had the same old boots, knife and rifle then as I had now and it was so much less familiar on first encounter and the magic had yet to fade into expectation. It was all so apparent and immediate at first that I could never imagine it ever becoming faded by my understanding of it. Unfortunately, however, I have started to know it more acutely, and though it is not less appreciated, it has retreated to the background, and stretched to the horizon, and become an expanse to wander through unnoticed.

Now, the rifle is light on the shoulder and less comforting than before, and sometimes I leave it in the vehicle to venture out short distances without its burden. I used to arm myself to the teeth with spare ammunition, enough to start a small scale war. But over time I have just reached for the rifle and left three bullets parked in the magazine, with an empty barrel and chamber to face skyward. There is really no need for anything more than that. It is too light to stop a charging buffalo at any rate, and is, for me, just part of the romance of walking through the African bush.

When the land was first gazetted as a wildlife concession and Lake Albert Safari Lodge was first built, there were only a few hundred animals, of varying species, held up in reassess in the landscape. Now, without the harassment from herds of cattle and poachers’ snares, there are literally thousands of antelope and almost one hundred buffalo residing in the reserve. All paid for by hunting and tourism, proving that wildlife conservation still has its success stories.

The Nile Bushbuck, which can be seen on the borderlines of clumps of trees and bushes, are stunningly beautiful, the Kob and Oribi litter the open grasslands, and the warthog and duiker fill the gaps in between. Jackson’s hartebeest take to the higher ground near the escarpment and baboons patrol every mile they feel the need to. It is a safe haven for all of these animals and home to hundreds of species of birdlife. It is a little bit of Classic Uganda contained in a few hundred square miles.

At sun down I sit on the Land Rover and face the distant mountains across the lake, which belong to the borderlands of the Congo. I can see where I grew up. Well, I can see the land’s relief in the setting sun, and imagine which peaks and troughs of the hillside might hide Bunia or Bagoro, or where the flat lake shore might support the old docks at Kasenyi.

At these times, my ‘hunting’ knife is unsheathed and used as nothing more than a bottle opener and I take a loving draw on a bottle of CLUB or NILE SPECIAL beer, depending. The world spins unnoticed and the afternoon softens to amber. No worries to be had here.

warthogs

Warthog study, oil on canvas by Keith McAllister

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A Very African Portrait

Oil Painting of a little boy in Malawi

‘On Malawi’s Floor’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

Basil Hallward:

“…… every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself.”

Oscar Wilde,
The Portrait of Dorian Grey

oil painting of a young african boy

‘Littel Boy’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

The Affair

It was Mwangi!

pencil drawing of a maasai

Pencil Sketch by Keith McAllister

My first introduction to the great African writers was Meja Mwangi. I was handed a copy of one of his books while in northern Kenya, and it had been borrowed from a secondary school library in Baragoi. The title was ‘The Cockroach Dance’.
I kept the book close by through a few adventures in that area of Kenya, but it was referred to with regularity. When things went wrong, as they often tended to, my friend and I would pledge a quote from the book and say aloud, “one day we need to get organized!”

a painting of samburu tribesmen watering their cattle

‘Watering The Cattle’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

A few years later I was in Addis Ababa and found a book by Abbie Gubegna to add to my collection. I blatantly got robed on the price but it was still nice enough to be sat by the roadside and fussed over by the enthusiastic stall owner. Perhaps a memorable experience might just be worth all the daylight robbery it can afford – call it sensationalism.
“Don’t worry just wait!” the owner kept pleading with me from behind his piles of books. He was going through the volumes of fiction and resource material written in Amharic, trying to find anything in English. “Do you read French….?” He held up some paperback over his head, but then shoved it back in the mix when I laughed and said “No!”
Suddenly there appeared two novels in English, and both from neighbouring stalls. The price stickers had quickly been removed and he was now on commission. So I half heartedly bartered a few Birr off of the opening price and settled for the dusty, dog eared, previously left-out-in-the-rain copy of ‘Defiance’.
It is a story about some individual courage at the time of the attempted occupation in Addis Ababa by El Duce and the Italian Army. So I thought it would be a good place to start reading Ethiopian literature.

Addis had been pouring with rain all weekend and the roadside gullies were streaming with the overflow of running water. You had to take a running jump to start crossing the road and then hope not to collide with someone vaulting the other way, or land in front of a ‘blue devil’ taxi or two. Luckily the under-powered little cars rarely exceeded 20mph so you could get a good break in the traffic and make a dash for it.
When the rain got too much, and started soaking me through, I stopped at one of the many thousands of coffee houses in the city and waited out the worst of it.
The day before I had been to the Holy Trinity Cathedral and it was then that the rain was at its heaviest. Between the cathedral, and the little Haile Selassie Museum behind it, I managed to stay quite dry. Looking at the old 15th century manuscript written in Geez (the equivalent of what Latin is to English, spoken before Amharic) I heard the prayers over loudspeakers outside. It was a monthly religious celebration from what I understood and many people were out in the rain praying against the doors of the church and cathedral.
It was on the walk up to the main Ethiopia National Museum and the exhibition of Richard Leakey’s beloved Lucy when I got soaked through and started feeling the cold. So, after some further looking around, I managed to get back to my hotel for a hot bath before hitting the bar, warm and in fresh clothes.

Even before my knowledge of Chinua Achebe and my trip to Nigeria, there had been Mwangi. A lot of people rave about Achebe’s Things Fall Apart, and rightly so, but a first love carries on the longest in memory, so Mwangi became my shaman in the world of great African writers. For me he opened my eyes to a Kenya I had long suspected to exist. After living in Nairobi for around nine years, as a boy and early teen, however, it still had eluded me.

painting of a mother and baby

‘First Christmas’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

His books were the first I knew about life as an African in Africa. The rest I knew of Africa in printed form was from journals written by western explorers, hunters or seasoned journalists. It was an ignorance to assume Africa had no voice of its own.

Since leaving behind the childhood spent in the Ituri Region, of then Zaire, Africa had become full of hotels, restaurants, international schools and long vacations. We had moved to Kenya and for me it was just beautiful, safe and censored.

What if this love affair with Africa had never even started? Where would I be and what would I be doing? It is to imagine someone very different.

painting of turkana children

‘….And My Little Brother’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

painting of Maasai

‘The Old Man Says…’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

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The Joy of Painting Cheetahs

 

Painting of a Cheetah

‘The Elegant Killer’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

If you are lucky enough to observe a cheetah successfully hunt then you will most likely see too that moment of vulnerability which proceeds immediately thereafter. For the triumphant cheetah there comes a moment of realization, admitting that the commotion was likely to be seen by opportunists. The delicately built cat is now at the mercy of hyenas, vultures, jackals, storks, hunting dogs, leopards and lions. The cheetah will scour the horizon looking to see if it can feed in peace, and for likely how long, all the while breathing deeply to pull oxygen back into its overheating muscles.

sketch of a cheeta

Pencil sketch by Keith McAllister

I once saw a big female cheetah tear into a herd of Thompson’s Gazelle and quickly down one of them. This particular cat sat with a beautiful ‘S’ shaped figure while it recovered. She sat looking off into the distance, with the sun’s dying light turning her to a lovely cool blue colour. It was this moment that I wanted to capture forever on canvas. She was painted as faithfully as I could recreate her in the original oil painting entitled The Elegant Killer.

To my way of thinking, cheetahs are among the more beautiful of Africa’s top predators. Taking second place only to the leopard (again in my own opinion) they are a joy to observe while on an African Safari. The fact that they remain most active in daylight is also a great convenience to those wishing to observe them getting on with their natural behaviour. Lions, for example, are much less cooperative and tend to laze away the majority of the day.

Unfortunately it is because of the fact that they are diurnal that they are constantly harassed by us, and this stress has resulted in behavioural changes in crowded game reserves and even a drop in population in some instances. They are a difficult animal to manage. The money generated from tourism helps protect their numbers in these game conservancies but they are one of the animals most affected by our presence, if we encroach on their terrain in any great number.

Oil painting of a cheetah

‘Lady Killer’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

Every time I see cheetahs in the wild I enjoy the experience and I doubt whether that will ever change. In equal measure I enjoy drafting them out in pencil or charcoal on black canvas. I know from the off that there is always a tremendous amount of work involved in completing paintings of cheetahs. The trick is to paint the spots into the fur, not as if they are solid features stuck onto the cheetah, but rather that they appear as soft as the fur which they are marked upon. If you feel like you can run your fingers through the cat’s coat, spots and all, then I have been successful in creating this illusion.

Pencil sketch of a cheetah

Pencil Sketch by Keith McAllister

The sunlight gets caught up in cheetah fur. Their faces so often have a halo affect brought on by the sun being behind them and casting them in an outline of backlighting. Out in the midday sun their coats can also be tempered by the glare, and painting this softening of colour on a spotted coat can sometimes be tricky.

When I came to paint On the Hot Grass, I decided to limit my pallet in order to depict a sense of heat. I toned out any green there may have been in the grass and let the canvas radiate with warm yellows and browns.

Oil painting of a cheetah

‘On The Hot Grass’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

My favourite features of a cheetah are those two black lines on their faces. It does not take long to get that look of seriousness in their expression when you colour in the eyes and have the teardrop line marked out. Instantly the cat will have personality in your painting, the rest is just a matter of patient detailing. This is why I always start with the head on a cheetah. If the face is not right then I do not care too much what the rest of the cat looks like.

Oil painting of a cheetah

‘The Threat of Evening’ Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

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Painting Africa

Painting of African Bush Elephant

‘The Borders of Eden’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

Somewhere deep in the forest worn rocks are hooded by swirling waters. The river makes no noise because no one is there to hear it. Usually it only appears as a hairline fracture on a satellite image.

The Ituri Forests are a green velvet mass to fly over. The waterways cut their way awkwardly to the west and the vegetation grows thickly where it is not disturbed by water, volcanic activity, or dirt tracks. It mostly just rolls and rolls.

To survive in it however is to be buried in its depth. The forest encroaches on everything, it comes as close as it can, and will reclaim the soil if given half a chance. In little places where there might be a spattering of mud huts palm trees bridle pathways as a buffer zone to the forests. Often these small hamlets open up towards a river’s edge. Dugout canoes are beached in backwaters and some elders sit under an isolated tree, which was planted years before. The men of the village sit on solid backed chairs made from a single bit of wood interlocked with a smaller piece for the seat. The women sweep and cook and fetch and clean, and the children avoid any responsibility while they can. These are the communities of Bantu people, those who came from the west; these are the men and women of the river.

There is, however, another people, a people of the forest. Where the shadows hide a secluded world there may be little leaf covered hovels made of bent and bound branches from the surrounding forest. In the middle of the circle of these little flimsy huts hunters may dance and re-enact the killing of an elephant. They show to us, their audience, how the spear was driven and the animal bled out upon the forest floor. It is the celebration dance which marks times of abundance and feasting.

In the daily life of the family however women fan charcoal fuelled cook stoves or open fires. Men gather from the forests duikers, monkeys, honey or any number of other food stuffs. Children fetch and carry.

It is from these forested lands across Africa that I take great inspiration. Many times I flew in single engine aircraft from a forest clearing out across Lake Albert and the Semliki Valley, every time marvelling at the expanse of the Western Rift. From there the journey crosses the highlands of Uganda and western Kenya, before the land falls away again in the Eastern Rift of the same Great Rift Valley. The Western and Eastern Rifts individually represent for me very different chapters in my childhood.

My boyhood years where shaped by long journeys and short residences in villages across eastern Congo. It was a test of resourcefulness on everyone’s part. On the road the world I knew was reduced to a car seat and bag of toys, paper and pencils. The forest was thick against the roadsides and left little in the way of scenery, just endless forest. When we stopped for lunch white butterflies would come out and dance on the thick damp air.

It was not always forests for me however. The last few years we spent in Bunia, North East Congo. Here there is a land almost unique. It is a land of highland pastures covered in course grass and volcanic rock, which then dips in the east towards Uganda. This was a more open country with room to run and play.

Painting of an Africa Elephant

‘Wintery Days’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

In the late 1980s we left the Congo for the picture postcard landscapes of Kenya and I subsequently discovered a new backdrop for my paintings. In different locations over the years, from mud huts to luxury hotels, I have explored and enjoyed this marvellous world of wildlife and wilderness.

Though we were based in Nairobi my family made a point of seeing much of the rest of Kenya, from Mombasa to Kisumu, and from Corr to Amboseli. I spent eight more years in Kenya before the long journey to England. It was long only because of the uneasy transition.

I went back though.

In my twenties I lived with the Nilotic tribe known as the Samburu of northern Kenya for many months. With them I trekked across deserts and the forests atop of the highest mountains in the area. Mount Nyeru provided me with ideas of leopards in damp trees and bushbuck breaking into the undergrowth like hurried porpoises as they ran startled.

Painting of a Bushbuck

‘In The Silent Places’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

Later still I moved through Ethiopia and saw yet more highland forests along my way. Scenes were matched with those of Kenya, and I was compelled this time to embrace the idea of painting a leopard high up on a moss covered branch where he might sit surveying the patchwork of forest leaves. I painted Abyssinian Shadows when I returned to my studio back in England surrounded by my sketches and photographs. I was driven by ambition. I rolled out six foot of primed canvas and stretched it like a drum skin until it filled the room like some great projection screen awaiting an image. After I formed the composition I stood back and saw what this painting might look like. I knew then I was about to embark on several weeks, if not months, of work.

Painting of an African Leopard

‘Abyssinian Shadows’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

The first thing to do was to get familiar, very quickly, with a variation of greens and blues which I had never used in oil paint before, but had seen so many times. It was an entirely new pallet from my usual one. This pallet was not chosen to emulate the dust, the heat, the sun scorched earth and grass, and the fur and hide of tired animals. It was instead to be used to illustrate the lush highland forests and deeply set colours. This painting needed to become an image of coolness, of backlighting, and of subtlety. Using these rich shades from every imaginable green needed to be tempered by orange and purple embellishments where the feeling of sunlight would dictate. I was creating a world from linseed oils, pigments, and canvas, but it needed to resemble something believable. There was an order to the highlight and shadows, as the imagined light came streaming across the canvas, but it would have to be made finally unruly by the interference from reflecting leaves and absorbing shadows.

There is barely any easy way to create depth to these kinds of paintings. The sense of a recession with the landscape here is subtle; there is no great skyline or horizon to fall back on. It is engaging on every level and with every brushstroke, because it has to remain forefront in the viewer’s eye. While addressing this reality I also had to acknowledge the need for the finished painting to be restful and without agitation.

This was in great contrast with my other paintings such as The Rarest Guest, where again I called upon the knowledge I gained from my later years in Kenya.

Painting of Hirola

‘The Rarest Guest’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

I saw a great number of new animals when we moved to Kenya. It was remarkable to see the biodiversity here in the eastern brush lands and open savannahs. But often my father would describe to me how much more game he could remember in Kenya when he was a young man growing up there (he too spent his younger years in Zaire, then the Belgian Congo, and moved to Kenya to school at The Rift Valley Academy).

On one of our family excursions, I remember seeing the most unusual hartebeest one day. It was crossing the road near Tsavo, when we were on our way back from the coast. Baffled, I could not figure out what I was looking at until many years later I saw another one in a photograph accompanying an article written about antelope conservation. I knew only then that I had seen a Hirola, or Hunter’s Hartebeest. To my horror I discovered too that this was an animal heading for extinction and I remembered my father’s warning about the destruction of the African game fields.

Sometimes I have an overwhelming feeling of despair when I think that perhaps some of the animals in my paintings might not exist in the coming years, through poaching and habitat loss. It is at times like these that the feeling of responsibility, which lies with those fortunate to have seen these animals for themselves, comes into play.

On one of my journeys through Africa I stood where two great rivers converged. Not far from Khartoum the Blue Nile and White Nile meet, and when you think of the distance these rivers have run from the heartlands of central and eastern Africa you realise the scale of things. How can the game fields be protected along this river which runs through so many countries onwards to the Nile Delta?

The bush-meat trade along the Congo River is an example of indiscriminate hunting of animals left unprotected by conservation.

But my work is rarely gloomy despite these concerns. I celebrate what does remain and what I have seen for myself. The Residence of Silence may well be of an animal heavily poached in the areas it is found but the work concentrates on the serenity which can often be found in these remote areas of Africa. The Sitatunga in the painting is statuesque in its calmness and the Bottlebrush Bird perches unmoving in the dim light. These are scenes to be celebrated and cherished.

Painting of a Sitatunga

‘The Residence of Silence’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

Because I finally have spent a longer time in Kenya than Congo I am far more familiar with the open plains of the Eastern Rift. Where the land runs flat between ancient volcanoes and gorges, and where the grasses hide the great herds of animals, are some places I know very well. It is a constant ambition to carry on learning from these places as time goes by.

Knowing the behaviour of animals and the variety of the habitats they live in opens up a number of possibilities. In the battle for accuracy I feel more confident once these observations have been made. It is when parameters are set that the room for improvisation and interpretation has also been identified. Knowing the seasons, and the conditions and behaviour of the animals within these seasons, is a good place to start. Identifying the family bonds and relationships between more sociable creatures like the African elephant, lion or hunting dogs is another.

I painted The Threat of Evening after watching a young female cheetah take refuge in thick grass. Knowing that she was relinquishing her dominion, as the sun was setting, to the creatures of the night brought an image of vulnerability to an animal regarded as being amongst the more formidable. Though cheetahs remain a top predator by day they retreat to the awakening lions and leopards, and they fear the gawky bullish hyenas. This young cheetah watched for the tell tale signs of danger and slumped deeper against the ground, turning purple and gold in the embers of the sun, and it was this that stood out from the days of observation and study. The fleeting moment, the sense of occasion, and the perception of worry brought the portrait of an animal to life; it made an effort to personify, and aimed to invoke sympathy.

Painting of a Cheetah

‘The Threat of Evening’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

It is this concept of illustrating occasion in the natural world which comes as a direct result of a desire to capture what are unfortunately diminishing environments. The very real need for the conservation of these wildernesses across Africa is an issue ever pressed upon those who have had the pleasure of enjoying the African bush while understanding the responsibility which comes from their own sense of renewal. Some of these images may be amongst our last records if we lose the conservation battle.

There is of course the retrospective or even the romanticised and idealised sense of occasion as well. With the connotations the word safari already has attached to it there is implied an imagery of expedition, adventure and romance unique to the lore of Africa. Most of these can be a cliché but if rendered with care a painting relying on preconception can flatter the nostalgic notions and evolve into quite a tangible alteration of imagery that can be instantly engaging.

I have tried several times to address this internationally familiar notion of the Africa-of-old. Period pieces in point of fact have become an increasing percentage of my occupation.

The Man Eaters was my favourite of these attempts. Inspired by the many great tales of man versus beast on the open savannah I wanted to create a painting which relayed the feeling of more than just observing Africa but in actually engaging with it; of surviving it.

Painting of African Lions

‘The Man Eaters’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

Painting Africa is an ongoing interaction between artists and their subject matters.

When contextualising my work in comparison to my peers, friends, competitors, mentors and heroes (in no particular order) I feel the need to find my own signature and technique. Though my love is Africa and its people and wildlife I understand the need for individuality in my rendering of the scenes I have composed. There may be a gravitas in the subject matter, especially when concentrating on endangered species and habitats, but the visual language needs to be from a carefully selected set of techniques.

It is as much about selecting your mentors, artists you aspire to, and those you are willing to take criticism from. I have had the great fortune of having been mentored by the internationally acclaimed aviation and landscape artist Gerald Coulson, and later by his son Lawrence Coulson, another landscape artist. Now that my career is growing steadily we three are more likely to be seen on stools around a low table at Gerald’s local pub than in the old formal studio critique. We talk through every aspect of our work, from painting technique to business acumen, but abstractly and away from the easels.

It is paramount in any artist’s career to know where he or she fits into the market place and whose work can be regarded as being that of a competitor. This is an evolving context and you as an artist must evolve with it.

As I have recently set up my new studio in Victoria, London, I am locked away from the world but remain informed both about the animals and habitats I am painting and the market place into which my final work will be placed.

In the end my artwork, for me, is fundamentally a tribute to a land and place I love so dearly. My conservation efforts are needed I know, but I still adore what remains.

Painting of an African Leopard

‘Curiosity’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

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‘Until The River Runs Dry’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

“No lion dies quietly”

I heard Stuart Anderson Wheeler say that to me once, and I was only half listening – this happens when you work alongside someone for a length of time, you tend to let what they say hover in the air until you’re finished with what you’re doing and then you process it at your convenience.

“What?”

I thought it might have something to do with hunting, as Stuart is a professional hunter. But I know that he refuses to shoot lions for ethical reasons.

Then I turned around from my computer and asked him what he was talking about. To my delight we were on the same page, so to speak.

I get a terrible melancholy almost every time I paint big male lions. They look so majestic, powerful, the stuff of legend, but you know it only lasts for a fraction of the cat’s life. One day he gets old. One day he gets overthrown as head of the pride and he joins the scavengers, being too old and heavy to hunt with any great success himself. After that, when he’s arthritic, half blind and going slightly mad from an abscess tooth, there comes a day or night when the hyenas close in on him…..

I think I will entitle this painting ‘Until the River Runs Dry’, to address this sense of the temporary. He might be beautiful but he’s only the king for a season.

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Image

Pencil Sketch by Keith McAllister

You would never believe it unless you were there, but the largest lion I had ever seen just vanished in open grassland. He was there one minute and then he was just plain and simply nowhere to be seen. This would have been scary stuff if I had been out on foot, as it was I still got a chill.

I pulled the vehicle around a small depression and stood up to look again. He still was not there. I could not figure out how though, I could not see anywhere feasible for him to hide. I stayed on a bit longer near the spot, but he never reappeared, and the show was over.

Lions can be as cunning as any of the other cats; it is just a little bit more worrying when they are because of their size and strength. When a four-hundred-and-something pound cat disappears in front of your eyes you start to think about all those times you were out walking in the bush. For all you knew a lion may have been watching you the whole time, from some secluded shadow in the thicket.

I have slept out under the stars in dried out riverbeds near Lake Turkana a few times. On one such occasion we did come across lion tracks not more than a mile away the next morning. I did not even consider the possibility of there being any lion around, presuming they had all been shot or poisoned by local tribesmen. Yet there they were marked in the sand, lion prints.

We had some incidents of lions killing in Congo when I was growing up, but most of the time deaths were directed more towards our pet dogs as a result of healthy leopard populations. It still occurs to me though that facing a lion in circumstances where it has all the odds stacked in its favour and is intent on doing you some sort of bodily harm must be completely terrifying.

For the most part we see lions being lazy underneath trees or hidden in shrub. We spend hours seeing their tanned hides and flickering tails, and then nearly die of excitement when one finally sits up only to slump back down again. Lion watching is ninety percent tedious if you ask me.

When they do finally get up and at it though you definitely want to be there.

Many wildlife experts and big game hunters of the last century did predict the end of wild African lions before the new millennium arrived. Luckily this never came about, but they are a top predator and therefore have a huge impact on the ecosystem. Affording their presence in game reserves requires protection not only for them but anything they feed on.

Oil painting of a lion walking. Painted by Keith McAllister

‘The Royal Symbol’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

They are also a threat and nuisance to pastoralists on the borders of the outlined game reserves. This means they are trapped, hunted and poisoned on a regular basis. In an effort to combat this local authorities try and compensate losses to livestock in some areas where tourism takes a precedent.

Pencil Drawing of a Lion

Pencil Sketch by Keith McAllister

I painted The Man Eaters to portray a back-in-the-day scenario. When most of Africa was still open territory it must have been something formidable. Venturing inland was taking your life into your own hands. As you slept around cook fires at night you would hear fit and healthy lions calling out in the darkness.

Curiosity might get the better of some of these cats, and possibly result in them showing up in the middle of camp one night attacking anything that moves. When you tidied up camp and buried a few bodies it then became a revenge game, as you grabbed your rifle and cartridge belt and headed out after them. With The Man Eaters I wanted to show some lions being pursued by an old boy in his pith helmet, accompanied by a local tracker. The perspective is from a lion’s eye view, with the hunters coming up over the horizon.

When lions are still active on your early morning game drive you can see them preen themselves or tussle in the grass with each other before the heat from the sun sends them into slumber. It is one of the best times to get some photographs of their actions, in the clarity of early morning, with long cold shadows and strong golden highlights. I remember one morning leaning far out of a Land Cruiser only to lock eyes with a dark mane lion, not more than ten feet away.

I was in the Maasai Mara on that occasion at the invitation of Abercrombie & Kent. I was given the full luxury service, with all game drives and sundowners a man could ask for. As a result of this star treatment I was feeling very sure of myself when I decided to get a snap shot of this lion walking towards the vehicle.

His face was splattered in blood from feeding, but he was also covered in fresh cuts and was showing an enthusiastic level of attention towards the lionesses. My guesses would be that he and his yellow haired companion had recently taken over the pride. He stopped to sniff the air as the breeze blew at his blackened mane, and that’s when I leaned right over the side of the vehicle and levelled my telephoto lens.

He looked straight at me and opened his eyes fully. They were almost luminous and my heart nearly stopped beating as he started forward. I popped back onto my seat pretty quickly.

Incidentally it was this chap that I used as reference for The Man Eaters painting. As he came farther along the side of the vehicle he kept smelling the air, as well as trying to lick the blood from his nose. He pulled a great expression and I took a photo of him for the records.

When it came to the painting, I needed a bloodied male lion sniffing the air for intruders. I knew where to start looking in my archives. The images I had were all profile and from an elevated perspective, so I had to use a fair amount of imagination cross referenced with the photographic material. The whole positioning of the cats body had to be amended, and the profile of the face, but that look in his eye came straight from the photograph, and I loved the idea of painting a lion that I remembered in person.

Oil Painting of Man Eating Lions

‘The Man Eaters’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

This is a painting illustrating another similarly menacing theme…

There is a place in Kenya known as Tsavo. It is a beautiful place, but very few people choose to spend any length of time there. The hills are rocky and covered in straw like grass. Its red earth supports an expanse of scrubland that’s only broken up by the Galana and the River Tsavo. These rivers run red.

This is a place of slaughter. The Arab slave traders marched their caravans of labourers through this stretch of land to the coast. Hundreds would have died along the way, eaten by lions, dying of thirst or hunger, or willing themselves to succumb in defeat. Even to escape from the traders would mean being lost in an unforgiving land.

In times past the Maasai would raid the Kamba villages nearby and soak the red earth in blood; lending Tsavo its name.

When the British built the Ugandan Railroad through Tsavo they lost dozens of workmen to marauding lions. John Henry Patterson’s accounts of this were published in 1907 as ‘The Man Eaters of Tsavo’. By his accounts there were two lions which created all the trouble within the camp of workmen at the River Tsavo, where he was commissioned to build a bridge.

With all this in mind I painted this lion on Tsavo’s red earth. Tsavo is covered in thorn bush scrub and the lions here always look rough and scarred because of it. Here male lions are often seen with virtually no manes as a result of having to constantly negotiate their way through this thick mess of thorns. So, the lion in this painting looks like he has suffered the same ordeal, with only a suggestion of a mane around his neck in tufts of broken hair. This is what the Man Eaters of Tsavo would have looked like.

Lion Painting

‘Tsavo: A Place of Slaughter’ Original Oil Painting by Keith McAllister

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Lunching With Robert Glen

Robert Glen at home after a long day sculpting his latest work.

There’s a lovely little bistro just around the back from our showroom in Shepherd Market. It’s an odd blend of Polish and Mexican food in an old English room, with a bar area that to me at least has a Mediterranean feel to it. Needless to say the place has character.

I had the privilege of taking Robert Glen and his partner Sue Stolberger out for lunch there some weeks back.

Seated at our table in an air of hospitality by the proprietor there was immediately an explosion of conversation. Three artists with a love for Africa over one small table, fuelled by a cold beer as soon as we were settled with coats hung by the door, were off with a bang. This didn’t go unnoticed by the landlord in so much that he had to kindly remind us that we were still holding our menus, and talking over them, some fifteen minutes later, though we were no closer to choosing.

We finally chose something and I noticed with a smile that Robert and I aren’t far off each other when it comes to selecting food and drink.

With this momentary glitch in the conversation we stumbled and finally resumed pace. The world was no bigger than our little table for well over an hour. The food came and went and so did the drinks. It became a slow day with no need to rush time; it was a Saint Patricks day after all.

Robert told me about dozens of adventures he’d had over the years in the bush. Some of them were from years back while others could have taken place only days before.

Robert and Sue live in the Ruaha National Park in Tanzania, where their studios are comprised of canvas tents miles and miles from anything or anyone else. Surrounded by the country and animals which are the subjects of their works of art they live free of the schedules of modern living – except for the need to do the grocery shopping once every six weeks.

Robert’s work has been acclaimed throughout the world, and his monuments, statues and sculptures never fail to impress. He has created work for her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, His Highness the Aga Khan and the late Kenyan President Jomo Kenyatta. This taken into account it’s quite an honour to sit and have lunch with the man.

He was keener to tell the more humorous stories and had me in stitches several times. Like a real gentleman he played to his audience’s ear and told me all about the time he spent with Robert Ruark and Harry Selby, as I insisted on knowing all; being a great fan of Ruark’s literary efforts. We chatted and chatted until the beers gave way to a last dram over desert and we toasted again the Irishmen’s equivalent to all Christmases and Birthdays combined.

We then went over to the Sheraton Hotel and I showed Robert the display cabinet where we were going to display his latest work in.

I’m waiting with anticipation to see the great man again when he’s here on the 2nd of June, to share an exhibition evening with me in Shepherd Market. At Anderson Wheeler, 13 Shepherd Market, Mayfair, W1J 7PQ, we shall be meeting and greeting people from roughly 8 o’clock onwards.

See some of you there.

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The Portrait of an Artist as an Obituary

According to the tale Henri Cartier Bresson was sitting reading his morning papers when he noticed that one of the leading galleries in Paris was putting on a commemorative exhibition of his life’s work. In assuming that because of his long absence from photography Bresson was deceased the gallery naturally wanted to celebrate one of the most famous men to ever hold a camera.

As the story goes Bresson, after breakfast, collected some favourites from his own portfolio and headed for the gallery. He presented his photographs and coolly suggested that the images he had chosen might represent his work more thoroughly.

The feeling of being accountable for your work, or the other way around, does put an element of pressure on the artist. It brings too a very real sense of conclusion when finishing large works or pieces an artist might regard as being significant to his or her development, and their overall creative contribution.

It is this concept of finality which stresses the impression that work should be significant at all times, and that benign or uninspired work is almost sinful.

It is the habit of history books and art movements to isolate such significant pieces, often without regard to the chronology of the artist’s portfolio. Perhaps more emphasis is put on the art in relationship to an artist’s time and place.

It is strange therefore to imagine Cartier Bresson trying to look at his life’s work objectively and come to some conclusion. He may have lain out the work in front of him and simply chosen his favourites in regards to how he felt that morning. He may also have tried to contextualise his work in relation to the works of his peers, such as Robert Capa or David Seymour, and other co-founders of Magnum Photos.  Perhaps he simply submitted work based on past appraisals and publications.

The portrait of Henri Matisse in his studio as an old man is one that I would have chosen simply on sentimental grounds, for example. Taken by Henri Cartier Bresson in recognition perhaps of his time as Matisse’s understudy early in Bresson’s carrier as a painter (a carrier which gave way to his photographic talent). This portrait is a lovely reminder of that relationship.

Rather than retiring from the artform which had made him famous, like Cartier Bresson, Matisse continued his work as best he could right up to the end of his life. Matisse’s book JAZZ is a collection of this final work. In it are some last minute words of wisdom and copies of the paper cutouts he fashioned on his deathbed.

Both men in this respect effectively were concentrating on their own final testaments; autobiographical obituaries.

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As we say goodbye then to 2010 what have we artists have to show for our time? And was it our best, last, or aspiring work?

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