Life in the Arts Lane - Week 131 - My year with Pat Albeck.

Week 131

My year with Pat Albeck.

On the 10th August I had a busy day. It began at 9am playing tennis with my 88-year- old stepfather. This game is a new regular habit and a peculiarly testing one: Peter has an uncanny ability to return the ball, and he is naturally strong on both the forehand and backhand. I am not a good tennis player but I have the advantage - being able to run. Consequently I need to return the ball to Peter - but not too far away, as killing him by inducing a heart attack would not please my mother who has cherished his presence for over 40 years.

Pat Albeck

Game over and I am off to Bampton in Oxfordshire to collect Pat (87 years old) for lunch. She is not so mobile and therefore I act as driver. We are going to meet my aunt Liz (86 years old) for lunch at Daquise, the Polish restaurant in South Kensington (70 years old). Pat and Liz used to be neighbours in Chiswick but house moves and time had eroded their friendship and they had not met for more than 20 years.

All went well and an old friendship was rekindled. The food was excellent and the head waiter suitably ancient. The restaurant has meaning for all of us. Following visits to the V&A aged 5 or 6 I gobbled up exotic triangular poppyseed and coffee cakes whilst soaking up a very local form of Polishness which filled South Kensington in the 60s. The others had their own private and possibly romantic memories. Therefore it was with an intense dose of nostalgia that we tucked into our robust wintry food, ignoring the rare sunshine that was blazing away outside. The place has been radically redecorated since my cake days but it retains echoes of its post war run-down charm. They serve traditional but updated dishes and the bright airy room is delightful.

On the way home we stopped at Tesco to buy miniature bottles of prosecco. Pat loves a glass of prosecco (whilst methinks secretly preferring Champagne) but as she is now a widow drinking a whole bottle is a challenge she did not want to take. With titchy bottles in hand we headed off to visit another old Chiswick pal Pat Lousada, the beautiful ex-ballerina, author of my personal bible of pasta dishes and assiduous theatre goer (75 years old). It appeared that she too loved these little bottles and so with a reduced load we headed back to Bampton.

The extraordinary energy and vigour of the company I kept that day exhausted me. I was struck by how very much alive and full of creative force they all were. You will say they are lucky to be able to enjoy and embrace life and I will agree but what a joy and a privilege it was to be with them that day.

A few short weeks later and I have to sadly report that Pat Albeck has died, my stepfather has been struck down with some sort of debilitating stomach condition and my aunt fell over in the road and is in hospital bandaged, strapped and emblazoned with bruises. How desperately fragile it all seems.

But I am grateful that I have had this last year to enjoy and, now with tears, reminisce over. It began by being late. I hardly knew Pat in September 2016 but Esther had been her friend for some time and we had been invited to an exhibition at the Emma Bridgwater hub in Bampton of Pat’s recent work. Of late she had been working on creating cut-out still lives; simply using coloured paper and a pair of nail scissors she had created incredibly complex three dimensional, layered, simplified but botanically correct works of art. In some way these were the culmination of her extraordinary long career in design. Without preparatory drawing she sat and snipped and when she knew a piece was right she would glue it down in the perfect spot. It had the quality of Japanese scroll painting because there was almost no going back, once done and laid down the image could not be adjusted. Her decades of work - so admirably summarised during her ‘Desert Island Discs” - gave her the freedom and fluency to create finished work without revision. We arrived about an hour late and each of the 18 works were already sold.

No 20 from the exhibition Allium, Canary Bird and grapes. signed and dated

I was struck by the vivid colours and clear graphic compositions. Esther already had an example of her work and I had boringly pooh-poohed buying another but I felt both avaricious and disappointed. I could see that here was work that was fabulous, decorative, complex and burgeoning with life and energy. It deserved a wider audience.

Over a few subsequent delicious - both to eat and look at - lunches at her house in Bampton I heard more about her beloved husband Peter, who had died only a few months earlier, and other aspects of her life and past. With each visit the depth of her loss and the creative flow that was her life became clearer to me. Her aesthetic sense and excitement for the future explained her happy marriage and creativity better than any biography could. During those lunches we hatched the idea of an exhibition in London. Back home I racked my brains for where to do it?

It occurred to me that as Colefax was opening a new shop in Pimlico and because Pat’s work was very floral and bright it might suit all parties to work on an event to coincide with the Chelsea Flower Show. I emailed Emma Burns (one of the senior designers at Colefax) with the idea and amazingly it turned out she lives in Bampton too and loved Pat’s work already. So, in short, the show was on. Pat worked tirelessly for months and produced over 20 works. Regularly during that time I drove down and we would enjoy mischievous gossip, glasses of wine and a delicious something or other to eat. It is hard to capture the character of those meetings without conjuring up images of the cheerful colours of the room and the gallery of jugs that parade around a shelf just below the ceiling - these were collected by Peter and many of them appear in the works. Pat was an enthusiast for objects, but not in a value or collector’s way; she wanted things that spoke to her of shape or colour and it was of no consequence if they were rare, old, or precious. She judged people in a similar way; completely devoid of respect she either liked people for what they were or didn’t, and being granted approval by Pat was a major triumph to be treasured for as long as it lasted. It was her enthusiastic immediacy and excitement for what was to come rather than nostalgia that made both her and her work ever-fresh and exciting.

A wall at Colefax and Fowler during the exhibition

Emma framed each image beautifully and the next thing we knew Pat was seated in Pimlico like a queen receiving praise, admirers and buyers for her work. The Colefax show was a success and we thought the presage of things to come. We planned a trip to New York, hoping to cruise across as flying was out of the question.

Her much cherished son Mathew was with her when she died. He told us she left peacefully and willingly, celebrating her life-long love of flowers and more surprisingly, a love of sport. In death she managed to be as original as she was in life.

God bless the antiques amongst us and I aspire to being as young as they are.

Week 123 - Pallant House, Lobster, Party rules.

Pallant house in Chichester is terrific. It has stone ostriches above the gate posts and is a beautiful and restrained example of early 18th century classicism. It is a gallery, a temple to what art dealers call 'Mod Brit', essentially that means British 20th century art but by dead or nearly dead artists - nothing contemporary. These are spread around the house which is also larded with some beautiful 18th century furniture. Next door and joined through is a severe multiple award winning contemporary structure by the British library architect Sir Colin Alexander St John Wilson. ( impressively both a 'Sir' and a 'St', though that bit is pronounced - 'sinjun', but thankfully and simply known as Sandy Wilson - but not to be confused with the composer of the "Boyfriend") and Long and Kentish. The new building opened in 2006, the year before his death. Within these walls are now housed - Wilson's own collection together with that of a local property developer Charles Kearley, but it was founded on the legacy of pioneering collector and the lynchpin of the Chichester arts scene - Walter Hussey - the Dean of the cathedral for 22 years from 1955 to 1977. His contribution to the music and art of the city cannot be understated, for so many creations he was both the catalyst and instrument. The gallery therefore combines architecture from 1720 to 2006 with furniture and - of course - great, but exclusively, 20th century British art in a way that is both sympathetic and challenging. Today we are visiting the show focussing on John Piper's textile designs. They are bold and strong and a real revelation to enjoy. It was also apparent how brave, determined and tolerant of criticism Hussey was to commission the work that he did for the cathedral. One curious aspect of the show was counterpointing work done using the same motifs but carried out decades apart. I was fascinated to see a painting done in the 1930s beside a textile from the 1950s. They were both clearly the same in terms of colours and motifs but managed to be both simultaneously different to each other and representative of their own decade of creation.

John Piper at Pallant House - on the left 1935, on the right 1955.

A John Piper Tapestry, bold, bright and a challenge to weave.

Heading home to Selsey bill and crab for lunch we took a detour to East Beach to greedily buy more to take back to London later, we spotted some freshly boiled lobster and swept them up without hesitation. Julie's Hut has been in situ since my puberty and it was established back then by a pretty red-haired freckle-faced girl of little more than 16. She had an entrepreneurial zeal and set out her stall in a business dominated by both men and adults. I never got to know her personally but I shyly enjoyed being sent there to buy crab and fish. It survives and seems to flourish and though she is no longer to be seen it warms my heart to see it. My stepfather Peter loves lobster and he dresses it with great care and attention. He cracks the shell and gingerly levers out each delicate morsel of succulent red edged white flesh, and creates a still life on the platter. This takes time and we are all ravenous and a little tense by the time he brings it forth but it is a great joy to both behold and consume - soft, a hint of chew and that soft salty taste of the sea that gives it its divinity. The crab is not overlooked but works with the lobster to make the tastes ever more delightful. Talk of lobster takes me back to Mayfair and I remember the Chalet in Maddox St. When I started out in the antiques business at Mallett in 1985, when the caretaker was away I had to go in and unlock the building. On parade at 8 am but then nothing to do until 9.30 when the shop opened. I used to fill the gap and my tummy by eating a hearty cardiac arrest inducing breakfast there. The ladies were jolly and welcoming and I learned to love the higgledy piggledy interior and its panelling. From then until its closure in around 2014 it was my favourite haunt in the area. Once in a while their daily special was Lobster Thermidor. A legendary dish created by one of the greatest chefs - Auguste Escoffier and named after a play written about the Thermidorian Reaction that ended the Terror of Robespierre during the French Revolution. Thermidor - the word - was the name given to the summer month by the revolutionaries. At the Chalet it was both surprisingly reasonably priced and delicious; a throwback food and it seemed transgressive to be given access to this impossible luxury. As a boy of 10 or so my father always used to say whenever we went out to eat - ' have what you like but not the Lobster Thermidor! ' The dish acquired mythic status. Once in a while the Chalet was silent at lunchtime whilst the patrons delighted themselves with the daily special. Eating Peter's carefully prepared lobster I felt nostalgic for the restaurant and the memories from those times.

Lobster Thermidor - in this case made by my mother.

Midweek we discussed whether to drive to Oxford for the opening of Pat Albeck's show of cutout collage still lives. My rule is that the journey to and from an event should not be greater than the time spent at the event. In other words driving for 4 hours for an hour long drinks party breaks the rule. On the other side of the argument is whether the host would appreciate the effort so much that it 'trumps' the rule. We drove to Oxford. The show was all but sold out by the time we arrived - only one left - and that was only 30 minutes after it opened. There had been a feeding frenzy and they were all consumed. Pat was delighted and excited by her success but she was keen to do more and she promised she would make two big ones for me to show at Olympia. Having admired the work and chatted to some of her rapt audience the pictures were all gathered up and carefully tucked away; on came chairs, tables and huge bowls of salad and chilli and the drinks party morphed into a dinner. finally heading home towards midnight we reflected that the rule had actually hardly been broken at all, and the trump card had definitely proved both effective and correct.

Some of the sold items from Pat's show. I could have bought them all.

Week 121 - Pensions, Jesus, Foundation and Collage

It is an almost certain truth that at the age of twenty your work pension seems the most boring thing in the world. As I approach my mid 50s I increasingly find it a subject of fascination and importance. It is a sad fact that for me I have actually found it interesting for some time. During my Mallett years I was often working around Christmas - everyone else lived in the country whilst I lurked in London. During three days when it was pointless being open I did the online pension trustee course. It was both boring and difficult, like VAT! But the holiday for others ended and freshly qualified I joined the pension trustees and have been there ever since - even after leaving Mallett. Following the recent turbulence it has been a great concern that the pension was not being suitably attended to and so we had a trustee meeting. We formed an impressive team - two ex-employees and one on notice. My dog Mosca attended as an impartial witness. Two hours passed and it seemed as if time had stood still, we slipped seemlessly back into our roles as company men, despite the absurdity of the situation.  We cannot escape our trusteeship and the burden of maintaining the pension remains a worry that we can do little to ameliorate.

By way of contrast that evening Esther and I headed to the beautiful wreck of a church known as the Asylum which is more prosaically the Caroline Gardens Chapel. It is in South London and is the centrepiece of a group of early 19th century neo-classical buildings, almshouses; in fact rest homes for retired pub landlords. Sadly it was bombed during the Second World War and though losing its roof and much of the interior - it has survived, but never been restored beyond stabilisation. Our hosts Iain and Richard Abell are the brothers who founded Based Upon. Their work is hard to describe as it is generally a mixture of furniture and wall panels, all mainly of metal and employing modern technology to create unusual finishes, patterns and surfaces. In tandem they integrate in the work biographical details of the commissioning client, both specific and abstract. In something of a departure they have been commissioned to create a completely new technology version of the Last Supper. This they have done through choosing a cast of characters and using 3D photography to record them and then fashion the figures in bronze. All very high tech stuff. We attended the unveiling of the work in the chapel accompanied by biblical style snacks and red wine drunk from terracotta beakers, serenaded by a chap who played and sang unearthly resonant tunes on instruments straight out of the Star Wars bar. It was a very effective and memorable event and the techniques they have learnt and employed will colour and inform their future projects. 

The Last Supper.

To accompany my attendance of the recent Battersea decorative fair I sent out two emails of highlights from the stand. Now because I am a bit of a chump I got my friend Samuel to prepare them and all I had to do was send them out. Cleverly, I got the order wrong and sent the one intended for the eve of the show out first - a week early. Various friends and clients berated me and one poor person turned up at the show venue and was turned away to the amusement of the team there - but unsurprisingly not by her. Anyway, the errant email inspired a purchase and we went to deliver the items and have a drink with the new owner. Luckily they looked good in situ and we passed a delightful evening reminiscing about the past. She is in her 80s and whilst she can look back; her main interest is looking forward and planning her next travel adventure - and helping us plan ours.

My son Inigo has a show celebrating the end of his foundation course at Camberwell. On Saturday we went to see his piece. We began by priming ourselves with breakfast at our local cafe. The Parma Cafe on Kennington road is a beautiful survival from the late 60s with red plastic bucket seats, murals of Greek gods and period condiment dispensers. They even have an old school frothy coffee maker which modern baristas would probably sneer at. It is true that it does make terrible coffee. But that is not the point, a 'Jumbo English' not only comes with plenty of everything but it is arranged on the plate like a careful still life, not one mushroom is dumped down, it is all ..... - perfect; just like you might get in fancy 3 star Michelin places. Slightly too full we cycled off and soon arrived to admire the video piece that has been his last few months work. Needless to say I was shocked. It has a soundtrack replete with smut and groaning and the visuals are a scary close up of his face. I have to admit that he has achieved something in that the work was both technically masterful and left his poor old dad reeling. What more could you ask for from art school?

the author trying to understand modern art!

Back home we headed off to Oxford to meet the artist Pat Rice, known professionally as Pat Albeck. You can listen to her recent desert island discs on the Iplayer. She is an old friend of Esther's and she has been working through the sadness of the death of her beloved Peter - husband of 50 years - by creating - for an exhibition - some fantastic work. These pieces are inspired and brightly colourful still lives all achieved in exquisite and virtuoso collage. She sits at her desk and looks at flowers with utmost intensity and somehow with coloured paper and a pair of nail scissors renders them. The end result is a remarkable fusion of craft and art together with echoes of Italian Pietra Dura and 17th century Spanish still lives. We drank champagne and ate lasagna and she was inspiringly positive and chatty despite the ever present silent shadow of her grief. I am sure her work will sell out but if any are left I hope to show them on my stand at the forthcoming Olympia Art and Antiques show in June. 

A taste of what is to come.