TOTTIE AND TOM

 

 

Tottie.

I couldn’t resist it, when I saw Tom’s open sign up and a car pull into his drive. I thought it a perfect opportunity to earwig on his sales technique, or rather lack of it. In my opinion it is rarely a good idea for an artist to try and sell their own work, which is better left to the professionals. Having said that if you can’t get a gallery to take your work then there’s not a lot of choice. You could stick some on the walls of a local coffee shop who will rush you a cool 30% commission and have in the main even less idea of how to sell art than the artists themselves. Tourist offices may like the work but will baulk at the price an artist wants, and often ask them to produce something cheaper, like between £10 and £20. The result is more often than not a debasement of their skill down the slippery slope into key rings and fridge magnets. Having said that I quite like fridge magnets and my own is covered with an extra ordinary array, but heaven knows what I’m supposed to do with all the key rings. I’ve been given so many over the years by friends returning from exotic holiday locations, that what was the tea towel draw is now practically full of key rings.

I parked fifty yards up the road and made my way around the back of the house. I must say despite the awful weather Tom’s garden is looking wonderful. No sign of the visitors so they must have gone in, as I approached the studio I could hear voices and the door had been left open, perfect. I remained in the entrance and earwigged. I noticed Tom had covered up the £5 entry sign with an Open Studio brochure so presumed he was waving the fee as a sort of special concession. There were as far as I could tell four people and they sounded genuinely impressed and interested in what they saw, but it didn’t take Tom long to start burbling on about something totally irrelevant to do with flat-pack furniture, wastage of materials and what people chuck out. I don’t think he gave a moment’s thought to the fact that those he was preaching to were quite likely the very people who had a home furnished entirely from IKEA. He then started to explain his method of working in wool which even I found difficult to follow. I felt sorry for him and as I headed back to the car I wonder if I dare suggest perhaps a short course in sales techniques. Not sure how he would take that, can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

Tom. Fortunately I’ve had few interruptions this week, and even though it was the final week of open studios the two lots who called in had done so purely by chance. I should have left the five pound entry sign visible, but I thought maybe this week I’d get some people genuinely interested in buying something. It wasn’t to be. Interested and appreciative they certainly seemed to be, but even after I’d reinstated the entry fee and a third lot came in they were happy enough to pay for the experience and go away empty handed. I found it extra ordinary that they could not find a single thing that they would want, but then it dawned on me that perhaps people no longer want things, they just want experiences and preferably ones that they can take photographs of. They whip out their mobile phones to snap pictures of my paint pallet or a bunch of wool and only rarely ask before doing so. I made the mistake of going into town this Thursday and discovered another boatload of tourists had landed. The streets were lousy with them pointing their phone and cameras at everything that did or didn’t move, including myself being in tweed jacket and walking with my shepherd’s crook I must have appeared to be that rare form of native islander. Others with zoom lenses snapped at the castle through a gap in the trees, but even photo-shop would have trouble cheering up the grey morning. 

 

I’ve got a new line on the go. It all started when I was looking for some rag to rub off some of the dirty varnish that I used on Tottie’s Hebridean chair. I discovered an old blanket that I’d obviously thought worth saving for something, but with a large rip down the middle it was certainly well beyond use as bedding. It was the weave that took my eye and the fact that it was the least fluffy of blankets. I saw immediately that it would be ideal as a background for stitching. Made in two halves on a narrow loom it had a black band at either end. I’d been reading an article about Alfred Wallis the naïve artist from St Ives, whose work now makes tens of thousands of pound. The poor man would have ended up in a proper’s grave if it hadn’t been for a fellow artist Adrian Stokes, and his work, which at the time was looked on as trash by many was saved from being binned. I’d also been reading the recently published book “A Considerable Town”, all about Stornoway, and I was fascinated by the old pictures of the harbours area and how that had grown over the years. When I looked at the blanket it seemed a perfect support for some black and white, or rather black and cream images. I started playing around with some sketches of south beach, and although I would have liked to include the remains of the old castle, I also wanted to include the old fish market, but by the time that had been built the pier had already been extended over the remains. So, I opted to use Lews Castle by moving it a few hundred yards to the south. With a chunk of blanket stretched I started the embroidery. From the start it felt good and the composition soon came together. It’s not always obvious where and when to stop stitching, how much detail to put in and to what extent I should use other colours. All the wools were Harris Tweed yarn, and I found two tones of grey plus a stony colour for the castle and green for the trees gave the image some depth without overcomplicating it.

 As so often happens with new projects I was keen to press on to a second the moment the first was off the support. For this I turned to an east facing aspect of North Beach harbour and Lassy Corner, which allowed me to include part of Bay Head and the sail lofts. Again the image became crammed with boats, but nothing like the amount that appeared in early photos. During the slow process of stitching I have already formed an entire series of images in my head. It won’t stop at just one blankets worth since I’ve already been given more old blankets with the same flat weave. Nearing completion is a third image of South Beach, which this time does include the last corner of the original castle. Wealth from the herring industry brought many changes and with the castle gone the unique octagonal fish market succeeded as a worthy focal point. That too has gone, but its replacement has little architectural or artistic merit, although I’m sure that won’t stop them being recorded by boat loads of visitors. I can imagine before long, just as happened with Stonehenge the Calanish stone will get worn down by all the added traffic. Security fencing will be erected, payment to be made at the new visitors centre, and we will no longer be able to wander amongst or touch them. Much like my own studio really. Now Tottie would call that going off on one, but I do love a good rant and affectionately call them The Venerable Tom Hickman’s pulpit moments.