Greenwich bricks…

The Thames has seen a lot. The river as it winds it’s way up to the heart of London is narrow and unremarkable. The government projects (council housing estates) which line the shore around Deptford and Bermondsey have been greedily developed in places where the view is particularly good. Estates like the Pepys Estate (after the famous diarist Samuel Pepys who resided in this part of London for a time) used to have an ominous reputation back in the 90s. They were used for TV crime thriller chase scenes but generally best avoided in those days. Now one of its towers is a fashionable Thameside residence for the wealthy. The bricklined old docks further down towards Greenwich rest, retired and resigned watching the old river drift by.

Watercolour on paper


It’s been a trying few months. We’ve relocated to London for a year and plan to return to Istanbul in August 2019. The process of shutting up one house and moving to another is exhausting as we all know. Now that the summer is over it’s time to be painting again…


Crushed street bollard in old Istanbul in watercolour

“So what do we stick on the end? I mean the bit that cuts stuff?” We were in the middle of buying a second hand angle grinder as we say in the UK, something that cuts through metal. Our conversation with Turkish craftsmen usually goes something like this. I go in search of a piece of equipment to help us with our 3D sculpture work and when I find the guy who can help us I say..
“Do you have one of those things which cuts through metal?”
“How thick is the metal” he’ll respond.
“I don’t know, it’s a car door, I guess pretty thick”. The guy usually pauses and then asks why we want to cut through a car door.
“It’s complicated to explain” this does nothing to help.
“OK, I’ll explain,  we’re artists and we are making sculptures”. At which point we’ll get out a photo of some of our efforts to date and then the conversation warms up and we drink tea…

A crushed bollard in Balat, Istanbul. Watercolour on 600 gm paper.

Merc respray…

Watercolour of a Mercedes Respray

“Fear clutches my b’reast” said Daffy-Duck in one of his best cartoons. The phrase stuck with our family and was added to the growing number of phrases forming our own unique family dialect.

This was different however, “It’s a clutch” the friendly motor oil covered warehouse assistant said.
“Really” I said? The peddle which I press on my elderly stick shift operated vehicle to change gear bore no resemblance in my mind to the metal object which lay before me.

It was however, beautiful. Herein lies the fascination for me. When we consider sculpture we often think of three dimensional works formed to evoke something beyond the mere substance from which they are created. Often there is a symbolic or a conceptual  angle the sculptor is seeking to investigate.

This pile of clutches which must have numbered hundreds rusting into tantalising shades of brown, orange, yellow and turquoise spoke so clearly of so many things and yet they remained silent in the corner of a dark cold basement in a breakers yard.

I picked one of them up and took it over the counter where the long suffering breakers yard attendant looked sceptically at me. He  knew that he was going to have to explain what it was, why it was actually going to be worth more than it looked to us, and that no, we couldn’t have a discount.

He was on the other hand probably looking forward to hearing why on earth we wanted it. I’m not sure I can explain that in English let alone in Turkish but the surprising thing is that once it’s pointed out to the people who work in places like this how the objects they sell have aesthetic appeal to the likes of me, their eyes light up and there is a flicker of recognition. It’s as if the apparently dull, lifeless objects they scurry back and forth with in answer to the barking orders of of local mechanics looking for spare parts are elevated to another plane.

Watercolour on 600 gm paper