This is a true story about secret messages in my landscape paintings. The journey is dark, but the outcome is unexpected and heartening.
It is late August 1985. I’m 20 and about to begin my third and final year at University. The summer holidays are coming to a close and I have no idea what I’m going to paint for my Fine Art degree show. I’m beginning to feel tetchy.
It is late August 1985. I’m 20 and about to begin my third and final year at University. The summer holidays are coming to a close and I have no idea what I’m going to paint for my Fine Art degree show. I’m beginning to feel tetchy.
Dad tells me of a railway tunnel where
he takes the dog for a walk. It might be a good spot for alfresco paintings. On
23 August 1985, I accompany him to encounter an old railway bridge with a
cattle gate. It seems ok, but something is missing. I
mention this to Dad, but he doesn’t see what I mean. He likes the site and
believes it has everything needed for good landscape painting.
Dissatisfied, I accompany Dad to another spot to find nothing but fields and puddles. I am less inspired. I feel stuck
for choice and running out of time.
Since 1977, I have kept diaries, so I have a reliable information of
what I did during the summer of 1985. I have also included abridged excerpts of my
jottings within this account.
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| My onsite sketches of the railway tunnel |
Sketching at the Railway Tunnel
So, on 25 August 1985, I am back at the railway bridge with my sketch pad. In my diary, I had written:
“Went down by
the bridge when Dad took the dog for a walk and did sketches. Did a few of
the bridge and wooden gate next to it. Some were ok but I’m not all mad on
it. Until then, I’ll keep sketching and wait for fine weather.” I
also remark that “I had a horrid dream
about Mark last night.”
Mark is my boyfriend whom I haven’t seen since 22
June 1985. We had seen a U2 concert at the Milton Keynes’s Bowl. It had
been horrendously muddy and the date had been disastrous. I had also felt disenchanted with him.
I have little to fill my days with but a novel I had
begun to write on 23 April of this year. The working title had been The Upstairs Room but I would later change
it to The Lessons. I had been
obsessed with it, but for now, it takes a back seat in the face of increasing pressures
of my degree year.
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| 25 Aug: I'm painting at the railway tunnel & having bad dreams about Mark |
26 August is the date I begin painting at the railway
tunnel. My obsession with the site starts to gather. On the same day, I return
3 times. I write:
“The quality of
my sketches is greatly improved from yesterday. I sketched the gate and bridge
using a fine pen. Spent hours. Came back for dinner then returned for
another session. The bridge, fence and graffiti look wonderful when the sun is
out.”
On 28 August, Mark phones. This is the first time I
have spoken to him since the U2 gig. “I
didn’t know what to say,” I had written.
“He told me he wanted to see me again, but I said
I wanted us to remain just friends”. At this time, I was already on the pill and
remain so in spite of things cooling between us.
Later, I walked to the bridge where Dad had decided
to do a spot of alfresco painting himself. His approach is more illustrative than
mine with subdued colors. I join with the persistent feeling something is missing at the railway tunnel.
On 29 August, I “Took
advantage of the hot day and went over to the fields. Eve came (my twin). I sat in the sunshine painting the
bridge all afternoon. The air was stifling but sunny. I found
all sorts of insects caught on the wet paint. (Once Eve had gone) I hardly saw a soul.”
30 August, I “Went to the bridge. The sun
had gone hazy but I made the most of it. (Later) Eve comes to see me, and Dad got me lunch.
My painting is better than yesterday’s. It’s an acute angle of the fence in
relation to the bridge. Finished at nearly 1pm.”
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| My initial oil sketches at the bridge location |
Bridge Location Paintings
And on 1 September:
“I walked to the
bridge to do sketching but got more fed up because of the gloomy outlook. Had
this weird turn where jumping under a train seemed appealing. Just cried and
tried to sketch. Half hour later, Dad came with the dog. He didn’t know. I sketched
till dinnertime.” (Later) “Spent 2 hours sketching different angles of
the gate and brought tapes to listen to.”
On the 3 September, my twin Eve announces that she
is getting engaged. Their romance had been very whirlwind, having begun in May. I return to the bridge and my depression deepens. I attribute this to my twin’s engagement. This
could only mean I would see less of her. Worse, my relationship with Mark appears
to have failed.
It would take me 31 years to learn my depression had
nothing to do with Eve’s engagement. It was to do with the bridge. I would revisit the bridge 32 years after my realization.
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| 1 Sept: I'm suffering severe depression. |
On 5 September, I feel “depressed in the morning. I went out and sketched for half an hour.”
I then go out for drinks with my other siblings. I was forever pretending I was ok when I wasn't.
On 6 September, “I
went down on my own to paint at the bridge. It had a cutting wind yet
my briskness gave it the best qualities out of the 3 paintings I have
done. (Later) I returned to the spot with
a smaller hardboard and painted the foliage next to the bridge. It’s almost
abstract. Took an hour. In this time, I’ve had mosquitoes smacking my
cheek, in the paint and on the end of my brush.”
Mark has been ringing me over the
summer and I finally agree to meet him on the 7 September. Mark is still living
with his parents, as he is 19 and has recently moved. Their new house backs
onto woods. We meet up, chat, walk in the woods and I tell him how much I
dislike Eve's fiance. I stop the night and we talk until 3am. Our relationship seems to
be on an upturn.
But the following day, I
lie to Mum that I had stopped at a female friend’s. I didn’t
understand why I would lie to her about Mark as I had been seeing him on and
off for some time now.
On the 9 September, Eve and I chat about how
things are going to change between us now she is engaged. In the
meantime, Dad has a dispute with the farmer at the bridge. The farmer
claims Dad is trespassing when he walks the dog there. However, Dad knows his
stuff and the farmer is shown to be wrong. Other dog walkers continue to use
the footpath that goes under the railway bridge and Dad continues to do the
same.
On the 10 September, I go straight to the bridge and complete a painting by noon. I’m feeling the pressures of my final
year at poly. I quarrel with Mum about it later. She boasts about my degree
course to her church friends but I feel uncomfortable about it.
On 11 September, I return to the bridge and
work hard all morning. I couldn’t believe my eyes when Eve turns up with her fiancé with sandwiches. Simon is an office manager, forever in suits and I
feel self-conscious in my scruffy clothes, sketching by a railway bridge. But it was ok and we chatted.
Something Missing at the Railway Tunnel
Today would also be a turning point for my on site
painting, as I had worked out what was missing from the tunnel and I had managed
to put it right.
Nearby, I found a dead tree lying in the hedge (I
sometimes refer to it as a ‘log’ in my diary). It must have been there all along
but I hadn’t noticed it before. I couldn’t lift it myself, so I got Dad to rest
the tree on the gate. It broke up
the sky nicely, improving the composition.
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| My drawings of the dead tree by the railway tunnel |
I had written:
“The sun came
strong so I went straight to a second painting. Didn’t think it’d be so good
and my enthusiasm would wane but surprisingly it was great, the best I have
done: a view of the log on the gate from under the bridge. Dad came later and I
finished it by 2.30pm. Loads of people came to the location considering it’s a
weekday. Proud of my paintings.”
So now, I'm painting the dead tree. I return to the site on the 12 September. I had
written:
“I went to bridge. It was hot. Worked out another composition. Had
dentist check-up that fitted me in this afternoon: 2 fillings. Dreaded it. Mark
rang. Eve thought it was Simon and got embarrassed. I went to the dentist
for my 2 fillings: drill, clamps, the works but little pain.
I went to the bridge with a numb mouth and thought it was brave of me. I painted
briskly and moodily. It’s the far end of the gate
leading to the fields beyond.”
The dentist used to terrify me as a youngster. We
used to have the ‘gas’, an anesthetic administered by mask.
I continued to harbor dread of the dentist, even at the age of 20.
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| 11 Sept: I'm now painting the dead tree by the tunnel. |
On 13 September, I meet up with Mark at his new
house again and we walk through the woods. I continue to feel disheartened
about our relationship and we don’t talk much. We drink in town later. His
mates make fun of him behind his back, as Mark is tall with dark shaggy hair. I stop the night again, but my depression creeps
on and I want to be alone.
The next day, I “felt
horrid about last night.” However,
we meet up again in a pub, where this drunk
teased me about his friend being blind and I believed him. The atmosphere was
intimidating. I went to Mark’s house after,
where he lounged all evening with his earphones in. In my diary, I wrote “Mark is a lazy lout. I’m sick of him.”
On 15 September, I’m back at the bridge painting the dead tree. I had written:
“Drew out my
composition of the close view of the dead tree leaning on the gate. It took over an hour and it turned out to be the best of my series
of 8 paintings.”
On 17 September, I return to the bridge to begin my
final painting.
“Painted the foreground before doing the
sky. It was beautiful, blue but no clouds, so left
it till tomorrow. Got bored and depressed.”
18 September 1985 was my final day at the bridge that summer.
“I continued my
half-finished picture. Spent seemingly hopeless hours on a crappy sky. Kept
changing it until it improved. Got 9 large paintings, 3 small ones
and a half-filled sketch book. Not bad for the summer holidays.”
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| My paintings of the dead tree at the railway tunnel |
Beginning my Degree Year
On 21 September, I report of vivid fantasies that night which I often experienced. Sometimes they would disturb me. But like my horrid dreams, I couldn’t make sense of them and never told anyone.
I begin my third year at City University on 22
September 1985. Dad drives me to the city with my paintings. I often complain
in my diary that I feel I have a tough time compared to my older siblings who have stable relationships and houses. I’m a struggling student, alone
with no base and often broke. I don’t see Mark often and when I do, things
aren’t hot between us.
Once Dad drops me at the student digs, I sit by
the river, rolling cigarettes feeling bad.
On 23 September, I write:
“My first day at
Liverpool Poly. The Sun is out but it’s not mine.”
I cry before pulling myself together. I return to the studio and “drew charcoal sketches of the bridge to convey an oppressive feel.” I work these from pen drawings I
had done earlier.
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| My distorted interpretations of dead tree and the railway tunnel |
I had the odd notion that the railway tunnel was now sullied by my input. Whenever I return, I would associate it with what I had done to the site and my resultant paintings.
Some of the tutors liked my sketches, but others disliked the graffiti and the menace I had given the
scene.
I would spend my final year at City University working studio pieces from my bridge and dead tree paintings. Throughout, I would
experience intrusive thoughts, horrid dreams and crippling
depression.
I would explain it to homesickness, my twin moving out and my troubled childhood, as Dad
had been mentally ill throughout the seventies.
I just ‘got on with it.’
But I was wrong about everything.
The bridge location held the clue. I wouldn’t see it
for 31 years.
In the summer of 1986, I would do the same thing to
another location as I had the bridge.
This other location is a tumbledown barn on another
farm.
