Letter in the Daily Mail newspaper

This is the text of the letter I had published in the DAILY MAIL newspaper on Thursday, June 11th 2009, as the main letter on the letters page, along with a photo of myself and this painting:

'As the Royal Academy opens its annual Summer Show this week, thousands of artists across the country will still be nursing frustration at not being accepted. Like myself, they will probably be wondering why.

It was my 8th attempt. I entered an oil painting I felt quite optimistic about. I've been to many previous Summer Shows and have a fairly good idea about what gets in. My small painting, called 'Waiting,' was a metaphor for the way most people in life are waiting for things to happen. I am a practising artist, I've had many exhibitions, (and have work in 3 shows this month, including a solo show), but like many artists, I always hope for the day my work will hang proudly in the Royal Academy Summer Show. (The closest I've got so far is carrying a rejected painting in a bag around the exhibition.) While most artists realise that submitting work is like entering a lottery, we submit work year after year with a 'Maybe this time' attitude. We are lured by the promotional material that suggests there is a chance for us too.

Year after year, I see work by the same established artists, or artists I know of, artists whose style is known on 'the Circuit.' I wonder how many newcomers actually have a chance of a second glance as their work passes before the glazed eyes of the Selection Committee? Space dictates its own restrictions, but when a whole room is given over to a famous artist to curate or show his/her work, our chances dwindle even further. It's certainly not an even playing field, and each year I see many worthy and impressive paintings go on to hang in the excellent 'Not the Royal Academy,' at the Llewellyn Alexander Gallery. Many times, as I wonder why a particular painting was rejected by the Royal Academy, I find this alternative show contains the more exciting work.

In my opinion, the Royal Academy Summer Show is an exclusive club. The Show seems to be funded off the backs of hopefuls, who pay their £25 per painting submission fee, and at the end don't even get a free ticket to see the exhibition. There seems to be no control or checking of the selection process, so the final decision once again comes down to the arbitrary likes and dislikes of a few artists. I would like to see a few members of the Public on the Selection Committee, to break with the traditional loop . Let's have some new thinking on the selection process!'

The Royal Academy Summer Exhibition

The dreaded letter from the Royal Academy finally arrived! It was, as I expected, a rejection. My little painting, 'Waiting,' had not been accepted. I must have been among thousands of artists receiving the same letter that day, sharing the same disappointment. I doubt that this open exhibition is as open as they make out, mainly because a large portion of wall space goes to the Royal Academicians, and to established or emerging artists. Year after year, I visit the Summer Show to see the same painters on the walls, and paintings by artists I either know or know of. In my opinion, it's an exclusive club, and to get in is rather like a lottery win! But artists, ever hopeful souls that they are, keep on trying, keep on paying their £25 per work entrance fee. (We don't even get a free ticket to see the exhibition.)

I'm sure I'm not the only artist to feel that it's an uneven playing field. It always will be, when there are established artists all fighting to retain their spaces, or people using their connections and networks. When I go to see the show in June, there'll be work to admire, paintings to wonder, 'How the hell did that get in?' and perhaps one or two surprises. Then next March, the process starts up all over again. I would love to know are there any other artists out there feeling as frustrated?

Striped Coffee Cups

Yesterday was a red-circled date in my diary. It was the date my gallery was returning my paintings. My short reprieve had failed. The manager, Mr P, had kindly offered to drive the 9 canvases back to me from London, and I waited anxiously for the ring on the doorbell.

I'd prepared for his arrival, still hoping in vain to be seen in a good light. I'd scrubbed the striped coffee cups in preparation for our last coffee, I'd screwed the leg back onto the wobbly, mangled old coffee table, so it wouldn't collapse when we put our steaming cups on it. I'd even cleaned the bathroom, paying particular attention to the toilet.

Still feeling rather raw about being dumped by the gallery, I consoled myself with the thought that at least Mr P. would get to see my numerous large canvases, glowing splendidly on the walls. He'd never seen them, not that it would have made any difference as they were too large for the gallery. Surely he would, for the sake of our 2 year association, and out of protocol, drink a last coffee with me? He couldn't be planning to fling the work out of the car windows as he passed along my street?

Mr P. arrived at 11.15am. I wondered why he chose not to park in one of the spaces outside the block of flats, and instead stopped his car at an angle across the drive. 'Thanks so much for delivering them back to me,' I said. He asked, 'Do you want some help inside with these?' I said 'Yes, thanks very much,' but he shoved them up against the nearest wall faster than I could say, 'Aren't you coming in?' As he pushed a form at me to sign for the delivery, I asked 'Don't you want to come in for a coffee?' Sheepishly, he shook his head. I couldn't help myself - I blurted, 'But I was really hoping to show you the large works.' He merely said he was sorry they hadn't been able to sell more of my work. I said, 'You win some, you lose some. Anyway, I've got 3 shows in June.' His eyebrows raised, a look of surprise spread across his face. I wasn't going to end on a negative note!

I waited for a formal goodbye, but he got into his car. The encounter had taken all of 5 minutes. As I carried the works to the side door, I noticed Mr P. sitting in his car, perhaps watching, perhaps working out his homeward route. I waved as he turned the car, and he was gone.

As I struggled with the canvases down the stairs into my basement flat, I felt an untidy medley of emotions. Sadness that I would never see Mr P. and his lovely gallery again. Panic that no one might ever give me another chance to be part of a 'stable' of artists at their gallery. And defiance! I unpacked the works. They looked better than they should for rejects. The positive thing, I told myself was that I had more than enough work for the 3 forthcoming shows.

Now a day later, it's all slipped into perspective. That was not the only gallery, nor are they the yardstick of quality. The art market is a complex thing, even more so in these times of financial crisis. Plus there's the artist's dilemma. Do you make work that follows your vision, hoping it fits the current trends, or do you doctor your work to fit what is wanted? I could do any number of photographic, realist paintings (I used to live from doing portraits in Cyprus), but the lure of composing with colour beckons. I'm not going to adopt an 'I'm a misunderstood artist' stance, just hope that soon I will find a gallery where my work fits.

As for June, I can't wait for the 3 shows. First is my solo show here, in a new space called 'The Big White Wall.' Then there's the 'Not the Royal Academy,' at the Llewellyn Alexander. I had work chosen for that from photos. Finally, I have work going into a group show at the Brick Lane gallery. Will anything sell?

Paintings: 'Sussex Journey,' (oil on board), 'Spring landscape,' (oil on canvas), 'Spring Stripes,' )oil on canvas.

The Royal Academy Summer Exhibition

I delivered my painting, 'Waiting,' to the Royal Academy on April 7th. I didn't think I could manage to do it, being in the throes of a vicious form of Gastric Flu. What made it even worse was that the queue to the Academy was the longest I've ever seen! Normally when you go through the Burlington Arcade to get to the back of the Academy, you turn right and the entrance is only a few steps along, and usually you wait no longer than 15 minutes to step inside. On this day - the one day I didn't want to be stuck in a queue far from a toilet - I stepped out of the Arcade onto a pavement so congested that I couldn't see the cars on the road, or even where the queue ended. I had to walk right down a fat line of people holding canvases of all shapes and sizes, to where the queue fizzled out onto the next street. As pedestrians jostled to find a way between painters and huge canvases, someone came along and told us we were blocking the pavement and were a safety hazzard.
I waited at least an hour. I spent it listening to painters discussing the abnormal length of the queue, whilst trying to ignore my heaving intestines. There was a man who had travelled all the way up from a Museum in Plymouth to deliver a large, bubblewrapped canvas. He chatted away amicably with another artist who was selling paintings in a London gallery. This interesting fact prompted me to turn and try to view his unwrapped large painting, to see if it was any good. But it was wedged in the queue in such a way that I only had a glimpse of yellow and black.
I tried to work out how many artists were in front of me. If there were 80, and each took 5 minutes to drop off his or her work, how many hours would it take me to get there? In the meantime, as I neared the entrance point - which was much further along than one we previously used - I noticed a huge red canvas with a woman playing a guitar painted across it. It was quite impressive, but the voices behind me echoed my own sentiments, namely that large paintings don't stand a chance when space is so limited. Unless of course, you have a name!
Finally, I followed the now single line down a very narrow alleway, with brick walls that were black and smelled of soot. At the end was a doorway and we were allowed in 3 at a time. There were 3 tables and I hurriedly unwrapped my small canvas and a young woman disappeared with it.
My hopes are not high but it's one of those things you feel you have to take a chance on. It's my 8th or 9th attempt, and inevitably my fingers will be shaking as I tear open the envelope at the end of May. The only thing I can say this time with certainty is that my painting was good and deserved to get in - but that's not always enough!

This is a small oil painting I have just finished and which I am entering for the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition. It is called 'Waiting.' The idea came from a visit to the cafe at Burrswood one Saturday when I went there to paint. I usually paint in watercolour for 3 or 4 hours then go to have a coffee. On this particular day I noticed a group of teapots huddled on a trolley in the kitchen behind the counter. I felt that they were like a group of women in conversation, and liked the way that the spouts seemed to add to the sense of animation.

I took a photo and this painting was developed from it. Since then I have taken more photos as the grouping keeps changing as teapots are taken out to waiting customers. I will paint some of these other groupings into much larger oil paintings. (This one is only 30cm by 40cm.)

As for the Royal Academy Summer Show, I'm realistic enough to know that it's a lottery! (All of these open exhibitions are a lottery, but this one more than most as usually around 12,000 works are entered, and I believe that wall space for newcomers is at a minimum!)I have submitted work 8 times so far, but perhaps this will be a luckier year?

A Bad Day

Today I received notification that a painting I submitted for an Open Exhibition at the Mall Galleries was not accepted. (The painting submitted is the one in the previous entry, and is entitled 'Autumn, Late Afternoon.') It's strange but no matter how many times I submit work, and brace myself for the reply, the rejection slips always leave me feeling wobbly for a while! I spend a good hour or more thinking: 'Was my work no good?' or 'Did it just not fit their criteria, was it too colourful, not colourful enough, not figurative enough, not abstract enough....?' The list goes on and on, and each time new doubts emerge. But at the same time, I'm realistic enough to realise that one's work doesn't always fit the general tone of the exhibition, that often the personal tastes of the selection committee affect the final decision, or the sheer volume of work passing in front of their eyes makes it impossible to see or choose everything. I've learned that you should never slant your work towards what you think the committee might want - in the end you have to be yourself and follow your vision. The main thing is to keep on trying!
(With this entry are two paintings: 'Nicosia and Washing,' and 'Pool of Bluebells.)

Painting at Burrswood, kent

Saturday was a perfect day for painting. I went to one of my favourite places, Burrswood. It's a Healing Centre and Residential place, with a church, coffee shop, pool and other amenities. The enormous grounds are truly spectacular. There are several spots I like to sit and paint in watercolour. One of these is down by the lake, where there's a wild forest and large rocks. Then there's the panoramic view from up the hill, which is also very inspiring. On Saturday I made two large watercolours. I may work them into oil, or I may work from some memories of being there, which makes for a more abstract, imaginative composition. I like to alternate between these two ways of working, and sometimes start my oil paintings from a few marks and colours thrown onto the canvas. Always I'm seeking to find a form to convey my experience of being in the land, and its spiritual forces.

Tomorrow I'm taking 2 paintings based on Burrswood to London. One is a watercolour of trees, sunlight and shadows, the other is an oil painting of an autumn scene (to be included in this entry, called 'Autumn, Late Afternoon.'). The oil is being entered for an open exhibition, the watercolour is going to a gallery.

I had some news last Friday that really cheered me up. The gallery which had asked me to collect my unsold work, asked for more. Consequently I'm taking up the watercolour.