For a year or
two in the mid seventies Annette
exhibited her pictures for sale at a site by the river Dee against Chester
Walls on a Sunday afternoon. These were in part the original city walls and
allowed a complete circumnavigation on foot of the old city. Looking at a
Liverpool outdoor exhibition she found out about the Chester one which suited
us much better. Following a successful Saturday exhibition site outside
Bluecoat Gallery on their railings in Liverpool artist John Green persuaded
Chester council to permit the exhibition on a Sunday The arrangement was that
he supervised and collected 10% commission for the council.
The Chester
Walls site was led by John Green.. John Green was a former factory worker who
had given up his job to become a full time artist. He was an amusing, larger
than life character. The exhibition area outside was open to all although in
practice there was a core of regular artists. On a nice summer Sunday it was a
delightful area by the river, bustling
with people and traders. Conversely in inclement weather it could be a little
bleak.
John was busy
selling his own work but he would spare the time to come and have a few cheery
words. On one of our first visits Annette said she couldn’t decide how much to
charge. John offered his own experience. The first time he said he brought 20
pictures priced from £1 to £20 in £1 increments. He then said he sold one at
£11 so the next week he priced them all at £11. He then walked off chuckling. I
never knew if he was serious.
John was a
super salesman. I recall overhearing him with one hesitant customer. She was
dithering between two possibilities unable to make up her mind. To break up the
impasse John asked the colour of her wallpaper.
Martin
was a little baby when we attended.and my main job was to look after him,
taking him for a walk in his portable carry cot. This was no problem because it
was a delight to walk along the bank of the Dee watching the crowd and the
canoeists on the river. I enjoyed being a proud father and I would sometimes
stop and let ladies coo over him. Just by our site was a shallow weir so there
was no river traffic larger than a canoe. Just upstream there were boat trips. I
would walk up to watch the people assembling for a trip. A little further
upstream was a footbridge over the river leading to a former military barracks.
Just downstream from our pitch the roadway narrowed and curved leading to a narrow
vehicle bridge
We
built ladder racks to lean against the walls. At our site the walls were 10-12
feet high; massive stone built with a footpath along the top. In front of our
pitch was the wide pavement and narrow roadway. Beyond the roadway was another
paved area leading down to the river some 30-40 feet away. Ideally we parked nose
towards the river opposite our pitch. It was quite an art to fit everything
into our car. We were helped by having an Austin Maxi which was one of the
first hatchback cars of a type so common today.
The
artists were predictably varied. We quite often pitched next to a young man of
hippyish appearance. His work was rather strange, like illustrations of
nightmares; I don’t recall it was very popular. He would say his ambition was
to out Hieronymous Bosch, an 18th century artist known for his bizarre
work.. I always associate Bosch with a
fictional detective created by Michael Connally who is named after the artist
and shortens Hieronymous to Harry.
The
artist who didn’t fit in at all was someone who produced colourful daubs,
abstract sunsets and seascapes. He was also someone trying to make a living
from his work and he came with a large volume priced very cheaply. The quality
was abysmal. As I said the site was for a Sunday afternoon exhibition. The daub
producer chose to ignore this and apparently turned up on a Saturday.
Eventually the council spotted this and prosecuted. John was pleased but his
scathing comment was “Should have done him for depositing litter”
Although
it wasn’t an unpleasant way of spending a summer Sunday afternoon we never sold
much. With the arrival of Alison we gave up attending.
Remembering the sixties
I
think it was David Frost who said if all the girls in London were laid end to
end he wouldn’t be at all surprised.
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