...the following
is a rather waffly and unedited account of the day I spent with
Quentin Blake in London which was written as a sort
of aide-mémoire for myself to look back upon't. I thought I'd pop
it on the site for a bit of variety and for anyone interested in the man and his work - god knows you'd have to be
to read through all this... Just be thankful I don't have a blog... :)
Q & I.
A day with Quentin Blake.
I studied the scribbled address and glanced up at the numbers on
the houses overlooking the leafy South Kensington square. The scratchy
jagged handwriting and hastily doodled ‘map’ from our
brief meeting at the award ceremony the previous night were unmistakably
from the hand of Quentin Blake. The same distinctive scrawled script
that appears so many times in his illustrations is immediately recognizable,
and seeing handwriting so familiar to me from my childhood threw
me for a second.
I climbed the steps of the address on the card and rang the bell.
At the same time as the intercom crackled into life and a well spoken
lady’s voice greeted me, I spotted Quentin Blake shuffling
down the street towards us. We were buzzed in and I found myself
bizarrely holding open the door for Quentin as he approached on one side, whilst also trying to identify myself to his PA Nikki as she came into the hall to greet us. Any awkwardness I felt at this clumsy introduction was quickly dispelled however, as Quentin cheerily breezed up the steps
and Nikki welcomed us all into the small ground-floor flat that is used as Quentin's 'office'. The walls of the rather dark and narrow corridor were lined with
framed posters featuring Quentin’s illustrations, some in
foreign languages, some promoting several of his many books and
book fairs, some promoting exhibitions of his work, but all of them
adorned with the scratchy, spiky drawings that are his trademark.
Quentin Blake is, for people of a certain age, a national institution.
To borrow a phrase from the chap who introduced Quentin to the assembled
throng in the London Transport Museum the night before, any of us
who have been children will be familiar with his work, so established
is it in schools all over the UK and beyond. In the primary school
that I attended, his books were used until they fell apart at the
binding. Upon being let loose in the library you would always gravitate
naturally to his energetic and mischievous drawings. Not only that,
but in the 1970’s when ‘Jackanory’ was in it’s
heyday on the BBC, his illustrations of ‘Arabel and Mortimer’
were beamed straight into living rooms all over the country, and
directly into millions of impressionable little minds. He surely
must have unwittingly inspired countless contemporary illustrators
to pick up a pencil in the first place.
The largest room in this tiny ground floor flat is where he houses
his ‘archive’. Large, purpose built shelves that stretch
along the full width and height of the wall are filled to bursting
with laced up portfolios, most of which are labelled, again in that
familiar handwriting. This sight alone was a testament to his prodigious
and prolific output during a lifetime of illustrating.
After Nikki brought us some tea and biscuits, (in mugs adorned
with more of Quentin’s illustrations) and we had broken the
ice with some frivolous chat, Quentin got into his daily routine
of checking his emails and sorting out the business of his day ahead
with Nikki, leaving us in the room with all the portfolios. ‘Feel
free to just take whatever you want off the shelf at random and
have a look. Most of them are labelled if there is anything in particular
you want to see’ he said as he left the room. I didn’t
need any more encouragement than that, and pulled one at random
from the wall of portfolios in front of me. The label said Twelve
Days of Christmas. In the folio were all the initial rough sketches
for the project, the original artwork and colour proofs from the
publisher; in effect, a whole Quentin Blake book from ideas to finished
product and all the bits in between. In a way I was pleased to see
that his rough sketches were just that. The ‘spontaneity’
that appears in his finished drawings are actually the result of
putting these rough doodles on the lightbox and re-drawing them
on quite heavy Archers watercolour paper using the roughs as a guide.
In effect, 'studied spontaneity'. I was a bit surprised, not to
say heartened by this, as I assumed he just sat down with a sheet
of paper and bottle of ink and the drawings flowed out of his nib
pen and onto the page verbatim. It was interesting to see how the
balance between the looseness of the finished sketch and the craft
of working out the poses and composition beforehand combined and
how the whole thing developed. Most importantly, how he managed
to keep the spontaneity even though he was adhering to a definite
plan and structure.
In this case, the topic of ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’
lent itself wonderfully to his chaotic illustrative style. The book
progressed from a scrawny and bemused ‘partridge in a pear
tree’ isolated in the centre of the white expanse of the page,
through each successive addition until eventually (by the twelfth
day) the frame was filled to bursting with figures and animals dancing
over the page noisily and interacting with each other. (At this
point I noticed a slightly balding and mischievous male figure depicted
dancing happily with one of the naked ladies and staring out of
the page towards the viewer. (See below.) Portrait of the artist
perhaps…?) (...It's also interesting to note in the picture
below that the group of musicians in the top left of the piece have
been done seperately and 'collaged' in afterwards...)
From there, he took us (us being myself and Deborah) back out into
the street and about two doors down to one of the other flats he
occupies in this grand old London residential Square. When we reached
the top floor (I think I was more exhausted than 72 year old Quentin
by the time we reached the top of the stairs, which says a lot for
the amount of energy he has; and possibly also about the amount of wine
I had the previous evening...) he ushered us into a bright and airy
studio flat with white walls all around and the most basic of furnishings.
This was a real bona fide studio space which had an ‘art college’
feel to it, quite different from the cosy clutter of his home studio
he would be taking us to next. Here, Quentin could indulge himself
and was where he occasionally painted canvases and worked on more
large scale drawings. He showed us a selection of these drawings;
a series of life studies depicting females reading. They looked
quick and spontaneous with a great economy of line, but quite different
to the work we all know and love. The most noticeable thing was
the scale in comparison to the book illustrations we'd just been
looking at. These were certainly not done on a lightbox, and genuinely
were spontaneous and loose. He motioned towards a thick pile of
Archers watercolour paper which he used for these drawings, informing
me that it was the largest size that Archers manufacture. They were
vast. Where do you go after ‘A0’, I wondered, a bit
surprised that the thought had never occurred to me before...
I assumed that by using the largest paper available he was attempting
to stretch his work out of the small scale confines of his book
illustrations, and therefore keep the smaller, tighter work more
fresh. In an adjoining room he had stored a large number of huge
canvases. I began to get the impression that he was quite keen to
show this side of his work, that perhaps he wanted to show that
there was something more to him than simply ‘Quentin Blake
– Children’s Book Illustrator’. The canvases were
in oils, and depicted quite abstract and expressionistic female
nudes in muted grey and brown tones. Judging by the style, I guessed
that some of them were quite old, perhaps a bit ‘1950s Art
School’ in feel, and I had a vague feeling that it was a side
of his work that he would like to get more appreciation for. A less
public and more personal side to his art. Perhaps even Quentin Blake
feels that he still has something to prove.
To the rear of this flat, down a short flight of stairs was another
Aladdins cave. He was there to pick up some Illustrations on board
that had been commissioned and used on the BBC children’s
television show ‘Jackanory’ for inclusion in an exhibition
at Chris
Beetles' Gallery in Ryder Street that he had starting at the
end of the week, and where he would be taking us later in the day.
Again, on many shelves were multiple copies of his books, many translated
into numerous different languages. I saw a tantalizing dusty and
forgotten cardboard box with a post-it note stuck to it that read
‘Award – Bologna Book Fair’... I wanted to ask
him about that, but the conversation moved on and it slipped my
mind.
I was genuinely interested to know what artists influenced him in
his work, and his eyes lit up when I asked him. ‘Ronald Searle’,
he said immediately. Which makes a lot of sense when you see their
work side by side. Like any artist starting out, you could imagine
the young Quentin Blake studying Searle's work and attempting to
copy it, and by doing so his own unique style emerged. He got down
off the ladder he had climbed up to reach some Jackanory pieces
on a high shelf and warmed to the topic, his eyes twinkling. I mentioned
Gerard Hoffnung to see if perhaps he too was an influence on the
formative Blake and he became quite animated, doing manic impressions
of him in a squawky voice, as the sound of building work from outside
filled the room.
Carrying his Jackanory artwork for him, we moved onto his main abode;
a 19th century mansion flat in the same street yet again, just a
few more doors along. This one was much different, much more grand,
the hallway thick with the smell of fresh paint (from the decorators
this time).
Having climbed the wide staircase as the lift was being repaired,
he ushered us into a large and warmly subdued hall which had a muted,
slightly decadent 'Uncle
Monty-esque' kind of feel about it. It’s walls
were lined with old 19th century
Daumier prints, and from there we were lead on through to his
main working area. This was a huge room, with an elegant fireplace
hidden behind the enormous desks, work surfaces, and his trusty
lightbox. Hundreds of books were crammed onto shelves in an arched
alcove.
At the far end was a well worn classic Charles Eames reclining
 leather
chair in front of a set of double French doors that lead onto an
intricate iron lacework balcony overlooking the Square. By the fantastic
light that spilled through these large doors and windows was his
main drawing desk; a vast plain with a forest of quills, brushes,
nib-pens, Japanese brush pens and bamboo shoots whittled into a
nib. In the centre was a shallow white box containing ordered blocks
of watercolour, all the colours carefully labelled in that familiar
Quentin Blake handwritten script. For such a large desk, the actual
space available to work on was severely compromised by having all
of these tools close to hand. I thought of the contrast with the
large scale drawings he'd just shown us in the previous flat. To
the left of all this, sat the lightbox. The general theme of chaotic
but fascinating clutter that you might expect in the studio of a
busy working artist was continued throughout the whole room. All
around on scraps of paper were doodles and inky experiments carried
out with various sized nibs and brushes. Even at this stage of his
career, it seems QB still has the desire to try new things and experiment
with new working methods. It would be easy to assume that with everything
that he’s achieved he could simply carry on employing the
same winning formula in a mechanical fashion, but I was heartened
to see that he appeared to have a healthy amount of self-doubt that
continued to drive him and his work onwards. It gives succour to
the rest of us scribbly mortals. Before meeting him I was a little
apprehensive that he may have been an intimidating academic (he
studied English at Cambridge and was a Professor at the Royal College
of Art for many years) who doesn’t suffer fools gladly, or
an irascible old man at the end of his career perhaps. Nothing was
further from the truth. On several occasions I forgot that I was
with ‘Quentin Blake OBE – Children’s Laureate’.
The good nature that comes across so vividly in his drawings is
just how he appears in person.
(Not to mention the fact that his career shows no signs of slowing
down).
He seemed keen to show us the projects he was working on at the
moment, one of which was a series of illustrations for a book by
Michael Rosen about the death of the author’s son called Michael
Rosen's Sad Book. It was a children’s book, and was obviously
a very delicate and brave subject to tackle in such a thing. Quentin
seemed to enjoy the challenge of illustrating a weighty subject
of this nature, and investing it with a lightness that would work
in a book aimed at a young audience. He'd obviously taken great
care and sensitivity in approaching it in such a way that would
be genuinely helpful to a child who may be experiencing a bereavement.
It was a particularly meaty and worthy subject for a children’s
book, and one that he seemed rightly proud of…
(I should mention that at this point he left the room to make a
phone call, and I took the opportunity to shamelessly liberate a
torn and disgarded scrap of watercolour paper from the waste paper
basket by his desk, which had a little scruffy doodle of a small
boy and several splodges where he’d been testing his brush.
Not something I’m particularly proud of, but I doubt it’s
anything he’d miss, and I dare say any other illustrator in
my position would have done the same had they seen a Quentin Blake
original staring up at them from a waste paper basket. It’s
not something that would have any monetary value I’m sure,
and along with the scribbled address and ‘map’ makes
a nice little souvenir for me personally.)
After a light lunch in a local French restaurant nearby, we tagged along
with Quentin as he carried out some of the business of the day,
namely a trip to Chris Beetles gallery in St. James where he was
due to sign copies of his books in preparation for his exhibition
there which was due to open later that week. This turned out to
be a fascinating little place, a gallery devoted to illustrations.
Chris Beetles himself was a colourful character, having the faint
whiff of a Dickensian villain. With his pointy grey sideburns and
business-like manner he appeared to have stepped straight out of
a BBC period drama. Despite this he was very personable, and gave
me an exhibition catalogue as a souvenir, much like the Shopkeeper
in Mr. Benn… There was a sale on, and as Quentin set about
getting writers’ cramp, we headed down to the basement for
a rummage through the piles of unframed ‘sale items’.
These were surprisingly good value I thought, and I was tempted
to part with some of my prize money on a Paul Cox original, but
didn’t fancy having to gingerly carry it around for the rest
of the trip.
As Quentin was winding up his book signing activity, Deborah sidled
up to him with the copy of the ‘Tell Me a Picture’ book
that he’d given us earlier in the day for him to sign. Another
nice souvenir of the day.
By this stage it was nearly 5pm, and the day which was  originally
scheduled to last from 10am until 2pm was now on it’s final
stage, namely a visit to Quentin’s retrospective exhibition
at Somerset House. By this stage I could tell that his energy was
beginning to flag a little, and felt that we should perhaps move
on and let him get back to his day. I took the opportunity of asking
him if he wouldn’t mind posing for a photo underneath the
huge banner bearing his scratchy signature outside Somerset House.
Rather awkwardly he agreed, and this is the only picture I have
of Q & I, as I got the feeling early on that he wouldn’t
have been comfortable with me snapping away throughout the day,
and neither would I for that matter.
Inside Somerset house we grabbed a cup of coffee and I quizzed
him about his OBE. He recounted his experience of being invited
to have tea with the Queen. Not many artists or illustrators can
have had this kind of Royal approval of their work. The following
December he was promoted, and made a CBE! (Incidently, if Her Majesty happens to be reading this as she trawls the internet like some kind of regal Googlebot, then might I suggest that she upgrades him to a knighthood as soon as possible...)
As we entered the exhibition venue Quentin ushered us through reception
with a breezy ‘you don’t mind if I bring my two friends
in with me do you?’ to the lady behind the counter. At this
point he was recognized by two young girls leafing through the Quentin
Blake merchandise for sale in the foyer. One of them nudged her
friend, clearly excited to see the man himself walk in. Quentin
was oblivious to the stir he was causing among his teenage fanbase,
and shuffled on.
Two enormous white cotton wall hangings with a couple of Quentin
Blake illustrations enlarged to a huge scale and printed on them
hung either side of the entrance to the exhibition. ‘I’ve
asked if I can have these when the exhibition is over’, he
said. ’I think they’ll make great curtains…’
Modesty forced him to leave us to look round the exhibition at
our leisure, without him peering over our shoulders. The exhibition
itself was a real revelation, and certainly enhanced my appreciation
of him and his work. The most astonishing bit for me was the video
presentation at the end, which was footage of Quentin talking to
camera and drawing at his lightbox in his mansion flat. The room
housing the video display was darkened, and I think the other viewers
at the exhibition were oblivious that the man himself was standing
at the back with his arms folded, watching the screen along with
everyone else.
With that, one of the Museum curators came along to whisk Quentin
off to finalise plans for his lecture there a couple of weeks later.
It had been a genuine privilege to spend a day with a real life
illustration legend, and we said our goodbyes and mingled back into
the throng of London outside in search of fine wine and food for
our bellys, oh yes…
January 2004
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