Sunday, 24 June 2007
When I was a child in South Yorkshire, one of our neighbours had a print of a L.S. Lowry painting on their wall. I was completely fascinated by the mass of little stick figures who inhabited a world that was deeply familiar to my 8 year old self. Although we lived on the other side of the Peak District to Manchester, his industrial landscapes were clearly echoed in the bleak architecture of nearby mill towns. I think this was probably the first time that I realised that art could come from something real, something that you could see around you: before I saw that Lowry print, art and artists had seemed like something faraway, exotic and impossible.
I'd completely forgotten about that print until something about the angles of this drawing recalled Lowry's figures all hunched up against the bitter Northern cold and brought this memory swimming up to the surface.
Posted: 9.57pm on 18.6.07