Today I found myself wondering about old Dave. The man had an effect on many people's lives. At his funeral there was a score of wailing women whom all missed him dearly. He was one of the world's greatest artists and was something of a maverick character.
I learned many things from Dave. Just for posterity I thought I'd write a potted biography of the life I knew with him, and some of the good times we shared.
Dave was the son of an American air-force pilot whom had an affair with a nurse after he was shot down and wounded in W.W.II. An orphan who grew up in a good old fashioned British public school as a ward for a member of the local aristocracy. His master (and owner) was having an affair with the vicar, whom was gay.
Dave didn't excel academically, but he was a good draftsman, an excellent painter. His paintings are some of the finest I have ever seen. He was also an advertising executive for twenty seven years. He had a great working relationship with an Irishman, a writer, and they used to make commercials together.
Dave was formed by many experiences in his life, most of all a string of broken relationships. His taste in music was superb and he introduced me to some of the greatest artists I have ever heard. He used to dress up smart, and his character was that of a hard-working man, a good man. He played mean harmonica and knew many of the other artists in Exeter, during "the naughties". Grant once said to him that he had seen Van Gogh's museum in Holland, the Netherlands, and recounted an anecdote about how in one of Vincent's paintings Grant could actually see the corn in the field moving. Two days later there was another canvass in his flat which matched the Van Gogh, and was distinct in style to Vincent's own. One could almost see the corn moving amidst the daubs of thick yellow paint set in front of a clear blue sky.
"It's all about the light." Dave used to say. Different directions of light and shadow would create various effects in art. For instance, in the portrait he did of Grant, while chalking his cue in the Horse and Dray, the top light from the glass roof gave the impression of being lifted up to heaven. Equally, light from below confers the impression of being drawn down to the underworld. Not only that, but also the size and shape of the frames create different effects in art. For example, a frame which raises the painting makes it seem to sort of "pop out" at you, but most frames are concave, which give the impression of drawing one into the artwork.
Dave like fast cars, loose women and booze. He was a great guy. He used to read a lot, but stopped when he realised having fun was much more to his liking. Dave wasn't exactly what you might call a spiritual guy, he was a realist, very much a rationalist, with no theological outlook. However, he did recount one story to me that changed his life, when he was in London working. He had his son under his arm, a brolly in the other hand, and a block of stone accidentally fell from a building site thirty stories up. It fell right on the top of his brolly and had he been just a few inches before or after him, both he and his son would have been killed for certain.
Their was a stigma attached to being painted by Dave. It was almost mystical. Each time he would paint a portrait of someone, shortly after they would attempt to commit suicide. He painted old Frank next door, and sure as eggs is eggs, two days later the authorities were called out as he had had a falling out with his girlfriend and was rescued from stabbing himself. He almost painted me, but wanted to paint me in the style of Lucian Freud, which I was not in accordance with. I wished he had of done, because he was so skilled, despite the near mystical stigma attached to being portrayed by such an artist.
Dave was one of the best. A real character. Shortly after he died Grant saw him in a dream. They were both in Brighton, Dave was drunk, carrying an easel and several paintbrushes, canvasses and paraphernalia. Grant asked him if he would like to go for a drink. Dave looked him up and down, flatly refused and walked on. As he was leaving Grant said, "Remember McCormick."
Dave was the only person who sent me a letter when I was living in France. He was a great guy and used to say, "They're Gauls mate!" (About the French). I miss him so much.
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