Activity afternoon at an infant school in the late sixties. While the rest of the country was apparently experimenting with illegal substances I was busy getting high on the bright colours of poster paint and the anticipation of what I could do with them. But elation soon became deflation as every session resulted in nothing but a muddy mess. The vivid colours and wild images filling my head would not flow out onto the paper. I was the artistic equivalent of being tone deaf, and after months of frustration I finally gave up. With my fine art career over, I sought refuge in the school's dressing up box instead.
Fast forward fifteen paint free years to Middlesex Polytechnic and a degree in Music, Dance and Drama. All going well until 'Set and Costume Design'. My Hamlet costumes amounted to one tiny scribble in biro - the tutor, though, seized my inch high Ophelia, praising the potential within the sketch. Unbelievable. I owe Malcolm. He didn't teach in the traditional sense of life drawing or perspective but gave me courage to experiment with colour, textiles, ideas, opening a door I thought was shut forever.
But I didn't share Malcolm's faith about furthering my artistic abilities - after graduation and a brief stint in the theatre I began my career in television. I've made programmes most of my professional life - it can be an exhilarating environment for creative types, but four years ago I decided I wanted to begin oil painting. A view through the window of a rented house on the river in Lymington, Hampshire sparked it all off. The way the light fell just compelled me to paint. Six months later I was a finalist in the national competition run by Artist and Illustrators magazine. Between paintings I continued to produce programmes.
And then - a malignant tumour was discovered in my face. I'll spare the gory details but it was grim and I needed quiet and solitude for some time. Fate gave me the unexpected chance to really develop my craft.
Bell Fine Art in Winchester began exhibiting and selling my work. A painting, chosen by WH Smith's for their British Artists Card range, sold over 20,000 in the first year. Seven posters are now out in America and I've twice been a finalist in London's Public Eye competition. But the high point has been Washington Green choosing to publish my work. Their reproduction skills are exemplary and calibre of artists high. It's an honour to be among them.
It's been quite a journey since infant school but I'm finally beginning to get those pictures out of my head and onto canvas.When small I would spend an unhealthy amount of time gazing at Janet and John books. I had absolutely no interest in the stories but would scour the pages enjoying the vibrant blocks of colour in the pictures. I loved the way these colours made me feel.
Our family garden, best described as 'unstructured', also provided rich pickings for a colour junkie. Scorching crimson roses, tangerine lords and ladies, piercingly blue cornflowers and rusting old car parts belonging to my brother, poking out from beneath. I liked colour, he liked engines. I would sit on a mat, on the grass, bathed in sunshine, trance like, drinking it all in. A true child of the sixties…
However it's only now, in later years, that I'm beginning to see the bigger picture, and am starting to really understand the role light plays in illuminating all those fabulous colours. The occasional glimpse of life you suddenly get when the light does shine in all the right places, highlighting the relevant and subduing the unimportant - striving to capture those moments is what inspires me to paint.
Being a relatively late starter in painting perhaps goes some way to explaining my tyrannical approach in the studio. There are so many pictures in my head waiting to emerge, I know life won't be long enough to complete them all, no matter how much time there is left - and I rage inwardly if interrupted. I would, if I could, demand the following while painting is in progress: 1) Silence from everything and everybody within ten miles, especially telephones 2) A supply of: delicious food and drink at regular intervals, tubes of oil paint in every shade that never run out, pristine brushes, absorbing radio programmes. But as it is I have to make my own beans on toast and deal with life while painting, just like everyone else.
Each picture begins with a sketch on canvas. Once I'm happy with the basic composition I begin mixing colours and developing the tones I'm going to use within the painting. I'm addicted to oils and like many painters build up the layers to achieve depth and luminosity of colour and texture. There are always three or four pictures on the go at once - I work very intensely with each painting and it's good to be able to break from one to another.
If I can I like to live with a finished picture for a while and be certain I achieved the best possible result.
try to start each morning feeding body and soul - we're lucky to have a glorious view from our bedroom so the day begins with tea and bowl of fruit in bed, gazing across the fields. Mike, my partner of sixteen years and I, have spent a long time creating our home. For ages we woke up to a less rewarding vision, and, although unfinished it's good to savour what we have achieved.
The news usually then wakes me properly and I'm into the shower shouting at John Humphries or whoever. Food is very important to me. I become impossible without it so always try to have a proper breakfast. Since the surgery on my face and mouth eating is a slow business but I attempt to be in my studio by nine. And I'm very choosy about who comes with me.
Artists strive for excellence and I like to be surrounded by examples of exceptional creative quality. My studio is full of books and prints by admired artists -Hopper, Sickert, Freud, the list is long. Musicians currently keeping me company are Richard Thompson, Buddy Rich and Rene Fleming. Selected shows from Radio 4 or 3 come on but only black and white films and BBC 2's business and political programmes from the TV. My eyes rarely come off the canvas so any script/dialogue must be good. When I stop for coffee/tea/lunch my painting comes with me so I can view its progress. Hours pass with incredible speed.
My ideal day ends unwinding with dance based exercise, a hot bath followed by dinner with Mike and/or friends, a cinema trip and a walk by the sea. A more likely scenario is discovering it's nearly 7 o'clock with brushes not cleaned, emails not answered, friends and family untended, me unexercised and no meal ready. 'The Singing Butler' has brought fame and fortune to painter Jack Vettriano. I'd settle for one who just answered the phone…