Our next solo exhibition will feature the work of Nathan Ford. It opens on 25 February and will run until 25 March.
Nathan will be in attendance from 1- 4 p.m. on 25 February. This will be the eleventh solo showing of Nathan’s work, and they are without fail intriguing exhibitions.
In memory of a fabulous poet who we lost recently:
Grandmothers who wring the necks
Of chickens; old nuns
With names like Theresa, Marianne,
Who pull schoolboys by the ear;
The intricate steps of pickpockets
Working the crowd of the curious
At the scene of an accident; the slow shuffle
Of the evangelist with a sandwich board;
The hesitation of the early morning customer
Peeking through the window grille
Of a pawnshop; the weave of a little kid
Who is walking to school with eyes closed;
And the ancient lovers, cheek to cheek,
On the dance floor of the Union Hall,
Where they also hold charity raffles
On rainy Monday nights of an eternal November.
Classic Ballroom Dances by Charles Simic
East Place in South London was the location of Stan Ford’s scrapyard/garage. Stan was proud of Nathan’s achievements as an artist. He would walk aroud the gallery looking at the work. ‘The boy’s done good huh?’ he would say, diffidently – wondering if his son did not, after all, require a proper job (and instead had found a vocation). Nathan talks about the scrapyard in the short film we made about him. Dump 2023 is a painting that reaches out to the generation to come and the generation just passed. ‘The past is never dead. It is not even past’, as Faulkner said.
Click the image of Dump 2023 to watch ‘Nathan Ford: Painter’ on youtube:
There is a a sparsity in Nathan’s work. He is a man who abhors clutter and enjoys crystallising what he wants to say in paint. What the paintings lack in impasto they make up for in intensity.
Alone I stare into the frost’s white face.
It’s going nowhere, and I—from nowhere.
Everything ironed flat, pleated without a wrinkle:
Miraculous, the breathing plain.
Meanwhile the sun squints at this starched poverty—
The squint itself consoled, at ease . . .
The ten-fold forest almost the same . . .
And snow crunches in the eyes, innocent, like clean bread.
Osip Mandelstam Alone I stare into the frost’s white face.
Similarly the still lifes are marvellous in their spareness.
Fear passes from man to man
As one leaf passes its shudder
All at once the whole tree is trembling,
And there is no sign of the wind.
Charles Simic ‘Fear’.
Thank you for reading,