Archive for the ‘Arts’ Category

Charmed, I’m sure

Posted on: June 13th, 2011 by riddaway No Comments

After years of quietly developing his style under the radar of the art world, painter Charming Baker has suddenly become one of the UK’s most popular and collectable artists. As he prepares for his Covent Garden exhibition this summer, supported by Sir Paul Smith, he talks to CGJ about success, integrity and why a nice picture of a fruit bowl is out of the question…

There’s nothing like a rags to riches story to warm the cockles. It’s a shame then that Charming Baker never really went through the whole rags phase before the riches finally arrived – instead he worked happily, if never especially lucratively, on his art for a good couple of decades before being rewarded for his maturing talent. But in a way, that makes his story even more heartwarming – in an era of the arts in which youth and newness are valued above all things, it is always reassuring to hear of an artist whose vision has been fertilised in the dark before being thrust fully formed into the limelight, especially one who works in so unfashionable a medium as paint on canvass.

Charming Baker was born and brought up in Ripon, north Yorkshire. He was christened Alan, but in Ripon everyone gets a nickname and Charming “had a reputation for being polite”. After leaving school at 15 and spending some time digging up roads, he was accepted onto a graphic design and illustration course at Central St Martin’s at the age of 21. In the decades since graduating he has been teaching part time, winning the occasional commercial commission, selling the odd painting, working from a studio in his garden and helping to raise his five children. A deeply unpretentious man, he has resolutely eschewed the shameless networking demanded by the gallery system, but without which his work always seemed destined to remain hidden from a wider audience. Then in 2006 an exhibition of his paintings was staged at the Truman Brewery on Brick Lane, and its success led to a steady burgeoning of his profile. Things began to really take off after Pat Magnarella, the manager of American rock band Green Day, was introduced to Charming’s work by one of his staff and decided to take a leap into the art world by taking over the promotion of this little known English painter. With the punch and chutzpah of a brash publicity machine behind him, the artist became a sensation in America, with thousands of New York hipsters flocking to his show, Stupid Has A New Hero. As his stock continues to rise on both sides of the water, Charming’s paintings now sell for prices that a few years ago would have seemed outrageous.

Damien Hirst and Sir Paul Smith are both enthusiastic collectors of his work, and it is as a brand ambassador for Paul Smith London that Charming finds himself in his fellow Yorkshireman’s Covent Garden fiefdom, with a major exhibition of his work running in the Mercer Street Studios in July. It is an unusual space – perfect for a man whose paintings have a strong streak of oddness running through them. “It used to be an old fruit warehouse and still has the old storage cellars underneath that smell faintly of bananas,” he says. “Not your usually gallery smell.”

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Breaking Arts

Posted on: June 12th, 2011 by riddaway No Comments

A new exhibition at the Tristan Bates Theatre explores the concept of failed relationships and their ruins through an eclectic collection of love tokens from around the world.

A garden gnome. A mobile phone. A ceramic baking bowl for making bread. On their own the tokens of relationships past are devoid of meaning, significant only to the couples who once cherished them. Put them and their story into the aptly named ‘Museum of Broken Relationships’ however, and these seemingly disparate mementos assume an extraordinary power to intrigue, amuse and disturb.

Take the Divorce Day Mad Dwarf for example: one former couple’s eerie garden gnome  that became a marital missile when their relationship hit rocky ground. “It was a long loop, drawing an arc of time” writes Ljubljana, the divorcee behind the dwarf’s untimely demise, “and this short long arc defined the end of love.” That this end was a bitter one is clear enough from the dwarf’s face: his nose and ears are missing and his forehead is splitting. Yet while most of us can recall a relationship in which such violence was, if not actually executed then at least vividly imagined, The Museum of Broken Relationships is collective proof that there is more to a break up than vengeance.

A lovingly handcrafted casket topped with an old photo pays tribute to a 25-year long marriage that left Jelka with “two sons, a lot of memories and this box”. A fluorescent pair of boxers are there, alongside the label – “A size too small… but I didn’t mind at all”.

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Chairman of the keyboard

Posted on: February 28th, 2011 by riddaway 3 Comments

Clifford Slapper is the pianist-in-residence at the uber cool and exclusive Crazy Bear club in Covent Garden.  Jean Paul Aubin Parvu talks to Clifford about music, Miss Right and why he’s a Slapper by name - not nature

CGJ: Is Clifford Slapper your stage name?CS: No, it’s actually my real name, despite what people often assume. The only worrying part is that one or two people who have got to know me quite well have assumed all along that it was a nickname – in which case how on earth did they think I would have earned such a moniker? I am a Slapper by name, not by nature.

Did you always dream of becoming a professional musician?As a young child my parents bought me a little toy piano, and apparently I was never off it, so they looked up a local piano teacher, an eccentric old lady in Wembley called Miss Beryl Silley. I had weekly lessons from the age of seven until just after I passed Grade 8 of the RSM exams, when Miss Silley sadly died. Silley and Slapper, what a combination! Years later I formed a musical duo with a young Lancaster woman called Chira Lovat, so then we were Slapper & Lovat – we resisted the temptation to re-spell that.

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High rollers

Posted on: February 10th, 2011 by riddaway No Comments

Skateboarding fosters artistic creativity to an extent rarely matched by other sports and outdoor pursuits. Shannon Denny meets artist, skater and Slam City collaborator Arran Gregory to find out why

“Any skateboarder ends up being drawn to London like a magnet,” says Arran Gregory. Where you or I might see concrete seating, a handrail and a staircase, a skater sees infinite possibilities. A bench forms the basis for a trick, a rail becomes a surface to slide on and steps offer a whole new way of envisaging and navigating space.

“Skateboarding’s a really good way of mapping out a city,” he says. “We have alternate routes that we take. There’s a route that shoppers have in their heads of London, there’s a tourist route, and then there’s skateboarders. Our route takes us to really random places and backstreets. We’ve got this weird map in our heads.”

For going on 25 years, that map has included Slam City Skates. The cobbles and crowds make skating in Covent Garden impossible, but kids in sneakers carrying boards bearing four wheels have been beating a track here since the mid-Eighties.

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It Takes Tea to Tango

Posted on: November 30th, 2010 by riddaway 1 Comment

Amy Laughinghouse cuts some old fashioned rug at The Waldorf Hilton’s tango tea

A silver-haired bandleader in a white coat and black bow tie croons into a microphone as women in towering heels and men in wingtips whirl across a marble dance floor. Other elegantly attired couples are clustered around gold linen-draped tables, sipping bubbly from champagne flutes or nibbling on finger sandwiches and delicate pastries, furtively checking their reflections in mirrored alcoves framed by ornate plaster columns.

It could be a scene from Mad Men, but in fact, it’s a 21st Century Tango Tea, one of the most original and popular takes on London’s irrepressible tea culture. This event—held every two months at The Waldorf Hilton hotel, an Edwardian grande dame near the thriving theater district—offers a hearty side of ballroom and Latin dancing along with the obligatory tea and scones.

While I love to dance, my limited moves, honed to the likes of Wham! and Modern English, don’t exactly translate to the foxtrot and the cha-cha. And although my husband Scott is perfectly competent in the side-to-side shuffle, he hasn’t attempted anything more ambitious since my parents, who misguidedly envisioned us waltzing at our wedding reception, arranged a lesson for the morning after his stag do. With Scott’s head still spinning one way and his feet attempting to spin the other, it was not what you would call a resounding success. (In the end, we cut the rug as a newly married couple by swaying spasmodically to More Than Words, a power-ballad by the 90s hair band Extreme, much to my parents’ everlasting disappointment).

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