Underage Drinking and the Art Circle
Party time and Alan French has just been to his first ‘grown-up’ party and the results were unsurprising…….
Barry Page
Fear not, Alan, as my ageing memory ticks over, it dredges up a similar memory. Scene was at a house party organised by George and Deb Bunting (Chris Bunting's parents) in the heart of 'smart' Canonbury. Invitees were the cream of Islington artsy-fartsy life, and included a few gatecrashers – Chris Bunting, Mike Stewart and myself. The vino flowed like water, and we three indulged in a most liberal manner (we were deffo underage drinkers at the time). The effects soon manifested themselves and, similar to your kitchen sink drama, the Bunting's equivalent suffered the same fate. To add insult to injury, my bloated bladder told me it was time to relieve.
There being no room in the 'engaged' bathroom, it was a prolonged jimmy in the front garden behind the privet hedge where my old man, who had come to collect me, (it was 2 o'clock in the morning) found me swaying there whilst emitting a great geyser of urinated steam. [modest boy, that Barry - Ed] As you can expect (and visualise), the ride home consisted of probably one of the biggest bollockings he ever gave me. It was fun while it lasted though.
Alan French
Barry, I am relieved my memory has not failed me completely. I was 16 when that party was given and I have to say that Dark Rum was the culprit. Their kitchen sink wasn't a pretty sight, a memory for me which is still vivid, and it was apologies all round. I haven't had dark rum since that evening.
Barry Page
The Islington Art Circle (I.A.C.)
The I.A.C. was more than a group of individuals who wanted to express and practice their interest in art. It was also a fellowship club; the organization of which was presided over by husband and wife, George and Deb Bunting. George, an engineer by profession, was an easy-going, pipe smoking and puckish mein host. His auburn close-cropped hair and goatee made him instantly recognizable, and his infectious chuckle and twinkling eyes endeared him to everyone. Deb was equally as gregarious and hovered around as the proverbial hostess welcoming all into their period Canonbury villa where the I.A.C. met for its art and club business sessions.
Although I cannot recall exactly where in Canonbury the Bunting’s house was located, I know that it was within a relatively short walking distance from my home in Highbury Station Road through Canonbury Square. However, Grange Grove seems to come to mind. Typical of the large houses, a covered, columned portico and short flight of steps beckoned visitors to the substantial front door. Once inside the vestibule and central hallway, the expansive interior suggested a bygone age of stately ladies in crinolines and Regency tailored gentlemen.
One of the downstairs rooms was reserved for the regular Monday evening life drawing sittings. At these sessions, the I.A.C. invited models to pose in the nude for the club members to capture on canvas, board and paper. Each model chose their own posture and remained in this position for a substantial length of time. Usually there was a break in the sitting then another session followed. At the end of the sitting a general discussion ensued as members circulated and critiqued each other’s work; then Deb threw open her house for refreshments that consisted mainly of cheese and wine, and other beverages.
The models varied: male and female, young and middle-aged, but all were of a good calibre and presented themselves with decorum. This was important as the essence was purely artistic and something I learned to respect. For a teenager confronted with the naked, curvaceous body of a mature woman, such respect was expected. There were, however, lighthearted moments such as one particular female model, whose entrance into the studio room was bizarre. The door would suddenly fly open and she would flamboyantly soar across the room in two or three bounds, launch onto the waiting sofa and drape herself over the upholstery like a dying swan. Whatever position she reclined in was the subject pose of the evening.
The I.A.C.’s venue for artists was also a social nucleus for Canonbury’s literati and the Buntings were well known providers of convivial wine and cheese parties. Despite being an underage drinker, my membership in the society was an open-sesame to the social functions. Additional to this, I had another passport of sorts whenever a party was in the offing. The Bunting’s son, Chris, attended my senior school and was able to forewarn me of any upcoming festivities at home.
The wine and cheese parties, themselves, were relatively lavish given the setting and coterie of guests. Certainly the wine flowed and Deb, the good-natured hostess, flitted around ensuring that everyone was having a good time. George meandered through the rooms, puffing on his favourite brier, and welcomed all arrivals with a hearty handshake and a beaming smile. Despite appearing out of place in an adult’s surroundings, the three teenagers of Chris Bunting, Michael Stewart and myself blended in well and helped consume both the mountains of sandwiches and carafes of vino. We also happened to meet agreeable members of the opposite sex that helped to make memorable occasions of these soirées.
Alan French
Barry, I never ever saw this side of life whilst living in Islington. I think I lived a sheltered life. On the art side of things I did have a picture exhibited at Islington Library thanks to Mr Walton. It was a charcoal medium. On to parties, I do remember a party I went to in Torriano Avenue N7. The main memory for me was the playing of The Rolling Stones first album. I never ever forgot this time. Luckily I always managed to find my way home, usually on a bus. This meant the parents never new what occurred. My parents never had a car so they never had to worry about what I was doing; good thing? At this time I was unaware of how wine tasted.
Barry Page
Yes, Frank Walton gave many of us a break by encouraging us to exhibit at the Islington Library. My 1961 effort was shown in the Essex Road Branch. Curious that you distinctly remember playing The Rolling Stones first album. For me, I wasn't a Stones fan, but thought highly of The Beatles, and their albums were played regularly at informal gatherings in Phil Davies' basement flat. Phil's mother made sure no alcohol was present, but her cups of tea were quite welcome regardless. My first 'all-nighter" was at a rave in Muswell Hill, where my workmate, Roger Mason and his live-in girlfriend, Susan, made sure we all had a good time. Spending the night curled up in an armchair though, wasn't too conducive for good sleeping, and I had to walk home to Highbury Corner to boot.
Tam Joseph
I exhibited a couple of times at the Islington Arts Circle show at the Central Library in Holloway Rd; the connection was The Buntings, Mr Walton and some folks who owned an art/framing shop somewhere around Camden passage. The Buntings were an amiable pair, they knew Bilson well back in the day when he was struggling to draw a line. Gave him lots of encouragement and were overjoyed when his work was accepted into the Royal Academy Summer show. The Buntings also organised Life drawing sessions at the Liebson' home in Highbury which was really useful.
I can vaguely recall being invited to one of their parties...
Alan French
My one and only claim to art fame was that picture on show at the Library. We were each given a piece of tree bark by Mr Walton and had to produce a work of art. My effort was with charcoal and pastels. Copying the lines of the piece of bark with charcoal then using the colour pastels to eventually show what looked like a flowing stream. I surprised myself. I suppose that was called abstract? The picture was framed and the rest is history. I did try a painting by numbers in oils once, not very inspiring as I could only count up to ten! Only joking.
Barry Page
Fear not, Alan, as my ageing memory ticks over, it dredges up a similar memory. Scene was at a house party organised by George and Deb Bunting (Chris Bunting's parents) in the heart of 'smart' Canonbury. Invitees were the cream of Islington artsy-fartsy life, and included a few gatecrashers – Chris Bunting, Mike Stewart and myself. The vino flowed like water, and we three indulged in a most liberal manner (we were deffo underage drinkers at the time). The effects soon manifested themselves and, similar to your kitchen sink drama, the Bunting's equivalent suffered the same fate. To add insult to injury, my bloated bladder told me it was time to relieve.
There being no room in the 'engaged' bathroom, it was a prolonged jimmy in the front garden behind the privet hedge where my old man, who had come to collect me, (it was 2 o'clock in the morning) found me swaying there whilst emitting a great geyser of urinated steam. [modest boy, that Barry - Ed] As you can expect (and visualise), the ride home consisted of probably one of the biggest bollockings he ever gave me. It was fun while it lasted though.
Alan French
Barry, I am relieved my memory has not failed me completely. I was 16 when that party was given and I have to say that Dark Rum was the culprit. Their kitchen sink wasn't a pretty sight, a memory for me which is still vivid, and it was apologies all round. I haven't had dark rum since that evening.
Barry Page
The Islington Art Circle (I.A.C.)
The I.A.C. was more than a group of individuals who wanted to express and practice their interest in art. It was also a fellowship club; the organization of which was presided over by husband and wife, George and Deb Bunting. George, an engineer by profession, was an easy-going, pipe smoking and puckish mein host. His auburn close-cropped hair and goatee made him instantly recognizable, and his infectious chuckle and twinkling eyes endeared him to everyone. Deb was equally as gregarious and hovered around as the proverbial hostess welcoming all into their period Canonbury villa where the I.A.C. met for its art and club business sessions.
Although I cannot recall exactly where in Canonbury the Bunting’s house was located, I know that it was within a relatively short walking distance from my home in Highbury Station Road through Canonbury Square. However, Grange Grove seems to come to mind. Typical of the large houses, a covered, columned portico and short flight of steps beckoned visitors to the substantial front door. Once inside the vestibule and central hallway, the expansive interior suggested a bygone age of stately ladies in crinolines and Regency tailored gentlemen.
One of the downstairs rooms was reserved for the regular Monday evening life drawing sittings. At these sessions, the I.A.C. invited models to pose in the nude for the club members to capture on canvas, board and paper. Each model chose their own posture and remained in this position for a substantial length of time. Usually there was a break in the sitting then another session followed. At the end of the sitting a general discussion ensued as members circulated and critiqued each other’s work; then Deb threw open her house for refreshments that consisted mainly of cheese and wine, and other beverages.
The models varied: male and female, young and middle-aged, but all were of a good calibre and presented themselves with decorum. This was important as the essence was purely artistic and something I learned to respect. For a teenager confronted with the naked, curvaceous body of a mature woman, such respect was expected. There were, however, lighthearted moments such as one particular female model, whose entrance into the studio room was bizarre. The door would suddenly fly open and she would flamboyantly soar across the room in two or three bounds, launch onto the waiting sofa and drape herself over the upholstery like a dying swan. Whatever position she reclined in was the subject pose of the evening.
The I.A.C.’s venue for artists was also a social nucleus for Canonbury’s literati and the Buntings were well known providers of convivial wine and cheese parties. Despite being an underage drinker, my membership in the society was an open-sesame to the social functions. Additional to this, I had another passport of sorts whenever a party was in the offing. The Bunting’s son, Chris, attended my senior school and was able to forewarn me of any upcoming festivities at home.
The wine and cheese parties, themselves, were relatively lavish given the setting and coterie of guests. Certainly the wine flowed and Deb, the good-natured hostess, flitted around ensuring that everyone was having a good time. George meandered through the rooms, puffing on his favourite brier, and welcomed all arrivals with a hearty handshake and a beaming smile. Despite appearing out of place in an adult’s surroundings, the three teenagers of Chris Bunting, Michael Stewart and myself blended in well and helped consume both the mountains of sandwiches and carafes of vino. We also happened to meet agreeable members of the opposite sex that helped to make memorable occasions of these soirées.
Alan French
Barry, I never ever saw this side of life whilst living in Islington. I think I lived a sheltered life. On the art side of things I did have a picture exhibited at Islington Library thanks to Mr Walton. It was a charcoal medium. On to parties, I do remember a party I went to in Torriano Avenue N7. The main memory for me was the playing of The Rolling Stones first album. I never ever forgot this time. Luckily I always managed to find my way home, usually on a bus. This meant the parents never new what occurred. My parents never had a car so they never had to worry about what I was doing; good thing? At this time I was unaware of how wine tasted.
Barry Page
Yes, Frank Walton gave many of us a break by encouraging us to exhibit at the Islington Library. My 1961 effort was shown in the Essex Road Branch. Curious that you distinctly remember playing The Rolling Stones first album. For me, I wasn't a Stones fan, but thought highly of The Beatles, and their albums were played regularly at informal gatherings in Phil Davies' basement flat. Phil's mother made sure no alcohol was present, but her cups of tea were quite welcome regardless. My first 'all-nighter" was at a rave in Muswell Hill, where my workmate, Roger Mason and his live-in girlfriend, Susan, made sure we all had a good time. Spending the night curled up in an armchair though, wasn't too conducive for good sleeping, and I had to walk home to Highbury Corner to boot.
Tam Joseph
I exhibited a couple of times at the Islington Arts Circle show at the Central Library in Holloway Rd; the connection was The Buntings, Mr Walton and some folks who owned an art/framing shop somewhere around Camden passage. The Buntings were an amiable pair, they knew Bilson well back in the day when he was struggling to draw a line. Gave him lots of encouragement and were overjoyed when his work was accepted into the Royal Academy Summer show. The Buntings also organised Life drawing sessions at the Liebson' home in Highbury which was really useful.
I can vaguely recall being invited to one of their parties...
Alan French
My one and only claim to art fame was that picture on show at the Library. We were each given a piece of tree bark by Mr Walton and had to produce a work of art. My effort was with charcoal and pastels. Copying the lines of the piece of bark with charcoal then using the colour pastels to eventually show what looked like a flowing stream. I surprised myself. I suppose that was called abstract? The picture was framed and the rest is history. I did try a painting by numbers in oils once, not very inspiring as I could only count up to ten! Only joking.