The loss of a dear friend

 

The loss of a dear friend

On Sunday 28th September 2025 I lost a dear friend: the artist Charles Hardaker. I was sixteen in 1949 and Charles a little younger, when we met at the Birmingham College of Arts and Crafts. We enjoyed competing together; he was my example, as we roamed the streets of our heavily bombed city, always with sketch-books at hand. Charles later settled in London at the Royal College of Art and soon became a well-known, hardworking painter. His works (mainly oils) were widely exhibited. The freedom of his paint textures is a joy in itself. Wherever you look, there is always something fascinating happening.

It is said that Charles aimed to show something of the wonder and mystery of the so-called ordinary world. He was influenced by the way Giorgio Morandi could arrange pots and pans to suggest a "conversation". Charles' still life paintings were a comment on groups or relationships.

                                          

A spiritual man, yet with a twinkle in his eye, Charles invited us into his inner world, through the many paintings of his modest studio hallway. Everyone wanted to know what the letters on the doormat were. Charles later drew our gaze outside with the light coming though the half-open door. He was looking for open doorways, leading to light, symbolic for him of "the other side". After all these years, Charles has now found it. Rest in peace, my dear friend.

         

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Songs of changing colours

In these times of many-coloured conflict, I felt the need to share with you the joys of multi-coloured floating watercolours that complement each other. They merge, jump, wave, chat, dance, wink, producing emotional harmonies, songs. These colours are medicine for the soul. Get carried away! Sing with me!

watercolour on paper, 68 x 46 cm, 2024.

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You can get in touch with me at: normanperryman@gmail.com

The Passing of Time

The Passing of Time 

Each year, as we gaze on the beauty of falling cherry-blossoms (a ritual in Japan), we are intensely aware that, when they are all fallen, like a movie, or a concert, there's nothing left - only memories.

I love the beauty of the short Japanese haiku poem. An art form reduced to essentials, it suggests movement and the passing of time, so we find ourselves reflecting on life.

                                               Old pond

                                           a frog jumps in

                                             the sound of water

                                                              (Basho 1644-1694) 

   Yes, at 90, life seems to be passing by faster than it used to be and I'm reflecting a lot about this. But rather than dwelling on regrets, I'm inspired to use my remaining time to celebrate the beauty of the transient. I plan to create a series of short liquid kinetic images (perhaps based on music) in which clouds of colour float across my projection screen, then like nature, change or disappear. My little rivers of colour will become an ode to nature and my creative way of waving goodbye.

I still treasure a collaboration in 2013 with the Netherlands Chamber Orchestra (leader Gordan Nikolić) and the composer/conductor Toshio Hosokawa. That work was called Cloud & Light, for shō and orchestra. The celebrated soloist Mayumi Miyata, clad in white, sat in front of the projection of my floating moons or planets that changed colours, according to the tones she played. 

There was no video-recording so this was a unique emotional experience for us all. Only the memory remains. An exercise in mindfulness and acceptation.

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 Many thanks to all you thousands of readers who have followed this blog since 2012. You can still find each one in the search bar on the lower right.

The Buddhist master of Mindfulness Thich Nhat Hahn, believed that the energy that we have shared will take on different forms, like changing clouds. My images have no digital limitations. They are forever universally available as part of the Cosmos. Who knows, you might also find some of them in the Cloud (YouTube?). _________________________________________________

The joys of intelligent listening

 

The joys of intelligent listening

On January 18th 2018, a devastating storm brought the whole of the Netherlands to a standstill. I happened to be one of many in my dentist's waiting-room. Conversations about the weather and more sprung up. A woman sitting next to me asked "And what is your work? "Oh, I'm an artist - I paint music." "Huh...? Wait a minute, you mean you've memorised the score and paint in synch with..... I'm a neurologist - how can your brain do all that in real time?" "Well, Doctor, my brain has been practising painting "movies" with a paintbrush for fifty years...It's a long story." That encounter in our dentist's waiting-room led to years of delightful discussion.

                                

Dr. Maaike van der Graaff, Neurologist, watercolour, 68 x 50 cm. 2019

A lot of people pretend to be listening, but they don't hear you because they are already preparing their reply. Yet if you can discover a common understanding, listening can be sheer joy.  When you give and take, it's like playing music together, it can be deeply moving and memorable. Musicians actually practise listening to each other. If only politicians could learn from their example!

Doctors who are good listeners show an intelligent interest in the whole person. "Tell me - how are you?" It's an invitation to share a lot more than just physical complaints. 

"Oh doctor, what a relief; you really hear what I'm saying. And I feel seen and encouraged by your wise smile of understanding. I know my time is nearly up, but I could give you a hug. Your words are music to my ears!"

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