STARN: Scots Teaching and Resource Network
Back to Scenes from an Artist's Life contents
Scenes from an Artist's Life
Chapter 15
"It had been easy to varnish over his faults to make him do more and express less, but he never was intended as an example.' _BYRON.
JOHN PEDEN THE COACHBUlLDER-THE RIDDLE-MAKER FROM ALLOA-
THE KILMARNOCK DRAWING ACADEMY-THE ACADEMY AND REFORM
DEVICES-MORRISON'S FLAG FOR THE COOPERS-GROWTH OF THE ACADEMY-JOHN
INGRAM OF THE HAUGH-J. D. GlBSON OF GLASGOW -BEGGARS' LOGIC-THE COBBLER
IN PRINT-THE SNUFF-BOX SCHOOL AT MAUCHLINE-MEN WHO HAVE RISEN-JOHN
ANDERSON'S VISIT.
" TAK' up wi' folk better than yoursel'," is an auld and wholesome advice; but whaur you canna get
them better, your next step might be to tak' up wi' them that's aulder. As experience is the great
teacher, age is likely to have an experience which a youth who is willing may learn something from.
Instinctively from my youth up I have had a leaning to the side of age in my choice of
acquaintances. They who had been shoemakers in their youth had an extra charm about them.
I have never looked on old William Rankin but with the greatest veneration. He had been brought up
about a gentleman's house, had been a shoemaker, and rose to be a magistrate in Kilmarnock.
Even Bauldy Morris rose from the seat, and was able to keep greyhounds. John Peden,
coachbuilder in Bank Street, had been a shoemaker. I had an early interview with him after I went to
Kilmarnock. He was one of her truly great men, who neither sought nor courted public notice. A
model of patience, industry, integrity, and every attribute which makes a man worthy of the name.
John won, and wore before the world with all the simplicity of a child, a single-hearted individuality.
He was a long thinker, a strong thinker, a simple yet determined thinker. He wrought long with his
brother-in-law trying to discover a system of mechanism for working carpets without
the aid of draw-boys. He felt as it were that he had been pursuing a phantom, and resolved to give
up the hunt in that direction. He then turned his spare time into a musical current, and set about
making an organ, which he finished, and which I have heard give forth serious, sonorous, and joyful
sounds. To step from shoemaking to that of a coachbuilder was a wide step; and in the new
business were twelve different branches, every one of which he plodded through and mastered with
his own hand. He found that in the manipulating intricacy of making a shoe every feeling was
present for starting, overcoming, and carrying on the coachbuilding to a decided success. I often
watched the genius of John, as he moved so earnest, spoke so kindly, and advised so fatherly. Part
of his past is present with me yet. Some young men may read my writing, and the impression I
wish to leave on their mind is never to forget where they got a hint on the way to well-doing.
Secondary minds have often lifted first-class minds to higher levels, as in the case of Thomson,
who thought that our Scottish music was worthy of better verse, and even the music required
introductory and concluding symphonies, and accompaniments for the pianoforte and violin. The
musical department he and others had determined to do; but wha was to mak' new sangs and
mend the auld anes ? Thomson at once wrote to Burns for twenty or twenty-five songs. It kindled a
poetic fire, which was only extinguished by death: and to this call for help we owe one hundred and
twenty of the best and purest songs of the Bard, which might have been allowed to slumber in
oblivion had not an honest and earnest nature called for help to set the world a-singing in a loftier
strain than it had done before.
In 1829 a genins reached Kilmarnock in the person of James H. Morrison, a riddle-maker to trade, a
native of Alloa. He wrought with Sandilands in Bank Street. Morrison was a musician, an artist, an
oddity, and an earnest man, bundled up in a state of mental confusion. His theories of everything
made the realities scarce worth looking at. He wore the beard; had worn his clothes till the
substance and the fashion were sair changed. He used
to walk alone, and desired to be social; yet kindred spirits seemed to him not to possess the land.
Even the forms of nature were defective about Kilmarnock. Trees were stunted, hills were absent,
rivers trifling, ruins were mean; everything on the surface was abortive. One day in this dejected
mood he met with some shoemakers who had been taking a stroll; but, unlike him, they were
pleased with everything they saw. He had given out to them that he was an artist; and that was the
reason why he was so ill to please. He had newly come from the north, and was full of the lofty
hills, rich valleys, and rapid streams of Perthshire, and by contrast with those, he found how small
everything about Kilmarnock looked. Roslin Castle had been a study for his pencil. The Dean
Castle was recommended by the shoemakers as worthy of a visit. He had been there, and found it
bad also. James M'Kenzie, who was recognised as Wee M'Kenzie, to make a distinction from a big
one of the same name, was one of the group. He had become sharp at hearing everything put down
as unworthy to look at. He addressed the genius, " I doot, lad, that there is something wrang wi'
yoursel'; if you were confined in a garret as long as the like o' us, you wad see mair worth looking at
when you did get out." Then he began a long and high-toned dissertation on my qualifications as an
artist, and told how many views I had taken about the place. I was one who could see beauties in
everything. Morrison wished to be introduced to this homely and easily satisfied artist. Next day
M'Kenzie called to see if he might bring the illustrious stranger; and at night he was forthcoming, a
quiet, placid expression on his youthful yet care-worn looking face, a mild diffidence in his manner
of utterance, yet a lofty and capacious desire to fill the world with his art, which was yet to be
produced. True, when pressed for a catalogue of his productions, he had sketched an interior of
Roslin Castle in pencil, had copied an Arab and his horse in sepio, and had done a portrait in oil.
The desire to do, and the theory as to how it was to be done, had a firmer possession of his mind
than the real doing. We got very friendly. I had a visit of him nightly.
I liked his manner; I liked his singleness of heart, his love for art, and his wonderful works that he
had seen and was yet to do. We arranged for' a visit to Dundonald. That was my classic ground.
Thomson of Duddingstone was his beau-ideal of a landscape painter. When I told him that Thomson
had taken the same view that I was going to take him to, he felt like one inspired, and wearied to be
on the ground. We were armed with paper and pencil to make a raid on the auld castle and carry
away its hoary mass and vegetable surroundings, with the Firth of Clyde and Arran hills in the
back-ground. Like every other kind of earthly greatness, it loomed larger in Morrison's imagination
when we were on our way to it than when he was confronted with it and requested to take his seat
as an artist and put that on paper. He made many apologies, wishing to defer it till some other
opportunity; and, making a few scratches with his pencil, discovered that he had brought too little
paper with him. I offered him more, and pushed him to issue or declare honestly that he could not
sketch from nature. He then made confession as to having only once attempted nature to her face,
and that was an interior of Roslin Castle; of which, no doubt, lile other artists, he had made an
exquisite study. He thought that, had he been alone, he could have done better. That is a soother
for every enthusiast; they think that the fault is not in themselves but in the surroundings. Morrison
came home at night quite chop-fallen. However, he returned to the charge next day to attack the old
castle single-handed, and from the same spot did awful violence to the dignity and proportions of
the place. He travelled to the banks o' Doon and passed three days among their classic corners,
and returned pleased with a scrap of Ayrshire scenery; but he was half of opinion that it owed much
of its beauty to Burns, who had sung it up so well.
I wanted him to begin and paint up a place, and by his art power throw a charm on what had been
passed by as commonplace before. Burns was determined to sing our own streams and burns, and
make them " shine with the best;" and for that purpose he asked the help of others.
Morrison took hold of this idea, declared it a proper step, and thought that the Kilmarnock artists
should be called on to join in this great work. He insisted on that point, and made special inquiry
after all those who had any taste or desire for art. We called on John R. Dalrymple, a house painter,
who had a fine artistic judgment as well as taste. He had been at Glasgow and got lessons from
Sandy Templeton, who in his day had a good repute as a portrait painter. Dalrymple joined in the
idea that Kilmarnock might have an academy as well as other towns. He thought that the
Kilmarnock Drawing Academy painted in large letters on the door would look well for a beginning. I
called the first meeting, which was held in the back shop of Reid and Dalrymple. Twelve attended.
All viewed the scheme with seeming satisfaction. Several meetings were afterwards convened by
mutual consent. Laws were framed, monthly payments of one shilling each member were proposed
and carried, to raise a fund for defraying all necessary expense. A room was taken in Cheapside
from Brown and Howie, builders, on the door of which Dalrymple painted in a bold letter,
"Kilmarnock Drawing Academy." Twelve members were the full complement to start with. Nightly
meetings were held to study drawing, talk over art, and make proposals for future greatness.
Dalrymple had only one theory, and it was a just one-Every man for himself You who talk and
don't work won't get on. To show that his theory and practice were of the right sort, for the first few
months he was only two nights absent, and every night he had something to show. He practiced
chalk drawing, and became both correct and rapid.
The Drawing Academy proved a great boon. During the struggle for the passing of the Reform Bill
flags were in great requisition for the processions which took place prior to the event. We had both
peace and space to act. The competition was great among us as to who would turn out the
showiest devices. Morrison was determined to eclipse us all on a fine blue silk flag, which was to
wave in front of the coopers; and as he had some notion of secrets in this line, or whether his
nerves could not stand the presence of others, he took a room for his own use, and we were
verbally informed of the greatness which wag for the first time to be seen when the flag was unfurled
on the street. There was a great quantity of gold used in his models and lettering done up in the
shining metal. His gold size had not dried, and the whole process was new to him, but he kept his
own secret and stuck to his job night and day, and in good time had his flag on the pole and furled
in compact order; but when the standard-bearer attempted to unfold the beauties of art at the
procession it would not spread its surface to the breeze; it was literally sticking together, and when
dragged to light the gold had gone from its design and was on the blue ground a mass of golden
butterflies: it was a nondescript ! Poor Morrison nearly sunk beneath the weight of woe. We
comforted him as much as we could, but the coopers had no sympathy with him; they were going
to make him responsible for the silk and gold. Morrison after the procession took the silk off the
pole and wound it round his body as if he had been a mummy, and lay down in a corner of the
Academy, where he fell into a profound sleep. More than twelve hours he lay thus swaddled in his
art mystery, and when he awoke it was well that help was at hand else he might have retained it as
a winding sheet: the gold size had dried with the heat of the artist and pasted the plies of silk so
firm that it required an outsider to unroll the genius from the coil he had so comically rowed himself
up in.
I have thus introduced Morrison to the reader at some length, as it was to him belonged the merit of
bringing together the Kilmarnock artists, and he was the bona fide founder of the Academy. He will
yet turn up a perfect Don Quixote, encountering art difficulties and making them fly before his
indomitable enthusiasm.
The Academy had in its membership one riddlemaker, two house painters, one cobbler, one tailor,
one confectioner, one cabinetmaker, one mason, one pattern designer, one currier, and two young
artists, Douglas and Morris. The Academy was to be a home for wandered artists, or artists visiting
the town were to be recognised as honorary members. Every member had a key to the room, and
every honorary member was served with a key also. Peter M'Millan from Paisley, John Ingram, poet
and artist, from Haughholm House, near Mauchline, and J. D. Gibson from Glasgow, were the only
three honorary members. James Wilson, from Glasgow, was out in Kilmarnock painting the portrait
of Alexander Finnie I was deputed to call on him, and invite him to be a partaker of our friendship
while in town. He was leaving that day and never was dubbed associate.
The two artists had a dignity about their persons which never came in contact with the rest. Their
names alone stained the roll, their presence seldom; and their knowledge was never lessened by
being divided among their less favoured brethren. One of the artists brought a specimen of his art in
is pocket, which for a short time graced the walls. The other brought a life study, which he had
painted in Glasgow. Both specimens soon disappeared, without due notice being given. The
greatest amount of specimens which at any time were on the walls were forty-five, sixteen of which
were mine
We began to be noticed by the better minded of the community, and some took rather a lively
interest in the growth what we had been at so much pains to plant in their midst. John Ingram was
teaching drawing in Kilmarnock at this time. He was a large-hearted man in the cause of art; he
volunteered his valuable services to impart knowledge to the members. In theory, he was of the
Turner school, or, what is nearer the point, he was of no school. His art philosophy was of a high, a
peculiar and powerful range, untrammelled by law. He went among the ancients and came back to the
moderns like a giant loaded with mental spoil, which treasure he laid at the feet of every earnest
inquirer.
J. D. Gibson was also of a great heart. He had no secrets had fixed laws, and a wholesome style of
portrait painting. He was well patronised in Kilmarnock. He was the first regular artist I ever saw
work. I went by invitation to see him while painting the portrait of Hugh Reid. I was favoured to sit
behind him. He named his intention as he proceeded, and requested me to inquire where or when I
did not comprehend him. I felt it the highest honour that had been conferred on me at the time, and
it lives though he is dead. He invited me to breakfast with him next day, and after breakfast stated
that he had resolved on remembering me in his will, only as I might not be present when it was
read, he thought he might just as well tell me now by word of mouth. He had in his lodgings an
unfinished head of David Mitchell, which he requested me to bring from the sideboard, hold it on my
knee, and look into its face. He then explained the theory of his process, simplified it, and as a
father cheered me to move in the same road in which I had started, taking a hint wherever I could
get it, and building conscientiously. Never try how clever you can be. Few will ask you how long
you took to do that, but every one will ask, " Who did it ? " Let it be your pride to make your work
speak for you. That will save your friends a great deal of trouble, and ultimately yield you a better
price and more independence.
How different the speech of Gibson compared with one of our own members: " The fact is, chaps,
it's no right in the like o' us wha ha'e paid for lessons to let the like o' you get it for naething, and
the truth is that there's nae use o' fechtin' awa' here unless some o' the gentry tak' us by the han'. "
As this was the member's first and last speech, I took a look at him as he stood with his back to
the wall, and thought that in the present case he had a' the backing that he deserved. I asked him
what gentry he could expect to hold out the wished-for hand. He mentioned Craufurdland or
Bellfield, and Holms' people. I thought that they would have very little to do unless we could show
them something to induce that state of mind. I looked upon his speeeh as beggars' logic, and
though I had a wife and eight children at the time, I hoped that no such mercenary or mendicant
form of mind should ever haunt me on my art-journey.
One day the Academicians found themselves highly honoured by receiving a notice from Mr James
Paterson, proprietor and editor of the Kilmarnock Chronicle, that he intended visiting the gallery. A
deputation was in waiting to receive him. He came in company with William Orr, his sub-editor.
William had been a shoemaker. He was from Stewarton, and had to take a trip to America rather
abruptly for having taken an advance step in the Radical movement. William was deputed by Mr
Paterson to take notes and make an appeal to the public for patronage for the feeble but earnest
institution. He declared that there was but a beggarly account of empty boxes to
begin with. " Visit the Academy through the day," said he, "and you will find the shoemaker a
devoted student of Titian; and at night go to his dwelling, and you will find him the hard-working son
of Crispin. Instead of delineating with a pencil the divine features of the human face, he is beating
out the soles of a pair of shoes with his hammer-labouring to support a wife and family." Such was
the first notice in print the public had of me as an artist.
The Tannocks were the only artists belonging to the town who floated in an atmosphere out of the
reach of the Academicians. About Cumnock and Mauchline artists were named as of standing. The
snuff-box painting had given bread and fame to a number, and some had been induced to visit those
places, who did not reside in them long. Daniel Macnee, portrait painter, Glasgow, had been there
for six weeks. Sawney Templeton, from Glasgow, had also been there. Wm. L. Leitch had painted
snuff-boxes there, and had risen to be a water-colour painter of great eminence in London. Many
others were named, but none stood so high in the eyes of the Academicians as John Anderson. As
a pencil sketcher and water-colour drawer, John was the highest point of attraction; and many were
the proposals to pay John a visit, and, of course, to crown him with the honour of honorary member.
We had set John on such a pinnacle, as that he might not speak to us even though we went. One
morning at breakfast time my door was suddenly opened, and a stranger thrust in his head,
enquiring in a hurried tone, "Does ane Hunter, that paints and mak' shoon, live here?" I said that I
was him. " Man, if you have anything in the painting way, let me see't as fast's you can, as Im gaun
to Glasgow with the Independent coach, and she only stops twenty minutes at Rogers', and I hae
ran as fast as I eould to see you. I paint a wee myser whyles. My name's John
Anderson." Here was an honour ! Everything I had even in process was turned out in a style suiting
the occasion. The warm praise he bestowed on everything is not yet cooled. Although the highest
gentleman in the land had called, his visit would have wanted the grandeur, the elevating, soothing,
and exciting power of John's visit. I felt a sort of delirious ecstasy to think that I should be singled
out as worthy of a visit. What a speech I would have to deliver in the Academy at night as to what
John said and how he said it ! Little do unthinking people know how far a kind word goes. How
much new life it imparts, and how little it costs! The hints given out by good men are never lost.