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Scenes from an Artist's Life
Chapter 17
" O'er the dark ocean of departed Time
Imagination takes her backward flight,
And views the past in majesty sublime,
Arrayed in gaudy hues of life and light."
---JOHN RAMSEY, KILMARNOCK..
MY PATRON M'ALISTER-COMMISSIONS AT TROON-THE GLASGOW DILETTANTI
EXHIBITION AND WEST'S GREAT PICTURE-A PAISLEY ORDER- I AM INTRODUCED TO
THE PAISLEY ARTISTS-A LIKENESS FROM MEMORY -THE MANTLE OF THE MOOR.
My friend M'Alister having fallen into ill health, a change of climate for a season was considered
advisable. A trip to the West Indies was decided on; and before going, his portrait was painted by
Mr Caldwell from Galston, who was happier in his expression of life than I had been. After a season,
M'Alister came home apparently renovated. I went to see him on his return, and Jeanie's portrait
had to be-attempted once more. This time it was so far a success as to deserve a frame. The true
spirit of the patron was in M'Alister. He wished me to get on, and he knew that practice was an
essential element. All his friends who came to his house were seized on to sit for their portraits. He
never forgot to state that, although the attempt were to be a failure, the worth of their money would
be had in exhibiting the work to their friends. Mr James Currie, ropemaker, Troon, was the first he
enlisted. I was consigned to his care, to stay with him, and M'Alister was sure that I would be well
treated. Though it was winter when I went to Troon, the warmth of welcome by Currie, his wife and
family, made the time look like summer. Currie had a manly face, and every way a manly bearing. I
was considered extra happy in his portrait. It had individuality which spoke for me ! I painted Mrs
Currie and two daughters. The comfortable state of mind I enjoyed in that family is as much present
at this moment as if it had been last week. I was next patronised by Robert Thomson, shipbuilder
to his grace the Duke of Portland. I painted his portrait and his wife's; their conduct was courteous
and encouraging. Mr Thomson had a fine appreciation of the facht frailty has to encounter on an
up-hill journey. John Pearson and his wife's portraits brought up the rear of my experience as an
artist in Troon for a period of thirty years, when I returned and painted the portraits of James Currie
and his wife, the son of my first patron. The father's kindness had lost nothing in being transmitted
to the son.
I was next by M'Alister introduced to Mr Thos. Webster, who was coal grieve at Fairlie; John Milne,
distiller at Old Rome; old Mr M'Kenzie the exciseman; and John Gray of Moorfield. I was successful
also with their likenesses. They were all of a kindred spirit as far as regards being ever after friendly.
Consumption took deep hold of my early friend and patron M'Alister, and he was soon removed from
the scenes where patronage is an essential for success. I have thus finished his monument, which
may be seen by some who know nothing of his resting place, and who may read the inscription-
" He was my friend, faithful and kind to me "
A picture exhibition for the first time is a great sight to a young artist. In the company of John R.
Dalrymple I travelled from Kilmarnock to Glasgow. One of the Dilettanti Fine Art Exhibitions was
open in the Arcade; and in another hall Benjamin West's great picture of " Christ Rejected by the
Jews" was on sight. It had a surface 22 feet by 18, and contained about 500 figures. This was the
first great historical painting I had seen, and it had an awe-inspiring power. We entered early in the
morning to this study, and for a time stood before it in mute astonishment. Dalrymple looked
joyously round to me, and inquired, " When will we be able to do a painting like this !" The man who
had charge of the painting was kindly and communicative. Although a strong rope fence was round
the painting to keep visitors at a proper distance, we were invited to come close in to the painting and
examine its peculiarities of execution. He then entered into the history of the artist and his art life. He
had wrought on the sketch of this picture for thirty-two years; and but for want of a Judas, he could
have had it finished sooner. His Judas was an ill-looking vagabond, far from being like a man that ony
decent body wad tak' up wi'. I remarked that had I been painting a Judas, I would have selected a
thin-lippet, smiling, silly-like, nice man. West began to this large work on his sixty-second birthday,
and gave the finishing touches to it on his sixty-third, having only expended one year, and brought to
light so much excellence. At this part of the history Dalrymple made another very happy remark. "
Keep your heart up, Hunter, we're no auld enough yet!" My sixty-third year is now past, and no such
effort has been attempted. The cloth on which this great picture was painted was woven for the
purpose. West got a loom made expressly to weave his great canvasses. It was in one sheet, and the
warp and weft were small twine of a very fine hard clear material like the finest flax. Dalrymple
wound up his remarks by saying, " We'll no daur tell Morrison this, else he will be for a loom the
same size."
We next went to the Arcade, and what a glow of colour shone forth in the landscapes ! How rich
and gaudy everything appeared compared with the softened yet well defined power of the big
picture! Chrome yellow, red and blue sparkled in perfection in the modern. I was literally bewildered
with the beauty of the colours, and asked Dalrymple where we could get such colours as were
here. He coolly answered, " You'll get as mony o' them as you like to use in our shop, only you
must ask some of the artists here to tell you how to lay them on." Strange, although I found my
knowledge of art reduced to its true nothingness, the desire to do was never rubbed out.
On our way home we went by Paisley, and calling on Robert Rowat, the son of my old master, he
bespoke a view of the village of Dundonald. What a feeling of inspiration rose around that order ! All
the tints of the Glasgow Exhibition were to glow out of the forthcoming picture. When we reached
home, we felt as much importance as men who had seen wonders in the art world equal to the
people now-a-days who visit France and return to talk of the great art treasures of that country. I
was much pleased to-day on meeting an auld acquaintance who was newly home from France, and
when there he was struck with the bulk of some of the paintings and remembered John Ingram's
prayer. One day in Kilmarnock when John felt inspired to do something bold, he was in a deep
reverie looking at the front of the George Inn. Dalrymple asked him what he was thinking on ? John
said that he was in the spirit of prayer, and it ran thus: " O for a piece of canvass as braid as this
wa', that I might exercise my powers thereon ! "
Next day, after reaching home, I was off to Dundonald to sketch the village. I found that what my
patron wanted in the painting was too much for one, so I took a pair of views, the castle in one and
the village in the other. I painted the two in little more than a week; rose early one morning, carried
the two below my arm from Kilmarnock to Paisley, a distance of twenty-one miles. Rowat was
highly pleased with my performance. I charged him thirty shillings for the two paintings. He sent for
Mr Porteous, a designer, and requested him to take me to see an exhibition of pictures in High
Street, where the Paisley Fine Art Society had their works before the world. It was a Saturday, and
the artists were in strong muster. I was struck with the superiority of Paisley artists in brightness of
colour; they even eclipsed Glasgow. When I inquired as to the reason of such bright colours, I was
told that plaid patterns ruled the taste in Paisley; and the brightness of the colours used in
designing made your een water. To the artists in a body I was introduced as an artist from
Kilmarnock, who had that day brought a specimen of his art to Paisley. I felt a sort of giddiness at
being named as an artist. It was the first time I had been honoured by that title, and the reception
was cordial. Porteous did the business in a polite way ; for without my consent or knowledge he
went through the room and informed the members individually, and brought them in mass. I felt both
delighted and ashamed; delighted with their courtesy, and yet ashamed of my unworthiness as the
thing spoken of. It gave new life and new resolve to be some day worthy; and I felt all the power of
union, and was proud to say that we had an institution of the same kind in Kilmarnock, and that we
were twelve members strong. I was kindly informed by them that they numbered seventy-four. We
were every way eclipsed.
With thirty shillings in my pouch, and a good dinner inside, I started for home, walking forty-two
miles that day and ten miles the day on which I took the sketch-eight days' work and seven
shillings outlay. That was working eight days and walking fifty-two miles, and coming home with an
ideal fortune. Paisley has other claims on my gratitude, which will turn up in due course; but the
starting point is like a star in the retrospect, a clear point, and twinkling yet in the far distance.
In getting our lessons while passing through the world, we have often to feel that we have been too
sanguine. I had started from Kilmarnock one morning in February and travelled to Paisley, having
thought that I was to be patronised in a case where I had attempted more than I was able to
accomplish. My old master and mistress, after living as man and wife for fifty-seven years, died
within seven hours of each other, and were laid in the same grave at the same time. I had tried a
portrait of the old man from memory. Rowat in Paisley having heard so, wished me to bring it
through, so as he might see it, and if it was to him like he would buy it from me, as he expressed a
great desire to have his father's likeness. With the portrait under my arm and a penny in my pouch,
I started for Paisley. I left Kilmarnock at ten o'clock morning, went to Paisley, showed my attempt
at retrospect art. Mr Rowat's recollections of his father and mine were not in unison. He shook his
head and said, "Oh no !" That settled the account.
I rested an hour and twenty minutes in Paisley; got dinner, and started for home on foot once more.
Disappointed hopes always made me strong in muscle by producing a sort of savage feeling at
everybody and everything. When about three miles out of Paisley I saw two men on the road before
me, one of them a youth, the other past middle life. The young man had a parley in his hand-that
is, a slender cake of gingerbread. He was using this parley in a sort of flourishing style to impress
what he was saying more firmly on the mind of the old gentleman. I thought that the youth was not
hungry, else he would never use the cake as a help to his eloquence. I felt that if I were at him I
would take it out of his hand and make a better use of it. I came forward rather sharp on them. The
young man was the first to look round; our eyes met quick, and strange to say (whether he
observed a hungry look or not), his first word was, " Will you take a bit of snap, sir" I said that I had
come forward with the express purpose of taking it out of his hand, as I thought that he was
misapplying it. He said that he was just explaining some things to his father concerning a trial he
had been standing that day for the High School in Paisley, and he was very sanguine that he would
get it. I cautioned him not to build his hopes too high. I was in fine mood for moralising on that
point; and I learned afterwards that he had been disappointed, as one M'Neill got the appointment.
We talked rapidly about several subjects. It was a cold night, with bitter sleet showers and a cutting
frosty wind. As we neared Barrhead, or rather Cross-Arthurlie, he asked if I was going to take the
coach to Stewarton. I smiled, and said that I had a penny in my pouch and must take the road at
my own risk, not that of horse flesh. He paused a moment put his hand in his pocket, then, as
having made a momentary study, said, " The night is sharp; we will wait the coach; and as you
must take the road, here is my mantle, it will keep you comfortable through the moor." It was a fine
cloth mantle. Without more ceremony, it was off his arm and around my shoulders. " Call at James
Brown's, sewing agent, Stewarton it is little off your way, only a few doors from where you pass
through the village. Tea will be ready when you come. So, good bye."
I started alone, and left the young man and his father. I took the high road by Neilson, comfortable
in the cloak, and when I reached the junction of the low road and the high one the coach passed. I
was in Stewarton about fifteen minutes after the coach. When I reached Mr Brown's door I rested in
the entrance for a few seconds, when I heard the young man's mother say, " Heigh, man, I didna
think that ye were sic' a simpleton as gi'e awa' your guid cloak to a man ye never saw atween the een
afore; ye'll never see't again. " " Well, mother, if I should not, one thing I'm certain of, that a
deserving man has got it. He had an open Scotch face."
I heard music in the frying pan. There was a fine dose of ham and eggs ready for using. I chapped
at the door; it was opened. The young man was sitting with his feet in a pail of water washing them
when I entered. He jocularly said, "I told you, mother, I wad see my mantle again." We had a happy
tea party. When it was past, the young man asked if I would take a glass of spirits ? I said yes,
and took it. He asked me if I was determined to go home ? I said yes. " I have no reason to doubt
your power to travel the road seeing how well you did the last twelve miles, but if you are the least
suspicious that it is too much, here is a bed for you. " The time that I was in the company of that
young man and his father was little longer than I have taken to write a report of it. Yet it has left an
impression on my mind that pure Christianity was practised by them. It was so accepted on my
part that it never can be obliterated while life lasts. It left sunshine where it found sadness.