http://www.painters-online.co.ukPRACTICAL
artistApril 2016 61
O
ne Saturday last November I drove to the Mall
Galleries in London from my home in Kent to deliver a
painting for the second round of judging for the
Threadneedle Prize. The joy of getting past the first
round had been replaced by the agony of having to face round
two, and the ignominy of picking the painting up again the
next Saturday. I won’t tell you whether the work got in. It helps
with the suspense.
Competitions like this are a feature of the artist’s life and help
to give a kind of structure to your career, because you have
something to aim at. If you get in to one, your work is exposed
to different audiences, and you get to go to the private view,
where you might meet gallery people or art journalists or
collectors who might take an interest in your work, and who
knows where that might lead. At the very least, you will meet
other artists, and so have someone to drown your sorrows with
and discuss the dreadful speech made by the prize winner.
The speeches at these things are always dreadful. The problem
is that apart from the sponsors of the prize, the gallery staff and
the judges, most of the people at competition private views are
other exhibitors.
People, in other
words, who think, in
their heart of hearts,
that they should be
clutching an
envelope with a
cheque in it and
giving the speech,
not the person who
actually is. The
biggest annoyance
with competitions,
though, is the
delivery and
collection. I tend to
forget the latter, and
then have to make
unplanned dashes,
much to my wife’s
annoyance, or worse,
to pay exorbitant
storage charges to
art-handling
companies who deal with the late and forgetful.
Everyone knows and hates the queue to deliver your work.
You stand in line, furtively looking at other people’s work and
trying to assess whether they have any chance, whether they
think they have a chance, whether your work is better or more
appropriate. When you get to the desk, you produce your
crumpled paperwork, which you are sure is incorrectly filled
out, and show your work to the young people who are always
employed at these things. To them, you are not a fascinating
and highly regarded artist whose work has a growing
reputation, but simply a number. Nowadays they are all much
younger than me, which makes it worse. But here’s the really
intimidating thing: those scruffy, casual young people, grabbing
your paintings and handing over your receipts, are usually
students at the major postgraduate institutions, the RoyalCollege, the Royal Academy for example, or recent graduates
from them; the crème de la crème of the art world, in fact. At
least one of them will, by the law of averages, be a Turner Prize
contender in the next few years.It is a traumatic business
A couple of years ago, while on holiday with my family, I
received an email reminder to register for the Jerwood Drawing
Prize. I have entered it before and my drawings were rejected
that time, so I don’t know why I decided to register again. I
became reckless. I pressed the button and registered. When I
got home I would work out which drawings to enter and then
join the huge queue once more.
Except that I forgot. The next thing I knew about it was the
announcement of the shortlist. At that point I should have been
gutted but the funny thing is, I wasn’t. I hadn’t had to make the
agonised choice of drawings (what is a drawing, anyway, as
opposed to a painting or a sketch? And what would the
Jerwood Drawing Prize panel of judges think a drawing is?).
I hadn’t had to find frames for them, get the paperwork right or,
even better, I
hadn’t had to
schlep my work all
the way up to
London, look the
probable Turner
Prize winner of
2020 in the face
and hand my
ridiculous offerings
over and then
repeat the process
in reverse, two
weeks later. That
felt fantastic!
It doesn’t get
easier as you get
older, either – the
stakes just seem to
be higher. There’s
the wait for an
email, either
congratulating me
or telling me that
this year the standard of the work was very much higher than
usual, and that so much more work had been entered ...and my
stomach turns over. The private views at the Mall are so good!
I might be seeing chums there! I might even have won a prize!
Oh, please let me in! Please!
Would I be collecting my rejected painting from the Mall
Galleries? It would not have been a tragedy if I didn’t get past
stage two of the judging process for the Threadneedle Prize,
but it would be nice if I did. For me.Charles Williams NEAC RWS Cert RAS studied at the RA Schools.
He exhibits regularly, including in the Threadneedle Prize, the Lynn
Painter-Stainers Prize, the RA Summer Show and the Hunting Prize.
He is currently senior lecturer in Fine and Applied Art at Canterbury
Christ Church University.TATHE MUSINGS OF A PROFESSIONAL ARTIST
Charles Williamsbegins a new series in which offers his thoughts and tips on
life as a working artist. This month he tells of his competition angst
Party,oil on linen, 29^1 ⁄ 2 471 ⁄ 4 in (75 20cm). My painting got through the first stage of
the Threadneedle Prize selections last November – did it get any further?