Edward Seago: 'Seagoland'

"A Rainy Day in Istanbul" by Edward Seago

"The time had come when Seago rarely used 'Capricorn.' He parted with her and in 1958 acquired a studio in Sardinia with a magnificent view of the Mediterranean from his balcony. He had, since 1960, discarded his technique of painting directly from nature, and out of doors he made only color notes and pencil sketches from which to create the finished picture in his studio. Indoors he could portray his personal experience of places or subjects that had once sparked off his imagination and be undisturbed by superficial visual distractions which intruded when he set up his easel outside. Applying this technique, when he was in Sardinia he often painted Norfolk scenes and home in Ludham he worked on the views from his Mediterranean holiday home.

Once on his way to Sardinia, he made a detour to visit Istanbul, where from his bedroom balcony at the Park Hotel, he had an incredible view of the Bosphorous. He made watercolors and pencil sketches there to translate into oil paintings and then went into the streets and filled his sketchbooks [pocket-sized, 4.5" x 7"] with meticulous drawings; street scenes where the houses were correct to the smallest window, a stretch of wall exact to every stone, crowded squares where every person was represented by a tiny pencil stroke. At a time when he had never painted more freely and with such apparent immense facility, his sketchbooks represented a discipline he practiced consistently until the end of his days.

The later sketch books, however, represented exercises in technique rather than memory training because, by that time, the image of ever place or subject he had ever seen and wanted to paint was stored in his mind in complete detail. The wealth of images, he told his friend, the actor Peter Cushing, was stored in 'Seagoland' from where he drew on it at will. His challenge was to express the image on canvas. Sometimes he painted a real landscape from memory; at other times he created a composite imaginary picture which he described as a 'Seagoscape.'"

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Edward Seago: The Other Side of the Canvas" by Jean Goodman.)  

Edward Seago: Painting with the Prince

"Portrait of the Duke of Edinburgh" by Edward Seago

"For Prince Philip the journey on the Britannia involved a full programme of official commitments but he obviously regarded painting as an integral part of relaxation. He and Seago often worked together, either at separate easels or combining their efforts to produce a lino-cut for a 'Red Nose' certificate to be given to each member of the ship's company to commemorate their visit inside the Antarctic Circle. 'Prince Philip has really done the design for it although the wardroom asked me,' read the entry in Seago's diary, 'but I must admit his idea is better than what I had in mind! I am amazed at his keenness and energy.' This was written on the day when both men had experimented on an improvised roller to print three hundred sheets from the lino-block. 'The first pulls were not awfully encouraging,' Seago wrote, 'but Prince Philip was full of determination.' When the technical problems were resolved, the Prince headed a team of shift workers who volunteered to work the roller.

At one point during the voyage world tour during the voyage, the prince painted a portrait of Seago at his easel on board the Royal Yacht, Seago, in turn, made a portrait of the prince at work with his oil paints. The pair of paintings were shown together in the 2016 exhibition “Portrait of the Artist” at Buckingham Palace. 

One afternoon just before Christmas Seago wrote in his diary that he and the Prince had a joint effort of sea and sky. Some years afterwards recalling the 'joint effort' Prince Philip said he suspected that his own part was to ask Seago where he had gone wrong in his picture and Seago would have come over and put him right. 

Prince Philip spent quite a lot of time on the trip trying to do skies and seas, but not with any great success. He found it always very discouraging to try and learn from Seago because one felt as if one were riding a bicycle on the ground while the painter was riding another on the high wire above. Just watching Seago at work gave him great pleasure, he said, 'because while the results were fantastic, just watching the way he achieved them was even more fantastic.' 

Seago wrote down a list of colours he recommended should be put on the palette and Prince Philip always kept the old envelope with the list on the back in his paintbox although he noted that Seago was far more economical in his colours than he was.  

Seago's capacity for work was tremendous, the Prince recalled: 'He was always sketching. He always seemed to have a pencil in his hand and with just a few lines could reproduce all the atmosphere and feel of a place with just the smallest pencil sketch. He also had this photographic memory and if he'd ever painted anything he could always remember exactly how he'd painted it; not just what he'd painted but the way he'd done it.' 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Edward Seago: The Other Side of the Canvas" by Jean Goodman.)  

Edward Seago: To the Antarctic

"In 1956 Prince Philip invited Edward Seago to join him on part of his world tour on board the royal yacht Britannia for a trip to Antarctica. Such a journey, Prince Philip thought, would give a painter of Seago's talent a tremendous opportunity to work where no other artist had really tried to paint - with the exception of Wilson who did a few pictures on the expeditions with Shackleton and Scott.

"The Whaling Station, Leith Harbor, South Georgia" 
by Edward Seago

Seago met up with the tour in Australia before sailing to Antarctica. On Boxing Day, Britannia encountered her first iceberg, a castellated beauty about two and a half miles long and a hundred feet high. From then on, Seago concentrated on painting the exciting, unfamiliar scenery around him. 'It was tremendously thrilling,' he said afterwards. 'I had always expected something that was very, very flat, and instead of that it was mountainous with tremendous peaks and black rock. I thought there was going to be wide expanses of nothingness and now and again queer upright icebergs and, of course, I thought it would be colourless; a mixture of greys and blacks and whites. Instead of that the colour was tremendous. It was full of rich blues and greens and the cavities glowed with the most rich luminous blues and greens, which were tremendously exciting to paint."

While he painted there, Seago was aware from an artistic point of view that he was in completely unknown territory. 'You see,' he told a radio interviewer, 'we can't help being influenced by pictures we have seen by other painters of the past of various parts of the world and it was rather fascinating to go to a part of the world where you had seen no pictures at all because nobody had ever painted it. It was was particularly fascinating because I live in a part of the world which has been painted over and over again and really is the teething ground of landscape painting.'

Although the sub-zero temperatures made it impossible to use watercolour, Seago found the dry cold no worse than a winter's day in England. He painted about sixty pictures on the expedition and gave them all to Prince Philip who sent most of them to Balmoral and had a particularly fine painting of an iceberg hung in Britannia. The Prince said it was a marvellous gift but if ever the painter wanted any pictures back for reproduction purposes or anything like that, to be sure and ask for them. 'Oh, that's quite unnecessary,' Seago replied. 'If I want them at any time I can easily remember them.'

In support of this he told the story of a painting Seago had given the Wardroom of the ice-breaker John Biscoe, the research ship in which the party travelled to one of the remotest Antarctic bases. The Captain though it was intended as a personal gift for him and when he left the ship he took it away with him, to the annoyance and disappointment of the officers. Seago did not hear about the incident until some ten years afterwards. He then painted the same picture all over again and sent it to the officers of the ship. Telling the story, Prince Philip said if the two pictures were hung side by side, it would have been impossible to tell the difference."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Edward Seago: The Other Side of the Canvas" by Jean Goodman.)  

 

Edward Seago: Thoughts on Modern Art

"Mooring Posts, Grand Canal, Venice" by Edward Seago

"Edward Seago was always willing to be a guest speaker and revelled in the opportunity to express his views on modern art. 'I believe that more than fifty per cent of abstract art is pure balderdash, absolutely phony,' he told Norwich Rotary Club in 1952 when he deplored its exaggerated worship by a gullible public, even while admitting there were many sincere abstract painters to be found.

'This is an age of experiment,' he wrote, 'when talent must be willfully moulded and eyes can no longer see without the brain distorting their vision. It is no long enough, apparently, to approach nature with humility, hoping only that one's personality may stamp the interpretation. Nature must be put in her place, bent to the will of man's inflated sense of intellect. I have read much concerning this superior attitude and I have seen the bewildering products of its cult. 

I admit wholeheartedly that, by their standards, I am old-fashioned; I do not think that I shall receive the sympathy of the intellectual forces in the great art world for I admit that I am offering nothing new by following in a great tradition - except that I am me, and anything that I do cannot have been before. But I work in all sincerity, as I feel and as I see.'

 To be continued

(Excerpts from "Edward Seago: The Other Side of the Canvas" by Jean Goodman.) 

Edward Seago: The Capricorn

"August Afternoon, Champs Elysées" by Edward Seago

"Apart from occasional trips to London and the visits to Sandringham, the only time Edward Seago spent any time away from home was to live on his boat. At sea he became more ambitious and exchanged 'Endeavour' for a younger, more seaworthy craft, 'Capricorn,' a thirty-ton auxiliary ketch, which he equipped as his ideal floating studio.

Even her name fired his romantic imagination. It had been chosen because she was registered in the month of December and Seago learnt with satisfaction that those born under the symbol of the goat were headstrong and brave of heart. Further investigation revealed that the symbol should, in fact, be a sea-goat - half goat, half fish. He interpreted it in a pair of frolicsome creatures with long scaly tails which he had cast in brass, covered in gold leaf and fixed to either side of the bow of his boat's blue-green hull. A red pennant held by another golden capricorn streamed from the top of the main mast.  Gold flashed from her symbols, the name on her hull, her lifebelts and from an extravagant thin gold line just above the rubbing rail. 

In his refitted floating studio he crossed the Channel to Dieppe for the first of a series of memorable cruises to Paris. He had never seen the port, but he felt he knew it well from the pictures of Bonington, Fancia and Whistler. Its character had been changed by modern features like lamp posts, telegraph poles and traffic, and he queried whether the older artists would have recognized it. But, for his own part, he often found good painting material in the evidence of modern times. In Dieppe, Seago set up his easel near the port to sketch the ragged skyline of leaning roofs and chimney stacks and old grey-washed houses.

Capricorn cruised up the Seine in the August sunshine and the painter made notes in his sketchbook of the passing scenes. Had he stopped long enough to set up his easel and make more permanent records he knew he would have been faced with the difficulty he invariably encountered in strange places where he saw so much to paint that he did not know where to begin.

'At first, all the more obvious compositions catch the eye,' he wrote in his last book 'With Capricorn to Paris,' after they had passed a chateau he longed to paint. 'If I had painted the chateau it would have been the whole chateau as I had first seen it - pink and grey against the dark trees and the cool, green pattern of the shadow-streaked pasture. Then I expect the light would change and I should want to paint it again. Only after I had worked there several days would my eye become more selective. I should find bits of the chateau - a corner of a terrace and some stone steps; perhaps only one doorway - and then I should leave the chateau and find endless subjects under the trees and along the smooth grass of the river bank where anglers sat by the hour.'" 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Edward Seago: The Other Side of the Canvas" by Jean Goodman.)  

Edward Seago: The Royals

"The Fish Quay, Istanbul" by Edward Seago

"The Royal family, it appeared, were as united in their interest in Edward Seago's work as the critics were in ignoring it. Queen Mary visited one of his exhibitions on the eve of the birth of her great-grandchild to see Seago's portraits of the King and Queen. Soon afterwards Seago was invited to stay at Sandringham House for the first of a series of bi-annual visits in January and July, when the Royal family were in residence. It seems that he established a particular rapport with Queen Mary. In a letter from Sandringham in her flowing handwriting dated 11 January 1950, Queen Mary warmly thanks Mr. Seago for his book, expresses her pleasure in meeting him and in watching him sketching so quickly. Afterwards he sent her his painting of Old Babingley Church. His gift was reciprocated by a book of drawings of Windsor by Paul Sandby which Queen Mary thought he would 'find attractive.' 

As a result of that first visit, Seago also designed the mascot for Princess Elizabeth's and Prince Philip's car - a silver statuette of St. George and the Dragon. Afterwards he usually sent gifts of paintings to Queen Elizabeth (later the Queen Mother) at Christmas and just before her birthday, on the occasion of his summer visits to Sandringham over the next twenty-two years.

The allegations that Seago deliberately sought Royal favour and in so doing dropped some of his old friends were refuted by many Royal letters over the years. For instance, he declined the Queen Mother's suggestion that he might like to spend a few days with her in Caithness to see if he felt like painting her some pictures - she thought it would be so delightful to show him the strange landscape and wonderful skies. Later, he refused Prince Philip's invitations to stay at Balmoral or to join him for two months on the Royal Yacht for a winter cruise to the Far East.

Sandringham, however, was conveniently a part of his familiar Norfolk while the Royal approval of his work was the much-needed antidote to his perpetual insecurity. Phrases like: 'I cannot thank you enough for giving me yet another glorious addition to my Seago collection...' were the encouragement he never tired of receiving and he responded with generosity."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Edward Seago: The Other Side of the Canvas" by Jean Goodman.)  

Edward Seago: The Annual London Exhibition

"After Rain - Upper Horning" by Edward Seago

"Before the opening of Edward Seago's annual London exhibitions, queues of potential purchasers camped in Bond Street from first light so that exclusive neighbouring tradesmen protested at the unprecedented sight. When the Colnaghi Gallery's doors opened at nine o'clock, the scene inside the normally quiet, elegant galleries was an undignified scramble, comparable to the first day of a sales week. Genuine collectors were enraged when they saw the pictures they wanted snatched from under their noses while speculators bought anything on which they could lay their hands. By the end of the first morning it was indeed rare for any picture to be without a red dot indicating its sale.

The annual free-for-all was a growing embarrassment, and eventually the directors of the gallery devised a routine whereby numbered catalogues were issued when the doors opened. One hour later, a member of the firm stood in the centre of the gallery, called out the catalogue numbers in sequence and took an order for one picture only from each holder. Still the queues formed long before opening time and sometimes several members of one family could be recognized there as well as representatives of an agency which had been commissioned to obtain numbered catalogues. The painter who was the cause of all the rivalry would have been far happier to see critics from some of the national newspapers at his exhibitions but, after the early years, almost without exception, they stayed away.

For the newspaper reporters it seemed the annual success story had become repetitive; for the critics the pictures rarely varied in style and content. Edward Seago rated attention only when he was lured away from his beloved landscapes to apply his craftsmanship and personal idiom to the pageants and personalities of the time. At the wedding of Princess Elizabeth and Lieutenant Philip Mountbatten he made three impressions of the Royal procession turning into Parliament Square, paintings in which the scarlet and gold uniforms were startling in their effect in contrast to the sombre day and the dim greyness of the crowds. With such scenes of light and movement the painter's unrivalled gift of a photographic memory, painstakingly trained, came into its own. With landscape he had a total recall for up to seven years."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Edward Seago: The Other Side of the Canvas" by Jean Goodman.)