"Patrick de Laszlo" by Philip de Laszlo |
It was a happy, sunny day. Lucy stayed with me until I had had my supper, which I ate eagerly. It was the first time I had had an appetite for many months. After I had been there three days, enjoying the lovely grounds, the quiet garden and listening to the birds, I had, for the first time for nine months, the pleasure of holding the dear palette in my hand again and with great delight I started a sketch of my son Patrick before he left home to enter Twyford School. It was wonderful to be surrounded by my old friends the colour tubes and brushes after so long. I painted from three o'clock until seven, with a short interval for tea. I forgot myself in my work and finished the portrait. I am happy about it and shall treasure it as my first painting after my arrest. So long as I had my dear palette and my brushes in my hands I felt young.'
A few mornings later he made a pencil drawing of Patrick and thus describes his delight in returning to this medium:
'Patrick sat very well and tried to help me, as he knew how little time I had at my disposal. I did a little portrait drawing of him, three-quarter length, looking in front of him. The boys are changing so fast that I wish I had made more drawings of each of them.
Drawing often interests me much more than painting. It is so much more difficult and serious - to study the form of the face, to take the most characteristic features, and to bring out the expression - with a pencil. All this is much simpler when painting in color, for in color the likeness is easier to attain, and by aiming at securing the atmosphere and values, one is inclined to neglect the actual drawing. In brushwork treatment one is inclined to work for the general impression, while drawing is reduced to lines in one color, which is far more difficult, since it requires still more knowledge and understanding.'
At the nursing home de Laszlo's health improved. Since his arrest his weight had gone down from twelve and a half to nine stone (175 lbs. to 126 lbs.), and he spent his time walking in the garden and painting. His wife visited him every day and often brought with her their youngest son, John, then five years old."
To be continued
(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)
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