PIT LAD’S FORTUNE

Greymouth Evening Star, 23 October 1926, Page 8

PIT LAD’S FORTUNE

WIDE FAME AS ARTIST.

“In London the streets are paved with gold,” The old lure, which, since the nays'of Dick Whittington, has ; drawn the feet of thousands of am- . bitious country lads to the capital, Jias faded somewhat. But there is one young man in London to-day for whom the old saying has come literally true, i His name is George Bissell. live years / ago he arrived in London from a Not- ; tingham mining village with 5s in his pocket and the world to conquer. Today he is acclaimed in England, and, with even more enthusiasm, in France, Geriiitsny, and Austria, as an artist genius of the first order. Keen-eyed business men are quietly buying the pictures painted by this young coal miner, and the famous gallery in Bond Street, where his pictures are being exhibited, is a mecca for collectors. All this fame, as was modestlyexplained by Mr Bissell, to a representative of the “Sunday News,” was found on a London pavement —in the Strand, outside Bush House. “I arrived in London with only two things to keep me going,” said Mr Bis- ■ sell. “The first was my faith in myself, which no amount of sneers could ' shake, and the second was my mother’s faith in me. She always encouraged me to go on; she could always see in mv work the things T wanted otherpeople to see. ‘Let him be, let him 1 be,’ she would say, when others interrupted me at my studies with pencil. ' and paint brush. “As you can guess, a miner’s cottage was not an ideal studio for a young ' artist; and the mine in which T worked ' until the effects of my gassing in the war forced me to give up that way of ' earning my living was not an encouraging environment for a man who craved light and colour. So I came to London, tried to work in an advertising studio, ’ but grew' sick of selling my soul, and set up for myself as an artist with a ’ few square feet of London pavement and a box of chalks. 1 “It was the most exciting time of my 1 life. I never knew any morning whether * I would have taken- enough by the ■ night to earn a bed and a bite of sup--1 per. Here the camaraderie of the pave--1 ment came in to help me. For there is real free-masonry' among those down-and-outs who decorate the pave--1 inents with their art. Men who heard ! I had not had ?. good day would come along and leave a piece of bread and : some cheese for me and the price of L a night’s lodging. And when I had a good day' I and some others would ' tramp to another man’s pitch where 1 the takings had been poor, and give ' him a little help. It is wonderful how ' the spirit of comradeship springs up when you are all on the verge of starvation. “The London pavement artists have

a sort of trade union of their own which meets in a lodging house soutl of the river. There is a president and a secretary, both well educated mei who have come down in the world, anc meetings are held at regular intervals, when disputes about the ownership ol coveted pitches are decided and other matters affecting +he profession as a whole are dealt with. Pitches can be bought and sold, and the public would bo surprised if they knew the prices sometimes given. “Then there is a Christie s of the streets, a small shop off Waterloo Road, where the despised street artist who does not do his own work may buv pictures on canvas or cardboard with which to tempt the public’s money. But our real paving-stone Rembrandt has a proper contempt for these fellows. “One morning when I was on my pitch jiutting the finishing touches to the caricature of a music-hall comedian, a woman with a strong American accent spoke to me. ‘You shouldn’t be doing this sort of thing,’ she said ; ’you should be working in a studio.’ What was more useful to me was that she bought some of my work at prices which were a fortune to me then. I learnt afterwards that she was a famous writer in America. “That morning was the., turning point. A week later a business man got me to do some paintings for his children’s nursery. 1 managed to save enough to buy proper materials to work with ; my pictures began to bring me in a little money, and soon I had said good-bye to the pavement. Yet I can’t pass that spot under Bush House without thinking kindly of the days when I eained my living there. Perhaps I’ll go*back to it again one day. You never know what fortune has in store. “For a year I have been in Paris. There I found recognition almost at once. I have had leisure to study men and women in cafes and streets and public parks as never - before. But still the Nottingham miners, whose bulging muscles were my first inspiration to creative work, remain my chief subjects. . “Now I live in an old garage which I use-as a studio, and my only model i s a pe£ Turkish snake given me by a friend It is quite harmless, and its movements have taught me a great deal about rhythm, though children witlAvhom it has attempted to make friends don’t like its movements.