CLIFFORD HALL'S JOURNAL ~ 1943 - 1947 Page 10
February 19 1946
A little more work to the canvas of Pelham Street.
February 20 & 21 1946
Two days spent working from imagination. Result; about a dozen drawings, of which four are worth keeping. Must go back to nature tomorrow.
February 22 1946
Two drawings of birds.
February 23 1946
Two more versions of women in white bathing wraps, a shower falling from the sky. I have done at least eight of these; at last one good one has emrged.
February 24 1946
Worked at the painting of Celia.
February 26 1946
Sketched Pelham Street, coloured turpentine.
Last week went again to the Constable exhibition , this time with Lillian and Jac to the Jack Yeats show which is magnificent. He has said things with paint that have never been said before. Amazing moments, fleeting and lovely. And I enjoyed the Constables even more and appreciated the finished paintings; only they must be looked at from a distance. The greater the finish of detail the further off one should go in order to see all their perfect qualities.
Tomorrow I think I will try a small oil painting of the women in white bathing wraps.
February 28 1946
All yesterday at a painting which in the end I had to take out. Today I painted a little canvas of two nuns, how these creatures are beginning to fascinate me, from some sketches I made walking along the Kings Road a few days ago.
March 1 1946
A letter from the agent saying I owe £197 back rent. I do owe it. Went to see them and arranged to return to paying the full rent next month, to pay £25 off the debt in April and the rest as I am able. In return they have agreed to reduce the £197 to £150. I am glad this is settled. I love this place so much.
The agent said that several people had told her that they had heard me say I had no intention of paying. Bluff? Some horrid brute who wants a studio; studios are impossible to find now, or an enemy, one of the foul Arts Club hangers on, the ten Academy daubers of posthumous portraits? Not so easy my friends.
Did a little more to Pelham Street, then I went out and the first thing I saw was a single nun hurrying along Manresa Road. Drew her at once, a scribble, and went indoors and painted a little panel of her, glancing out of the window now and again to get a hint for the background. How I enjoyed myself.
March 5 1946
Worked all day at a panel and finally wiped it all out.
March 6 1946
Painted a sketch of three women with shawls over their heads. I had to do this after O'Casey's play which I saw last Saturday. My painting might be called The Three Fates.
March 7 1946
Worked at the Three Clowns (40" x 30"). I like it. I fear the paint is terribly thin for I could buy no Flake White and I only had very little in my box. There is a horrible shortage of materials now, far worse than there was during the war. This bloody government is exporting all our materials it seems; they don't care about us except of course to grab tax when we sell a picture for which they have made it almost impossible to buy the paint and canvas for in the first place.
March 8 1946
Went to the James Ensor exhibition at the National Gallery. He is a fascinating personality and I enjoyed the work immensely. A great artist.
March 10 1946
Went on with painting of Celia. It is not easy. After a number of paintings from drawings, memory or imagination I find painting from life suddenly become extremely difficult.
March 13 1946
Yesterday with the 'Clowns Waiting'. A hard day made no easier by sudden pains in my back, lumbago I suppose, which held me unable to move for a little while. Left off very dispirited about 4.30 and took some more drawings to Lillian.
Today I have been working at the same picture and it has come much better. I think it has got an element of the fantastic, and that is what I want. I hope it will stand more or less as it is now and that it will not crack. I have altered it backwards and forwards a great deal for me. The clown in purple was originally in green and the one in blue began with a red costume; but they should be all right, I think.
March 14 1946
Primed twenty canvas boards. These are the covers to pre-war books of wallpaper patterns and they were made in Belgium. The canvas is very excellent quality and it is beautifully stuck down onto strong cardboard. They do not make such things nowadays. Kersley gave them to me.
The priming took up most of the morning and then I made some tea and boiled an egg and after that I did a number of sketches of the women in O'Casey's play. Two of these are possible paintings.
March 15 1946
Made another and more careful study of yesterday's subject having first gone to the religious emporium in the Kings Road where I sketched a statue of the Virgin in the shop window. I will certainly make a painting of this from this but I think I should get a few sketches from life to see how the shawls go over the women's heads.
March 16 1946
Worked with pastel on one of the drawings I did the week before last.
March 20 1946
Worked at Celia's painting last Sunday.
Yesterday refilling cracks in a Sickert painting belonging to the gallery. Touched in each one separately. Restorers are far too inclined to repaint whole passages.
Today another drawing of the women in O'Casey's play. Varnished a little panel of a French street. Primed a panel. Went for a walk by the river. Bill borrowed ten pounds. Noted at least one view of the river to paint soon, before the trees bud. It must be done at high tide.
March 21 1946
Painted a panel of a French street from sketches I made when I first went to Paris in 1925. I would love to work there again. What a mess the world is in now. But the weather is warmer and the almond tree is almost in flower and the dreary business of carrying coke and cinders and the cleaning and lighting of the stove can be forgotten for a while.
March 23 1946
Another drawing of the women with the statue (yesterday). This afternoon went to Putney and sketched by the river. Tea with mother. To O'Casey's play in the evening with Lillian.
April 2 1946
Last week the weather was perfect, indeed it is still perfect. I worked at Celia's picture. Twice I got up at 6 am and went to the river where I painted three sketches. The best time of the day.
On Saturday I went to Brighton with Bill and sketched in the sunshine. Before coming home we called on Joe Craston. And I am still working at the women with the statue - an almost full-size drawing. Soon I must hunt for a piece of canvas, stuff as difficult to find as gold. Yet today I am infinitely depressed. I want to stay here, I want to dash away. An old mood returned; one I have not had with me for a long time. How well I recognize you - mood.
Of course Joe talked about the circus. He told of a horse he once trained to uncover a British flag buried in the sawdust of the ring and to bring it over to him lying 'dead' and drop it in his chest. Joe had a lump of sugar in his ear so the horse never failed to do his part, and the public were satisfied.
April 5 1946
Painted by the river last Wednesday also worked at a drawing of the suspension bridge in the early morning. Two mornings at this; the rest of the time I have spent getting the women with the statue onto the canvas. Today it is raining. The lovely weather has gone.
April 6 1946
A little more to the canvas. Afternoon, drew from the model. Four drawings, two I kept.
April 9 1946
Spent most of Sunday at the picture (the women with the statue) and today I have been painting a small study of the heads.
April 12 1946
The last few days have been good. I painted a 24" x 18" - variation on a theme - a small study for another of the heads in the picture of the shawled women and today I have been drawing with at least two passable ones out of six.
From the 'News of the World' April 7th, 1946. 'It will be the first guillotining* since the Nazis occupied France. Monsieur de Paris, as the official executioner is called, is a reticent old gentleman who was found living in a dark little flat behind the Nord railway station. He wore a top hat while he played the violin to himself all evening.'
I call that a superbly evocative bit of writing. Impossible to suggest more, and with what simplicity. The adjective 'reticent' is masterly.
* This probably refers to the execution on 5 May 1946 of the infamous French serial killer, Marcel Petiot.
May 17 1946
So long since I put anything in this book. I went to Brighton and Hanna came for two days and stayed with me. We were miserable. She is going to marry Rudolf - and all the time she swears she loves me. I was terrified. I could not lose her. Then two weeks ago she went to Paris, with her father. After she had been gone a week I made up my mind at last. I wrote asking her come and live here with me. She still says she must marry him, she still says she loves me, loves us both. I begged, I implored, maybe I made her hesitate a little; at least she is coming here again today. I expect her at any moment. And tomorrow is the day of the marriage.
I am desperate. What can I do? My cursed slowness. I know, and she admits, that if I had asked her sooner she would have come. And two years ago when I went to see her at Dudley I wanted to ask her. I knew I would eventually have to ask her; and now it is too late. Or is it? I will know today.
Even if I lose her tomorrow I will not give up. I know at last that she was meant for me and I will have her. I can be happy no other way. I hate myself for what I want to do to Marion and Julian and I want to do it. Want to with all my being.
Why couldn't I have been honest and done it long ago? Because I listened to all the things I had been taught, heeded the ways in which I had been brought up; and now I know I don't care a damn about any of these things, and maybe I have found it out too late.
May 18 1946
Soon after I had finished writing yesterday's entry she knocked at the door. We spent the afternoon, like Thursday, making love. And today she is marrying R-. I am very bewildered and very unhappy. I want her so much for myself. Of course we could not agree never to see each other again and she is coming here for the night next Wednesday. I feel she is very wicked and so am I; for myself I do not care, and as for her; well I love her, and even a little of her is better, infinitely, than nothing at all. And I still hope I will have her for myself and I hope I will not have to wait too long.
Hope, no I believe she will come here one day and stay for always. And I do not fell there will be anything to forgive her. I will be so happy., at last. Please may she come here before too long; for I know if she waits a long time it may be too late. One can be left with a realisation of appalling loss and yet be quite unable to find what one has lost. I pray that may not happen.
And downstairs Henry Carr's daughter was being married today. I went into the street and the steps were littered with confetti.
May 23 1946
Hanna stayed here last night. I think she is already a little sorry that she got married last Saturday. What a fool I was not to have asked her, years ago, to come and live with me. I wanted to ask her ; and now I know how I must have hurt her. And what a fool she has been not to have waited a little longer. I told her so and she agreed. I said I would not see her for a week and finally made her agree. I want her to think quietly. We have both been in such an overwrought state these last few weeks.. It will be more than a week before I see her again for I am not 'phoning to fix a day until the 31st. She knows that she has done nothing towards settling the problem. She will not hear of giving me up. I cannot think about giving her up, though I did not tell her that.
What a mess we are in. And we do love each other. I know we could be happy. I have never been more certain of anything in my life. How can I go back to Marion now? And I don't want to, for I cannot find what she wants. I have tried and it has been a complete failure. I do think she is better off without me. I make her and myself miserable all the time. It is asking a miracle for Hanna to leave her husband now although I believe she is thinking of it. And I may be left quite alone.
It would serve me right. I know I should have asked her before: when I first wanted to. Yet, when I said goodbye to her this morning I felt quite sure that everything would come right. I worked at her picture this afternoon and yesterday I painted the one of Pelham Crescent. I think it is good. I worked very hard at it.
June 13 1946
Last week I took all my things away from Flood Street. Marion was still with Pearl. I have been appallingly unhappy and I have been working with much difficulty.
Yesterday Hanna was here and I believe she will be here always before the end of the year. Oh, I am so impatient. I say to myself : be still, wait, she will come.
Yesterday we talked of what she would do when she was living here, of the chair we must get upholstered. Of gaslight, which we both love. Yes she will come, she must come. And I could have had her years ago. All the rot I wrote here, I have been turning back the pages, about not feeling capable of loving and giving everything. Idiot, not to have seen that I loved her all the time.
August 18 1946
It is nearly three months since I have felt able to write anything in this book. It is all over and I have lost her. I still cannot reconcile all she said and did for me with her last refusal to come here for always. One might say she behaved abominably but I loved her and want her still and so I feel no anger only a great sadness. Four years is a long time, and she was everything to me. I gave her more, far more than I was ever able to give anyone else and it all seemed perfectly right and it still does.
In a sense I am relieved it is over. Since she got married it has been horrible. My imagination gave me little peace. I lost you Hanna dearest on the 18th May and when I saw you last , on the 7th of this month I was just a little surprised that it did not hurt me more. I know why now. I was not capable of being hurt so badly a second time. That frightful Saturday was really the end. How I still wish you had not done it.
'Pelham Crescent' by Clifford Hall. Oil on canvas, 20 x 24 inches, 1947. Sold to the collection of the National Museum Cardiff. Photo credit: Amgueddfa Cymru – National Museum Wales.
I hope you will be happy, yet I do not think he loves you.
What should I do now?
What can I do?
What will I do?
The same old problem. Dirty, conscience, heart, ego.
One thing is certain. I must do something, and I want it to be final.
I have gone on working all this time. Most important. One can be sure of painting and drawing which I love more and more.
September 18 1946
On the 28th of August I told Lillian that I loved her and the following day I went to live with her. I have felt for a long time that this was inevitable although I have fought so hard against it. I am glad now that it has happened and I think we will be happy. I cannot be completely happy because I cannot lose the past. I will never lose it, but then I could never have found it again either One must go on. I could write pages about myself and my feelings but what is the use? I can't forget Marion or my dear Julian or Hanna who once made me so happy - even Celia. But Lillian has not disappointed me and I feel a great tenderness for her and will not make with her the mistakes I made with Mog. And I am working.
After writing this, Clifford made no more entries in his journal for seven months.
1947
April 19 1947
So long since I have looked at this journal. Now I must write again. I cannot go on living with Lillian. It is not my sort of life and I can't settle to it. I miss living amongst my own things. I must find a way to leave, a way that will not hurt her too much for she deserves better, far better than me. She has done everything, but I am miserable. And I still love Hanna, hopelessly. I still think we will be together some day. I have thought this out carefully and I know that even if I do not get Hanna I must still leave Lillian. I can contemplate being quite by myself and I am not afraid. I cannot think that I will ever be with Marion again. That is finished.
When can I come to live here again? I want to be (here) now but I feel that this year will settle it. A few months more. I must be here by winter. So weak, so foolish, so cruel - I am all these things.
I have tried to be happy with Lillian, I have really. But happiness does not come that way. I knew and yet I was too weak to act as if I knew it. But whatever it costs I must return here for here is my place. I do not belong anywhere else. Mat it be soon.
April 26 1947
Saturday. I have decided to tell Lillian next Thursday. It is going to be horrible, but it must be done and it must be final. Then I will be here again and alone. Alone, in a sense, but not really, for I will be among my own things once more. I wish I did not have to do it, for her sake, she has done everything possible and she deserved to succeed. Things just don't work that way.
And I am not going to leave her because of Hanna for Hanna is as far from being with me as ever. I do not know what will happen in the future. Just the same I must be here again. I must. I must. I am a pretty hopeless sort of person.
April 27 1947
I began this morning and we talked for hours. Finally we agreed that I come here for two or three months and here I am. Almost, I want to run back but I won't. And does she think that in a few months I will go back? I feel nothing, I simply do not know.
June 4 1947
8, Trafalgar Studios, Wednesday.
It could not go on any longer and I told Lillian on Monday. I have hurt her deeply and I am entirely to blame. But there was no other way. I know that for certain.
This is what I did. When Hanna married on May 18th 1946 I was desperate, utterly broken. Lillian was an old friend. We had both had our troubles and had often confided in each other. I saw her that May and during the weeks after more often than usual. Then Kate began. Finally Kate told me that I was seeing too much of Lillian, 'people were talking,' and she really must ask 'what my intentions were.' Good God, I had none , then. But I began to think. I did not want to lose Lillian's friendship. It meant too much. I had, I believed, seen Hanna for the last time. 'Be happy with him,' I told her, 'for my sake.' And I meant it. I decided that the love I needed was never going to be mine. Might it not be best, I began to tell myself, to talk to Lillian and perhaps, one day, when I was free, marry her. We had a wonderful friendship, mutual respect and admiration. Perhaps those were the qualities with which real happiness was firmly built. Love, as I had believed in it was a failure; at least for me. And so on August the 28th, in the country whilst the wind bent the trees and threatening clouds hurried through the sky I told her I loved her. Love, women expect that. It wasn't true. I had everything else in the world for her but love. It was, I see now, a wicked thing to have done. Soon after I had done it I was horribly frightened but still determined to go on with what I had begun.
I had not seen Hanna, although before I made up my mind to speak to Lillian I had telephoned and told her what I intended to do and she said I must do it for she could never come to me now she was married.
For two months I did not see her and how I wanted her.
And then she wrote. She could not bear it, she must see me. Poor Lillian, I gave in at once. Hanna came and I knew I still loved her.
That is all, so far. Hanna wants to come to me now. Has she the courage to do it? Often I think she has, sometimes I am sure. Finally I believe she will.
But it was a wickedly irresponsible thing I did to Lillian. I do wish I had realised it soon enough. Lillian did everything possible. Terrible to say it - she never stood a chance.
August 26 1947
Paris
I see so much light in the half tones and in the shadows that I am frightened of it. Nothing but light is - nothing. And that won't do at all.
Search in nature, always. But search and accept what is lost or only partly started. Everything is not hard and clear. There is form - and form.
August 28 1947
Montparnasse - Rue Bonaparte.
Stage sets. The same, the players are no longer there. Superseded now.
For what are streets, cities, towns but the settings men build for themselves in which they play parts assigned to them by Fate?
August 29 1947
Streets in the sunlight. Cast shadows. Not just blue, or purple, too easy, although they contain, of course, both these colours - and red and yellow and green as well Not absence of light but a different kind of light. Shadows full of light in fact. And they must be painted quickly. You may labour in the light if you have to, but I implore you, strike in your shadows once and once only. Otherwise they will have no vitality, no life in time.
September 8 1947
London
My love is here now!
Here, there is 5 month long gap in the journal when Clifford wrote nothing more. This means that he wrote nothing about his second solo show at Roland, Browse & Delbanco, which was held in October-November 1947, despite the fact that it was at least as successful as his first show there in terms of sales.
'Les Noctambules' by Clifford Hall. Oil on board, 9¼ x 14 inches, 1945. This is another painting from the first Clifford Hall at Roland, Browse & Delbanco. It was purchased by Bryan Robertson. No colour photograph currently avaiable.
'The Dying Sun' by Clifford Hall. Oil on canvas, 20" x 24 inches, 1947. Sold to an undisclosed buyer. No colour photo currently available.
'Snow in Chelsea' by Clifford Hall. Oil on canvas board, 13 x 12½ inches, 1946. Donated by the Felton Bequest to the National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne, Australia, in 1948. Photo credit: National Gallery of Victoria.
'Theatrical Dressmaker' by Clifford Hall. Oil on cardboard, 15¾ x 10 inches, 1947. Sold to Sir Edward Marsh.
Subsequently bequeathed by Sir Edward Marsh (1872-1953) to the Contemporary Art Society and presented to the William Humphreys Art Gallery, Kimberley, South Africa,1956. No colour photo currently available.
'Maida Vale in Snow' by Clifford Hall. Oil on panel, 14 x10¾ inches, 1947. Purchased by the National Gallery of New South Wales, Australia. No colour photo currently available.
Some pictures from the 2nd Roland, Browse & Delbanco show
'The Island" by Clifford Hall. Oil on canvas, 20 x 30 inches, 1947. Not sold and still in the possession of the artist's estate. No colour photo currently available.
It is very curious that this clearly unfinished painting was included in the exhibition. Especially as it was the largest work presented. It is, however, signed (bottom right), which is a clear indication that Clifford had no intention of doing any further work on it. Along with 'The Dying Sun', 1947 and 'Les Noctambules,' 1945, it is, of course, noteworthy as an obvious precursor of his series of Bather pictures from the 1960s and early '1970s.