I was speaking to an old chum this morning about a small village outside of Oxford where his girlfriend paints miniatures using a small Victorian wooden box of watercolours, the country club at the end of Galley Lane, Barnet, where I met the bored wives of multimillionaires, among whom was Joanna Lumley, and female students at the centre of Paris who still blushed and held their heads shyly low. That delightful age of innocence is well and truly gone now. I recollected how Bailey had been on ITV a week or so earlier, and how good it was to see him again. The same Cockney charm and refreshing honesty. He spoke of the "love of his life" Jean Shrimpton whom he lost back in the Sixties (to Terence Stamp who did not treat her well and consequently also lost her and regretted that fact ever since). Bailey worked fast when taking photographs, as did I; as do I still when painting in oils or sculpting in clay. That's the only way I can work artistically. Ditto David Bailey.
We reminisced respectively. Eventually my mind wandering as my friend's voice faded. "Are you still there," I heard him say. "Not really." I dwelled on the memories now intruding from another time.
It occurred to me that three pivotal encounters with artists all bore names beginning with initial "S."
The first was Saša whom I met when I was sixteen. She was about the same age. The attraction was obvious: petite, stunning and strangely mysterious for one so young. She lived alone, and her rooms were converted into a chaotic artist's studio. Her canvases were powerful; rather esoteric in nature.
The second "S" is Sylvaine, an actress, artist and musician with whom I spent much time in London and Paris at the end of a turbulent decade, and into the next. We worked together collaboratively as featured performers in art house films, and much else. Sylvaine was truly like a visitor from the 18th century, potentially dangerous and delightful in equal measure. A latter-day Brigitte Bardot.
The third "S" is someone who daily lights up of my life with her loveliness and uniqueness. Sarah had just graduated in the performing arts when we met in the mid-Eighties. An exceptionally talented sculptress and artist in every way, Sarah, who began as a dancer, singer, actress and performer, became my muse, wife, and creative collaborator. The ultimate femme-enfant (a powerful antidote to feminism), her culinary skills, child-like mischievousness and humour only add to her charm.
