Tag: tony hart

perchance, to dream

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Martin Luther King Jr day, and so that meant no work. Was able to go to midtown Sacramento for a few hours in the afternoon (after birthday shopping for my son) to go to the art store and do some sketching around midtown, to catch some of those lovely shadows on the sides of the buildings.
midtown sacramento's creeping shadows
 The weather has been so nice, mid-seventies last week, high-sixties this, perfect sketching weather (don’t be jealous). Above, the building (monastic I think) on the corner of 26th and K. Below, the corner of 17th and I. I used my purple micron for this one, kind of embellishes the sunniness of the day.
midtown sac in mid january

And Tony Hart died! The gentle-mannered tv artist who inspired several generations (and had an unruly caretaker, I recall). Certainly inspired me, as a kid. That was sad news indeed, but he hadn’t been well. I wrote about him and his famous Gallery (from which no drawing may return) back in August. Farewell, Mr. Hart.

hart times

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hart hall

Do you remember Take Hart (and it’s later incarnation, Hart-beat)? Tony Hart was the art guy for a generation; famously named after three body-parts, he could do near anything with corrugated cardboard and poster paint (just as his caretaker Mr Bennett could always be trusted to get his foot stuck in a bucket), though most of us watched it for Morph, the little brown plasticine guy who could phase through tables but nothing else, and of course The Gallery. “Now it’s time for the Gallery.” For those Americans who don’t know, this was where the work of Britain’s young artist boys and girls was displayed to a backdrop of lift music and unpredictable camera-movements. Kids up and down the land who had submitted their work would sit anxiously, hoping their drawing of their cat would bring them a moment of fame. Kids who drew all the time. Kids like me. But not me.

I never submitted anything to the Gallery, because they had one infamous proviso: you will never get it back. “Pictures cannot be returned,” he warned us. So I did not send Tony Hart any of my drawings, preferring to wait until the internet age to start a sketchblog, and forego the music. I wonder what they did with all those drawings? Do they still exist? Does Tony Hart keep them locked in some underground storage facility? One day, they’ll surface; he or his ancestors will go through them and find an original Tracey Emin aged 7 (“this is everyone I ever ate crisps with”) or one by the 8 and three quarters year old Damien Hirst with his earthworm suspended in pritt-stick glue. And they’ll be worth millions.

Oh, the drawing? Sorry, yes it’s Hart Hall, UC Davis, and has nothing to do with the art-loving Tony at all. Drew and painted it today at lunchtime while escaping slowly moving shadows.