Stoic Artist/Artist Stoic

I have long admired certain people in my wider kin: Benita von Stechow, my husband’s Godmother, my beloved Nan, Diana Baring dear family friend, Sonia Stahl, loved, respected, very slightly feared neighbour and undoubtedly others. All wise women of a departing generation. What connects them is a deep commitment to stoicism, consciously or not - four of the kindest and most formidable women I have ever known. These women have individually shared privilege and hardship in extremes, enduring some of the most testing circumstances imaginable and yet each emerge with elegance, strength and most memorably: compassion. I started reading Marcus Aurelius a few years ago, then some Seneca and the stories of Nero have given me comfort in appeasing the anxiety of the emerging demagogues of our current political climate and the inevitability of downfall in the Narcissistic Leader. I share a daily lesson of stoicism with my husband in all his relentless, lifelong depression, which helps us both to brace ourselves for a new day. I also wonder where stoicism fits in with my work, as my art and my love of stoicism share compassion (the latter is often misconstrued as unfeeling and cold, which it need not be) but I think the tenacity and encouragement towards only that which one can affect offer a new face for creativity in an art world that I perceive as somewhat self serving on one side of the fence and neurotic and lacking resilience on the other. I am unmotivated and disappointed by the negative fragility of the egos I see around me in the art world, so inspired by those artists to make regardless, no matter the time they are born into, the privilege or austerities they have faced, they simply press on not wasting any time in casting characters of victim and oppressor.

I am reminded constantly of Frank Auerbach who lived through terrible circumstances and chose not to make reference at all to it in his work, he remained and still remains in the same humble studio and life circumstances regardless of what can only be considerable fortune. I am also in great admiration of Guy Lougashi who has taught me paper making: as a gay, half Israeli half Palestinian, full time carer for his disabled twin brother, who fled conflict and sought refuge in Berlin, his advice is “shut up and make the work”. He loathed art school as he couldn’t see the interest in his struggles and he makes paper reflections of moon surfaces. I see a life and an art that is built on foundations of wisdom, courage and justice to be worthy, particularly where a life lead in accordance with Nature forms the foundation for those virtues.

I hope to spend my life tending the special alchemy that turns knowledge into wisdom.

I hope to be courageous in my art, burn it all to the ground tomorrow in the knowledge that I can build it up again from scratch and without a word of complaint.

I hope to use art as a voice, a quiet, compassionate voice.

Mrs Anne Aylward

I owe my Nan everything. Born in 1929 in the North East of England, walked miles every day to the grammar school, despite poverty, raised all her siblings and was married with two children by the age of 19. She married the love of her life, Ken, and they remained married and devoted from the age of 13 when they met at the Youth Club until Gramps died after 56 years of happy marriage. Assistant to two Governors of Hong Kong (first Lord MacLehose and latterly Sir Edward Youde) as well as Margaret Thatcher - very possibly another formidable woman of a departing generation - she was present at the signing over of Hong Kong to China and present for all negotiations between Britain and China in the 1980s. She still had time to take me to ballet four times a week and compensate for the death of her beloved daughter, my Mum. She gave me everything, laughed whenever she could, was brave and stoic never, ever complaining. A hopeless cook, she is bright, fearless and hilariously funny. She always did what she thought was right and had no difficulty giving others credit for her work, offering a kindly ear to anyone who needed it and devoted herself in service of family. She is still with us but in the very advanced stages of dementia and knows little of anything nowadays. I miss her constantly.

Her car was hijacked in 2001 and she fought off the gunman - sitting behind the attacker she wrapped her tiny upper body round the man’s throat, pulling the car seat with such force at high speed that the front seat came completely free of the vehicle, took the steering wheel and crashed the car. She was about 40 kilos soaking wet and well into her 70s but she throttled him. She never mentioned it again or talked about it much. She rang me that evening and we spoke as though it had been an uneventful day, a nice day trip to France with her friends, only hearing the story some days later when a neighbour rang me to let me know. She didn’t regard herself as a hero or having done anything special and found the whole event somewhat tiresome when the BBC made a documentary about her and other small acts of heroism. Again, she never mentioned the documentary to any of us. https://www.theargus.co.uk/news/6771659.golden-girls-foil-gunman/