In the 1960s, it is possible to avoid the presence of inquisitive child artists in the pub; no child, no matter how precocius, is allowed in the public bar. The older artist can hold forth on the tyranny of the art trade, the giving and taking of contracts and the price of paper; he can offer the cup of celebrity, name dropping with the consistency of the ash from his cigarette. Unbeknown to them all who come through the door are visiting the artist, who is playing a character from a mid 20th century book; How to Spot an Artist in a Pub. This tradition of visiting artists in pubs is long and distinguished; it is one the younger artist will become familiar with; often being regaled with the wit or withering of the night’s performance. The Colony Club, the bars of Montmartre, the Waterman’s Arms; in the corner the artist whittling his sharp pencil, scribbling your portrait, selling his wares in order to catch a sentence or a shadow for a sketch; modelling the ordinary into the extraordinary. One more for the road:
“and I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference”
(Robert Frost)
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