Thankyou Mr Bob

I am suddenly aware that I am writing about dead men, well it's tough but that's very much my world now, and I am afraid there are still several stiffs to go! I've come to Bob Clatworthy, unavoidable really, he is properly responsible for my present situation, that's not a complaint. When I slammed out of that Royal College interview he should have stayed put, but he didn't and so my adventures began. He does make a good drawing. He was an occasional visiting lecturer at Birmingham and had taken a helpful interest in my work. It didn't take a genius to work out I had bogged up my chances with Bernard and Bob Clatworthy caught me outside with a pep talk and a telephone number. The telephone number eventually led me to Oakridge Lynch and Ralph Brown, and a life of penury and self doubt, brilliant. Much of Bob's work is lost to me as I have a complete blind spot where animal sculpture is concerned, with the exception of Skeaping but there are some heads that fascinate. Bob is here then, not because of his art but because of mine. He was a lovely man in a world over populated with shits. I would see him on visits to Oakridge, I think the draw was not so much the Browns as the attractive red haired sculptress who weekended at the lodge at Middle Lypiatt. 

A truly nice guy, who one was always pleased to see and must have had an impact on a serious number of art students throughout his long teaching career. To his credit he did not spend the latter part of his life amending and polishing up his life story like so many of his contemporaries, he worked to the end and let his work do the talking.