Getting
started: Tony Hart's advice
Almost without exception children love to draw; and parental encouragement
from an early age may well influence the desire to be creative. I was born
in Maidstone, Kent, in 1925. My mother told me that when I was very young
she used to save all her used envelopes for me to draw on. I would draw what
I called “tick-tocks”, which were circles, with a V shape in the middle to
represent the hands of a clock.
Certainly I grew up with a pencil constantly in my hand, and art was my best
subject at school. When I completed my education at Clayesmore in Dorset the
war was still on, and I wanted to be a rear-gunner in the RAF. However, a
slight defect in one eye made flying duties impossible, and so I followed in
my father's footsteps, and went into the Indian Army. I was commissioned in
the 1st Gurkha Rifles, but while on my first home leave I was summoned to
the War Office to be told that, after independence in India, lower-ranking
British officers were to be replaced by Indian officers, and so I had to
choose a new career.
I decided to try my hand as a professional artist, and signed on for a course
at the Maidstone College of Art. Certainly I would advise any young person
with a serious desire to make their way in art to sign up for a course at a
good art college. The training I was given proved to be invaluable, and
allowed me to get my first job as a display artist at a West End store. I
quickly discovered that this was not what I really wanted to do with the
rest of my life, and so I became freelance. Freelancing was a much tougher
life than I had expected, and - very hungry - I was often glad to paint
murals on restaurant walls in return for free meals!
My brother Michael was a student at the Webber Douglas Academy of Dramatic
Art, and we shared a horrid basement flat in Bayswater. One evening he
talked me into going to a student party. “Come on,” he cajoled me. “There
will be lots of girls there.” Little did I know that my brother's invitation
would drastically change the rest of my life.
At that party someone introduced me to a BBC children's TV producer. When he
learnt that I was an artist, he said: “Ah! I am looking for someone who can
draw quickly; can you draw quickly?” “Oh yes,” I assured him fervently.
“Come and see me,” he said. He then gave me his card, and wandered away.
It took two weeks of frantic telephone calls before I succeeded in arranging
an appointment to see him. I was greeted with a cup of coffee, and after
some social chatting he said: “Can you draw me a fish blowing bubbles?” He
then turned to his secretary and asked her to get a piece of paper for me.
When he turned back to me, I had drawn the fish blowing bubbles on the paper
napkin that came with the coffee. “That's fast enough for me!” he said, and
I was given a contract to appear on Saturday Special as an illustrator.
It would appear that a quick-drawing artist was just what the BBC needed, and
I appeared in up to three TV series every year for the next 50 years.
I retired in 2001, because of health problems, and in 2003 I was devastated
when my wife, Jean, died after many years of bravely fighting her illness. I
met Jean at the BBC; she was the programme secretary on many important BBC
shows, and she wrote an episode of Z Cars. We met and fell in love when we
were both working on Playbox, and were married just a few months later.
I had always been a fairly competent cook, and after Jean died I struggled for
a couple of years to take care of myself in our pretty cottage in Shamley
Green, near Guildford, Surrey. But I then suffered a couple of minor strokes
that robbed me of the use of my hands, so that I could no longer draw or
even write my name. My dear daughter, Carolyn, despite her own family
responsibilities, travelled long distances each day to come to my aid, and
eventually engaged two professional live-in carers to look after me.
My whole life has changed since my strokes. The biggest change was in the
structure of my day. Every day since Jean and I had come to live in Shamley
Green in 1965 I had followed a regime. After breakfast I would adjourn to my
studio, built in my garden. I would work until Jean called me in to lunch,
and then went back to my studio until 4pm, when I would change my shoes and
set forth on a four-mile Gurkha-pace jog through the Surrey Hills.
Today my studio lies abandoned, and I spend most of my day confined to my
chair. Not being able to draw is the greatest cross that I have to bear, for
it has been my lifetime passion. But, I endeavour to stay cheerful, as there
is nothing to be done about my condition.
Sometimes I wander out in to my studio, and think about the many happy hours
that I spent working on the content of my next television programme. Looking
back, it took a lot of thought and inspiration to create the new ideas that
I used in all those 16-part series in which I featured every year.
When making personal appearances, I have frequently been asked by members of
the public to reveal the secret of how to draw. Well, the truth is that
there is no secret. Like any other skill, becoming good at art requires lots
of practice. Time and again I have been told: “I can't draw.” My answer has
always been the same: “If you can write, you can draw.”
This is true, but like everything else, some people will be better at it than
others. However, doing something creative is a most rewarding activity, and
will result in a great sense of satisfaction, no matter how good or bad the
artist may be.
I receive kind letters and e-mails every day from those who have watched my
antics on television over the years, and often they tell me that they
discovered that they had artistic skills only when they were encouraged to
have a go - because I made art look easy.
My aged heart is warmed by the lovely letters and e-mails I receive,
especially when they tell me that my work on television inspired the writers
to become artists, sometimes very successful ones.
I always tried to make my television art accessible to all, rich or poor. I
would often use cheap and readily available materials to create pictures,
such as macaroni and lentils. And now, I sincerely hope that I may have
inspired you, the reader, to at least try your hand at art. You may well be
pleasantly surprised.
