Coming across John by chance at exhibitions was a pleasure: he would be looking so intently that he might not notice you at first but, once greeted, he would gladly share his unvarnished value judgements and his fresh response to whatever had excited or surprised him. He was never solemn or portentous, of course- there were irreverent jokes as well -but you knew he really wanted to fathom the creative process that underlay the end result and, if possible, the artist's conscious and unconscious motivation. You also sensed that his absorption had much to do with his own work because engaging with someone else's was stimulating, challenging and therefore nourishing.
Several of my chance meetings with John happened in front of paintings by Renoir or led somehow to talking about Renoir. He especially loved the much-maligned late work -those big, contented, vaguely mythic nudes, their warm flesh gleaming in the sunlight, caressed by lush, flower strewn grass in a fantasy-Arcadia. It infuriated John that censorious critics, offended by Renoir's blithe sensuality, detected only the basest motives and remained deaf to the rhythmic pulse of the brushstrokes, blind to his genius for conjuring light and air, let alone tangible substance, from thin veils and dense flicks of colour. Enthralled since boyhood by Titian's two magnificent Diana paintings in the National Gallery of Scotland, John gravitated as a matter of course to Renoirs opalescent bathers. There are certain of his light-filled paintings from the late 1980s, in which prismatic colour dominates and the broad, overlaid strokes, brushed with special delicacy, have a tender, melting quality. Did the Renoir retrospective at the Hayward Gallery in 1985 play any part in this development? Too late, I wish I had asked John whether he thought this might be so.
2019.9
