scratched negative; he threw them under his bed or loose
into drawers, even walked over them. He began life as a painter, travelling the world, including the South Pacific, with a
wealthy patron. In 1939, in Paris, he bought a used camera and immediately switched to photography. During the forties and
fifties he worked for
Vogue
, where his work was appreciated even though he often rubbed people up the wrong way. He took great enjoyment in hurting people’s
feelings, but in his photographs there was an unexpected humanity. Colin MacInnes, reviewing Deakin’s 1956 show of Paris photographs
for the
Times
, identified his sitters as ‘crushed by life, and the artist, quite without condescension or sentimentality, sees the poignancy
of their desperate will to live on in a world that has quite defeated them.’ He said: ‘the beauty of these photographs lies
in the fund of affection, and at times of pity, that the artist clearly feels for his fellow mortals’, a sentiment most of
Deakin’s friends found surprising.
Daniel Farson first met Deakin in the French. Deakin was not in good shape: ‘I swallowed a raw egg but it was half way down
before I realized it was bad.’ 16 Farson gave a cruelly accurate description of the man:
He must have cut his ear while shaving for a ridge of congealed blood lay underneath and some of it had fallen on to the heavy
polo-necked sweater that had once been white. His pock-marks were livid in the light and dandruff lay in drifts around his
hair and even flecked his forehead. The fly buttons ofhis jeans were open. He seemed to have eaten all his finger nails, and his nose was battle scarred from alcohol. But the seediness
was eclipsed by his huge Mickey-Mouse smile. 17
The two Roberts, Robert MacBryde and Robert Colquhoun, arrived in London from Scotland in 1941 and were befriended shortly
afterwards by Peter Watson, a wealthy arts patron who was instrumental in launching their careers as painters. In the forties
they were stars of the much publicized English Neo-Romantics along with John Minton, Keith Vaughan, John Craxton and Michael
Ayrton. But this was a short-lived movement, replaced by the equally dull ‘kitchen sink’ school, and Colquhoun’s last show
at Lefevre was in 1951. They had a few patrons, notably John Minton, but much of the time they subsisted on handouts. Colquhoun
showed a few monotypes at the Caves de France and there was the occasional sale. Unfortunately they had grown used to having
money, so when they did get some, they spent it. Usually on drink.
Anthony Cronin wrote: ‘MacBryde had, and retained to the end, a capacity to abandon himself gently and totally to the drink
and the moment, so that in the right company he achieved incandescence.’ 18 He described him as having a beautiful voice and a repertoire of Scots songs that ‘he was seldom reluctant to perform.’ Whereas
MacBryde was known for his Burns, Colquhoun was famous for his recitatives, usually taken from the last acts of Shakespeare’s
tragedies. People would gather hopefully at the French pub to listen to his deep baritone: he did a deeply moving Macbeth.
The Roberts were a curious couple: MacBryde was very much the bon viveur whereas Colquhoun’s Presbyterianism gave him a very
neurotic personality. MacBryde was a small man, with a round head, prominent bushy eyebrows and expressive, mobile features
like a clown. Cronin described him as ‘constantly in deft movement, even the way he picked up a glass or handled a cigarette
suggesting precision and sensitivity to nuance and detail’. 19
He was an excellent chef and had the ability to conjure up gourmet food from unpromising ingredients. He extended his improvisational
skills to his housekeeping: boiling handkerchiefs in salt and ironing shirts with a heated tablespoon. He could be vindictive
and at times thoroughly unpleasant, such as when he shook hands with the poet George Barker for
into drawers, even walked over them. He began life as a painter, travelling the world, including the South Pacific, with a
wealthy patron. In 1939, in Paris, he bought a used camera and immediately switched to photography. During the forties and
fifties he worked for
Vogue
, where his work was appreciated even though he often rubbed people up the wrong way. He took great enjoyment in hurting people’s
feelings, but in his photographs there was an unexpected humanity. Colin MacInnes, reviewing Deakin’s 1956 show of Paris photographs
for the
Times
, identified his sitters as ‘crushed by life, and the artist, quite without condescension or sentimentality, sees the poignancy
of their desperate will to live on in a world that has quite defeated them.’ He said: ‘the beauty of these photographs lies
in the fund of affection, and at times of pity, that the artist clearly feels for his fellow mortals’, a sentiment most of
Deakin’s friends found surprising.
Daniel Farson first met Deakin in the French. Deakin was not in good shape: ‘I swallowed a raw egg but it was half way down
before I realized it was bad.’ 16 Farson gave a cruelly accurate description of the man:
He must have cut his ear while shaving for a ridge of congealed blood lay underneath and some of it had fallen on to the heavy
polo-necked sweater that had once been white. His pock-marks were livid in the light and dandruff lay in drifts around his
hair and even flecked his forehead. The fly buttons ofhis jeans were open. He seemed to have eaten all his finger nails, and his nose was battle scarred from alcohol. But the seediness
was eclipsed by his huge Mickey-Mouse smile. 17
The two Roberts, Robert MacBryde and Robert Colquhoun, arrived in London from Scotland in 1941 and were befriended shortly
afterwards by Peter Watson, a wealthy arts patron who was instrumental in launching their careers as painters. In the forties
they were stars of the much publicized English Neo-Romantics along with John Minton, Keith Vaughan, John Craxton and Michael
Ayrton. But this was a short-lived movement, replaced by the equally dull ‘kitchen sink’ school, and Colquhoun’s last show
at Lefevre was in 1951. They had a few patrons, notably John Minton, but much of the time they subsisted on handouts. Colquhoun
showed a few monotypes at the Caves de France and there was the occasional sale. Unfortunately they had grown used to having
money, so when they did get some, they spent it. Usually on drink.
Anthony Cronin wrote: ‘MacBryde had, and retained to the end, a capacity to abandon himself gently and totally to the drink
and the moment, so that in the right company he achieved incandescence.’ 18 He described him as having a beautiful voice and a repertoire of Scots songs that ‘he was seldom reluctant to perform.’ Whereas
MacBryde was known for his Burns, Colquhoun was famous for his recitatives, usually taken from the last acts of Shakespeare’s
tragedies. People would gather hopefully at the French pub to listen to his deep baritone: he did a deeply moving Macbeth.
The Roberts were a curious couple: MacBryde was very much the bon viveur whereas Colquhoun’s Presbyterianism gave him a very
neurotic personality. MacBryde was a small man, with a round head, prominent bushy eyebrows and expressive, mobile features
like a clown. Cronin described him as ‘constantly in deft movement, even the way he picked up a glass or handled a cigarette
suggesting precision and sensitivity to nuance and detail’. 19
He was an excellent chef and had the ability to conjure up gourmet food from unpromising ingredients. He extended his improvisational
skills to his housekeeping: boiling handkerchiefs in salt and ironing shirts with a heated tablespoon. He could be vindictive
and at times thoroughly unpleasant, such as when he shook hands with the poet George Barker for
Similar Books
