Until recently, the only thing I knew about Patrick Heron was a painting of his I’d seen as a teenager. It was a school trip to the Tate Modern and we each had to pick a work to draw from. I chose this strange stringy portrait of a man, colourful, but muted and smudgy. Not literal, but not abstract, not particularly big or small. I don’t remember being blown away by it, but I liked it. It was pleasing, interesting to look at. And 20-odd years later, I still have vague recollections of it.
So I took myself and my vague recollections of a single painting along to a full show of Patrick Heron’s work. And this was the first thing I saw: Continue reading “How Patrick Heron blew my mind”
