Our story really begins here, and in this and the next three chapters, we shall see how the stu- dios in the East End originated, how their numbers grew, and how they became established across an ever-growing geographical area. As ever in a history such as this, a certain amount of jumping about is necessary, either in time or space. Here the treatment is broadly chronological, and the jumping about is spatial. This enables us to cover more clearly the changes in context over time, and to trace more cleanly the spin-offs and moves as artists shifted from one place to another in their pursuit of cheap studio space.
But before moving to the substantive issues, a precautionary note. Much of the material in these four chapters is derived from interviews with those involved in either establishing or run- ning studio blocks, galleries or other arts organisations. But in several cases overlaps exist, his- torical connections occur within the narrative, and certain actors become familiar to us. It is therefore worth making the point that, as with any oral history which is written down for the first time, an emphasis falls inevitably upon those with whom the writer has spoken, and who have been keen to share experiences and views which may fall outside the relatively strict ru- bric of the questionnaire, but which add immeasurably to the richness and depth of the story. Wherever this has been the case I have, as far as possible, used extended passages from the in- terviews, and let those actors tell that story. I have also tried to place their stories within a broader context of recent cultural and art history.
Section 4.2 sets out the origins of the first artists’ studio organisation in East London, and in section 4.3 we see how a group of artists from Reading University met their need for both living and working accommodation. Section 4.4 sums up before looking forward to chapter
five.
4.2
New Uses for Old Docks…
In 1967 a group of graduates from St. Martin’s School of Art moved into the the “Stockwell Depot”, a disused brewery in Lambeth, to continue their work in a “mutually competitive and critical” environment: this was, argues Robert Hewison, a direct response to the materialistic values of Pop Art (Hewison, 1986:237; figure 4.3). But the notion of many artists working to- gether under one roof, even if in separate studios, was not one that had become common cur- rency in the late 1960s: London’s artists generally worked from home. But 1968, when Bridget Riley won the International Prize for painting at that year’s Venice Biennale, was a year of up- set. Although most famously manifest in May’s student riots in Paris, a more general disillu- sionment was becoming apparent, as Time magazine’s upbeat 1966 description of “Swinging London” gave way to Richard Hamilton’s vituperatively pun-titled Swingeing London artworks, increasingly vociferous condemnation of the Vietnam War, student sit-ins—most notably at Hornsey College of Art and the London School of Economics—and destructive bickering within those “underground” groups spearheading the counter-culture which, argued Bernice Martin, was itself dependent upon the materialist society against which it purported to align it- self (Hewison, 1986).
The art world in London was likewise becoming more fractious. The early 1960s had seen a “more exciting” London art world “with Pop Art” (Collings, 1997:35) and a boom in art sales, but as that decade drew to a close contemporary art dealers were feeling the pinch of a gloomier economic climate (Hewison, 1986:231). Christopher Finch, writing in Studio International in March 1968 noted “I do not think I am alone in detecting symptoms of atrophication in the Lon- don Art Scene”, while the art historian Edward Lucie-Smith reported in Art in Britain 1969–70 that “it is clear that commercial art and galleries are struggling to survive. In 1969, for the first time, one began to feel their days were numbered” (both quoted in Hewison, 1985:231–232). As artists became more disenchanted with the gallery system, art itself was beginning to de- velop a broader base, particularly in terms of community art, which by definition exists outside the gallery system, and conceptual art which, in theory at least, also exists outside it (ibid).
Along with the near collapse of the commercial galleries, a simultaneous decline in pa- tronage had left many artists increasingly unsupported: one such was a friend of Riley’s, Peter Sedgely, who was himself in need of studio space, and whose dealer had recently succumbed to the general malaise (MacRitchie, 1996). Not surprisingly perhaps, an old idea of Sedgely’s—the generation of an artists’ community—resurfaced at about this time, and on Riley’s return from Venice it was discussed at her home in West London (Riley, 1998:interview).
That such an initiative should have come from Riley and Sedgely is not, with hindsight, such a bolt from the blue. The seminal exhibition The Responsive Eye, held in 1965 at the Mu- seum of Modern Art in New York City, had made Riley internationally famous in the art world, while her visually disturbing black and white canvases quickly and controversially became a model for the latest fabric and fashion designs (Kudielka, 1992). Riley herself was fêted by the
New York art world—the Abstract Expressionist Ad Reinhardt took her under his wing—and when she visited New York for the exhibition, she took the opportunity to visit other artists, in- cluding Elsworth Kelly and Agnes Martin, in their studios (Riley, 1998:interview). Sedgely also visited New York somewhat later, and of particular significance for both of them were the stu- dios, including those of Kelly and Martin, situated in redundant warehouses at the Battery, on the lower west side. In fact, Kelly and Martin were two of the last artists to have studios there, since the whole area was about to be redeveloped as Battery Park City. Both Riley and Sedgely were inspired by the idea of working in this way, Sedgely long having cherished the idea of cre- ating an “artists’ community”, a notion which he in turn had borrowed from Vincent van Gogh.
The time was right: the number of artists graduating from art schools had risen steadily in the light of the 1960 “Coldstream Report”, actually the “First Report of the National Advisory Council on Art Education 1960”, chaired by Sir William Coldstream, and reporting to the Min- ister of Education (Coldstream, 1960). This had not only sought to put art education on a firm footing through the introduction of a National Diploma of Art and Design but had also foreseen a consequent rise in the number of students pursuing such courses: its final recommendation was a programme of new building to cope. Prescient indeed, for the number of students enrolled on “Dip AD” courses rose from just over 1400 in the academic year 1963/64, the year of its in- troduction, to over 5000 in 1965/66, exceeding 7300 a decade after it was proposed (Statistics of Education, 1964–19721).
So Riley and Sedgely’s project went ahead. Its start was inauspicious: in “a moment of enthusiasm” they visited a warehouse in Southwark which had been offered to Sedgely. It formed part of the Marshalsea Debtors’ Prison, originally closed down in 1842, and sited just north of St George’s Church, in Borough High Street. Utterly derelict, and with a nervous land- lord seeking an economic—in other words not affordable—rent, the building was briefly used, but proved in the end quite unsuitable. No bad thing perhaps, for a better alternative, immedi- ately east of Tower Bridge, awaited them (Riley, 1998, interview; MacRitchie, 1996:6).
In fact it turned out to be a much better alternative. St. Katharine’s Dock had been closed by the Port of London Authority in 1967, and the story of how it came to be the East End’s first artists’ studio block owes a lot both to coincidental social contacts, and persistence on the part of those who initiated the project. Initially spotted by Sedgely and Riley after an evening out with some friends, it rapidly became apparent that warehouse buildings such as those at St. Katharine’s Dock might be just what they were looking for (MacRitchie, 1996:6). An actress friend of Riley’s, Irene Worth, knew the head of the PLA as a “dining acquaintance”, so Riley and Worth wrote to him asking for a meeting at which they could discuss the possibility of rent- ing St. Katharine’s Dock, or at least a part of it, for use as artists’ studios. They discovered that the Greater London Council had recently acquired St. Katharine’s Dock from the PLA, and al- though the GLC had put the Dock on the market, and made it the subject of a competition for its regeneration, they did not expect to sell it for some years. The GLC was also aware that empty, 1 These figures are taken from Statistics of Education for the years 1963 to 1970. They cover full and part
St. Katharine’s Dock would be an easy target for vandalism (Riley,1998:interview). So after a meeting with Desmond Plummer, the Head of the GLC, attended by Riley, Worth and Professor Tony West, then in the Faculty of Urban and Regional Studies at Reading University, Riley and Sedgely were given permission to occupy the Ivory Warehouse on condition that they relin- quished their Squatters’ Rights and started their own company: they called it Arts Services Grants Ltd. ASG’s umbrella covered two organisations, both founded by Riley and Sedgely. SPACE—Space Provision Artistic, Cultural and Educational provided studios, while AIR—Art Information Register—was a relatively short-lived non-selective registry of artists holding slides of artists’ work, and brief biographies, set up as a direct response to the decline of the West End art market described above (MacRitchie, 1996:7). AIR was also the name later given to ASG’s gallery, again a relatively short-lived initiative. (Riley, 1998:interview; MacRitchie, 1996:6). They took on a three year lease of the Ivory Warehouse (figs. 4.1–4.2) and the Match Shed, both semi-derelict, with every floor covered in pigeon guano, and without even the most basic amenities. Even so, offers of help came in fast enough, and a core group of Riley, Sedg- ely, Peter Townsend, Irene Worth, Tony West and, slightly later, Heather Lee and Richard Leechman became established at the heart of SPACE (Riley, 1998:interview).
The project garnered a lot of publicity, not all of it friendly. Some art critics fiercely op- posed the whole idea, Riley recalls, not least because the initiative of SPACE sat in direct oppo- sition to the traditional notion of the solitary artist toiling heroically away in a freezing garret (Riley, 1998:interview). Some artists and indeed art schools also criticised the idea, although their motives seem less clear (ibid). An over-riding fear that the artists would be incapable of self-organisation ultimately proved ill-founded. Catherine Lampert, currently the Director of the Whitechapel Art Gallery, had a studio in Ravenscroft Studios in the early 1970s and recalled that “certainly the attitude in the 70s in the Arts Council was it [was] awful that they lived in their studios, not only for health and safety, but it suggested that artists weren’t serious” (Lampert, 1998:interview). MacRitchie (1996:7) reports that Sedgely held the view that the Arts Council was piqued that AIR in particular was “doing something they should have been doing themselves”, and that the Council was also unhappy with the non-selective nature of the Regis- try, the general principle of self-help and the fact that AIR and SPACE were clearly very suc- cessful. By the time the Registry was closed in 1975, as a direct result of the Arts Council cut- ting its funding, it had some 600 artists on its books (ibid).
The criticisms and indeed confusion—the Arts Council did in fact contribute to the estab- lishment of SPACE studios in St. Katharine’s Dock, as did the Gulbenkian Foundation (Archer, 2001:3)—over the Arts Council’s role in all this comes as little surprise in view of its histori- cally ambivalent attitude to “the arts” in general. The root of this ambivalence lies in the Arts Council of Great Britain’s Royal Charter, granted in August 1946, which required it both to in- crease accessibility to the arts, and to improve their execution (Hewison, 1995:43). The problem was that quality and quantity were constantly playing one against the other, and throughout its history the Arts Council of Great Britain tended to prefer quality to quantity. Its inability to solve this dichotomy has been explored in more detail by Hewison (1995). As we shall see in
the next three chapters, this combined with spending cuts in the 1970s and 80s to make it un- popular with both those in the art world and those in Government: arts projects big and small closed down—AIR was just one example of this—and there followed its eventual demise and reconstitution in 1995 as the Arts Council of England, with a more limited remit than its prede- cessor (ibid).
But clearly, and from the very beginning, as Riley and Sedgely had already demonstrated, the artists were serious. So while Peter Sedgely worked behind the scenes in an administrative and management capacity, Bridget Riley visited people, drumming up support (Riley,1998: in- terview). In the event the Arts Council gave a £3000 grant for lighting and partitions, and Henry Moore, who had just won an award which required that half the prize be given to a “good cause”, decided that SPACE fitted the bill, and the studios were consequently equipped with heaters (Riley, 1998:interview; MacRitchie, 1996:6). Max Rayne also gave money, as did the bankers Kleinwort Benson, contacted through friends of friends (Riley, 1998:interview).
So in only a short period of time, roughly ninety, mostly self-selected artists had estab- lished a base there, and the idea of an artists’ “community” became a reality. By Christmas 1968, SPACE was ready for a party to celebrate its success for which Robert and Lisa Sains- bury provided the food (Riley, 1998:interview). St. Katharine’s Dock was now well and truly up and running. Early criticism that it was not selective failed to stick, and perhaps it was this fact—that anyone could have a go—which encouraged others to take similar initiatives.
The atmosphere at St. Katharine’s Dock in those early years of SPACE was, it seems, close to the open, creative and communitarian spirit for which Sedgely had hoped, as Robin Klassnik, the founder of Matt’s Gallery, recalls.
Robin Klassnik:
In ’68 I graduated from Leicester College of Art studying painting, came to London. My friends lived in London. I came to London as a [graduate], and, I don’t know how, but read somewhere that there were studios going at St. Katharine’s Dock. Went down there, got a studio immediately, and became one of a hundred artists at St. Katharine’s Dock, and it was amazing, quite amazing. I was young, I was 21, and there were people there that I’d heard of such as Bridget Riley, who started it with Peter Sedgely.
…And it was, those two years were far more important to me than the five years at col- lege. I seemed to learn much more being with other artists.
…It was a little open plan, but it was like a vast community. We installed our own kitchens and all ate there, and we’d all go out, not all hundred drinking at night, but there’d be, it was quite, it was 1968, so it was quite communally oriented. And yes, the studios were much more open, there was far more talk going on between a hundred artists, because it’s for the first time. So in a way, in some ways it could have been bad, because it was like an extension of being at college, and a safe kind of world, but I learnt an awful lot, and had to give up painting immediately once I got there because of the structure of the build- ing. The way the space was so large… (Matt’s Gallery, 1998:interview)
Although Klassnik “gave up painting” many artists did not. Indeed, SPACE’s original proposal made reference to the “greater scale on which painter and sculptors are working” (Archer, 2001:3) and, although Riley’s work did not increase in size once she arrived at St. Katharine’s Dock (SPACE, 1970), it had in the years preceding SPACE: her 1964 painting Shuttle 1 was just 44 inches square; Late Morning, made in 1967 was 141 inches by 89 inches, nearly three times the size (Stangos, 1981; Lynton, 1980). The scale on which the Abstract Expressionists worked—in particular Barnett Newman and Jackson Pollock—had influenced the western art world: London was not immune.
Indeed, it might be argued that St. Katharine’s Dock unwittingly brought to fruition one aspect of a cultural revolution envisaged by the writer Alexander Trocchi in the Sigma Portfo- lio, a collection of essays and papers, which he wrote during 1964 (Hewison, 1986:108). One of these papers, “Sigma, a Tactical Blueprint”, was reprinted in the Journal of the Architectural Association, and so reached a far wider audience than those which had merely been circulated amongst Trocchi’s friends and associates, although not, it seems, Sedgely and Riley. But it is here that we find Trocchi’s idea for an artistic community set out (quoted ibid:110):
The original building will stand deep within its own grounds, preferably on a river bank. It should be large enough for a pilot-group (astronauts of inner space) to situate itself, orgasm and genius, and their tools and dream-machines and amazing apparatus and appurtenances; with outhouses for “workshops”; large as could accommodate light industry; the entire site to allow for spontaneous architecture and eventual town planning.
As it turned out, the original assay of this project at a Quaker community during a summer’s weekend in 1964 turned into a disastrous concoction of drink and bickering which served only to terrorise their hosts (ibid). But in Trocchi’s “Tactical Blueprint” we can see shadowy predic- tions of what would succeed a few years later in East London, not so much in the fact that Troc- chi envisaged a riverside setting for the community nor even for its ambitious goals of “spontaneous architecture and eventual town planning”, but in the scale and general nature of the project, summed up in the phrase “light industrial”.
So before moving on, it is worth looking at what it was that made the St. Katharine’s