Sunday, 22 September, 2019
I’ve always said it doesn’t matter if I don’t blog. I blog when I blog…that sort of thing. Lately there seems to be a lot to blog about and I find myself balancing three lots of photos and loads of words whirling around my head. The photos I took the other day, when the weather was dull and drizzly were quite washed out and that means getting out my editing wand. So we’ll see how it goes.
After Wales came the Geffrye tour, and then Beck Road. My blogs will be dated properly but I’m writing this in reverse. So here we go with Beck Road.
When I hadn’t been in the UK very long, I went to a friend’s Chinese New Year party. There I met someone from the USA who had bought a flat just of the Euston Road. I remember thinking how grand it must be to be able to live there. When she heard I lived in Hackney, she asked me if I knew Beck Road. I didn’t. She said it was a whole street of artists and I should check it out.
All these years later I finally did.
First I made a stop at Mare Street Market for a muffin and a hot drink, while I waited for Lisa to show up. Then we walked two short blocks to our destination.
Beck Road is an unassuming east end street with 56 terraced houses, complete with a railway arch part way down. From the main road, looking at Beck Road, you’d be forgiven for thinking it ordinary, even run down. Yet these homes are valued at close to £1 million, and the residents are significant artists. Some homes have private art galleries but during London Open House 18 doors were opening to the public. It was a busy weekend for me and I thought I’d have time for only event a day. Sunday it was Beck Road.
On each house between the doors was listed the inhabitants on the 1901 census. This was fascinating – first, there were way too many people living under one roof but also most of them seem to have been born within a mile or so of Hackney Central. Some of them were artisans but it wasn’t until the 1970s that Beck Road started to attract many artists. By the 1980s they had begun creating private galleries in their homes.
There wasn’t a lot of time so we spent just a few minutes in each open home. I was just as fascinated with the interiors as I was with the art, maybe more really. Much of the art didn’t interest me that much, to be honest, although there were a few pieces I did enjoy. Strangely, I didn’t photograph any of it. Oops!
Sometimes the owner was there. Sometimes the owner was also the artist. Sometimes the owner was someone who knew the artist. It varied. As did the interiors. So many ways to interpret the same space. As always, I fantasised about living in each one. Pieces of each home were roped off to the public but we could wander around the rest, taking in the architecture and the canvases and sculptures and other works of art.
A man called us into a house. I thought we were going to get a tour but instead we watched a film, ‘A woman’s hair.’ It was sweet and sad, and Lisa said ‘Well, that was depressing.’
So on we went. Half way along under the railway arch there was a door and through the door was a long hallway with doors on each side, and a steep staircase leading up to the top of the arch where there were some very strange paintings. ‘Too much acid,’ I told Lisa.
There was no time left. So I scurried off home. It was interesting to see Beck Road finally. I wonder what it’s like to live life as an artist on a street where everyone else is the same…