Two Puppies Find a New Home

Going to See a Man About a Dog
A Dublin Nocturne



Two paintings which have been with me for quite a long time have just found the same new home. Even though I'll miss them, it's so much better for them to be out, doing their own thing; running in the fields and gambolling in far-flung meadows. So farewell to them and may they bring much happiness.

I made a post about the top painting, 'Going to See a Man About a Dog' around the time it was completed (2010) but since then, the post has been lost somehow. However, thanks to the Wayback Machine internet archive, I found this snapshot of the text I wrote:


5
JUL
When my siblings and I were nippers, ‘I’m going to see a man about a dog’, was very often the answer we got from dad when we asked where he was going. I was sure that one day, he’d arrive home with a puppy, though that never happened. Perhaps it was difficult to find a dog, especially on the way to and from the pub? [Ironic, incidentally, when you consider the amount of dog turds littering the pavements. Was it just the one uber-hound, with a massive appetite and a terrible digestive disorder? Surely the trail of canine spoor would have led to the promised pooch? How unobservant could he have been?]. Anyway, I digress. My dad never learned to drive a car; he settled for a Honda 90, the workhorse of the 60s. He even accompanied the rest of the family on our trip from London to far-flung Caherciveen, [Caherciveen!] scooting along while we travelled in our uncle’s car. Epic. There’s surely a painting in that…
This is one way I remember him; standing outside in the dusty heat of a Brentford day, with his teacher’s clothes and his teacher’s head on him; away to look for a dog somewhere. The aspect of our street allowing the sun to stream down making brilliant shadows. The distant roar of the crowd from Brentford football stadium every other Saturday, as the opposition put another one past the keeper. The unremitting rumble of heavy traffic from the twelve lanes of road in front of the house. The particular dry smell of the local dust made from brake linings and tyres. The London Box. Probably no place for a dog. Do you know what, dad? I reckon you weren’t looking for a dog at all…
Oils on canvas. 20″ x 30″

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