Winston Churchill and the Consolation of Art: ‘If It Weren’t for Painting, I Couldn’t Live. I Couldn’t Bear the Strain of Things.’

Winston Churchill - Cap d'Ail, Alpes-Maritimes, from La Capponcina

I recently enjoyed an exhibition of the paintings of Winston Churchill. (The Wallace Collection, London until 29 November)

In May 1915, less than a year into World War 1, blamed for the failure of the Dardanelles campaign, Churchill lost his position as First Lord of the Admiralty. Depressed and with time on his hands, the forty-year-old took up painting. It became a lifelong passion.

‘When he left the Admiralty, he thought he was finished… I thought he would never get over the Dardanelles; I thought he would die of grief.’
Clementine Churchill, Churchill’s wife

Churchill had the advantage of being trained by the best: John Lavery, William Nicholson, and later Walter Sickert. He developed a post-impressionist style that nodded towards Van Gogh and Cezanne. Employing bright, vibrant colours - cerulean blue, acid greens and warm reds - his art was spontaneous, fresh, alive. 

With no government position, Churchill determined to contribute to the war effort by joining the Royal Scots Fusiliers. His early artistic work included a 1916 image of his shell-damaged battalion headquarters in Belgium; and a haunting self-portrait.

‘I think that [painting] will be a g[rea]t pleasure & resource to me – if I come through all right.’
Winston Churchill, in a letter to Clementine

Winston Spencer Churchill (1874–1965) - Self Portrait. National Trust, Chartwell

Out of political office in the 1920s and ‘30s, Churchill built a studio at his beloved country house at Chartwell, Kent. When the weather was fine, he painted outdoors – the walled kitchen garden, the orchard and fishpond – and when it rained, he painted still lifes. Here’s a magnolia in a silver vessel; some summer flowers in a cut glass vase; a ‘bottlescape’ of his favourite tipples, including Pol Roger and Johnny Walker.

Churchill also painted the great country houses of England: his birthplace Blenheim Palace, the Palladian Bridge at Wilton House, the Italian Garden at Sutton Place, Branksome Dene, the scene of a near fatal accident in his youth. 

‘We do not have much sunshine in our island, but the English people in every walk of life delight in flowers and gardens, and greet our grey skies with more flowers than any other people grow.’
Winston Churchill

Churchill loved to escape to the French Riviera. Drawn to atmosphere and reflections, he depicted the small, sleepy harbour at Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, the dappled light from a canopy of olive trees in Cap Martin, a shimmering villa pool. At the chateau at Saint-Georges-Motel, gardeners and a friend were enlisted to row across the moat to create ripples.

‘The fleeting light imposes a rigid time-limit. The same light never returns. One cannot go back day after day without the picture getting stale.’

Churchill began his paintings on location and completed them later in the studio, often using photos as an aide memoire. Sometimes he employed a projector to transfer an image onto a squared-up canvas or board.

Winston Churchill - Jug With Bottles - 1930’s

Churchill largely gave up painting during World War 2. In the wake of victory, when he lost the 1945 general election, he returned to art for solace and relaxation. A favourite location was Marrakech, ‘the red city,’ which he liked to visit between Christmas and New Year. Enchanted by the bright sunlight and rich colours, he captured the market stalls at the city gate; the verdant trees peering above the rooftops; the snow-capped peaks of the Atlas Mountains; the palms in the garden at the Mamounia Hotel.
 
Sometimes Churchill gave away his paintings to staff, family and friends. Sometimes he submitted them, under a pseudonym (such as Charles Morin) to competitions. 

Of course, Churchill was an amateur. Nonetheless, I found his pictures of historic houses, well-tended gardens and tranquil harbours; of mosques, mountains and olive groves, rather touching. His devotion to his hobby was clearly sincere. 

Often in the world of work, we find ourselves embattled by competition, besieged by stress. Churchill teaches us to reflect on the consolation of art; to consider it an escape from the turmoil, an opportunity to refresh our energies and restore our appetites. 

John Rothenstein, the Director of the Tate Gallery (1928-64), recalled a remark made by Churchill when he visited him in his studio in 1955:

‘If it weren’t for painting, I couldn’t live. I couldn’t bear the strain of things.’

Winston Spencer Churchill - The Mosque at Marrakech. National Trust, Chartwell

Churchill continued to paint until shortly before his death, aged ninety, in 1965. Over a period of fifty years, he produced well over 500 paintings. At the exhibition you can see his oils, brushes and palette cup; his travel easel with its wooden case. And there’s a quarter bottle of Pol Roger, his last, enjoyed a week before he died

'Sweep away the broken glass,
Some things were never meant to last.
Don't cut your skin on things that linger in the past,
Be sure to clear away the shards.
Lest a piece should pierce your heart,
Taking splinters with your fingers is an art.
And it's so late to finally learn,
That perhaps you missed a turn.
And all the signs that showed you where you could have gone,
You let them go,
And so they flew,
And never once looked back to you.
Thought opportunity was endless,
You were wrong.’
Matt Elliott, 'Song of Consolation'

No. 591

Are You a Good Loser?

I recently attended the Artist and Empire exhibition at Tate Britain (which runs until 10 April). It boasts portraits of British aristocrats in unfamiliar local garb; maps and mementos; etchings of exotic wildlife; and, inevitably, partisan paintings of triumphs and treaties.

I was struck by the fact that there were also a good many images recording defeat: heroic deaths, military martyrdoms, hasty retreats. You can see the demise of General Gordon at Khartoum; the last stand of Major Allan Wilson at the Shangani; and, in a rather portentous painting, an only known survivor making his way into Jellalabad, Afghanistan. Creating a positive narrative around disaster seems to have been a Victorian speciality. I imagine the intention of these tragic images was to convey a sense of nobility; a reinforcement of values; a commitment to persevere.

The exhibition prompted me to consider how we engage with failure in commerce. How good are we at dealing with defeat?

‘Show me a good loser and I’ll show you a loser.’
Vince Lombardi, Coach, Green Bay Packers

Whether we like it or not, defeat is an everyday reality for even the most successful modern business. Brand owners have to recognise that their customers are endlessly fickle; their competition will occasionally outflank them; often their new product launches will founder. Agencies have to concede that they will generally lose more pitches than they win; most of their output will go unrewarded; and, like political careers, all accounts end in failure.

Of course, we are taught that mistakes are essential to entrepreneurship. Loss is a source of lessons and learning. We want to ‘treat every failure as an opportunity.’ We endeavour to ‘fail forwards.’ We love ‘burning platforms.’ We ‘mustn’t waste a good crisis.’

This doesn’t mean we book a ticker-tape parade every time someone cocks up. In truth, despite the management wisdom, we tend to be superstitious about loss. It punctures momentum. It lingers like a bad odour. You don’t want to get too close.

From my time in the Agency world, I recall that one’s initial response to defeat was often to cry foul, to blame failure on the foolishness of the Clients, the perversity of the process. Personally I would immediately seek comedy in defeat. I found it had a short-term restorative effect.

The first question after an intensive six-week pitch for a luxury brand came from the laconic representative of China, the most important growth market: ‘Where is the luxury in this?’ We knew immediately the game was up…

In time we commission reviews, post mortems and ‘wash-ups.’ We ask for Client feedback. We pose the difficult questions. We scrutinise procedures and personnel.

However, excessive self-reflection can be counterproductive. We find ourselves seeking scapegoats, ‘reaching for the blame gun.’ So the audits and introspection start to damage morale. I well recall being reprimanded by a younger colleague who felt that the Agency leadership’s painful honesty was undermining collective confidence. And we thought we were being fashionably transparent.

My former boss, Sir John Hegarty, didn’t subscribe at all to the conventional view of defeat.

‘Many people talk about failures as opportunities to learn. Saying this seems to make people feel wise and worldly. Well I say bollocks to failure. Don’t dwell on it. Move on. Forget it.’

Sir John Hegarty, BBH, Hegarty on Creativity

John’s contention resonates well with creative people. They have to insulate themselves against damaging negativity; they must look forward to opportunity, not back at disappointment. Maybe we could all benefit from a little indifference to defeat.

In my opinion we are generally too emotional in the immediate aftermath of failure and too rational when the dust has settled.

I wonder, should we adopt some of the Victorians’ myth making? Perhaps, rather than embarking on earnest self-examination, we ought to seek the emotion in error, find heroism in loss, defiance in disaster. We should use missed opportunities as a means of reinforcing belief, commitment and values. Setbacks don’t just illuminate the way forward; they galvanize the collective spirit.

And I’d still maintain that, just occasionally, it helps to laugh in the face of failure.

‘If at first you don’t succeed, try try again. Then quit. There’s no use being a damn fool about it.’
WC Fields

Previously published in the Guardian Media & Tech Network

 No. 66