January 1939
The year has started badly. I am profoundly discouraged and yet still convinced of the necessity of continuing to work. For it is only when I am painting that I am happy. At least I am sure of one thing - to bother about the so-called problems of existence is waste of time. Life is dull, stupid, cruel, and in the main apparently pointless. Only the development of the individual counts. Art is inevitable, logical, exciting.
March 1939
Another 'crisis'. Could there be anything more incredibly stupid than the present state of the world? Could there be a more difficult period in which to practise an art. Yet it was never more necessary than it is now, when all beliefs and hopes for a rational state are completely shattered. And if we do fight the catch-word will again be 'liberty', partly true; but I am convinced that the real cause of war is the worn-out system we live under. I would like to be able to think that someday the world will be capable of governing itself sensibly, but I have no hope of it happening at any time.
June 1939
Painting is a matter of intensity of conviction. It is not necessarily a question of distortion, violent brushwork, colours or contrasts. Corot has a deep conviction and yet his pictures are quiet enough. Dear Corot who remarked when dying that he hoped there would be painting in Heaven.
Do you know his tiny panel, it cannot be more than eight inches by five or six, of a boat lying over on the sand with the sea and sky beyond? So simple, yet everything is there. It is in the Louvre (Musée des Arts Decoratifs) and it is a masterpiece.
This does not apply to his later and more 'popular' work which is done to a formula and cannot be compared to his earlier period.
To make your style your starting point is a sign of great weakness. A mannerism, no matter how distinguished, can never constitute style. To cultivate one's thought - to learn to shape and to handle it - is to cultivate one's style. Looked at from any other point of view, style merely makes for obscurity and acts as a drag.
People sometimes say of my paintings: 'I cannot imagine how the man who painted this could possibly have painted that.' What stupidity! As if the painter should only be interested in one particular subject. The painter is the very person who should have many interests, and to always paint the same subject is artistic death. Dealers, public, and critics do love labels. Labels save them the trouble of thinking. No sooner had I painted a couple of dozen circus subjects than I was referred to as the painter of circus pictures. Then I painted a few of the ballet. So the Leicester Galleries (they had only seen one ballet picture of mine and probably no circus) on hearing my name mentioned, promptly said: 'Oh yes, he paints pictures of the ballet.'
On June 30th, Marion, who was more than six months pregnant, left London to stay with her sister Pearl and Pearl's husband, Peter Thompson, at Tower Hill, Iwerne Minster, Dorset. It would appear that with the threat of war with Germany looming, it was decided that it would be safer for Marion to retire to the relative safety of the West Country to have their baby while Clifford remained in London for work reasons.
July 5, 1939
Letter to Marion
Wednesday
Dearest,
Thank you for your letter. I am so glad you like the place; mind you stick to the vestry.
I will be down on next Tuesday or Wednesday at the latest. Celia had a rehearsal on Tuesday last so could not sit and is coming tomorrow. I will need at least one more to finish it after tomorrow and it just depend when it can be arranged. I will do my best but I don't want to rush and even if I do not arrive until Wednesday it gives us two weeks together. Thanks for telling me about the train. I will let you know in good time so that Peter can meet me at Shillingstone.
I saw Quinn last night and I am going to try to see his friends whilst I am with you and try to get the portrait finally settled. It looks as if I will have to wait until the Spring but it does not matter particularly, as long as we can be sure of getting it. I think I will have Kersley's picture practically done before I leave which means a few quid when we get back as a gas and electric light bill have just arrived. I think it would be best to send the cat to the home and I will pay two weeks when I leave him there. He is very fond of me these days but if he could talk he would probably send you his love and say that his food is more varied when you are around.
I will enjoy doing a few landscapes and I have ordered some canvases. Will you ask Lena about your cheque so that I can fix everything up before I leave?
Stanley* asked me to get Michael** framed and I will bring it with me when I come. It looks like the big boy after all.
* Stanley is Marion's older brother, Stanley Solomon Zass (1896 - 1992).
** Michael is probably Peter and Pearl Thompson's son, Michael Thompson, who was about 5 years old at the time.
With all my love.
Clifford
Journal Entries
September 20, 1939
The inevitable has happened. The war I always knew must come.
A son born on September 2nd.
I am more afraid, I think, of the years after this war is over than I am of the war itself. Ever since 1927 every effort I made to earn a living was thrown back on itself by a crisis, or by conditions that resulted from that last 'war to end wars'. I have no faith that conditions will be any better when this one is over.
It is still just as important to go on painting; and I will as long as I live. But it is a bad period in which to find oneself.
September 22, 1939
What a strange pitifully sad process, this business of living is. And yet constantly illuminated by magnificent flashes of emotion, the realization of beauty, effort, achievement (or what we think at the time is achievement), of love and the understanding between friends.
Some claim to find all in 'religion'. I never could. It is those other emotions and realizations which make up my faith.
Commencing a painting - making a ghost. Completing the painting - giving the ghost life.
October 10, 1939
How soon a uniform may demoralize a man. A week or so ago I ran into Shortland-Jones. It was: 'Come back and have a drink, old boy.' This morning I discovered him on top of a bus. He was wearing an air force uniform. It was as much as I could do to drag a 'good morning' out of the little ass.
October 12, 1939
Ted and Leo* arrived to stay for a while.
* Ted and Leo Kersley were father and son, Ted Kersley, an art dealer, and Leo, a ballet dancer (subsequently lead male dancer of Sadler's Wells and later founder and director of Harlow Ballet School).
We are having a wonderful time. Leo has brought lots of records with him and he dances all over the studio. Ted cooks and produces weird results. I wake up in the morning to symphonies on the gramophone.
I spend days drawing at rehearsals of the Trois Arts Ballet. Leo and Celia* are both with the company. We have almost forgotten the war.
* Celia is Celia Franca, a young prima ballerina, and Leo's girlfriend.
October 24, 1939
An artist's work must always be intensely personal. He must aim at pleasing himself, at satisfying himself and himself alone. Any sort of concession to public taste or to fashion must be avoided. They may give the work a certain literary or historic interest but such concessions are only hindrances to true expression.
The artist does not make his work suit the public - in the end he compels the public to see life and nature his way.
Were it not for the fact that it is, in practice, impossible to ever completely satisfy oneself, one would not find the urge to continue Nevertheless, you reach nearer to expression if you discard other people's likes and dislikes.
November 26, 1939
I am sitting here waiting. I have been reading over what I have written in these notebooks, particularly the entry made on Sept. 20th. A great deal has happened since then. I have worked and worked well these last few weeks, and never before in my life have I felt happier. I feel nothing can stop me.
I was told that a great change was going to occur in me this year. I believed, because what I was told before had come true. I never guessed that it would happen in this way.
I know that I have made no effort to avoid it, that everything I have done seemed, and still seems, utterly inevitable. No matter what happens I think I will never regret it, for I truly believe I am beginning to find myself. And I am going to paint better and better - you see.
Instinct - how impossible it is to say all I feel. I cannot explain, and I do not wish to excuse, to justify myself. Reason tells me one thing, a thousand things; something else sweeps it all away.
I love them and I must make them happy. Can you believe that? I must be big enough to take them all into my life. Is it possible? *
* This entry marks the beginning of the artist's liaison with Celia Franca, which was to lead to the break-up of his marriage to Marion. JH
December 1, 1939
I want to make drawings that will look as if butterflies, delightfully coloured, had come to rest for a moment on paper. And paintings too, in time, but strong because they will be beautiful.
Letters to Marion
17 January, 1940
Tuesday night
Dearest Mog,
I had your letter this morning. Do not worry about getting what you want from Peter Jones, at any rate up to £3, as I have that put by for the purpose and I will make up the rest to you before too long I hope.
The last few days have been wretched - bitterly cold -and it seems impossible to get warm. I am sure something has happened to the quality of the coke. It seems to give out no heat for hours and I have had to work in an overcoat. It slows me down but it does not stop me; the picture is started on the canvas now and I did a lot today. After trying four shops this morning I got some coalite, as I was out of coke until tomorrow, and was able to get the studio warm so I worked better.
I bet it's rotten at Iwerne too. Mind you keep all the doors and windows shut and I hope you have plenty of coal.
I am very glad to hear about Julian. He does seem to have plenty of personality; and he is dead right about the red turban. I never liked it myself.
It's a fine idea to try and save for him and if you do only put by a bob a week it will mount up. I wish I could do the same but I reach the end of each week and month by a miracle. I know I should give up smoking but I can't help hanging on to it and the number of things I have given up would make a really long list. I do not care about them but I am a hopeless slave where tobacco is concerned. Yet just think of a fag costing nearly three farthings. It makes one feel almost criminal.
I saw the Griffins on Sunday and they both sent you their love. He says he is getting on with his book. My father has not been very well, he seems to have got old suddenly but is very cheerful and still believes in the Conservative Party, Chamberlain, Church and Churchill and the utter infallibility of the British Empire. As for me I believe in painting, energy and sensibility and such things and after that come to a dead stop, but they are enough. And I believe too in my fate which is to be at least a good painter and to make things all right for us - although we have been pitched into a stupid period, socially and financially that is, but apart from that things are as beautiful as they must always have been, for those who could see.
I saw Disher* recently. He assured me that he has now utterly given up women and he has shut himself up in Pomona Studios to write a history of the *melodrama. When that is done he is optimistic about having another go - if he is able.
* Discher is Maurice Wilson Disher (1893 -1969), author, playwright and theatre critic.
Looking forward to another letter form you soon. Lots of love to you Mog and to him as well.
Clifford
PS
Send me a couple of photos please if they come out well.
PPS
Wednesday morning. Just got your letter. Don't worry about me. I feel very well, only cold but I will be all right. Will write soon.
27 January, 1940
Chelsea - Saturday
Dearest,
I had your last letter this morning. Send the bill on here when you have found out all about it. There is no money to pay it at the moment unless I let Peter Jones wait. I think that would be the best thing to do for the present. Something will come along sooner or later. Anyway, do not worry yourself with it. The duck was really perfect and I completely demolished it.
Last night was not particularly good, but it was horrible out with slush and wet. Perhaps next week will be better. I have done two oils this week. One of some soldiers for, I hope, a show at the Stafford Gallery which is intended to go to America - an exhibition of "This War as we see it." I am also sending one of the Thames by moonlight and blackout. I found a nice frame which I had cut to fit and toned the right colour. It is just by me now and you know it is really beautiful - I cannot help saying it, and I know you will love it when you see it , hope soon. I am finding the real me, slowly but I believe I am finding it, and it is something quiet, subtle and I hope beautiful because that seems all that matters and all that ever will be worth trying to do. Actually that is wrong; one does not try at this stage. These things happen inevitably when they come from one's feelings. I hope they see the point of these two. You would like the soldiers as well. I did it from a sketch I made in a pub in Shaftesbury whilst I was waiting for the coach last November. It sounds dull my description but the painting has got something about it that makes you think.
I hope there will be a good light next week so that I can get on with the big one.
Julian certainly seems to be getting on well and I hope you have not got a cold. I have been very lucky - not one so far. Maybe it's the diet. When the large picture is done and if I can hook in the money I want to come and see you. Perhaps you will be in the new place by then and I will certainly make use of Fred to drive me from Dorchester and am sure he will not mind.
Lots of love to you and Julian. Write again soon.
Clifford
Blitz
CLIFFORD HALL'S JOURNAL ~ 1939 - 1942 P1
including letters written to his wife Marion and some other correspondence
'Leo Kersley in Practice Costume', 1938, by Clifford Hall (no colour photo currently available). This painting was included in Hall's 1938 solo show at the Leger Gallery: 'RECENT PAINTINGS Including PAINTINGS OF THE BALLET'.
A sketch by Clifford Hall of the Trois Arts Ballet rehearing on stage at the Lyric Theatre, Hammersmith, in 1939.
!939 sketches of Celia Franca resting, by Clifford Hall.
'Girl Resting' 1939, by Clifford Hall (no colour photo currently available).
It appears to be a portrait of Celia Franca in repose.
'Moonlight Blackout' 1939, by Clifford Hall. Although the German bombing of Britain during WW2 didn't commence until 1940, strict blackout regulations were imposed on 1 September 1939, two days before Britain's declaration of war with Germany. Fascinated by the ghostly change of appearance this brought to nighttime London, Clifford Hall went down to the banks of his beloved Thames and worked to produce several paintings of the urban river by moonlight. In this one, just a couple of lights can be seen, shining on the other side of the river. This is a clear breach of the regulations, and whoever was responsible may well have been fined a stiff penalty for it.
Clifford Hall photographed in front of his painting, 'Thames at Walton', at the opening of the first British Art Centre Exhibition, which was held at the Stafford Gallery in St James's Place, London W1, in November 1939. This event was organised by the gallerist Ala Story and those in attendance included Kenneth Lindsay, MP, A P Herbert, MP, and George Bernard Shaw. Photograph by Tunbridge for The Bystander magazine.
8 February, 1940
Chelsea - Thursday
Dearest Mog,
Thank you for your letter. I have written to the chemist and told him I will send a cheque this month, which I promise I will do. Please do not worry about me. I am very well indeed and the picture is coming fine - in spite of all my worries, but I just refuse to let them stop me.
Send your cheque as soon as it arrives as this is a difficult month. Electric light I had to pay and some more to keep the Sunlight* quiet.
* The Sunlight was a laundry service in Chelsea.
My father is a little better. I think or at least hope that we are over the worst of the winter now. I will write you a good long letter over the weekend. Many thanks for the butter - although it has not arrived yet. Glad you got the parcel.
All my love to you both.
Clifford
PS
Harry's fur coat keeps me warm - too warm some nights.
An intriguing ink pen and wash from the year 1939 by Clifford Hall. Possibly depicting a performance at the Shim Sham Club in Wardour Street, or some other illicit, bohemian establishment in London's Soho.
