Sunday 8 March 2020

Nearly two years ago, I visited my old art teacher, Mr John Hodgson. He was 90 and I had heard, from his Daughter, that he was alive and well. I was delighted to have the chance to see him again, for the fist time since 1984. I met Mr Hodgson at his home in Farrington Gurney, along with his friend and my old English teacher, Mr Hill.

Mr Hodgson had made bread with yeast made from a rotting plum in his garden and we shared lunch in his garden, surrounded by his recovered object sculptures. I remember him making sculptures from old chair legs in his classroom. While we made art, he would arc weld the legs or play his banjo. 

His banjo and other instruments are still with him and, for his 90th birthday, he had bought himself a motorbike although one or two of his former colleagues were trying to persuade him not to ride it.

Sipping his homemade gazpacho, Mr Hill and I enjoyed sharing memories of Writhlington School and our perspectives, on our time there, gave us chance to offer honest opinion on its legacy. Mr Hill would not want to teach again. Mr Hodgson would. I remember Mr Hodgson fascinating us with his mindful exploration of art and his peacefully lost demonstrations, contrasted by occasional frustrated imploring, "Be logical boy", as I searched for lost work in his cupboards. 

Before I left, I took these photographs. I hope I see him again and perhaps I could watch him work once more.





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