Tribute to McCracken
Through sheer good fortune and happenstance I met the artist,
Francis McCracken, in a small family-run Italian cafe. My name is
Moyra. My home town was Edinburgh... the Edinburgh in the
1950s where custom was to meet out for breakfast. I was then
16. We became instant friends.
Sometime later, I learned that McCracken was considered a
‘recluse’ – at least by the Art establishment and the media. This
seemed in direct contradiction to the McCracken I knew; and to
the art students, friends and occasional new acquaintances who,
intermittently, flowed in and out of his Forth Street studio
dwelling at that time. A stream of diverse people were his willing
sitters . He painted day and night and, when not engaged with
portraiture, he produced the most exquisite flower studies.
Two years later I married and left Edinburgh - with its then so-
interesting conclave of poets, writers, folklorists and painters -
and our steadfast firm friendship continued by letter.
This is a short excerpt from one of his first:
‘What are you doing in the way of painting Moyra? I’ll come and
haunt you if you don’t paint. Do you remember, when Nigel was a few months old and yelling his head off
feeling you couldn’t cope, opening the door wide letting me in, having a chat and then getting on with it... I
think in spirit I’ll be on your doorstep waiting. I’ll never forget your account and how pleased I was.
Well my dear I go on the same round from day to day painting eating and sleeping still I can get some
excitement and a glimmer from time to time in my work, and so to bed there to begin an adventure of the
mind.
Goodnight and much love to you Moyra & also to Nigel and Rodger.
Always your Bunnywugs’
Francis never explained why he occasionally signed himself to me as ‘Bunnywugs’. I found it endearing.
Sixty years later I still treasure the letters he wrote
AND THEN... ... came 1959 and two policemen at my North Kensington door informing me that Francis
had died
Tribute to McCracken
Through sheer good fortune
and happenstance I met the
artist, Francis McCracken, in
a small family-run Italian
cafe. My name is Moyra. My
home town was Edinburgh...
the Edinburgh in the 1950s
where custom was to meet
out for breakfast. I was then
16. We became instant
friends.
Sometime later, I learned
that McCracken was
considered a ‘recluse’ – at
least by the Art
establishment and the
media. This seemed in direct
contradiction to the
McCracken I knew; and to
the art students, friends and occasional new acquaintances who,
intermittently, flowed in and out of his Forth Street studio dwelling
at that time. A stream of diverse people were his willing sitters . He
painted day and night and, when not engaged with portraiture, he
produced the most exquisite flower studies.
Two years later I married and left Edinburgh - with its then so-
interesting conclave of poets, writers, folklorists and painters - and
our steadfast firm friendship continued by letter.
This is a short excerpt from one of his first:
‘What are you doing in the way of painting Moyra? I’ll come and haunt
you if you don’t paint. Do you remember, when Nigel was a few months
old and yelling his head off feeling you couldn’t cope, opening the door
wide letting me in, having a chat and then getting on with it... I think
in spirit I’ll be on your doorstep waiting. I’ll never forget your account
and how pleased I was.
Well my dear I go on the same round from day to day painting eating
and sleeping still I can get some excitement and a glimmer from time
to time in my work, and so to bed there to begin an adventure of the
mind.
Goodnight and much love to you Moyra & also to Nigel and Rodger.
Always your Bunnywugs’
Francis never explained why he occasionally signed himself to me
as ‘Bunnywugs’. I found it endearing. Sixty years later I still
treasure the letters he wrote
AND THEN... ... came 1959 and two policemen at my North
Kensington door informing me that Francis had died