06/01/2025
What does one do with an hour to spare while changing trains at Firenze S.M. Novella?
I skipped the Duomo, the Uffizi, the Palazzo Vecchio and headed for a little side street just off Piazza Santa Croce. It was here that our family-friend and noted painter Patrick Hamilton lived during the seventies and eighties. A fine artist, he kept a studio in Piazza Santa Croce but travelled widely during the summers to produce an astonishing corpus of work which he exhibited each year in a gallery in Kings Road, London. It was during those summers that his son Ben would come and spend the holidays with us and our life-long friendship was formed. Shamefully, and though the rest of my family did so, I never once visited Florence while Patrick was in residence and I had the opportunity to do so.
When Patrick returned to London at the end of the eighties he took over the custody of St. Saviour's church in Highbury and turned it into a workspace for young artists and sculptors. At the time, in my early twenties, I was pursuing an ill-fated career choice as an oboist. Foreseeing my imminent demise as a musician, it was Patrick who put his hand on my shoulder and told me quietly that there was a kiosk on Highbury corner that sold cheap bus tickets to Istanbul. I followed his advice and have never looked back...
Though Patrick is no longer with us, his immense humanity, intellectual curiosity and unflagging optimism still guide me constantly in my day to day choices. Hence my pilgrimage yesterday to this small side-street in Florence...
Actually, there was an unexpected but very moving post-script to this episode. Once on the train, I chcecked my Facebook messages and found one from someone whose name I didn't recognise or remember. It turned out I had been their oboe teacher in the couple of years before I left London for Turkey. They were just making contact to thank me for all the inspiration I had once given them. It was a touching message.
