An excerpt from ‘THE HERONRY TRIBUNE’ 11.2.09
‘ DAVID LAWRENCE – Artist?’ by Osbert Umbridge

Last week I had the privilege, if that is the word, to visit the studios of the Somerset-based Artist David Lawrence. Throwing his door wide he leered a greeting at me. ‘Astounding!’, he cried, a propos of nothing at all. As he shambled into the gloomy interior of his house I was more able to get the measure of the man: a character in middle age, of middling height and of middling intelligence; bespectacled, gently balding and having the vague smell of lard about him; wearing a painter’s smock of indeterminate colour, smeared with the paint, grease and other detritus of muddling through diverse mediums over many years (a real Jack-of-all-Trades and Master-of….).

Surrounded by the impedimenta of the modern graphical and artistical practitioner he has striven to outwit his detractors: ‘A man destined for profound mediocrity’, his tutor Sir Baldwig Candida once observed (has he succeeded, I ask myself). Now reaching the ‘end of the afternoon’ of his career (as he put it) he has drawn and painted most things – commercial, scatological, anatomical, biological, fantastical and nude. The walls and hoardings of the capital city have regularly been graced by his daubings: advertisements for beers and savoury nibbles, emetics and corn plasters have delighted an indifferent populace.

While his illustrative career keeps him busy he now no longer sculpts commercially – although for a period he toured the USA regularly and at length - promoting the ‘Harmony Kingdom’ brand of twee collectable nicknacks. There was a time when these pieces were fought over (literally) by fevered collectors - however, with the passing of the craze and bursting of the ‘collectible’ bubble, much unsold stock has been recently used as hardcore for road build. The range of gargoyles and greenmen he created are still to be seen for sale in churches & cathedrals throughout these isles. He talked and talked: peppering his monologue with words to which I was uncertain he knew the meaning - improbable stories and sometimes downright nonsense - we eventually made it into his studio which revealed the accretion of ages, the flotsam of a diverse career.

It is true that there is a little talent on view here, and some humour: his oil pastiches of the Old Masters are scrupulously and convincingly done - with amusing additions. His version of Franz Hals’ ‘Laughing Cavalier’ is renamed the ‘Leering Cavalier’and shows the transformation of the smug and overfed fop of a swordsman into a bleary-black-eyed drunk, bottle of meths in hand. Manet’s ‘Dejeuner sur l’Herbe’ is likewise changed: in the original two affluent (clothed) Parisian men picnic with a voluptuous nude woman. In his version the roles are reversed - it is the woman who is clothed and the men that are revealed - in all their wrinkled and paunchy nakedness. I laughed a lot. Ha Ha. Very funny. Should you be interested his in his work it can be viewed at www.davidlawrencedesign.co.uk - I leave you to make up your own mind as to its ‘merits’. You can see his sculptures at www.fromthegreenwood.com

Gnomic and reclusive in his studio he ventures but rarely into the village: occasionally to the shop to buy a bun, other times up to the top of the hill to the ‘Tin Inn’ cider shed. He seldom travels to the local market and is constantly shocked by the price of beer. Once a year he makes a complete exhibition of himself when he puts on the traditional village ’Mummer’s Play’ on Boxing Day. This is a ritual seasonal tale of the fight between light and dark, good and evil and has become unaccountably popular in recent years (I suspect the vast audience which assembles comprises mostly of folk desperate to escape their houses after the excess and claustrophobia of Christmas Day rather than of those actually eager to see Mr Lawrence in action). He has produced a (surprisingly well designed and illustrated) book about the play – together with a studio recording of the whole saga. He tells me he still (unaccountably) has several hundred copies available.

He told me that he believes his travels have left him a wearier yet wiser man and, having broken bread with the Nabob of Dunster and learned the unspeakable truth about Dr. Moritz he maintained that he is happiest wearing his present disguise (though he seemed a thoroughly fraudulent and bogus character to me). At some points he became quite excitable and animated - indeed I was frightened for my safety at one point when he insisted on demonstrating some Morris Dancing steps - and a ‘Bucknell Double Caper’ brought several half-finished paintings to the floor, together with a small area of ceiling. There were curses and abuse. He suggested we start drinking cider. I decided that I had had sufficient for one visit and was relieved to make an exit (there was a strange smell of fish coming from his jacket pocket).

I rang for a taxi. Once safely in my hotel room I rang for the police.