“I was in the Mayan jungle, got talking to a feller from Tipperary,” begins the well built, bearded man in his mid-sixties. “When I told him I was from Bradford, it just came out that his most vivid memory of it was this beautiful old pub with fantastic paintings on the walls.”
The hostelry in question was the New Beehive, in Westgate, and by incredible coincidence he was talking to the artist, himself, Jim Smith.
The Bradfordian, to call it by its other name, was where I spent many a Friday night listening to the legendary White Eagles’ Jazz Band. I always dropped in on the way to Valley Parade on match day. Whenever I was in there I was moved to admire the large-scale, hand-painted murals and stunning paintings which formed a gallery in themselves.
So diverse, they had to be the work of various highly talented artists. It didn’t cross my mind that the hand which captured the very soul of John Lennon and Jimi Hendrix was also behind the portraits of Bradford – or belonged to Jim, the jovial barman.
“I never pushed myself forwards,” says Jim, without any sense of personal disappointment, “I was just happy that people genuinely admired them.”
As I discover, this is typical of the warm-hearted man, who was born to paint and still lives for his work. “Yes, for me, it’s always been about art for art’s sake. I don’t have an entrepreneurial bone in my body. I’ve given hundreds away to people who like them.”
And this from a man who has accepted commissions from all over the world. “My paintings can be found in some pretty far-flung places from a public building in India to a Tennessee millionaire’s mansion,” he laughs.
The most travelled were those produced for commissions, which he still accepts via his website. He’s also turned his hand to pub signs and advertising material, people’s pets, houses, loved ones.
He has the unusual ability and technical skills, clearly of great benefit to the commercial artist, to be willing and able to tackle anything, almost in any style.
As a painter of Bradford, he’s long been drawn to the Ripleyville area of West Bowling where he was raised with his five siblings. Since moving to Manningham, he’s captured its old forgotten corners. In one of the most haunting, the eerie outline of Cartwright Hall looms out of a late winter’s afternoon.
“It captures a moment of contemplation I experienced on a walk through my favourite park.”
I particularly admire one autumnal scene, recognised immediately as Shipley Glen, just from the woodland and background hills – and another of the well known landmarks of the city looking over Little Germany.
He can’t remember a time of life when he wasn’t drawing. Even as a schoolboy at Fairfax he discovered how prized his work was when mates clamoured for portraits of cult hero, Bruce Lee. Fifty years ago, he went to Bradford Art College to pursue a Foundation Course but he considers himself to be self taught.
“I watched other artists, read books and proceeded by trial and error. I used to copy the old masters, Velasquez, Constable, Turner, as the best way to work out how they did it,” he says.
For much of his early life he was painting in his spare time while doing a series of unskilled jobs in bars, factories and building sites. “I wasn’t much bothered what work I took as long as it supplemented what I earned as an artist.”
By the mid-1980s, he was sufficiently established to be able to open his own gallery in Scarborough. He wishes he’d stayed longer but the urge to move on was with him. “There’s always somewhere else to go, a scene wanting to be painted.”
The most exotic paintings on his website are of remote locations. “I think I must have some gypsy in my soul. I’ve lived in about 30 different places and my travels abroad have taken me to extremes, deserts, jungles, mountain regions.”
His oils, brushes and canvases always go with him. “You have to be there to capture it, live under its light to experience the colours.” He’s explaining how he caught the sheer wonder of the Taj Mahal by moonlight. “It’s a small world – but you try painting it!”
More recently he’s found himself returning to Ripleyville. “It’s like I’m painting a recurring dream.” He seems to be thinking out loud. “The places are all familiar…but strange. It’s the landscape of my childhood with places slightly rearranged by memory and time.”
Having spent many hours voluntarily demonstrating his skills to patients at Little Horton Clinic, he believes firmly that art is therapy. “I taught by example,” he stresses, “and after a few lessons people who’d never held a brush before were doing great things.”
Jim somehow seems more proud of having inspired others than by his own achievements. “I’m still learning. I’m still in search of my masterpiece.” He smiles, strokes his beard. “To me the next one should always be the best I’ve done – that’s the real dream.”
* Visit jimsmithartist.co.uk
