Dad

My dad is called Calvin Russell. He is possibly the best artist in the world, he died in January 2014 of stomach cancer or something. He didn't deserve what he had to deal with, but he was insanely talented. He was a genius,. I go to galleries and scoff at how shit some of the work is compared to my dad's. He did both sculpture and stuff on paper.

Im not really sure why I'm writing this but he always deserved some recognition for his work. He was also a really amazing dad so I guess thats worth an article. He drew loads of naked ladies really well, using extravagant colours, most of them are bald for some reason.

He also did quite surrealist stuff (that might be the wrong art term ) he was full of really clever and imaginative ideas that he would translate into his art. Especially for someone who left primary school not knowing the alphabet. He was a big fan of Dali. After being at art school for a while, his mum was told by one of the teachers that they had nothing left to teach him, that he was just too sick. 

He did amazing sculptures, by now you probably understand what I mean when I say hes the best artist in the world. Yeah okay, I'm a bit biased, but hes still one of the greats and deserves to be in some hall of fame.  Better than most of the shit I see in galleries these days anyway. He did Banksy stuff way before banksy was even a thing too, my mum explains it better in his obituary, but I'll give it a go. actually I'll just quote her:

"It had been his ambition to exhibit at the Tate, and in 1997 he managed to get past security with a small bronze sculpture, titled Iron Man, tucked into his coat along with a plinth disguised as an easel. He set up the piece alongside works by Rodin and other great masters, where it remained on display for around half an hour before it was discovered. "

"For his next trick he filled a row of parking spaces on a street in Mayfair with sculptures and created his own private view complete with wine, canapés, a bustling crowd of art enthusiasts and toy cars parked in each space. "

Him and his mum, Marion, moved to Spain when he was 14 I think, Neither of them spoke a word of Spanish, and the Spaniards didn't speak a word of English. They both figured how to speak Spanish and had a good time. My dad started a windsurfing school with his close friend Iwi, its still going today and doing pretty fucking well. Its on Gandia beach if any of you wanna give it a visit. 

I think he was his happiest in Spain, the carefree lifestyle really suited him. My mum and him would get drunk and cure the hangover by chilling on the beach. He told me that he would go in the salt water to cure his headache then go back and lie on the sand, when his headache resurfaced he would repeat. He had the memory of half a goldfish, he once went to the shops to buy milk and came back with a lemon. 

My favourite memories of being with him were when we would go to the McDonalds drive thru. His cancer diet or whatever highly disproved of eating McDonalds as did his mother, so the plastic bread, cheese and meat tasted better than usual when eaten with him. I also remember singing "walking on the beaches looking at the peaches" with him all the time when I was like nine. My dad was really funny too, saying things like "mosquitoes love me, if only they were intelligent women." And whenever the sat nav would say "bear left" he would go "a bear? where?!" and turn to his left thoroughly searching for the bear. That joke never got old and I will never stop laughing. He was a great friend to my mum even after they broke up. She would often worry that her career hadn't taken off or become what she thought it would be. However he told her that she was "an amazing success, that she was healthy and had three beautiful children. That her health and family were more important than her career." He always told me that I'm "the best thing that ever happened to him" and said "I cant put in to words how much I love you."

Writing this article is making me sad. I miss my dad, and feel bad that cancer tore apart his life. He was always surrounded by amazing friends and people. He took drugs one too many times and was hooked on heavy shit, he loathed himself for being addicted. But I never knew, he always hid it from me and never did it around me. Always acted like nothing was wrong, like he was going to get better. He really fought it though, the doctors said he would last one year and he ended up lasting 8. So I was lucky to have him around for as long as I did. Dying at the ripe old age of 49. Marion told me that she read a poem to dad when he was young and that it always stuck with him.

My candle burns at both ends, 

it will not last the night

but oh my foes 

and oh my friends 

it gives a lovely light.