A RECOLLECTION OF MAURICE COCKRILL RA

LIVES REMEMBERED

Maurice Cockrill (1935 – 2013)

When I was Director of Merseyside Arts Association in 1971 I saw a painting by Maurice Cockrill in an exhibition in Bluecoat Chambers, Liverpool, ‘Trees and Road’ and bought it in an instant. Later, in 1983, when I was working in London, I heard that the artist had moved to London and, from the same source, obtained a telephone number. I called him and told him I wanted another picture from him. I didn’t know then that he had moved down from Liverpool only a week before and probably welcomed my interest very much. I told him that I owned the picture, ‘Trees and Road’ and said I would like something ‘similar’. We agreed a fee of £500.

Five weeks later Cockrill ‘phoned me. The picture was ready for collection. I arranged to go straight over. Realising the position I was in, there raced through my mind, ‘would I like the work?’ and ‘what would I do if I hated it?’. I wrote out a cheque for £500 and put it in the top pocket of my jacket before driving off knowing that whatever my reaction was the picture was mine and the £500 was mine no longer. When I arrived Cockrill greeted me and we sat down to chat about times in Liverpool. There was no sign of my painting. He produced a bottle of whiskey and we started to drink. A couple of hours later, when the bottle was two thirds empty I was wondering if my picture was ever going to materialise. I realised that just as I had wondered what I would do if I hated his painting he was frightened that my reaction would be just so and was wondering what I would do about it. Then he stood, went into the hallway and dragged in a canvas that was covered with a blanket. Nervously, I thought, he unveiled it.

It was a big picture, 5’ 5” wide and 3’2” high, in acrylic as was ‘Trees and Road’,  it was called ‘Sefton Park’ and it was stunning and I was stunned into silence for several minutes during which time, probably, Cockrill wondered if I was going to make a leap for the door. Pulling out my cheque and brushing away my tears of delight, I gave it to him while shaking his hand warmly. The painting has occupied pride of place in the various houses I have occupied since that time.

Ten years or more after that, to me, memorable occasion, I attended a private view of one of his London exhibitions at which he was present. His style had changed considerably. I introduced myself to him and quickly realised he had no idea who I was. I reminded him of the picture, ‘Sefton Park’ and he looked at me quite blankly. It was clear to me that even if he could remember the painting there was no way he could, surrounded as he was by his later – and to me, almost unpleasant work - acknowledge its parentage.

To me there will always be two Maurice Cockrills, one whose sad death has just been reported and the other whose wonderful paintings still live on to delight and thrill me.