More memories of first days at Glasgow School of Art

Well I am delighted that so many people enjoyed what I posted yesterday. Some really liked the journey my memory took us on, and even wished to carry on further. What was to become a daily ritual for those us after surviving that enrollment day. Climbing up those curved steps and then through the swing doors to be presented in a magical space of light and dark which was The Entrance Hall. As I explained in the earlier piece the stairwell beckoned one upwards, from here, to the light. The interior of this internationally renowned icon of modern architecture and design by Charles Rennie Mackintosh displays master strokes of his sheer genius. Just wandering around inspired ideas and creative thoughts. Back in 1979 I was simply delighted to have got a place there. Indeed I was very pleased with myself, possibly too pleased and certainly in need of being brought back to earth. Actually being there at all was very special and a privilege. Thank you Ms Queenie Rowan for reminding me of my heritage and bringing me back albeit quivering...

Above in the top lit Museum space, roof lights set into the oak beams and trusses filled the place with autumnal morning brightness. Here I met my fellow students for the first time and made lasting friendships. We required to report to a studio in the "east wing corridor", I think it was the central one number thirty-nine. More ebonised oak swing doors, with feature stained glass and lead panels, to go through. This corridor was also lit from above with four distinctive ogee-shaped ceiling lights. Into the big studio dramatically illuminated by one of the huge north facade windows for the specific function of creating art, especially painting. The whole north side of the first floor was the home of the Drawing and Painting Department and at that time it was starting to expand and spread throughout the building. In time I would come to know the place very well, as I became a drawing and painting student for my three specialising years.

On that memorable day we were each given a list and a black bin liner full of the basic or essential kit of materials to begin work as a Glasgow School of Art student. That in itself was exciting and our account with the "School Shop" was then opened. I looked forward to visiting what turned out to be a characteristically eccentric emporium run by two colourful middle-aged wig wearing Jewish women, whom we all eventually got to know..

An eventful morning was brought to a close when someone made the welcome suggestion of going for lunch and we ended up down the hill in Sauchiehall Street. The world was then our oyster. It was almost too much to take in and each of us was rather thrilled.

The following day we required to report to The First Year Department, actually housed in two former town houses, fronting to 6 and 7 Blythswood Square, and backing to Bath Street. Here we were divided into six groups. The Fresh student whom I met on the stair the day before was in my group as was a familiar face from Lewis, my dear friend Maggie. I was in my element.

At about this time we were all invited to The Director's Welcome Address to the new intake of first year students. Back up Garnethill to the Mackintosh Building, 167 Renfrew Street. This time we descended the stair into the West basement corridor and to the Mackintosh Lecture Theatre for the first time. The seats here were uncomfortable by design, so no chance of nodding off at any stage. The desk or book rest behind was at the very height to cut right into one's back and the seat hard and uncompromising. At some point years later the seats were covered but it did little to make them any more comfortable.

The Director of Glasgow School of Art at this time was Sir Harry Barnes, he had been a well known and highly respected designer. I had heard about him before arriving as a student. Sir Harry Barnes, lived in large Victorian Gothic Mansion in the prestigious Whittingham Drive, in the West End, called "Dumpy Dykes", it overlooked Binghams Pond. I well remember his kind address and warm welcome to all of us. First of all his entrance was unusual, as he was carried from his wheelchair and lifted by two carers up onto one of the tree curved desks that stood on the platform or stage. Clearly a very ill and frail man. He gently expressed his good wishes and hoped we would enjoy our studies at such a wonderful place of creativity and every possible success in our future careers. Everyone was touched and most impressed by this great dignity. It actually turned out to be his last ever engagement as sadly he passed away very shortly after he spoke to us... I believe he had cancer of the spine. We were all very sad.


Sir Harry Jefferson Barnes, picture courtesy GSA

First Day at Art School

It is exactly forty-four years ago today, the 21st September 1979 that I enrolled in the Glasgow School of Art. Thus fulfilling a long held ambition. I was tingling with excitement, every few minutes pinching myself just to make sure it was a reality A few days before I had left Stornoway with my Dad, in a white transit van, the second or third such trip. In the previous weeks my parents accompanied me with that van full of my belongings, mostly the usual clothes, but vitally art history books, various drawing and painting materials, my old wooden desk and work table, which have remained with me all these years. These items were being moved to my new residence, a once grand Victorian tenement flat in the heart of the West End of Glasgow. My parents had bought the property the month before to ensure my older brother and I had adequate accommodation whilst we were students. We were finding it very difficult to find a place to stay and I was not actually allocated a room in the J D Kelly Hall until well after the term began. For a variety of reasons our family were also spending an increasing amount of time in the city and the old place would be very well used over the years (but that is another story, for another day).

Back then all I wanted was to explore my urban being and find anonymity, far away from the curtain chinking of home. I was a proud teenager who did not want it known what I was doing however harmless and dull it really was. At that time I was far from sentimental for my true homeland and it would take a number of years to be overwhelmed by the pain of "cianalas", which I certainly came to know in later years. But still, on that departure I stood on deck watching our Island recede into the horizon.

So here I was on my way to a new life, the journey to Glasgow was not without incident. As we came down through the gorge at Glen Coe, my father very calmly told me "Kenneth, I don't wish to alarm you but my breaks aren't working properly, I'll pull over at the next garage, and get them attended to!...". Well that was not until we hit the urban world, somewhere on Great Western Road. He managed to control the speed with skilled use of gears and careful attention of all other road users. Such was my confidence in my Dad's driving, I really did not think anything of this situation, until many years later when I heard him tell of how he felt on that journey. Of course he never let on how scared he actually was at the time. True to his form he found the garage he had in his mind and clearly knew them, or used his incredible charm to get help. He needed the van to collect a few things over the next few days before heading home.

I seem to remember my older brother was at the flat to welcome us and we went out for a meal. Over the next few days I enjoyed finding my way around and getting my bearings, it did not take long for me to feel very much part of my new surroundings.

I was up and out bright and early on the morning of the 21st September, so excited as not to miss a single detail. I reached 167 Renfrew Street, and ascended the iconic curving steps to the famous swing doors in the portal. Then I entered through the small vestibule, into the vaulted entrance hall. Though painted in off white hues the hall is dark but the beautiful light streaming down the the stairwell certainly entices visitors further into this building of art, design and creativity. I now find it impossible to believe that all this has been destroyed by fire twice. At the foot of the stair the janitor's box seemed the centre of all proceedings and knowledge and I was directed to the right-hand door, on the half landing, The Registrar's Secretary and Assistant, one Queenie Rowan's Office. This room was a hive of industry, as ALL the first year students arrived at an allotted time, that day, to enrol and matriculate. It was also buzzing with a flock of women each in awe of Ms Rowan, their reverence and near fear of the grand lady was contagious and filled the room. I wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible, so when the lady herself called my name all I wanted to do was be swallowed by the floor and disappear. What on earth had I done to be thus summoned? In her refined West of Scotland accented she announced, "Mr Burns, I wish say to you, please never lose your fine Hebridean accent, it is a special attribute and qualification that will serve you well throughout your life," Then she smiled at me and finished by saying. "That was all I wanted you to know". With that I left her office and continued up to the first floor space known as the Museum. To get photographed and receive a matriculation card, produced by a new technique - called lamination. My card had a blue spot with a figure 7%. Later when I asked what it meant I was told that this referred to the fact that I was what they then called a "Seven percent-er", indicating that I was one of only 7% of GSA students who gained entry there without the minimum qualifications or on the strength of their portfolios.

I had spent the summer cultivating some facial hair, which possibly made me look older. Though I hoped more sophisticated! As I wandered around a fellow first day, first year student, thinking I was a tutor stopped me to ask ..."I wonder if you tell me, Sir, where do I go now?...To which I had to own up to being in the same position, merely a fresh student. We laughed and became good friends.

This was the beginning of a wonderful and creative journey. Over the next four decades I met many people and made lasting friendships. Charles Rennie Mackintosh's masterpiece, the building we came to know and love as "The Mack", became my alma mater. I discovered a new detail every day I spent there. It now live on in our memories.