I first met Ken at his home in Swindon in January 2015. It was a bright sunny day, cold but crisp. I was driving down to meet him with a view to exhibiting his work in a group show we were busy curating, Men at Work, during the bath contemporary days on Gay Street. He greeted us in what I came to realise was his usual manner, quietly spoken but he’d say his words fast. I realised quite quickly that you had to pay attention because Ken was dropping big names like Richard Branson, Rick Davies (of Supertramp) and Gilbert O’Sullivan. It was slightly overwhelming.

He introduced us to his wife Jan, who I remember had beautiful thick hair and looked ferociously like a friend’s mother back in South Africa. Jan was also quietly spoken, Ken said they’d met at art school and it was clear there was a strong bond between them. She made us a cafetiere of strong, black coffee in their warm, cosy kitchen with cats curling themselves around our legs, while Ken gave us a tour of his studio.

It was a back room leading off the kitchen with a window at the far end and a built in desk that ran along the right side of the room covered in papers and paraphernalia. It reminded vaguely me of a photograph I’d seen of Francis Bacon’s studio. On the left side Ken had his easel and paints, which in contrast to his desk were very orderly. The walls were hung with his paintings and memorabilia; press clippings mostly.

Ken was 72 years old when I met him, and had an illustrious career behind him; he’d been painting in one form or another for almost six decades, initially as a signwriter for GWR, then an art student at Swindon College of Art, then a muralist for Swindon Council and later, contracted to Richard Branson. He spent about twenty years travelling the world painting murals on and in Virgin’s buildings, in Branson’s private home and even on his aircrafts (see our blog, ‘Who Painted Virgin’s Scarlet Lady?‘) before settling down to pursue his own practice full time.

Ken’s subject matter revolved largely around his memories of growing up in Swindon, his family and the time he spent working for GWR (Great West Railways). I’ve always seen nostalgia in Ken’s work despite his insistence that it was not nostalgic; he maintained he hated his work as a rivet hotter for GWR. But it wasn’t the job I saw as nostalgia, rather the people; the warmth of relationships and the sense of community that emanated from his brush. The scenes he painted had a tendency to wrap themselves around you with familiarity that reminds me of an old fashioned eider-down, his palette dominated by warm yellows and vibrant oranges.

Ken lost his wife Jan in 2017 and his work during this time reflected the sadness and aloneness one feels following the loss of a significant other. As the years passed, Ken looked more towards landscape for his inspiration and he was busy developing a respectable body of work in this well-loved genre; rolling hills and pollarded trees and pathways that disappear into the horizon became recurrent motifs. People slipped off his canvases as he focused further afield.

Ken sadly died just before Christmas after a reportedly brief illness. He was 82 years old. Like so many great artists before him, he painted right up until the end.