Barrington Tabb is the master of the mundane. For fifty years he has romanced
the asphalt, the working class terraces, the docks, the railway bridges, the canals and the smoking factory chimneys.

The strength and vitality of his art derive from its blending of past and present: by combining vivid memories and passionate feelings with acute observation, his paintings manage to resonate a sense of history. They are living testimony to the fact that Bristol has seen more changes than most cities, especially in the postwar period when the devastations of the Blitz gave way to the ‘improvement’ schemes of the urban planners. The anonymity of concrete and steel replaced the intimacy of time-stained brick and Cotswold stone. The roar and pollution of the motor car took over from the sound of children playing in the streets and the bustle of activity in the docks and factories.

Tabb’s recent work seems to have been re-energised by his empathy with the civic pride that has enabled local monuments such as the SS Great Britain to be restored to their former glory. Of all those local people whose hearts swelled with pride during the recent Brunel 200 celebrations, you can be certain that none was more sincere than Tabb’s. Another developing trend in his recent work is a penchant for crowd scenes, evidenced in pictures of fans gathering for the match at Ashton Gate, or bustling shoppers viewed against the tunnel-like perspective of the glass arcade in St Nicholas’ Market.

Tabb of course paints what he knows best, and like his former friend and fellow painter Alan Lowndes (1921-78), his story has been one of triumph over considerable odds. He left school early to help support his family when his father was ill. Parental resistance to the pursuit of painting as a profession meant that he worked as an engineering inspector for Bristol Commercial Vehicles for most of his adult life, only briefly attending art evening classes under Robert Hurdle and Anthony Rossiter. Essentially self-taught, Tabb took up painting full time after he was made redundant in 1984. He did not have the option of further salaried employment because a bad fall from the top of a pile of steel poles in 1977 resulted in a serious injury to his back. Although the back was eventually operated on, he has never made a full recovery and must avoid lifting heavy objects (his pictures are modest in scale because he can only work from a sitting position). But he makes light of his disability and maintains strict dietary and fitness regimes. For the last decade he has also suffered from cellophane maculopathy, a condition that distorts vision and makes straight lines appear wavy. Hence the leaning trees, buildings and lampstands in his paintings are depicted just as he sees them. This is reassuring to know, for it demonstrates that the tilted verticals are no mere mannerism, besides supplying proof of the artist’s uncompromised (and uncompromising) integrity.

Jonathan Benington
Manager,
Victoria Art Gallery,
Bath
April 2006