About the Book
Were you one of the elite who used to meet in The Rising Sun? Did you ever raise a jar in one of its bars? Many a football fan did. If you lived in the middle of the last century in London, in Chelsea or Fulham, you'd know the pub. It stood - stands - opposite the main gates of Chelsea Football Club at Stamford Bridge. Like much else in the neighbourhood it has changed hands, changed names, and probably changed sex since then. There's little left of what it once was. Hitler had his eyes on it at one time, or so it seemed. Not to buy it or to run it, just to bomb it. He didn't manage to destroy it though; he left that to the developers. For many of its customers the pub was a home from home. For others it was simply home. For one woman it was a private kingdom over which she ruled with a rod of kindness, though her reign began in bitter hatred. For others it was just a place of bitter, of brown ale, and stout and mild, of Scotch eggs and Muscado. What's Muscado? Well might you ask. It was a kind of cola that acted like colonic irrigation on a kid whose favourite tipple it was. For some, The Rising Sun was a work place, for others it was a shelter, the centre of a community.
For many, before and after the war, it was the 'still point of the turning world'. The Muscado Kid, who was reared there, saw no point in it and couldn't wait to get away. Then he got away and couldn't wait to get back. Then many moons later, as the sun began to set, it dawned on him there was a story to be told. A story of Uncle Reg and 'I'm here'; of Big Pat and Dodger Green; of mass murder in a church; of tin baths and a haunting nipple; of Janaway and 'bit of bush'; of a selfless sister and an adored Mum; of Dur-Dur and the several Mickeys. This is that story. The pub that was The Rising Sun closed long ago. Now, once again, it's opening time.
About the Author :
Yes, what about the author? I've mused on that quite a lot. There are two James Kelso so to speak. One paints, and one writes ad copy. Sometimes I'm asked why I paint. It's an easy question to pose but quite tricky to answer. For me, I suppose, it's all about the moment. I try to capture those rare moments when some thing, some person, some object, some arrangement of the commonplace, suddenly appears uncommon. I don't search for these moments; they tend to find me. I particularly like painting old, derelict buildings. That, too, is all about timing. Nothing stays still for long. It doesn't matter whether the building is abandoned and rotting, waiting to be demolished, or perhaps being saved, restored, refurbished, there's always a brief interval 'before the ghosts flee'. Capturing that moment is the aim. Anything may invoke the spell, a sudden angle of sunlight, a shower of rain, the light fading on a winter's evening. The thing is to be there to see it, to record it. The ghosts may not be the only thing fleeing. I might be legging it because I've found myself trespassing while roaming around looking for anything unusual, un-remarked, overlooked. The idea of special moments applies to any subject: architecture, townscapes, landscapes, portraits, and still life. There's always something that has caught my eye and made me respond. Describing what that something is, without sounding arty, is difficult. For what it's worth, I think of it as a kind of thin slicing of reality, an attempt to separate from the backcloth of the everyday, a sliver of time and place that, for whatever reason has said, look at me, paint me, I'm a painting. That is my purpose. It is the ceaseless attempt to capture elusive moments and, through painting, to convey the excitement I felt at the time. Many of my pictures are based on London buildings, some of which - most of which come to think of it - have since gone. Not as a direct result of depiction you understand, just the way of the world. My interest in industrial architecture stems from the fact that I used to paint outdoors, in front of the scene itself. One of the few places you could do this without being disturbed was on industrial wasteland - brown field sites as they're now called. I use various materials; acrylics and oils on gesso panels, as well as dry-brush watercolour and pencil on board and paper. I've exhibited in galleries throughout Britain and also in America. I regularly submit and am irregularly shown at The Royal Academy, as well as other London venues including The Royal Festival Hall and The London Stock Exchange. My paintings are included in private collections in America, Australia, Britain, France and Sweden and prints have been sold worldwide. As a copywriter JK freelanced for ad agencies and direct clients from AMV to VW, working on press ads, online, and on everything else below, above and between the lines. He was available short term, long term, on site or out of sight. A long way out of sight sometimes. He worked, at one time or another, in Alaska, Belgium, Canada, Croatia, Denmark, Egypt, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Holland, Italy, Northern Ireland, Norway, Russia, Spain, Sweden, Turkey, USA and Ilford. He's the ex D&AD member of whom six subsequent Presidents said: 'Who?'
