Lyall Watson -
Woodstock Art Gallery
by Jilliana
Ranicar-Breese
I met Lyall by
accident one day in 1969 as it was raining and
Cyril Rosenberg, my furrier in Woodstock Street
had put a notice on his showroom door that he
would be away 15 minutes. In a way, that 15
minutes was to have a snowball effect on my life.
What to do in the rain? I saw a notice that the
Woodstock Art Gallery was in the basement of the
building.
Curious I ventured down the stairs wearing my
coveted Canadian red fox coat which was lacking a
matching hat, my reason for visiting my furrier
the sarcastic Cyril Rosenberg. Mr Rosenberg
knew his trade well having learned from his
Russian Jewish immigrant father years before
inheriting his father's West End business.
London was the centre of the fur trade, as fur
was considered to be a commodity and all the
international trading was done in London. Mr
Rosenberg had researched the fur industry
beginning with Russia. He would happily while
away his time giving me fur history lessons when
I came regularly to visit my new friend Lyall. Mr
Rosenberg imported in fur muffs from New York and
creating Cossack style fox fur hats in his
workshop above his showroom. I found out he did
not care for his downstairs neighbour who was too
bohemian for his taste!
Lyall, must have been about 50ish when we met. I
was 25 and on my way to Argentina and Brazil that
September 1970. I worked at Global Tours in
Oxford Street around the corner and knew I would
have to stay in my job 2 years to get a travel
concession, only paying 10% of the £450 fare to
Buenos Aires, the furthest mileage destination.
Lyall was the only gallery owner in London who
actually helped artists have an exhibition
without charging to hang their work. He would
give an opening every 3 weeks and produce
publicity. He would take a commission, of course,
for works sold but a fair percentage as he was an
artist himself, unlike most West End gallery
owners and dealers. Lyall knew his trade. His
wife had gone into politics while he was the
creative dreamer spending time in Paris where he
had exhibitions in St Germain. His son, of the
same name, had become a successful theatre
director.
I was always invited to the openings and met a
lot of talented artists from all over the world.
One funny thing I recall was an Iranian
exhibition. The artist must have brought boxes of
pistachio nuts, rare in England in those days.
Greedy Jilliana took several handfuls to munch
when a very foreign voice behind told her not to
eat so many as they would make her fart!
Then later after I got back from South America, I
saw a fascinating character at another opening in
1972. A hippy with long black hair and an
extraordinary face called Ed Badajos, author of 'Filipino
Food' who was exhibiting the original artwork
from his book. A Hawaiian of Filipino origin. I
flipped when he came into the gallery. It was
attraction at first bite! His work was erotic and
Beardsley-esque. Never have I done what I did
next before or since. I wrote on Lyall's
letterhead that I wanted to see him when he got
settled and put my Warwick Mansions phone number.
He called!
But my snowball was an Argentinian Jewish painter
and printmaker Juan Carlos Stekelman from Buenos
Aires who had moved to London in 1968. On hearing
I would be going to his beloved BA, he gave me an
introduction to his sister Ana Maria who was a
dancer at the prestigious Teatro Colon. This in
turn snowballed to Rio de Janeiro and meeting the
dancer Gerry Maretzski. This in turn snowballed
to Paris. I could go on but I will stop here.
I recall Lyall and Judy, his Chinese
Australian wife, came to stay at my Paris flat in
Rue Campagne Premier, 14em and locked me out one
night. They left the key in the lock on the
inside and when I came back from a trip, I couldn't
open my door and had to ask a neighbour for a
camp bed. I was none too happy and the next
morning shouted at poor old Lyall!
I remember he came to my wedding in 1983 with
Judy but then our lives took separate paths and I
saw him less and less. I went to visit him in his
Camberwell Georgian house once. He told me he was
scared for his life as Judy had often attacked
him a knife and had become very violent. Then he
got ill and ended up in hospital in the early 90s.
I decided to visit him. I recall sitting on his
bed when he opened his eyes and told me to go
away telling me he knew I didn't really want to
visit him and it was just a duty. The spark had
been extinguished.
I never saw Lyall again. Gone was the wonderful
Woodstock Art Gallery. Gone was our friendship.
He died in 1994, the end of an era.
References
Wikipedia - Lyall Watson artist
Wikipedia - Juan Carlos Stekelman
New York Times - obituary Juan Stekelman
Ana Maria Stekelman - choreographer
Ed Badajos - Filipino Food - Olympia Press 1972
Wikipedia - Gerry Maretzski
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