![]() ![]() Hepworth’s Pelagos1946 reminds me of the swell, power and fascination of the sea, which has always been important to me, as I grew up on the coast in Brighton. Voice Well, if you can wait a couple of hours… what kind of pizza would you like? Jonathan Allen But Cobham is more than twenty miles from here! Voice No, Persian, but we just liked the word. Voice Stivale is the Italian word for boot… a lot of Italian businesses use the name because of the shape of Italy. Jonathan Allen Yes, as a matter of fact there is, and a cartoon of a chef pulling a pizza out of an oven. Voice Is there a map of Italy on the box? The box says the restaurant is in west London, but you’re the only pizza place called Lo Stivale that I can find anywhere. It’s got the name Lo Stivale on the lid, and I’m wondering if the artists just made up the name, or if the place actually exists. Jonathan Allen Well, okay… I’m standing in Tate Modern, the art gallery in London, looking at a very realistic sculpture of a pizza box. I was wondering if you own, or have ever owned, a restaurant in west London? Jonathan Allen Hello, good afternoon… I have a slightly unusual question. Everything is absorbed, any intemperance vanishes before my eyes. I drench it with as many uncatholic juices as I like. Ripped cloth, dipped in kaolin, white and dry like dust of the mind. Who were these dark-skinned boys with ripped clothes? Why did they eat grapes and melon like this? What did I know about them? What did I know about myself? I must have known then that paintings and secrecy have a pact. I don’t remember ever asking anyone questions. I can only guess why this image held so much importance. My prepubescent memories are replaced the moment I glance at the painting on the internet. Hungry urchins devouring a melon and grapes are easily forgiven for their excesses. It appears a fitting choice for a Catholic home in its appeal for humility and charity. His painting Boys Eating Fruit ( Grape and Melon Eaters), from 1645–6, seems to come closest to my imprecise, yet strong memory. I conclude now that it must have been a copy of a work by Murillo. A framed print above the dining table encapsulated this unfamiliar world. The smell of her cooking and the heavy oak furniture popular in 1980s Bavarian interiors were unlike what I knew from my own home. She would look after me sometimes after school. Frau Krauss was a colleague of my father and a family friend. ![]()
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