Oil on canvas
1967
June 2017
Martha has been a huge help on many levels since dad died. She is a poet and writer and lectured at Chelsea School of Art where she met my dad. She wrote his obituary. We spent many happy summers picnicking up in Hampstead Heath with her family, mine and Chris Yetton's, also in the art history department at Chelsea. When asked if she wanted a car as her wedding present, she said no, she wanted a Ken Kiff painting. This piece (above) is on her wall, between a zillion books by the kitchen table, now in fashionable Dalston, alongside several other works by dad. It does feel mighty weird to be around so many of dad's works, I must say.
As the show came to an end, we went to a little cafe round the corner from the Marlborough and celebrated with a glass of wine and the most enormous salt beef sandwich ever, even bigger than (and almost as good as) the ones at Gaby's. Dad and I would often go to Gaby's or to the Stockpot basement or share tables with strangers at Poons in Soho, 30 odd years ago when Soho was a little less sanitised. In hindsight, I think my life as a teenager was actually quite exciting though of course at the time it was the dullest ever!
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