In the basement kitchen Roy was having tea with Dan Dunton, a friend since art school at the Slade. Dan had left London behind for the tranquil, faded elegance of the North Brink (which also happened to be more affordable). Perusing the classifieds with the fingerless gloves he wore at all times in an effort to stave off frostbite, Dan happened upon a listing he knew would be of interest. “Look at this. Someone wants a workshop with a place to live.”
Roy’s ears perked up. He had a workshop outfitted with industrial equipment, most of it purchased in used but serviceable condition. The workshop was attached to a brick Georgian house, a mere two rooms of which he regularly occupied—and those only while on work-related visits from his home base in London.
Ever the astute businessman, undoubtedly sensing that he was dealing with someone whose dreams exceeded her grasp of reality, Roy called and proposed a slightly different arrangement from the one I had envisioned. Wouldn’t it make sense, he suggested, to take on a shop with a commission already in hand? He had a kitchen to build for a customer in London, but his current employee, who worked part-time (after spending the wee hours as a milk man), would take forever to get through it. He offered me the plum part of the project, a set of decorative upper cabinets inspired by a traditional kitchen dresser, and proposed to deduct my rent for the room from pay for the work.
And thus I became an employee, grateful to have been saved from my ignorance.
Kitchen cabinetry by Crosskeys Joinery, 1981
