Portraits of the Resistance Vol. 9 | Bob Moran
Cartoonist, Commentator and the man whose gifts give form into the thoughts of millions - Bob Moran
It’s an idyllic scene, the Somerset countryside. Conjuring images of quintessentially English villages, Beatrice Potter books, Thomas Hardy and thatched-roofed stone cottages. You can still see the Hardy era now, not so long ago, once you get out of the cities and away from the madding crowd, echoes of that time, the countryside peppered with Georgian cottages and homesteads providing a fleeting but powerful reminder of simpler times.
It’s easy further to see how Bob places so much of himself and his idyll into his work as we drive up to his little slice of paradise, mid-afternoon. Situated in the middle of the rolling Somerset hills, Bob’s castle is a modest yet comfortable home. It takes on a kind of mystical quality to me, being the epicentre for the creation of so much of Bob’s irreverent work that I have come to know and cherish.
We are greeted at the door by the whole family, Bob, his wife Sal and their three vivacious and utterly charming children, Dillon, Poppy and Roberta. Straight away their collective warmth envelopes us and we are made to feel right at home.
I’m surprised at how few of Bob’s pieces are on display throughout their home. Small ones tucked away in hallways mostly. I don’t know why I thought that there might be huge frames and canvasses of Bobs all around the place. Bob’s birthday is the occasion so I’ve brought him one of the pictures from my exhibition as a gift. Much to my delight it was immediately hung in the kitchen/dining area.
It’s early February but unusually less arctic than typical which makes a nice change and we settle in and get to chatting about our shared thoughts on the current state of the World and that of the last three years.
The ever-captivating Abi Roberts and Bob’s friend and filmmaker extraordinaire Keith, are also in attendance for the celebration evening, completing our soiree of the likeminded.
Bob’s son Dylan plays guitar as we talk. He’s unusually talented for his age (he’s 8!) and seems to me to be cut in the absolute image of his father. I ponder whether he will follow in his father's shoes in defiance of the state as he gets older.
As we meander through the hours, children’s laughter (save a few cries from my little one) echo through the large double-height space before bedtime and I begin to feel a bond, an affinity with the Morans and the others. We connect, as many of us have, over vaccines, healthcare, councils, media, the State, and cabals. We’re alike and aligned in so many ways, yet also markedly different. The paths we’ve walked may be different, yet our timelines have collided where it counts.
It’s a joy to be in likeminded company, where nothing is off limits and you can collectively laugh and poke fun at the madness.
We laugh at how ‘prepped’ we are for the assumed apocalypse. Poking fun at the concept whilst also knowing somewhere deep inside that at any time the concept may soon be no laughing matter.
We exchange the tales from our respective journeys. The moments we’ve been berated, pushed around, silenced, cancelled or otherwise chastised for not heeding the word of the ‘authorities’. Each of these dystopian anecdotes highlights both our shared experiences and those battles we fought solo, the ones we’ve individually had waged against us. Whiling away the hours like this, imbibing the collective vibrations to quench our thirst for knowledge, interspersed with strong drinks and cheeseboards. It feels both sophisticated and subversive, simultaneously. Like a real-life meeting of the Resistance, a la 80’s television sitcom Allo Allo, and equally entertaining.
New friendships are formed that evening. The kind that quantum-leap you to new synchronicities, possibilities and adventures. I’ve seen Bob, Abi, Sal, the kiddos and Kieth several times since that night. I also photographed and reviewed Bob’s recent gig, Art-pocalypse, in Camden. You can read my review here.
We’re in bed at a relatively respectable hour (1 or 2am from memory), the smell of bacon sizzling in the pan wakes me the following morning and I’m drawn downstairs on scented trails like a sleepy cartoon Scooby-doo..
After a few shared chuckles and a slow, lazy start to the day over coffee at breakfast, I know I need to approach the task of taking pictures. How do I want to picture Bob? I asked myself. In the garden? No. Forest? No. Kitchen table (think Waitrose Magazine editorial)? No. Bob’s loft studio is a no-brainer.
Bob shows me around. The space is white and bright. Uncluttered, but not minimal. I guess the light is useful for work. I’m imagining the creative process, the hours of sketching and pondering how to depict a given character or archetype. Bob pulls out some initial sketches tucked in a drawer of how he would later depict Jacinda Ardern. “The balls were an afterthought,” he points out. It’s a privilege to get a rare glimpse into the artist’s lair. Everything seems set so that, should inspiration strike, at any moment Bob might need to man his battle-station and get to work.
He’s drawing, even by the time I have my camera switched on. Mind, hand and brush working in perfect union. To those of us, untrained or unskilled in the art of transforming the cerebral to the temporal, it’s a pleasure to watch. Effortless.
Although Bob gives the illusion of effortlessly spilling thoughts to paper like a paint can upturned on a canvas, the reality is that it’s perhaps Bob’s ability to reflect, to muse and ponder, for want of a better term his intellect which allows for such Jedi-like precision when inspiration strikes. Bob’s ability to recall timelines, events, characters and facts so clearly, and explain them concisely and cohesively is a talent which I’m more than a little envious of. ‘God-gifted’ you might say.
I set up a single beauty light for a portrait or two, having decided I had the bulk of what I wanted. As I’m adjusting camera settings I look up to see Bob, perched on his chair, his eye caught by something in the corner. Is this divine inspiration?
Of that, I am entirely convinced…
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More in this series can be found on my substack homepage HERE
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Sounds like a magical time you had in the depths of Somerset with Bob, family and pals. We need these joyous moments in our lives more than ever.
Great piece; the images woven into the story beautifully.