Hard sell

clean mouth teeth dentist

 

An engraving of the Tower of Babel by Dolf Rieser (see: More about Dolf Rieser) used to hang overlooking the first landing of the staircase in our family home in north-west London.

In my thirties I worked as a dentist and lived in north Kent. Almost every weekend, I used to drive to visit my widowed father in our family home. On one of these visits I noticed a box lying on the landing beneath the Tower of Babel engraving. It was an unopened, sealed box containing a dental water pik. This is a device that can be used to pulse tiny jets of water between neighbouring teeth in order to dislodge deposits of dental plaque (bacterial debris). It has proved to be a far less effective method of removing plague than dental floss, which itself is less eggective than the use of  tiny interdental brushes. I was a bit surprised that my father had bought a water pik as he is not a lover of gadgets.

For several weeks after I first noticed the unopened package, I kept returning to my family home and seeing the unopened package, which was gradually becoming covered with dust. Eventually, I asked my father about it.

He told me that each time he visited his dentist, ‘D’, he was asked to purchase one of these water piks. After a series of visits, he paid out almost £100 to buy one. I asked him why he had wasted his money on something he was not going to use. He said:

“D kept on pestering me to buy one. He was getting on my nerves, so to shut him up I bought one. I have no intention of using it.”

No doubt profit was not the only motive for D wanting my father to own a water pik, and he might have been surprised by my father’s reason for buying one, namely to put an end to his ‘hard sell’.

 

To see the Tower of Babel engraving, click: HERE

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

Art and science

ART AND SCIENCE

 

From my childhood until I qualified as a dentist in 1982, aged 30, I drew and painted a great deal. Creating pictures was one of my favourite pastimes. In the late 1970s when I was already studying to become a dentist, I joined a weekly print-making class. It was held in the West Hampstead studio of my mother’s cousin, the etcher/engraver Dolf Rieser (1898-1983; see: https://dolfrieser.com/biography/ ). 

The image above is from an etching that I created in Dolf’s studio. It is a composition inspired by electron micography of intra-cellular structures. At the time I created it, I had just finished a PhD in a biological subject and was studying biology that was considered necessary to qualify as a dentist.  Interestingly, Dolf had also studied biology (genetics) in his youth, receiving a doctorate in the subject. He took to artistic pursuits after completing his studies in biology. Later in his life he wrote a book called “Art and Science” (published in 1972 by Studio Vista). Dolf was an inspiring teacher with a great understanding of compositional technique.

In 1982, I began practising as a dentist. It goes without saying that a dentist’s work involves a great deal of use of the hands and fingers. All day long, five days a week, I was doing the fiddly kind of things with my hands and fingers. Prior to qualification as a dentist, I had used my hands and fingers to create often complex images (drawings, paintings, etchings, and copper engravings). I found that my urge to create images diminished rapidly after I began practising dentistry. I suppose that the clinical activities satisfied my need to employ my manual dexterity in other ways. Sadly, now that I am retired I have not (yet) gone back to creating images. Now my fingers are kept busy at the keyboard, creating books and blog articles.

Come up and see my etchings…

 

Come up and see my etchings…” is often interpreted as being an invitation to sexual adventures. But when I used to say those words, there were, actually, genuine etchings to be viewed.

My late mother had a cousin Dolf Rieser (1898-1983; https://dolfrieser.com/biography/), who used to hold classes to teach etching and engraving. He lived in West Hampstead. I used to attend his classes onc evening a week while I was a dental student (1976-82). Dolf was an excellent teacher and an inventive artist. His comments on composition were constructive and and always apt.  

Dolf, who had a doctorate in some aspect of biology, became interested in art long before WW2. In the compulsory tea breaks that we had during the classes, he would tell us about his life as a young artist in Paris. He would frequent the same cafés as Picasso and other famous artists. The great artists in Paris during the thirties sat at one table presided over by Picasso. Budding artists like Dolf sat at neighbouring tables.  He was very proud of a small picture by Joan Miró, which hang next to the door to his studio in London. Miró, who was five years older than Dolf, had presented his picture to his young friend ( i.e. Dolf).

Having studied in Switzerland, Dolf had learnt how to ski in the 1920s. He used to ski every year in Switzerland while he was becoming an artist in Paris. He told us that in the thirties when he used to arrive at the railway station in Paris in order to visit the mountains with his skis, people would stop him to ask him what he was carrying because in those days hardly anyone in Paris went skiing. Few people in Paris had ever seen skis.

I loved the classes. It was wonderful becoming so immersed in what I was doing that I lost all sense of time and, more importantly, everything that was worring me at the time evaporated from my head during the three hours each week while I was engrossed in creating an artwork.

I graduated as a dentist in early 1982 and went into practice. Soon after that, Dolf died. Also, my urge to create artworks (prints, drawings, and paintings) seemed to disappear. I suppose that was because I was working all day with my hands in the surgery, my need to do fiddly manual tasks in my spare time, such as drawing and etching, diminished.

By now, you are probably wondering whether I ever invited anyone to come up and see my etchings. Well, of course I did, but I will not tell you whom I invited. Suffice it to say that the woman I eventually married has a good collection of my works!

 

The picture is a detail of an etching by Adam Yamey