But rather than do the course in the usual way, Ian carried out the required work in just nine days and earned an honours degree.
“They said ‘aren’t you clever’ but it was nothing to do with being clever. It was to do with managing the stress knowing I could do it in that time,” he recalls. “I couldn’t have had someone at my shoulder asking me what my thought process was, I just couldn’t.”
His talent led to him being employed by an advertising agency, but now he accepts that traditional employment is not possible. “I was never cut out to do a job, then and now – it has not changed – it is because I have got too much information in my head. It is almost like a stream coming at you and you are trying to turn the tap but you can’t.”
Ian found a means of coping with his career demands: alcohol. “Before my first interview I sat outside and had this choice. Do I go in and stammer and hope they see past it, or do I take alcohol to not stammer? I went for the alcohol and I did that for 20 years.
“Every morning I used to go into a convenience shop and buy a bottle of gin and down it in one. I was always red-faced and overweight and, of course, I used to blame client lunches.
“I worked for 20 years for different companies doing different jobs. Then one day in 2012 I was sitting in
the office. I found myself thinking, ‘What would happen if I just walked away?’
“It was like I had a devil on my shoulder telling me to do it. So I pulled everything down off the walls, cut all the leads to the computer and I can remember walking down the street in a daze. I’d had a complete breakdown.
“I came home, took the car keys and drove, and was away for months sleeping in the car. In that time I had lost my job and my wife had left me. Eventually I had no money, so I walked 20 miles into London to see if I could get any help. But no one offered any and I slept rough, mainly in Soho, for two years.
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“Then came the day three years ago when I sat in a Starbucks. There was a pen and some crayons a kid had left and a local newspaper with a photo of [chef] Tom Kerridge. So I drew him and thought, ‘My god, I can draw!”
Using an old phone a charity had given him, Ian managed to send the drawing to Kerridge’s wife Beth’s Instagram account. She loved it. After pawning a necklace for materials, Ian created two pieces of Tom and one of the Kerridge family, which Beth bought the next day.
“That was the start of my incredible art journey,” Ian says. “I managed to get down to Rock, in Cornwall, a place I love, and I saw this lovely, rare Ferrari coming down the road. Gordon Ramsay was driving it and as he was getting out with his wife Tana. He called my name, because he recognised me. He is not as tall as he looks on TV and he gave me a hug. He has got a bit of my work in his house.
“I am hoping one day many other people will buy my work so I can have my own house again. I live in a caravan. I still can’t get a bank account or credit, so I have a friend who helps me.
“To stay in a caravan you have to pay up front three months ahead and pay holiday rates. On paper I have a roof over my head, but someone is still controlling my life as they have a key to my door. I have to sleep in the car during the summer season because the rent is so high.”
Amazingly, Ian paints without needing to look at the subject. It is all from memory or his imagination. He loves it when he is given a commission from someone who gives him an idea and then says: “I want something colourful that comes out of your head.”
Certainly, Ian won me over with his art. Sitting outside Gail’s in Henley-on-Thames, he stopped our chat to point out a man walking into the bakery. “That’s Nick Heyward of Haircut 100, he lives locally,” he said.
A few minutes later he showed me paintings for sale and I agreed to buy one which I loved instantly because of its brilliant brightness and optimistic glow.
He smiled and said that, fittingly, it was called A Taste of the 80s – a reference to how much more flamboyant people, particularly pop stars, were four decades ago.
See more of Ian’s work on Instagram and Threads.
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