Clyde Holmes

Ruth Lambert, MOMA Wales
I remember the first time I met Clyde. We sat in the Foyer of The Tabernacle and talked about Cwm Hesgin. I had heard about this artist who had lived for years without mains water and electricity in an isolated spot near Bala, painting it over and over again, and now here he was.
There were two parts to the legend. First the person and then the place and I was privileged to be able to piece the two together. In those days the North Wales Division of the Royal Forestry Society used to meet at the White Lion in Bala. One day having dropped off my passenger I had the chance to invite myself to Cwm Hesgin. Farm gates to open and shut; a stream to cross; a steep bank to manoeuvre; then a herd of cattle and finally park and walk. In the distance were a few trees and a house encased in a circle of hills - Cwm Hesgin. I have only to write the name and I am once again transported to that magical place. Our lives were enriched by knowing Clyde and being able to exhibit his work at MOMA WALES. The paintings must speak for themselves.
Portrait by Peter Edwards
David Woodford Artist
I did not know him well – the occasional meeting in the context of our work. It was as if half the conversation was already spoken; we both shared the love of a similar environment.
I always felt that he was not fully recognised and I attempted to get him elected to the Royal Cambrian Academy. The failure was theirs; and here I must mention my crusade to arouse interest for what is unforgivably absent – a Permanent Fine Art Collection for North Wales. The present gallery system is a false ceiling. I am sure Clyde would have his place within this more important institution, without which every artist is visited by oblivion. Like so many others who have given their lives to this discipline he must not be forgotten.
John Appleby, Beyond the haloed mountain
Article featuring Clyde Holmes, Footless Crow 2012.

Eventually I met Clyde outside his little cottage in Cwm Hesgin. I had been up to Llyn Hesgin high up and hidden in the maw of the cwm and was returning via a rough track which ran past the cottage. After introducing myself as a fellow artist of sorts I was offered a cup of tea. In contrast to the June 2012 maelstrom which whipped me into retreat, this particular June day in the mid 90's shimmered under a fat blue sky. Read the full article