From Inspiration To Creation: 
The beginning of Michael Harding Oil Paints

At the heart of this story lies a pivotal moment of youthful discovery, when a single painting ignited a flame that would burn bright throughout Michael Harding’s artistic journey. It was a moment that forever altered the trajectory of his life, a love affair with the world of art that would shape his path.

MH’s evolution, captured from left to right: 1. “Tunbridge Wells Artists Paints” –  Humble Beginnings 2. “Michael Harding Artists Materials Tunbridge Wells” – A Milestone in Expansion & Legacy 3. “Michael Harding Handmade Artists Oil Colours” – Embracing Meticulous Craftsmanship. 4. The iconic tube in stores today, symbolising enduring commitment to quality & innovation.

That experience, four decades ago, profoundly influenced my artistic journey. Spending countless hours in the National Gallery, surrounded by Rembrandt’s masterpieces, I became determined to paint like him. But I faced a challenge—finding high-quality oil paints that would do justice to the great Masters. This led me to embark on a quest to create my own paints, ones that would live up to my aspirations. Each colour in my range became a symbol of my quest, evoking memories of those formative early days.

Approaching the development and production of paints, I adopt the mindset of an artist rather than a scientist. We strive to capture the essence of colour, texture, and durability, ensuring that our paints not only meet high technical standards but also ignite the imagination and creativity of fellow artists.

Brushstrokes of Legacy:

A Vibrant Tale Inspired by a Witch’s Image

After seeing the image of the witch, I was captivated by vibrant colours, particularly the mesmerising shades of clarity red. It reminded me of my grandmother’s collection of oil paints, which dated back to around 1911, when she herself was a student.

Captured in Time: Grandma Harding, a Respected Teacher at Dartford School for Boys in 1914

Even now I can vividly recall the image of those torn pieces drifting away. It was a moment of childish exasperation, a glimpse into the complex emotions that arise in the act of creation. Many times since then, I have experienced that same sense of frustration with various paintings.

Fortunately, my grandmother was a pillar of unwavering support. Growing up in the cosey confines of an Edwardian country house, amidst warm summer days, I was truly fortunate. Born in 1891, my grandmother herself embodied the essence of an Edwardian lady. Her home was idyllic, and her presence in it added timeless elegance to the scene. She was wonderfully eccentric, dressing like the actress Margeret Rutherford, wearing long capes and entering long conversations with our golden retriever as if he were human!

Among my fondest memories of my grandmother are her occasional demonstrations of her painting techniques. Turquoise was a colour she particularly adored.. She skilfully incorporated this vibrant hue into her artwork, use it to paint bits of furniture, and even integrate it into her clothing. She had a deep appreciation for the way turquoise captured the hazy blue shades of a scorching summer day beneath the sheltering canopy of trees. I distinctly recall her demonstrating this technique to me, though her exact words evade me. But the essence of her message was: “Paint what you see; not what you think is there.” This valuable lesson emphasised the importance of keen observation in artistic expression and remains etched in my mind.

Embracing the Artistic Path: 
Navigating a Journey of Passion and Acceptance

In the corridors of academia, I learned that the conventional path was not for me. I’d discovered the beacon of joy that illuminated my soul whenever I immersed myself in artistic endeavours. Brushstrokes, pencil strokes, the interplay of colours, and the creation of visual narratives gave me immeasurable delight, and these seeds took root. Art became my passion, my sanctuary, my talent. I found myself defying the constraints of the school system, surreptitiously carving out moments to paint and draw. 

A Captured Legacy: Michael Harding’s Childhood Home and the Stalwart Bridge Crafted at 16, Still There Today.

My fascination with greens in the landscape stemmed from a deep curiosity about the interplay between colours and their significance. I became intimately connected with the evolving rural landscape of Kent, immersing myself in its beauty and nuances. This connection persisted until the summer of 1976, when I bid farewell to my school years. My idyllic experience living in the English countryside with my grandmother came to an end when both my grandmother and father passed away. 

Offered a place at the esteemed Rochester Medway School of Art and Design, I embarked on the next chapter in my artistic journey. Attending art college served as a profound wake-up call, and I transformed from a relatively prominent figure in a small community to a minuscule presence in a sea of artistic talent. I grappled with this sudden sense of insignificance. I was one of a bustling crowd of 108 students, each of us carrying his or her own aspirations and disappointments. The experience was humbling.

My journey from the serene comforts of the countryside to the formidable challenges of art

college was a balance of positive and negative, a reality check that forced me to re-evaluate my place in the world and reconsider the extent of my artistic abilities.

Emerging From Contraints:

A Journey of Artistic Hope and Rebel Spirit

In 1976, after a challenging phase in my life, I found hope for an artistic career when I was accepted into the Medway School of Art and Design, located near the banks of the River Medway, which meanders its way into the North Sea and the Thames estuary. At seventeen, I shed parental constraints and ventured into the world of art. Fort Pitt, in the scenic town of Rochester, Kent, became my haven for creative exploration. 

Fort Pitt, Medway College of Art and Design.

I had a rebellious streak and often clashed with authority, but one tutor, Pete Smith, saw something in me. Pete took the time to understand who I was as a young artist and provided me with assignments that pushed the boundaries of the regular curriculum. Pete was a good man, and his encouragement became an anchor during my time at Medway. 

But new challenges awaited as I neared the end of my foundation course. My lack of academic qualifications put me at a disadvantage in pursuing a fine art degree. The requirements demanded five O levels (now known as GCSEs), of which I had none but art. It seemed my dreams would slip away. But I was determined not to let circumstances stop me, so I embarked on a search for colleges that prioritised passion and talent over rigid academic prerequisites. That’s when I discovered the Epsom School of Art and Design.

Epsom offered a diploma program that didn’t rely on O levels. Filled with excitement and a burning desire to prove myself, I sent my application. But the response I received was disheartening; without seeing my work, the school had rejected me. 

Stalwart, I took matters in hand and visited Epsom without invitation. I was granted a meeting with the head of the department, Lesley Worth. I presented him with my portfolio, recounted my artistic journey, and described my vision for the future. 

Mr. Worth told me that prior to receipt of my application, someone he believed to be a Medway department head had sent a letter warning Epsom I was a difficult student. It became apparent the letter had been written by a junior staff member, who had signed as head of department in an attempt to sabotage me. That correction and my tenacity convinced Mr. Worth to reconsider my application and offer me a chance to prove myself in an interview.

The day of the interview was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. I spoke passionately about my art and its transformative power, showcasing my growth and determination. I successfully conveyed my potential and the spark of creativity that burned within me, ultimately securing my acceptance into Epsom.

 I remember the moment as a validation of and a testament to my resilience and unwavering belief in my artistic journey.

From Medway to Epsom: A Journey of Artistic Discovery and The Enduring Significance of Drawing

And so, I bid farewell to Medway and embarked on a new chapter in my life at Epsom in 1977.  It was an exciting time to be immersed in the art world. Various movements and debates ignited passionate discussions about the definition and boundaries of art. Yet, my goal was clear – to find my unique artistic voice amidst the noise and resist the temptation to conform to existing styles.

Epsom School of Art

I often encounter artists asking for advice on how to progress in their careers, and my response is consistent regardless of their level: drawing is the foundation. I firmly believe, based on credible sources, that drawing is one of the highest achievements of the human mind. The genius of Leonardo’s drawings serves as compelling evidence of this notion.

Psychologically, it may be one of the greatest challenges an individual can face. 

Being a skilled draftsman is undoubtedly a significant asset to any artist.  

So, I found myself immersed in the life of a student once more, though it wasn’t always a blissful experience. There were trends toward styles like Impressionism and the works of artists like Villard, whom I admired but didn’t wish to emulate. For me, the essence of art lies in discovering one’s unique painting style, not in trying to replicate a style that has come before. While some may argue that figurative work emulates something external, I believe it’s an internal exploration, not an external imitation.

Challenges and distractions awaited me at Epsom, as they often do in the journey of self-discovery. College politics were distracting, and I managed to get myself elected on to the board of governors of the college while also being a student but presenting an opportunity to test my principles and values. 

Eccentric Encounters & Artistic Ventures:
Unveiling The Boundless World of Creativity and Business

While at Epsom, I had the pleasure of meeting Graham Beeching, an extraordinary man and true intellectual. He possessed an eccentric personality and made a captivating friend. His mind was a treasure trove, making every conversation with him utterly fascinating. 

Graham Beeching with a weighing machine.

The experience of working with Graham and witnessing his success was eye-opening for me. It showed me that art wasn’t just about creating artwork; it could also be a foundation for a thriving business.

It was Graham who started a pivotal conversation with me. I had visited the National Gallery and admired Rembrandt’s paintings, only to return to college with a burning question: 

Why did Rembrandt’s paint look so different from mine? 

Graham explained that in the past artists had to create their own materials because there were no shops or factories producing art supplies for them. They would acquire the raw materials and blend them themselves. That conversation, as I often share with others, planted the seed of curiosity in me. 

Graham pointed me in the direction of essential resources, such as Ralph Mayer’s ‘The Artist’s Handbook’, which details how to grind your own oil colours. This marked a pivotal moment, and I began to explore the possibility of manufacturing my own art materials. My education fuelled my ambition, and I decided to take a leap of faith. 

After college, I moved to Tunbridge Wells with a determination to carve my own path in the art world. Armed with my passion for creating unique artwork and a deep appreciation for the intricacies of paint-making, I transformed my humble bedroom into a small-scale paint-making atelier. Researching and experimenting, I delved into the arcane world of paint formulation and began producing my own oil paints.

In the early days, it was a challenging yet exhilarating endeavour. I faced setbacks, made countless batches of paint that didn’t meet my expectations, and spent long hours adjusting and perfecting the recipe. But with each failure came a valuable lesson, helping me refine my craft and deepen my understanding of paint materials. Slowly but steadily, I began to produce high-quality oil paints that aligned with my artistic vision.

Throughout my journey, I never forgot the profound impact that Graham had on my artistic growth. His expertise, guidance, and willingness to share his knowledge were invaluable. I’m profoundly grateful for Graham’s contributions and influence to my early career.

The Journey from Epsom to Tunbridge Wells:

Perserverance, Challenges, and Paint-Making Dreams

After leaving art school in Epsom, I stared into a daunting abyss, uncertain where to channel my creative energy or how to kickstart my paint making venture. 

Michael Harding Tunbridge Wells Tubes Circa 1983

In this modest yet inspiring environment, I began producing small batches of paint, crafting six to eight tubes of each colour. I gradually expanded my palette, creating a dozen different hues. My first patrons were artist friends, including the esteemed portrait painter Derek Chittock. Derek, a fatherly figure and stalwart supporter, not only used my paints but also introduced me to a wider artistic circle. His mentions of my work in minor art magazines helped spread the word about my authentic, handmade paints.

A pivotal moment came with an unexpected call from the Victoria and Albert Museum. They were restoring an 18th-century organ from Fonthill Abbey and urgently needed lead white paint. Tim Miller and Ennio Carnetta, the restoration experts, had spent three years removing scorched paint and now required a fresh supply of lead to complete their project. 

Buoyed by these successes, I moved into a light industrial unit in Southborough, Kent, aiming to scale up my operations. However, overextending myself and mismanaging cash flow soon led to financial strain. On October 15, 1987, the day of the great hurricane, I found myself in court over advertising debts. The hurricane’s aftermath mirrored the upheaval in my life, and I spent the next four years contemplating my next move, disillusioned with the idea of returning to paint making.

Fortune smiled again through my friend Neil Farquharson, who introduced me to a mural project at the Pantiles in Tunbridge Wells. Excited by the prospect, I threw myself into creating large murals, only to run out of paint midway. Desperate, I visited a shop that once sold my paint, but they had none left. Forced to use an inferior brand, I quickly realised the unique quality of my own creations.

Thus I returned to making paint, initially for the mural project, and soon, by popular demand, for my artist friends as well. This resurgence marked a new chapter in my journey, blending my artistic passions with the meticulous craft of paint making, and reaffirming my place in the vibrant tapestry of Tunbridge Wells’ art scene.

A Canvas of Memories:
The Path From Tunbridge Wells to Brick Lane

After a few weeks reviving my paint making craft, I decided to adopt a more modest, almost private approach to the business.

Atlantis Brick Lane in the 1990’s – The Old Truman Brewery. Source: https://makingamark.blogspot.com/

Our meeting was sterling, and camaraderie blossomed. Mark and Ginny, seasoned entrepreneurs, proposed a collaboration: they would provide space for my paint production and a steady clientele of artists. It was a brilliant synergy, and in November 1994, after the birth of my daughter Joelle, I began selling my paints exclusively through Atlantis. For the first time in my life, I enjoyed a steady, reliable income.

A vibrant hub akin to Carnaby Street but for East End artists, Brick Lane buzzed with energy. The store attracted a plethora of renowned figures, including Gilbert and George, Terence O’Donovan, David Bailey, and Chris Ofili. The atmosphere was electric, a true melting pot of creativity and inspiration.

One Sunday, while perusing the Sunday Times, I saw Howard Hodgkin was showcasing his work at the Hayward Gallery. His paintings seemed a perfect match for my paints. Through a connection at a Cork Street Gallery, I obtained Howard’s contact number, sent him samples, and waited. To my delight, he loved the paints, placed a substantial order, and provided a glowing letter of endorsement. 

This pivotal moment opened doors, leading to connections with other art luminaries like David Hockney and significantly bolstering my reputation.

Business flourished until 1999, when disaster struck. A fire, ignited by the spontaneous combustion of linseed oil-soaked rags, ravaged my workspace. This peril, inherent to oil paint production, occurred on April 27, the day of the London Marathon. The fire underscored the fact that my burgeoning business had outgrown the space at Atlantis. The Winthrops, understandably, requested I vacate.

Though this setback was daunting, it marked yet another turning point in my journey. It was a reminder of the unpredictable nature of life and business, urging me to adapt, persevere, and continue my quest to bring vibrant, high-quality paints to the world. The resilience and passion that carried me from the humble beginnings in Tunbridge Wells would once again guide me through this new chapter.

The Brick Lane Selection

Beyond Brick Lane: 
The Making of the Whitechapel Selection

Some of you may remember the last chapter I shared — the story of how, after reviving my paint-making craft, I found myself in the heart of East London. 

 Thanks to a chance meeting with Paul Harris, then the advertising editor of Artists and Illustrators Magazine, I was introduced to Mark and Genie Winthrop of Atlantis in Brick Lane — a fortuitous connection that would shape the next chapter of my life.

88 Mile End Road, Mile End Old Town. 

For the first time in my life, I not only had a steady income but also a genuine community built around my paints.

But by 1999, just as the business was finding its rhythm, disaster struck.

On April 27th — the day of the London Marathon — a fire broke out in my workspace. It was caused by the spontaneous combustion of oil-soaked rags, a well-known hazard in our trade. I had known the risk; I simply hadn’t taken it seriously enough. Though the fire wasn’t large, it forced us to reconsider my continued residence at Atlantis, and the decision was made for me to relocate.

Later that year, I moved east to Whitechapel, to a small space behind 88 Mile End Road — the former residence of Captain Cook and his family. The old gin distillery, which still stands today, became my new workshop

Where Brick Lane had been lively and communal, Whitechapel offered something else entirely. From there, I began supplying numerous art stores, and Michael Harding paints became available worldwide.

Whitechapel isn’t known for its spotless history — it’s gritty, but full of vibrant culture and personality.

I spent over a decade there, from 1999 to 2009, refining my methods, experimenting with new materials, developing my product range, and expanding my audience. I began exporting to several countries, including the United States and Australia.

Eventually, the tides of change came again. My landlord, ever polite, informed me that the rent — then £3 per square foot — was about to increase fivefold. I thanked him, handed in my notice, and began looking further afield. That search led me to South Wales, where we’re based to this day.

Still, Whitechapel has stayed with me — its quiet influence woven into my work. The buildings, the light, the worn materials — all left their mark.