Ah, the redoubtable Mr Stevens. The man looms large in Shadowplay
legend. In fact, he just looms large generally. At slightly under
nine foot four (check this - Editor), this is a man Harlem Globetrotters
look up to. In any group of picnickers, this is the person who
gets rained on first. We're talking tall. In fact, he's so tall that ...
Oh, all right,
he's not all that tall. But he's no munchkin either.
truly towering thing about the lad is his talent. The only reason
I was waffling on about his height was that there's very little
real point in my sitting here singing praises to the small miracles
Paul was able to whip up for Shadowplay using a couple of pens
and a bottle of Liquid Paper. Have a rummage in the Gallery (coming
in his covers and the other examples of his penpersonship (that
can't be right!) on show there.
Good, aren't they? Bleeding good.
Not just 'good' as in 'quite good' or even 'really very good'.
They are good in the rarefied, spiritually elevated sense of 'good
as a freshly poured Guinness on the first day of summer'. They're
what the late, lamented Ian Drury would have called 'eyeball pleasers'.
What higher praise?
Paul's only problem as an artist is that peculiar
quality of humility about his talent that several of the magazine's
finest artists seem to lug around with them. It took an age before
he first exhibited his work. I was always rabbiting on about how
he was a natural to make an exhibition of himself. What with him
being so tall.
Anyroad, that's Mr Stevens: splendid individual,
profoundly pukka pen pusher, and tallish.