THE OLYMPIAN ARTIST

Harrison Newbold Cohen, The Great Master as he was to be became known as, is the greatest 800 metre runner of our era. He was brought up and lived in the heart of East London, his body a thing of physical beauty, a natural athletic runner, his head carried a beautiful mind.

In adolescence he knew the Olympic Games would be hosted in his home town. With manic anticipation he would train, work hard on his running, he would give it his all. At each race that he competed in, he would be the best he could be, until eventually becaming the champion of the world. He was the best, and England was expecting, demanding gold.

With his beautiful mind he trained it to paint, he was good but his talent was rarely recognized, he would have been poor had it not been for his money making legs.

When he ran, he ran as one for his pictures. He would start in the peripheries of the field of runners, using his depth of vision to check out the leading competitors. He would progress up through the pack of runners, like the aggressive brush strokes he put in to his paintings. Then he would apply a steady rhythm of regular colour to wear down his rivals.

As the race was nearing its end, as with the drama that he would put into his pictures he would run a biblical thunder storm, where he would drench those who dared to challenge him. Approaching the finishing line he applied his signature master piece, with the wrath of God he would sprint to the finishing line as a golden bolt of lightning, a glorious winner.

On the 12th of August 2012, Harrison arrived at the London Olympic Stadium with the eyes of an artist. He studied the stadium portraying a theatre of hues and textures, and then lifted his head to study the mood of the sky, not any blue sky but a kaleidoscope of violets and greens.

Once inside with the detail of an artist he observed the turf surrounding the running track, with its’ blades of grass each singing a different shade of green. He looked to the sun and then down to the running track, in his mind he knew how the light would glow on to the runners’ faces, and form long and short shadows on to their defined muscles. He was focused, he was ready.

As the competitors lined up for the 800 metre final, with anticipation you could feel the electric energy resinating around the stadium. The spectators as one, eyed the field of runners, and then looked up to the electronic competitors’ board. It was then as if all the electric atmosphere that had surrounded the stadium that afternoon had suddenly be switched off. The spectators gasped in astonishment and asked, where was England, where was Harrison?

That evening Lord Sebastian Coe, chair of the organising committee of the Olympic and Paralympics games, the greatest middle distance runner of all time addressed the world’s media.
He quoted,
“You can not judge a man, until you have run in his shoes.”

That day and during the whole of the Olympics, Harrison had sketched and painted the competitors. He knew the anatomy of the sportsmen and sportswomen intimately; he knew their body definition and muscle tone. He had knowledge of their style, stride, and their gait. He knew their graceful movement, turn of speed, their pleasure and their pain. He had competed against them, and to some, he had shared intimate love.

Whilst the Olympics’ was being held, his mind was viewing the world through that of an artist. He had no aggression, anger,or bravery, no will to win as a competitor. He was his first love an artist.

Like his brothers and sisters of the world he was in awe of the Olympic athletes. He knew his beautiful mind was at its most perceptive; his eyes were the best they would be before deteriorating with age. It was the golden moment to excel in his first love, to paint, to be the best he knew he would be.

In time, after all the media frenzy had died down, the people of England would forgive Harrison for not claiming gold. They would travel the length and breadth of the country to visit the National Gallery, to view his Olympian work hanging along side the other Great Masters of England.

Whilst studying his paintings, they would marvel in awe at there divine beauty, in the knowledge the great master is still alive, running past them in the parks of London. In the words of Lord Sebastian Coe, running in his shoes, shoes that only Harrison Newbold Cohen can run in.