Somewhere there's a precious captured moment in time. It's in the form of a photo and I wish I could find it right now but I can't, so I shall try and illustrate it in words.
I am about three or four and am sitting on Bill Sutton's knee. He has a big beard- reddish, with white streaks- and I'm in heaven. He has on a big smile, and so do I, which was a rarity then.
Bill stayed at our house in Napier Road at least once, and occasionally visited at other times when he came up from Christchurch.
The connection was my uncle Ted, his student. Ted and his wife Nancy had Bill around to tea at their house in Christchurch often, and were very close.
Of course art historians and many others in New Zealand are familiar with Bill's work and place in New Zealand art history, but back then I didn't know what a well-known figure he was.
I just knew he was a lovely man, probably because he didn't 'talk down' to me, and he listened.
I would love to have been tutored by him.