In Memory of my Friend James Northcote
This is not a piece of writing I have been able to start easily. But I have wanted to share some words about my friend James, and his creative side, in the hope of paying tribute to his memory.
Many will tell you James was handsome, kind, and funny —and he was all of those things. But he was also so much more. Not only was he a mad collector of sketch/note books, but James possessed a rare, creative wit; even when his jokes went over your head, you knew they were clever.
James would send me pieces of his artwork he was working on, and though I urged him to share them, he would sometimes listen, and then often delete the post shortly after posting. As an artist, James was his own harshest critic (aren’t we all!). I hope he won’t mind me saying, he struggled with the idea that he lacked a specific ‘style’, to which I always tried to show him, his style was already there: in those strange little characters, his little stories, the way he would animate, and in his 3D sculptures. His greatest ‘style’ was simply his creative imagination —something you can’t fake, and something he had in abundance.
AWARDS
Others saw that potential too. In 2009, James won a D&AD Award for his surrealist animation, where a Victorian professor gives lectures on the finer points of black holes to an onlooking audience made up of old portraits. It’s quite good, and you should give it a watch. From there, James was accepted into a very prestigious film school. It was all very impressive. However, something about that place didn’t stick with James, and he made the decision to leave. Some might say it was a shame, but as a fellow artist, I could understand – when you have a creative vision and a certain way of working, it is nearly impossible to force yourself into any other way of working.
James and I once started our own business called ‘Art Thief,’ A space designed to bring amazing art prints to the world. That didn’t last long, ha! But the branding and web design all came from James – just another skill set he had. Following from that, his drive to create kept going. He built his own webshop to showcase some seriously neat T-shirt designs. It’s incredible to think about the sheer volume of work he must have produced; he must have a hard drive somewhere overflowing with brilliant art and hidden gems he was just waiting to reveal.
James worked as a creative person for a while. Creating insightful films for the university he had attended, as well as some interesting films with some old tutors. I even got James hired to produce an animation for my place of work at the time. Felt very proud of that.
One of my favourite things about our friendship was simply how close he lived. He was the only person who was never more than a quick meet-up away. There was a quiet joy in our quick walks through the park, or catching up on the only nice-looking bench, or the many times we’d meet halfway so I could give James my scanner. The random shopping trips to Enfield Town, which would just pruly be done out of boredom. And it was always nice to be sent a message inviting me over for a drink or a film when he would be with his friend Leigh – he was so proud of the little bar they created one Summer!
On nights out, when everyone else was more Enfield way, we’d be the only two heading back to ‘glorious’ Edmonton. Naturally, we were ‘sensible’ enough to take the ‘quick but incredibly dangerous’ route over the iron bridge. But, being the gentleman he was, James would insist on walking me through the side alley of the park. I never let him walk me all the way, though, and I’ll never forget looking back one night to see him sprinting back through the dark. I didn’t blame him—I’d done the same—but it made me laugh.
You’ll never have a friend quite like a friend who appreciates horror. We shared that and bonded over the macabre. One time, he asked if I was still drawing “those kinds of things” (I can only assume he meant the dead animals project) before sending me photos of a human brain his dad had found in a cemetery.
He was my horror movie buddy, the only one who understood that horror is the best kind of entertainment. I will always remember watching Pan’s Labyrinth with him and our friend Jenny in the Cinema; the moment the Pale Man stood up, James shouted, “Ugh, it’s a giant ball bag!” To this day, I can’t hear that film mentioned without telling that story.
James enjoyed books and films, especially the monster classics. He created a variety of film posters for these creatures, too – just some more artwork tucked up his sleeve! He had a knack for finding interesting bits in charity shops, especially something that was signed. The luck he had for winning random competitions too ha!
Our friendship was fun, odd, and endlessly interesting. No one gives up without a fight, and James fought. But James was also someone who, once he made up his mind, could not be moved. I have to believe that if he chose this path, he was certain. While I and many will miss him, I find peace in hoping he feels more free now than he ever could here on earth. James isn’t gone; he has simply started a different journey, and his memory lives on in every strange bit of art and hilarious moment we shared.
I don’t think there will be a day when you won’t pop into my head, James, and whilst this blog post does little justice to how much of a wonderful, creative person you were, I hope it offers a glimpse into the talent and wit that made you, you!
A