Most of the time when we encounter a work of art it is because the artist sought an audience. Painters hang their paintings in galleries, musicians play gigs and make records, and writers write to be published. So it’s rare to encounter an exceptional creative endeavour whose intended audience was just a single person. But that’s how it is with ‘Letters to Michael’ by Charles Phillipson, published by Slightly Foxed.

Charles Phillipson’s letters to his son Michael, written almost daily from February 1945 to October 1947, were not meant for publication. They were simply tender missives from a busy working father to his beloved son.

The letters all follow the same format: a paragraph of text about something Charles had noticed that day, with an inked illustration and a hand drawn stamp. Surprising though it seems given the quality of the drawing, Charles wasn’t a practicing artist. Growing up in Manchester at the start of the twentieth century, he’d left school at 14 to find work. But the few evening classes he was able to attend, some with L. S. Lowry, gave him the technical skill you see on display in the letters. 

Dashed off on scrap paper during lunch or tea breaks at the Renold and Coventry Chain Company where Charles worked, the letters were written when his son, Michael, was just a small boy. Now Michael’s an old man and he’s chosen to make them available to the world at large.

There’s so much to commend the collection: there’s the window it opens into the 1940’s - the joy at the end of war, the notorious winter of ‘46 / ‘47 when it was still icy and snowing in March, and the office customs of the time that seem a little peculiar now - puffing on pipes and the daily disinfect; there’s Charles’ great illustrative skill, evident in the way he captures character and draws movement; and then there is the boundless love of a father for a son, the subtext of every page. But perhaps the thing I’ve found most affecting about the letters is that they are a testament to the quiet, unshowy creativity which happens among the lives of ordinary working people every day. The kind of creativity which rarely draws attention, because it doesn’t seek it. 

Just before Charles began writing to Michael he’d been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, an untreatable illness which would force his early retirement and ultimately claim his life. But his love and generosity and imagination live on in this wonderful new book. I’ve shared some of my favourite spreads below. 

‘Letters to Michael’ is published by Slightly Foxed.