That original Design Week feature from 2001 attracted attention to Keith's graphic work and a series of interesting things began to happen.
Peter Owen, the publisher for whom Keith had designed book jackets for more than twenty years, staged an exhibition of his cover designs. It was fitting recognition for work that had quietly helped sustain his parallel life as a painter, alongside his two-day-a-week teaching commitment at the London College of Printing.
In 2004, the Barbican exhibition Independent Graphic Design Since the Sixties featured several of Keith's book covers, both in the exhibition and the accompanying publication. Later, the University of Brighton Design Archives acquired examples of his work. At last, Keith was receiving recognition for his contribution to mid-century British graphic design. Then, in 2005, Uscha Pohi, editor of the international art and fashion magazine, Very, reprinted an article about Keith and included part of my Design Week feature, illustrating it with some of Keith's delicate watercolour sky studies.
Nine years passed.
Keith died in 2014 at the age of 85.
Two years later, in early 2016, I received an unexpected phone call from Stephen Rothholz. I quickly discovered that he was the son of HA Rothholz, the highly respected graphic artist responsible for many of the information posters produced for the Post Office and the Royal Society for the Prevention of Accidents between the 1940s and 1960s.
Stephen had studied graphic design at the London College of Printing. Keith's wife, Bobby Hillson, had been discussing the possibility of staging a small exhibition of Keith's oil paintings from the 1950s and suggested that Stephen contact me.
He was keen for me to see the paintings.
What happened next was one of those strange coincidences that seem too neat to be true.
The works were being stored in the basement of a warehouse in Bowling Green Lane, Clerkenwell — the very street I was living in at the time.
We met one morning in the dark basement, where Stephen began showing me Keith's surviving paintings from his post-war years at the Royal College of Art. Fortunately, we got on immediately. Then another coincidence emerged: Stephen lived only a short walk from me.
The story was becoming stranger by the minute.
Over the following weeks we met regularly at Stephen's wonderfully eccentric house, which reflected his own connections with the world of outsider art and his collaborations with Paul Smith.
Together we formulated a plan.
We were determined, one-way or another, to get Keith's paintings shown publicly.
Money was scarce. I agreed to write and design the catalogue and produce any promotional material we needed. Stephen had located a semi-derelict former post office in Hoxton that was occasionally used as a gallery space and which, with a little care and attention, could host the exhibition. He also organised the cleaning, framing and photography of the nineteen paintings we selected.
Meanwhile, I approached the online creative platform It's Nice That, who agreed to support the exhibition with a feature. I also set up a rudimentary crowd funding campaign, long before Kickstarter and Crowdfunder became household names.
I contacted as many former London College of Printing students as I could trace from Keith's forty years of teaching. Many responded with donations and warm memories of their former tutor. It became clear that Keith had left a lasting impression on a great many people.
Somehow, in remarkably little time, we pulled everything together.
On the evening of 30 September 2016, Keith Cunningham: Unseen Paintings 1954–1960 opened at the Hoxton Gallery.
It was a memorable night, particularly for Bobby, who was able to see her late husband's paintings professionally framed and hanging on gallery walls for the first time.
Among the visitors was Frank Auerbach, who, together with Leon Kossoff, had painted alongside Keith when they were students at the Royal College of Art in the 1950s.
I left that balmy autumn evening with a sense of relief and quiet satisfaction. In some small way, I felt I had repaid a debt to the man whose simple two-colour book jacket had first awakened my interest in design and suggested a possible future.
Before moving on, I should briefly mention Keith's wife of sixty-five years, Bobby Hillson.
Life with Keith cannot always have been easy. His difficult childhood, leaving home at seventeen and a lifetime spent guarding both himself and his work, left him reluctant to talk about either. Yet throughout their long marriage Bobby never wavered in her belief in him or his talent.
After Keith's death in 2014, that belief became a determination to see his work finally receive the audience it deserved. As you have already read, that ambition was eventually realised.
Then came a pleasing twist. It was Bobby's turn to be celebrated.
This is Bobby Hillson, who during her time at Vogue magazine was a sort after fashion illustrator.
In March 2018 she was honoured for her role as the founder and former head of the influential MA Fashion course at Central Saint Martins. The hall was packed with students, graduates and figures from across the fashion world. Looking as elegant as ever, Bobby took to the stage to be interviewed by Ike Rust, one of her former students.
During the evening she recalled many of the designers who had passed through the course, among them John Galliano, John Flett, Simon Foxton, Fiona Dealey, John McKitterick, Nick Coleman, Sonja Nuttall and Alexander McQueen.
In another curious twist to this increasingly improbable story, the documentary McQueen was released that same year. It was Bobby who appeared at both the beginning and the end of the film, sharing her memories of the late designer with cinema audiences around the world.
Time for another coffee.
Back to the main story, a month or so after the exhibition closed, Stephen telephoned. Some people, he explained, wanted to see the rest of Keith's work, still stored in that Clerkenwell warehouse basement.
"They're very interested," he said.
Over the following months there were numerous visits. Stephen remained discreet about who was coming and why. Then, sometime later, he called again.
The mysterious visitors had purchased virtually everything.
Thousands of watercolour sky studies, paintings, drawings, and sketchbooks — it seemed that almost every surviving piece of work Keith had produced had been acquired.
The identity of the buyer remained secret for another six years.
Then, in February 2022, Keith Cunningham's forgotten work was reintroduced to the art world in The Cloud of Witness at Newport Street Gallery. More than seventy works were exhibited alongside a beautifully produced publication.
The mystery was solved.
Damien Hirst, whose enthusiasm for post-war British art is well known, had acquired the collection. Something in Keith's work had clearly struck a chord.
Keith’s daily obsession of creating sky studies, which amounted to over four thousand show at the HENI gallery exhibition in London.
In 2024 I was interviewed and appeared in the documentary film, Keith Cunningham: The Lost Master made by HENI’s production company. Which you can see here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Usq12Z7znmc
Another exhibition followed in June 2025 at HENI Gallery in Soho: Keith Cunningham: The Lost Master. This time the focus was on the extraordinary sky studies produced between 1984 and 2002, accompanied by a series of beautifully published books exploring different aspects of Keith's life and work.
more books
Three from six beautifully curated books from publishers HENI.
There was one final and extraordinary twist.
This painting was up for sale at the auction house Bonhams in London.
Not bad for an artist who had spent most of his life hiding his work from view.
Wherever Keith may now be in the universe, I suspect he would be astonished that the interview he agreed to back in 2001 helped set in motion a chain of events that eventually led to this remarkable resurrection.
Copyright © Mike Dempsey 2026.
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