Calum MacKenzie

Calum MacKenzie, who has died aged 67, was the gregarious and charismatic innovator who helped lay the groundwork on which a small print studio in Glasgow became a major centre for the Scottish arts scene.

An award-winning artist and, latterly, the much-heralded champion of digital printing, he was a unique character who has left his indelible mark across an enormous circle of friends, colleagues and acquaintances from all walks of life.

From journalists to film-makers, lawyers, cartoonists and actors, he was rarely short of company wherever and whichever hostelry he frequented for his customary pint of Guinness. He regularly provided valuable advice to aspiring artistic talents, much needed words of encouragement and, above all, inspiration, hope and warmth from whoever sought it.

John Mackechnie, who succeeded him as director of the Glasgow Print Studio (GPS) said: "One of my lasting memories of him, of which there are many, was his ability to simply make things happen. He was gregarious, charismatic and above all, a wonderful human being."

Although born in Glasgow, it was on the island of Tiree that he spent much of his formative years before his talent for creative art began to emerge while a pupil at Oban High School.

Encouraged by his peers, he enrolled at Duncan of Jordanstone Art School in Dundee where he struck up a friendship with a group of musicians who subsequently went on to enjoy chart success in America and Britain as the Average White Band.

Shortly after beginning his role at GPS, he encountered the then aspiring Scottish film-maker Bill Forsyth and became engrossed in his work on That Sinking Feeling and Local Hero, for which he produced printed material.

He was later rewarded, albeit reluctantly, with an unpaid cameo role in the cult movie Comfort and Joy, portraying a tramp whose face ultimately gets plastered in money.

But financial gain was never his goal as he was much too busy nurturing and encouraging others to fulfil their goals. A writers' group known as the Print Studio Press was established to get their work published for the first time. This included Alasdair Gray, Liz Lochhead, Alan Spence and James Kelman. He even encouraged award-winning Scots playwright John Byrne to stage his work there along with many others. As the GPS emerged from its basement in St Vincent Street to more substantial premises in Ingram Street, his fund-raising endeavours came to the fore, from social events, such as the Loveliest Night of the Year, in the city's Winter Gardens and Kelvingrove Museum, Burns' Suppers to even chartering the Waverley paddle steamer for a cruise.

His near decade-long stint at the helm of the artist-led organisation saw it established as one of the country's leading visual arts centres, staging a string of innovative exhibitions, such as The Scottish Cartoonists (1979).

He ensured all were welcome at the GPS. Whether it was a young musical group seeking practice space, artists and painters needing working premises, it became the eventual forerunner of the Workshop and Artists Studio Provision Scotland (Wasps).

An artist first and foremost, like his former wife Pat, his work remained much sought after in both private and public collections including the Victoria and Albert Museum and the Arts Councils of Scotland and Northern IrelandHe was a regular exhibitor in the Royal Scottish Academy.

He became involved in a number of public art projects including large-scale mural works commissioned by The Scottish Arts Council and the Tron Theatre Trust in Glasgow.

His love of a smoke and a drink eventually caught up on him, forcing him, under the watchful eye of his partner Marie, to change his lifestyle but not his desire to explore new artistic avenues including digital imaging, or as he like to call it his 'electronic paint box'.

His work brought much critical acclaim as he was able to transform his printmaking in a unique and innovative way. This became evident when he staged his own award-winning exhibition Silver Bells last year at the Royal Glasgow Institute gallery.

Herald columnist and long-time friend Tom Shields remarked: "Figuring out the plot of some of MacKenzie' s oeuvres can seem like unravelling the Da Vinci Code. Other works are devilishly simple, stuff he had lying about his studio. Like a lovely retro jelly bean tin filled with artist's crayons that look good enough to eat."