Eduardo Paolozzi seemed to be a magpie, but saved the unsociable early and night-time hours for work:
Those who knew him rarely saw Paolozzi at work. His day seemed to consist of diversions. He would flip idly through magazines or folders filled with clippings, go for a drink at the Chelsea Arts Club close to his studio, lunch at the Royal College of Art, or dine in one of the several restaurants where, thanks to gifts of his sculpture or prints, he never saw a bill. But he was prodigiously productive, working for several hours very early in the morning and late at night, when he knew he would not be interrupted.
Remarkably generous to his friends, to whom he would hand out artists' proofs of prints, plaster maquettes and expensive books like sweets, Paolozzi was nevertheless subject to black moods, during which he could be woundingly insensitive. He was represented by very few dealers, and stayed with none of them for long.
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