Artist's culture Clash

It is a mighty long way from White Riot - the first single released by The Clash in 1977 - to the august art gallery premises of Hazlitt, Gooden & Fox in Bury Street, St James's, but Paul Simonon has managed the transition with ease.

The former Clash bass player is now a full-time painter and his volatile stage presence that graced the days of punk has been transformed into a relaxed man who can sip at his pint of beer and announce: "I like the idea of a human being with oil and canvas."

Perhaps the most surprising aspect of this new vocation, apart from its having happened at all, is the nature of Simonon's paintings. The collection is entitled From Hammersmith to Greenwich, and each painting captures the Thames at various points in its sinuous course through the capital. Punk rage is entirely absent, replaced by views of sky, water, bridges and buses which are simply "a celebration of London".

In his immaculate hound's-tooth check cap, and with the trademark gap between the front teeth unspoiled by artificial dentistry, Simonon, 46, delicately bridges the gap between his past and former lives. He has no doubts, however, about where his loyalties lie. "The Clash was another life, a distant memory. I have no regrets, but I have to move forward. I was painting from the cot, with only a slight hiccup at art college where they didn't push proper drawing. This is it for me - no more lives."

Simonon now moves in very different circles from the days with Joe Strummer and Mick Jones, all Ladbroke Grove and the fast and furious life. He is married with a child, but also has friends in the world of modern British art. I ask him if this new milieu does not seem rather precious compared to the merry whirl of yore. "I suppose it can be, but I'm not involved in any of that. I am not after accolades or membership of the RA."

Simonon is, above all, content with his life. "I'm happy, I'm in control of my life. I don't lounge around in bed. I've used up two pairs of decent shoes walking up and down the Thames looking for good sites." He freely admits that this life would not have been possible without what he describes as his "inheritance", the money that trickles in from his days with The Clash. But he is also adamant that "if I was going to do painting properly, then music had to go".

Simonon has no idea who will like his pictures, insisting that he painted them in the first place entirely for himself. Although he loves other painters, he has no idea of himself as being anything other than a London painter.

As he is departing - for a jewellery event hosted by Jade Jagger - I suddenly remember to ask him how much the paintings cost. "Around five or six grand for the smaller ones," he says, "and then at the other end of the scale, well, as much as we can get for them, I guess." Ah, so the old punk spirit lives.