Artistic Process

Why

“It’s in ‘im, and it’s gotta come out.”

— John Lee Hooker’s dad

I have always drawn and painted. First on the walls – like every annoying child. Then aged just four, I started copying faces from “Shoot!”, a 60’s football magazine. There are some passable coloured-pencil portraits of Nobby Stiles, Brian Labone, and Alan Clarke (a particular hero) still extant in the family archive. Mr Styles is neatly labelled “4+ years” by my proud mother.

And no, it’s never been “a hobby”. Ever. Never for relaxation. It’s a struggle. It hurts. It’s not colouring in. As Richard Elliott, who helped teach me says: “You’ve got to keep pushing, pushing, because sooner or later something’s got to give”. He is right - in both senses. I have no sleep at night if it hasn’t gone well. If I haven’t resolved something, I turn it over endlessly. But it has to be hard to mean something. Whatever the something is.

Sometimes there are moments of unalloyed magic. When what appears on the paper or canvass seems to arrive unbidden. Almost nothing to do with me. Call it “the muse” or the “inner game” whatever. But those moments are rare. Very. And thrilling. Perhaps I live for that and the quiet satisfaction of nailing a painting. Really nailing it.

What

Until recently, mostly architectural watercolours. Inspired by the English baroque, Nicholas Hawksmoor, Vanbrugh, Gibbs and architecture generally. A few portraits. A Sunday Times Journalist and a TV actress whom I both admired. A few beachscapes. Mostly structures. A classics professor once told me that my watercolours of buildings were pegs upon which to hang moods. That was nice. And like John Piper I have been pretty “unlucky with the weather”.

But I have recently re-discovered I have a gift for portraiture. I should have known after painting Karen Robinson of the Sunday Times and the actress Melanie Kilburn. Recent personal pain (my partner’s serious illness and family deaths meant I couldn’t paint. Wouldn’t). But my responses to my friendships with the McKanna Meats butchers in Holborn changed everything. Or made me find I was ready again. Their kindness and humour to their customers, and to me, and my admiration for who they are and what they do, made me want to paint them for my own satisfaction. It’s been a very rewarding experience. Some of those chaps are on here. But it’s a topic I first worked on, stimulated by a Rembrandt ox carcass, 25 years ago. Slow cooking meat.

Using Indian ink not graphite.: graphite gets lost in a turps ground wash when we need it most but the Indian ink survives.

Good groundwork saves hours of pain later…

When

Over the years since 1994 professionally and part professionally. I was made redundant in 1993 and swore never to work for an employer ever again. Ticked that box.

Although suggestions of Shrek’s skin, Renaissance artists used green as an underpaint for flesh.

How

Oils. These are all carefully planned. I stretch my own canvasses and take a lot of care. I take a lot of photographs. I have a good stare at my subjects.

Watercolours. Mostly wet-into-wet. A technique that involves spraying a film of water over high quality watercolour paper that doesn’t buckle. I use chromatic mixes and watch them bleed uncertainly. I knew chromatography in school chemistry had to be good for something. I use tube watercolours not pans. It’s an uncertain and scary technique at times. It can be ruined in a moment or dry badly. Or go really well. The failure rate is very high – but it can be an exciting few hours when the surface is wet. The following morning can be a Roman triumphal procession or a spell in the Colosseum arena. Not nice.

Pastels. When a subject calls for pure pigments and light. A technique of relative rarity for me. But there have been some very nice results. Its frailty is a joy and a burden. Spoiler alert - I’ll have to try drawing the butchers in pastel. But anyone who does that is up against the Swiss big cheese, Monsieur E-J Liotard. “It’s a very big ask” as the commentators say. (E-JL did not invent the clingy sportswear. He was too busy for that. Jules Léotard did. Keep up.).

Not everyone is comfortable being painted. He looks a little suspicious.

Where

In my studio. Which is also a large, extended kitchen with a white melamine architect’s drawing table, circa 1980. Dangerously close to the true enemy of the artist: food. It makes you content, sleepy and unproductive. As for any activity in life, it’s best to be hungry. It keeps you sharp.