Being a figurative painter today is probably no more challenging or rewarding than it has ever been. When immersed in the business of putting paint on a surface you are faced with the same problems: colour scheme, composition, gesture and the task of communicating the idea. Although it can help in finding the right audience for my work, I am slightly uncomfortable with being typecast as a figurative painter — i.e., someone who makes paintings with obvious references to the real world — principally because of the connotations: the idea that figuration means accurate photographic representation. I don’t hold with that reverence for accuracy; there has to be room for the artist’s interpretation.
The question of figurative painting’s relevance is pressing in the current art climate where video, performance and photography are so fashionable. We are more readily stimulated and seduced by figurative painting: it is more accessible and can make a direct comment about its subject. No dossier or instruction manual is required. Yet it seems to be confined to the peripheries of the art world. It’s rare — almost unheard of — to see a figurative artist qualify for the stands at the biennales or to be thought sufficiently ‘cutting-edge’ to adorn the walls of contemporary art fairs or to win the major art prizes. But since when has good art had anything to do with fashion?
There is no doubt that being a figurative painter means carrying baggage. I feel as though everything I paint is part of a dialogue about the evolution of painting. To acknowledge past artists with a visual reference is to tread a tightrope: pastiche is always one stray brushstroke away. Because of the lineage of painting and its rich history the pressure is always on to say something different and not simply to add to the vast accumulation of commonplace pictures.
In our postmodern age, I do feel totally liberated to be able to paint in any stylistic genre I wish. I can draw on the entire history of art without feeling confined by trends, and can experiment to my heart’s desire, though not working in one distinctive ‘style’ can affect one’s marketability. If I was painting cottages on Welsh hillsides, I’d be making a fortune. But I think it important to avoid the formulaic.
The competition sometimes seems exceedingly stiff with the only real route to museum representation and commercial acclaim being through the various open competitions when you’re at the mercy of judges’ agendas and honed tastes. When work is accepted, it is certainly helpful in exposure and in offering the big break — which can’t be a bad thing. When I won the Young Artist Award in the 2003 Sunday Times watercolour competition, it really accelerated things. It opened all sorts of doors to me.
Nowadays we are bombarded with galleries offering exhibitions back to back. I often feel there is an oversaturation of visual art out there. Deciding what to see is sometimes a daunting task. Painting, more than most other media, requires contemplation verging on the meditative. It demands time, the most taxed commodity in our age of speed.
Figurative painting is inextricably linked to craft and the ability to tap into the alchemy of handling paint. For me, this is where the pleasure and indulgence really grip me and bring me back for more. There are few things in life that seem so meaningful as when the right colour and texture of paint speak clearly and set the tone for a certain feeling, giving rise to an emotional response. The internet is one of the greatest vehicles for accessing an appreciative audience, but it’s always in the immediate vicinity of a painting that the magic takes place. This is one of the most comforting constancies of looking at good paintings.
The only expectation I have when completing my work is that other people should own or engage with it. I feel as though my role in the equation is over once I have relieved myself of a persistent memory or an observation that words fail to articulate. For me it’s about locking an image in time and giving a memory more longevity, and prompting others who have a different set of similar experiences. On the whole my work is autobiographical in the sense that I really do have to have a level of interaction with my subject before feeling qualified to paint it. An example of this would be my encounter with a wreckage of a second world war bomber while out on a casual walk. The fact that the wreckage had become a shrine and part of the landscape in a setting of such tranquility moved me. I felt it still had relevance in our modern world. The desire to paint ‘The Wreckage of Carnedd Llewellyn’ could never have been conceived without that physical encounter.
For me, being a figurative painter is about being unapologetic and resigned to the ever-changing complexities of a whimsical art world. It’s about getting up in the morning and painting a picture of something. To end with the reassuring words of Whistler… ‘Listen! There was never an artistic period. There was never an art-loving nation.’
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