Visiting Richard’s Porthmeor studio recently, I was struck by the sense of history emanating from the walls: the creative energy that has been exerted; the failures and successes that have been lived out there. The previous occupant of his studio was Sandra Blow, and having met her there on a number of occasions, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit of her creative energy left behind. Richard however is undaunted by this eminent past; indeed Sandra is one of the few artists he mentions as worthy of praise, preferring to talk of architecture and design as his great influence. I know artists who have felt intimidated by the history of the studios and have found it impossible to work. Creating histories in the paintings through layering is so important a part of Richard’s working practice that being in such a remarkable location seems only to contribute to that. This is not to imply that the process is an undemanding one or, indeed, that he does not have his share of artist self doubt. Despite this he does exude a quiet confidence which implies that whatever goes on during the creative process, locked away as he so often is in his studio, when he finally does finish the paintings he knows they are right.Richard’s work seems to defy categorization, and although there is clearly a process involved in the making of it he is loath to see himself as a process artist. In the catalogue essay to Art Now Cornwall at Tate St Ives, it is stated that he is not influenced by nature but that with his use of industrial materials and his sculptural background he is put firmly in the material world. Collectors however appreciate the paintings with their astonishing organic surfaces and they see them as possibly relating to the landscape and nature. On the other hand, he does not use source material that he has created outside the studio through drawing and photography, but he does admit that through walking around St Ives looking at stones, gates, granite, he then filters these experiences as he goes through the studio door. So although he does not make direct references to the things he sees, they are there with him as part of who he is and as part of living here in Cornwall.
I am reminded of Jeanette Winterson’s essay ‘Art Objects’ where she describes her personal introduction to art and says: ‘Art does not imitate life. Art anticipates life.
’I believe Richard has no problem with the viewer who can enjoy his work because they can see a connection to nature, but he is not an imitator. He does not look at a damp stain in his studio and try to recreate it. For that he may just as well cut it from the wall and put a frame around it. He does not look at the organic mess that is forming on his studio floor and hope to recreate it on canvas because the build up very often has been created through the making of the work, not vice versa. His work anticipates in that I as the viewer may feel that I have seen something like this in life, but its strength and power comes in that I have not.
Richard’s background in sculpture underpins everything which he does. For practical reasons when he first came to St Ives, he may have started working on paper and board initially, but his approach now is very much that of a sculptor. He rejected the use of heavy machinery at college and from that point used only his hands or what could be held in them. He still follows this way of working; he avoids conventional oil and acrylic paint and opts for that which can be found in a DIY store. The language Richard uses when describing the process is the language of war. He attacks the works with sanders and blow torches, cutting channels into them, battling with them. It is a fight which he says he only enjoys in retrospect. It is very physical, labour intensive and involves pain and struggle. He needs this way of working; he rarely takes short cuts because he believes in the importance of the histories of each piece not only for the work itself but also for himself. There is something of the alchemist in him. Sometimes he will lay a work down and flood it with white spirit so that it is a ‘huge coagulating mess’ and when he returns the next day he is excited by what will have been uncovered or brought to the surface. He agrees it is not an exact science and there may be failure along the way, but his reaction to this is to attack it again. He admits that there is no let up; during a break in the studio he will see another piece and start attacking that: ‘I need to feed that need all the time. I am a doer not a planner’
There are many artists that use layering as a means of expression, rubbing down the top surface to reveal colours from previous layers. What is interesting about Richard’s process is he is not only revealing what he knows to be there; he is also creating a chemical reaction over which he has no control – almost like an eruption where the lava will escape and has the potential to create havoc. He sees it as ‘taking the artist out of the work’, creating something that looks as though it just happened. Richard admires uniformity in other artists’ work, those that seem to be able to create multiple pieces that have a very distinct language and clearly have been created by their maker. Although his work is recognized as being distinctly his own, the process he uses plays with, defies and challenges him so that if uniformity were the only goal it would be doomed to failure.
Richard is a highly talented and creative artist and I feel sure he could make good art without some of the battle scenes that seem to be played out in the studio. He chooses not to do so because he neither wants to tame himself nor the art. When we assess his creativity only in terms of its possible relationship to nature or indeed its reference to the industrial, we are not only diminishing it, but we are trying to control it. I am reminded again of Jeanette Winterson’s essay ‘Art Objects’, where she says, ‘Art cannot be tamed, although our responses to it can be.’
For those who have a true connection with the work, they may appreciate the aesthetic quality of the piece but on some subliminal level they intuit the battle and the struggle that has gone on to create it. By quoting Robert Motherwell who when asked: ‘How do you know when a painting is finished?’ he replied, ‘When I recognize myself in it.’ Richard is recognizing the importance of the human condition, and this I feel brings us closer to an understanding of his work. Rothko recognized this and therefore did not consider himself an abstract painter: ‘I’m interested only in expressing basic human emotions – tragedy, ecstasy, doom and so on.’ (Rothko catalogue retrospective, Rome, 2008.) In this time when the art world values highly ideas and the narrative in art, Richard’s advice to any artist is to lock yourself away in the studio for two years and just work. He seems to have taken his own advice, and in that time produced a truly remarkable group of paintings.
David Falconer, April 2008
Richard Nott is currently represented by The Millennium Gallery
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