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The influences for my work come from a variety of sources, not necessarily confined to painters, inasmuch as the psychology that determines my agenda is an important factor in the eventual product.
Lawrence Stephen Lowry (1887-1976)
It amazes me that many people believe Lowry to be a painter of cutesy, naive folk art, ideal for reproducing on table mats, tea-towels, biscuit tin lids, and prints for hanging over cosy collectable cottage ornaments and looking at whilst listening to choirs of clog-wearing children singing Brian & Michael's Matchstick Men & Matchstick Cats And Dogs. In my opinion, this is an unperspicacious viewpoint, and upon closer examination his work can usually be seen to be something much darker and more disturbing, full of bleakness, alienation, emotional repression and more existential angst than you could shake a copy of Kafka's Metamorphosis at. It sometimes annoys me to hear Lowry described in this way, especially when, as occasionally happens, it is accompanied by the elitist sneer of the would-be artistically hip who obviously haven't taken the time to look at his stuff properly. For me he is inspirational in the choice of subject matter (Manchester scenes and cityscapes) and in some of the ideas he used in conveying that subject matter, such as the emphasis on stylistically simplistic collections of so many distinct individuals accumulating until they eventually appear as a crowd that is both anonymous yet full of interesting detail. More Info.
Chaim Soutine (1893-1943)
The first time a saw a collection of paintings by the Lithuanian born painter Soutine, I almost wanted to run out in the street, jump up and down, and give a little shout, and still do even to this day, if I look at them for long enough. Just like taking the first few sips of a perfectly brewed pint of beer, it is a mixture of appreciation, satisfaction, and delight. Although I find all his work exciting, relishable, and inspirational, it is not so much the dead animals, but his landscapes that interest me the most, and which have motivated me to let my own paintbrush off the leash some and go even more with the creative-emotional adventure involved in painting a scene, than was already the case prior to discovering him. More Info.
Edvard Munch (1863-1944)
Iconic to the point of cliché in the 20th century and much loved by goths and people around the world in their seventh year of psychotherapy, I love the way Munch is emotionally honest, and determinedly bent on recording his own inner vision regardless of how depressing or disturbed other people may find that to be. As with Soutine, viewing pictures of his work almost made me want to run out into the street, but this time I was mindful of the possibility of an attack of acute agoraphobia. In the above respect I am interested in the way Munch pioneered techniques for recording aspects of that emotional reality, such as skies full of swirling whirls of paint, people and objects given a nervous shimmer through a deliberate agitation of the defining lines, and the use of direct, vibrant colours chosen more, in the best expressionistic tradition, for conveying those feelings than recording mere form. More Info.
Henri Matisse (1869-1954)
With his striking use of bold, bright colours that make you feel like you could come in and warm your hands on the Mediterranean warmth of one of his paintings after being out on a cold, Mancunian November evening, and his liberating disregard for the agonising tedium of photo-realism, I find Matisse another major source of creative motivation and a good signpost as regards what direction to head in when setting out on my own adventures with a paintbrush. More info.
Carel Weight (1908-1997)
Yet more relishable, exciting bright colours that often somehow produce feelings of nervous existential unease lurking amongst scenes of naively expressed, suburban English folksiness. And so he is another culprit in making me want to give over vast tracts of my valuable free time to the love-hate enterprise which is painting. More info.
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