Interview with Mike Newton

I’m interested in how you might balance a desire to create a world of your own with that of reflecting the world around us? I’m thinking of the Falstaff painting in particular here. Whilst the figures are dressed up as the contemporary shibboleth of the “Hoodie” they also appear torn from the expected landscape of British inner city and placed into an altogether different world.

Whilst I want my paintings to have a contemporary relevance, I do not see my work as social realism and hopefully the strange landscapes ensure there is room for the construction of different narratives and meanings.

Today the “Hoodie” has particular connotations, but in a different century it is the garb of Franciscan monks or the mythical Robin Hood of Sherwood. So, although the viewer may identify with the dress code of the figures, the world they inhabit is deliberately alien, maybe causing us to rethink the stereotypes. Also the role the figures are acting seems ambiguous – are they a threatening band of thugs or good Samaritans? Around them reality has clouded over, yet underneath the distorted colours of the skies, remain the solitary tower blocks and barren parkland of this world. The protection of the world we know has perhaps been withdrawn, isolating the youthful protagonists not only with their alienation but also with their choices.

I’m also intrigued by how you choose to wear your various influences/references on your sleeve. Northern Soul, Radiohead, Pink Floyd, David Lynch, Gus Van Sant, Goya, Munch can all be fairly easily detected in one way or another in various paintings but it never collapses into any kind of hero worship. Is it a conscious thing to try and deploy these reference points with a lightness of touch? This is interesting to me as it is something that I strive for in my own work. To me, it’s like an artist such as Bob Dylan who has played with surrealism, old American unionism, cowboys and all sorts but all mixed up together and yet overall he still remains Bob Dylan first and foremost.

Bob Dylan is a prime example of an artist who has continued to reinvent himself and his sureness of touch, despite open hostility at times, is at the heart of his greatness. I don’t seek such a metamorphosis through my varied influences but use them as another signifier of the melancholic mood of my work. You are right though that I try to ensure the influence is moderated to avoid falling into the trap of the work becoming a(n) homage to the more established artist.

These references can be in composition, style, colour and subject but probably most powerful of all, the title. The only verbal supplement I can give the work is its title and I try to use this to control the interpretation of the piece and draw in those who know the reference. I am also interested in conflicts between these and other levels of content in my work e.g. the use of Venetian glazes to simulate a cinematic projection and think this is a rich area for future investigation.

The method you use to construct your compositions from studies, photographs and found images, enhances for me the feelings of melancholia in your work. I think this is because it seems to me to encourage an idea of life as fragmentary, would you agree with this at all?

Yes that is exactly how I see it. In effect I am constructing a work about loss and the fragments are part of my own interpretation of what has been lost. At the heart of melancholia is always a loss of something; that may be loss by bereavement, but could for example be a relationship or a religious belief. Consequently we cling to memories of the thing that we have lost and these are inevitably fragmentary. Freud argues in his essay on Mourning and Melancholia that while the mourner knows more or less what has been lost, this is not obvious to the melancholic. The melancholic person thus pursues continuously disappointing adventures or else retreats into a state of inactivity (pretending to be dead). My current body of work examines the notion of narcolepsy (My Private Idaho – the River Phoenix character has a narcoleptic fit whenever he is reminded of his lost mother) and combines this idea with more personal elements.

Can you explain the importance of speed in your process? You talk of developing methods so that you can finish a painting in a day? The late Steven Campbell painted at a similarly fast pace and did so in order to generate mistakes as a kind of pivot point through which to find rather than plan his compositions, does this ring true for you or are there different reasons for it?

There are two factors that dictate that the paintings are done at speed. One is that the process means that corrections, although not impossible, are very difficult once the paint has dried. The other is that I rely on working directly onto the white primer for the radiance and luminosity of the paintings. So apart from additional glazes to darken tone or alter hue I work wet on wet and for a large painting start early and finish late!

Although I do explore an idea through preliminary drawings and small paintings, I often change things in the midst of a large work. Consequently I have to accept that mistakes will be made and if not corrected at the time are there to stay. So whilst I don’t deliberately generate mistakes, they do happen and often result in the most successful work. The biggest challenge for me is to be able to paint as freely on a large scale as I do for small works. Perhaps I need to refine the process such that I can complete a large painting in an hour rather than a day!

You make swatches of colour from stills from well-known films. What are your reasons for doing this and can you tell us a bit more about the cinematic influence in your work?

I have a love of escapism and going to the movies provides the ultimate environment for escape. You are in the dark and your attention is devoted to the narrative plot, the visual images and the soundtrack for 90minutes or so. The use of film stills is an attempt to access and reference this experience. However, painting an iconic scene from a film is too direct and has little interest for me. Instead I focus on one aspect of the scene, namely the mood the colour evokes and transfer this into my work. I do this by colour sampling a screen still and then trying to match the colours with transparent oil colour. My aim is for the transparency of the painting to simulate a projected image and indirectly refers to the mood of the film, although the actual image is not from the film.

I could list numerous directors whose films have influenced me, but if I was to narrow it down to three; a European, an Asian and an American, I would chose Kryzysztof Kieslowski, Wong Kar-Wai, and David Lynch. They each make films that deal with loss, and use of colour is a strong element of their cinematography. So the sickly yellows of Kieslowski’s early films, the strong shadows of post war Hong Kong and the Kodachrome glow of Lynch’s America have all played a part in my palette.

Mike Newton is represented by The Nettie Horn Gallery 25b Vyner Street, London, E2 9DG,  http://www.nettiehorn.com info@nettiehorn.com

All images courtesy of Mike Newton/Nettie Horn Gallery, London

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