Neil Douglas interviewed by Nathan Walsh January 2023
Neil, when we first met and exhibited together your work dealt exclusively with the urban landscape. Now there seems to be two distinct lines of inquiry running through your activity, one still focused on the modern city, the other devoted to natural scenery. I’d be interested to know how this shift has come about and what the practical implications are for your studio practice….
My work is very much rooted in the city, the urban landscape has been a constant source of inspiration. The 'city' isn't one distinct location – I have lived in a variety of large cities and have always been drawn to the constant rhythm and heartbeat of the space, and to the endless possibility for adventure.
The paintings of natural scenery stem from the same interaction with the urban landscape that produces the larger cityscapes. As an artist it is exciting how a city can embrace and promote a response.
In the studio each painting will inform the next in various ways, often raising questions that carry through to subsequent works. These are questions that may help me to work through compositional challenges or allow me to explore different approaches to mark making.
Is it possible to identify how you choose particular locations to paint? I’m wondering if you arrive at these locations by chance, or if you have built some familiarity with them over time?
I’m also interested in how faithful they are to a specific geography. Is your intention to present a universal response as opposed to mimicking reality, or do you have different goals?
From childhood I have had a deep love of film; there was, for me, an escapism through movies which started in my younger years but has never left me. This escapism is, I'm sure, what has fuelled my love for London and NYC. I find a strong cinematic quality inherent in both. Lately, European locations such as Copenhagen and Berlin have inspired paintings through their aesthetic.
I try not to plan too much in advance as there are so many variables that could disrupt any planning. I prefer to immerse myself in the city, to explore, and to see what makes an impact.
I'm a realist painter, so there will naturally be a kind of accuracy in the depiction of a setting. But I am more interested in capturing a sense of mood and beauty.
As the works are produced in a studio, there is a separation from that initial response to a scene. Sometimes the separation can be months or years, which also brings an element of memory into play. I find that with each year my eye is more attuned to the beauty of my surroundings.
My aim is to get to the core of that mood. This will often result in discarding elements of detail and unnecessary noise to balance the painting.
The simplifying of an image is also a natural response to how I actually view the world. I have an eye condition, Keratoconus, which affects my ability to see fine detail. What I thought would be a setback has ultimately been a blessing – the interplay of solid blocks of colour on the canvas surface is a representation of that condition.
Even in the large NYC nocturne painting, it’s evident on close inspection that you are reducing information into blocks of colour. This is unlike the pixelation of enlarged digital images because, in actuality, this is where you reveal the material qualities of the paint. This doesn’t end up looking like a pastiche of someone like Nicolas de Staël, but something rooted in firmly 2023. How important is it to you that your output is viewed as modern and contemporary?
Oil paint is a beautiful medium, and I like to work heavy. I will mix colours days or weeks in advance so that the paint has time to thicken before I apply it. I aim to bring a weight to my style of painting that reflects the hardness of the city.
I certainly want the paintings to look of their time.
As artists there is a responsibility in how we interact with influences. Influences can be very emotional, and it’s key to dissect that influence and make use of the elements that are beneficial to our own work without resorting to mimicry, be that unintentional or not.
It would be easy to paint pieces that recall past artists or eras, but I want to deal with the here and now. Practically, there are decisions that can be made in the research stages of a painting which help to avoid dating a piece – I can omit the content of NYC billboards or certain fashions of the day.
As much as I want the work to be viewed as contemporary, I guess that isn’t really something I can entirely control – the viewer will ultimately decide. It’s an interesting contradiction to try and produce something with the freshness of today using such a traditional medium.
Since I became aware of your work, I’ve always felt it had a certain cinematic quality. However back in 2008/9 it also seemed to owe a debt to photography, not in an overt sense, but in a way that is more in tune with the poetic visions of Saul Leiter and William Eggleston. This has become even more evident in the work you are making today. It seems as if you are distilling your experiences into an ever more personal visual language. Could you expand on the influence photography and photographic methodology has had on your work over the years.
I adore Leiter's work, a wonderful photographer. Also, the German photographer Michael Wolf.
Photography is a useful research tool for me. Like the influence of film, which we have discussed, I'm sure photography has helped to inform how I approach composition and the framing of a scene.
Early in my career there was a strong influence from the first generation of American photorealist painters such as Richard Estes and Ralph Goings. While the work they produced in the 70s still looks amazing today, but I don't think the spirit and originality they achieved back then translates into our digital age.
When I was working only in a photorealistic style, I became increasingly concerned about the restrictions on artistic input, feeling penned in by limitations incurred from transferring one medium into another... It felt like learning to sing but only ever singing covers.
The blossom paintings helped re-evaluate the paintings’ relationship to photography, focusing more on the physicality of the paint.
A photograph captures a split second, whereas a painting should show its history. I want the viewer to be able to see the many stages of a painting’s development on the canvas surface.
After a few years of painting blossoms and jacarandas in Brisbane, I returned to London, and again the urban landscape featured prominently in my work.
I still use photography in the research stages, but the restrictions have been lifted. The paint and my own artistic impulse dictate the direction each piece will take. Unfortunately, this means that many works never make it out of the studio, but the sense of excitement and adventure that the process of painting provides mirrors that of the initial experience I have had with the locations I paint.
A sense of wanderlust permeates the work in this current exhibition. It takes me back to some of the writers and books we’ve talked about over the years. How important are literary influences within your practice?
I wish I was a quicker reader. The pile of unread books never seems to go down.
We have spoken of my love of film, sadly growing up this meant I was a terrible student, often skipping classes to go watch movies. I remember in my early twenties reading many books I should have read at school a decade earlier and realising how I'd short-changed myself.
Literature beautifully challenges the reader to conjure up their own imagery.
Books have often been the seeds which has resulted in paintings further down the line.
I have a fondness for short story collections - Richard Yates wrote a couple of beautiful collections that I revisit regularly. When painting the larger cityscapes, such as the Metropolis pieces, I'll ponder the stories and experiences that are playing out behind the myriad of windows, as a writer does when they create characters and relationships.
The work presented here acts as an excellent summary of your interests. There is consistency of thinking throughout, but certain works for example ‘Rainy Day, NYC’ point towards more adventurous and experimental outcomes. How do you see the work evolving in the next few years?
In my art practice it’s important to keep trying to push the visual language, to continue to explore colour balances and compositions that tap into the rhythms of the city.
Looking forward I can see the natural elements crossing over increasingly into the cityscapes. Pieces such as 'Red Brick' and 'Central Park Rain' seem to be providing me with indicators of avenues that can be explored further in the future.
I will also continue to travel. Spending more time in a variety of cities has been extremely valuable to my work. Some cities are familiar, but many are new to me. I'm excited to see how these new experiences will filter through onto the canvas.
