Aren’t You Going to Paint Something Pretty?

Ever since I can remember, making artwork has always needed a contextual anchor for me. Oftentimes, those anchors were rooted in some kind of suffering, trauma, or difficult imagery — or at the very least, held a sense of mystery. That has been the kind of source material I would often draw from, or be moved by enough to want to work with.

Over the years, this has continually presented a visual and contextual dilemma. That dilemma has been exacerbated by the repulsion or criticism of others. If not outright criticism, then confusion, questioning, doubt — or simply ending up with artworks that did not, or would not, sell (at least not to the audiences I had at the time, and to this day, still struggle to situate).

Artists and artworks I’ve always been drawn to include the likes of Francis Bacon, Marlene Dumas, Käthe Kollwitz, and Anselm Kiefer, among many others — artists who were or are certainly not known for 'light' visual practices. As a figurative painter, I gravitate toward others who work figuratively, and who also grapple with ‘difficult’ things.

If Dumas can paint corpses and giant blue babies — images that clearly move others and certainly sell — then why should there be an issue in depicting visually dismaying subject matter? I’m not, for a moment, comparing myself to Marlene Dumas, but I do want to interrogate the question of presenting macabre subjects in painting — and the inherent value in doing so. If it is harder to sell, where does that leave the artist who wishes to pursue it?

My mother has routinely asked me over the years, “Aren’t you going to paint something pretty?” Her question is honest and not meant as criticism, but it has stirred an inner questioning that already existed in me: the challenge of creating work that soars visually, yet contains real contextual grit — something I could really sink my teeth into. But it’s more than that.

Wouldn’t it be troublesome if all artists abandoned the depiction of challenging subject matter? What tools would we be left with to understand, reflect on, or come to terms with such things? Where could we contemplate difficult subjects in calmer, quieter spaces — spaces like those art can offer?

I have struggled with this tension throughout my artistic life, mostly because it creates a complicated juxtaposition: do I make work that inspires me, or work that others might like more — and that might have a better chance of selling? And this tension is real. I was recently let go from a gallery I had worked with for ten years. While it was done quietly and without direct explanation, the sentiment shared was something akin to: the world is dark enough; people don’t want to see more of it in art. Art should be a place of colour, happiness, and escape.

This belief, I find controversial in itself. If art is merely a form of escape, where do we go to process what's actually happening in the world?

Then there’s the matter of trying to conform to others’ tastes in order to sell the artwork. I understand all too well the slippery — and usually unsuccessful — slope that awaits anyone who tries to create to satisfy others’ preferences. That path often holds a double-edged sword: not only do you end up not selling the work you tried to tailor to others (because we can never truly know what others want), but you also don’t enjoy the process, since it’s not really your taste either.

For me, the debate falls somewhere in the middle. The quest remains: above all, make work that is authentic — drawn from sources that genuinely and deeply move you — or risk creating work that holds nothing real and therefore fails to resonate.

And if the subject matter is difficult, then perhaps the real work lies in transforming that difficulty into something that is digestible. Whether through colour, texture, abstraction, or form — the artwork can hold what is real and honest, yet still possess its own quality of beauty, of resonance.

Art is nothing if not a vehicle for transformation — a space to convey something real. And since life contains both the good and the bad (to put it simply), if the “bad” is disregarded, art would become a very one-sided affair.

And what a boring art world that would be.