Work Comes From Work
Colour and the impression of light are two major topics of Eric Cruikshank’s monochromatic and colour gradient paintings, but they also deal with surface treatment, opacity, and translucency. It is with reduced means, that a wide spectrum of possibilities for the emotional impact of his art arises – resulting not least from impressions of nature. In conversation with Marion Eisele he speaks about his artistic work and new approaches in his second show Point of Departure at Schacky Art Advisory.
Marion Eisele: The works presented in the exhibition are Untitled. But, we spoke of Sky Paintings, when we talked about this series. Though this gives more reference than the title, it still leaves open whether they are representing a certain view from a specific place and time towards the sky or if it is the sky in general, which they depict. How important is the openness within the title?
Eric Cruikshank: I have gone through a long period where all my works have been Untitled. I selected Untitled because in terms of a title I wanted it to be completely open, where the viewer comes and experiences what they want to experience without any kind of starting point for me to lead them towards something. But having all of these works Untitled and often done in series – digitally sending and archiving images where sizes repeat – the system flags up that you already have this file and size and so forth. Actually it was in conversation with Daniel von Schacky that I realised that it was time to change this system. He had automatically started calling them Sky Paintings because that's what they relate to, but I wanted something that I could assign across my practise, so now there has been a shift, and the titles of the works will be according to the support that they're on: canvas, linen, paper and then a number. I wanted to maintain that almost anonymous and systematic process of titling the work that still allows for this kind of openness, a base platform for the viewers, where they can see what they want to see.
ME: This already describes a certain tension that is very important and interesting within your work. On the one hand, your paintings relate to and maybe even better represent nature. Yet, on the other hand, they are completely abstract. How would you describe this relationship between representation and abstraction in your paintings?
EC: I guess for me the boundary between the two is blurred. The Sky Paintings were a continuation from a previous series of panels that were usually presented in diptychs – or sometimes larger sets – where the paint was applied in flat planes of colour with a very subtle gradation of a lighter tone towards the centre. These diptychs would relate to two colours that I took from nature. For example, focussing on the sky, one panel would be blue and one panel would be orange. But, because I wasn't giving away a lot for the viewers, when they sat in front of them, they would only see flat planes of colour. They wouldn't make the connection to nature. I would explain that the work was refined base elements of the landscape, like when you look at the sky, it's just blue into orange, nothing more than simple colour. But for some viewers it was only through conversation that these associations would become a consideration in the work.
Quite often though, even after these conversations, there could still be a resistance, a block between the viewer and associations with the landscape. So, I thought, I will paint a single panel that grades blue into orange. I won't split the colour into separate components but combine them. This also included turning the axis 90 degrees, as the panels would normally sit side by side, now the colours would be set one above the other on one single plane. This opened up a different conversation, where there was a more literal sense of nature. I see these Sky Paintings as a bridge for my work, between the representational and the abstract. There also seems to be more comfort for the viewer, which I see as a very important factor, because I think that if you can get somebody comfortable, they allow themselves to be open to what they’re viewing, and it can become a more personal experience.
ME: Because your paintings are abstract, they have this kind of ability to be something which you can put yourself into, where you can achieve tranquillity and contemplative moments. It’s very similar to what one experiences looking at the sky. The image is wide open, so you can kind of loose yourself within it.
EC: Yes, I like the fact that the works are almost like a door, a door that's just slightly open, and it's up to the viewer whether they want to push through and find out what's on the other side.
ME: Are there important influences i.e. from art history for your approach, especially with regards to the tension between representation and abstraction? Is it a more conceptual understanding of painting, which you pursue, or would you describe it as rather emotional, sourcing from intuition?
EC: One of my favourite artists is Agnes Martin, but not only because of her works, which I find so powerfully emotional – the response that I feel in front of those pieces is very strong – but also in her writing, there's something from her heart that comes through when she's talking about things like beauty and perfection. Even though her works do have a kind of systematic quality – initial pages of mathematics, proportions, and precision – none of this systematic approach comes through in how she communicates about them. She loses that with the heart and soul that she put into those canvases, it holds something much more human, something both touching and affecting.
What I do, is about trying to develop more of an understanding of my own environment and trying to communicate that in colour and form. It relates to what many other artists I greatly admire do and did, especially the American Minimalist painters, a group that Martin was associated with despite her apparent push to disassociate herself as she connected more with Abstract Expressionism and the spiritual side of art that the Minimalists were potentially trying to remove. But my admiration for these artists also relates to their processes, systematic approach, and finish – the way that they broke down the barriers of how the work could be presented and completed – I feel a connection with that.
But I still think that it's important to include something of the self. It can strengthen the work. Even though I spoke about removing titles to leave the works open to the viewer and even though the viewer might not see anything of me in there, because obviously they don't know me, it's important that I still feel a little bit of myself in there, as going back to Martin, this is where her work becomes so powerful for me, as they have a real genuine emotional impact that only comes from a personal visual connection.
ME: I think this also comes from the time you spend with the paintings and the work. The patience you need to have for the process, but also choosing the colours, the contrasts. Where do these decisions come from?
EC: A lot of the work is about a memory, a memory of an emotional impact of being in nature, trying to make something out of that emotional impact and trying to hold part of the energy that comes from being in nature. I guess that's the thing, even though the work is based on my environment, it's about something more emotional and selecting colours that respond to these emotions.
There were times where I've been walking to the studio in the morning, my studios have always been in cities, and the way that I will see or engage with the sky is between buildings; the buildings frame things, amplify things, which directly feeds into what I’ll paint that day.
ME: The Scottish Highlands is where you grew up. What role does this landscape play for your paintings and the theming of light, colour, sky, and surface?
EC: Yes, now my dad, brother and nephew are working on the farm up in the Highlands where I was brought up. There, you have a big engagement with your environment, with your work and the land. There's a sense or an encouragement of looking, because as a farmer, your day starts and ends with the weather. My dad always jokes that on a sunny day, the cows are happy and well-behaved. And on the days when it's not so nice, it goes the other way. It can be a little frustrating at times, as it’s such hard work, but also extremely rewarding. I guess this encouragement to read your environment and see how things can change and try to prepare or adapt what you're doing according to the changes that are happening around you has filtered through into my work. There’s a specific feel in that part of Scotland and that feel is never far from my palette. There, you can have all four seasons in a day, it’s constantly changing, and in that change there's a fragility as well, and that fragility is beautiful.
ME: How did you become an artist originating from this landscape and environment?
EC: My mum and dad were working on the farm a lot, so my brother and I would quite often be left to entertain ourselves, as there would often be paper and pencil to hand, drawing became something we did together. My dad was a good painter when he was younger, and my mum was very musical, so a creative foundation and encouragement was there. I enjoyed that sense of trying to find something, a creative outlet. When I went to school, I naturally gravitated towards art, and despite initially looking towards architecture as a course of study, it was an open day at an art school that opened my eyes to the possibility of studying art, fully embracing this creative side and seeing it as not a side line but as a valid pursuit.
ME: And at the beginning in university, did you always work with abstraction and was it clear that you were going to go into painting?
EC: In the first year, you get the chance to try all the different departments, but I guess for me, there was something about painting. I always really loved mixing the colour. And there's something also about the studio – especially on a hot day – the smell of the oil, it just feels right, it just connects.
Regarding my work, the focus was first actually on the inside of the farm sheds and the barns where I would do very small sketches or take photographs. I could then twist them, turn them, cut them. That's where the work came from and in this shift of axis or altering the structures abstraction became the gradual means of expression. It was only in the preceding years after college that I started focussing more on the windows of the barns, this started a shift from looking inside to out, and I soon realised it was the actual light itself that was becoming the focus. Parallel to this I was travelling more. There was a very important time when I went to New York and I saw a large Ellsworth Kelly Spectrum piece. I sat for a long time, just looking at these canvases of colour, and it completely opened my eyes to the further possibility of paint and the connection between abstraction and representation.
ME: Being in front of the original work, can really give you a deeper insight or deeper jump into what painting is or can be. That's something I would say about your work too. It is very important to see them in real, because you just cannot reproduce the delicate surface. They are all about surface and the radiant colours and the light that seems to come through the layers of paint. Can you tell us a little bit about your technique?
EC: There's a very systematic approach to my practise, as I have quite a systematic nature, in applying this to certain elements of my art, it allows me to then focus on other aspects of my painting.
For the works in the upcoming exhibition I have a new series of paintings on both cotton canvas and linen. These are stretched over wooden panels. With these pieces the priming is hugely important – always applied in multiple layers – with each layer sanded to a glass like smooth finish. It's about finding a balance where the layers of primer remove the texture of the canvas but still maintain a level of absorbency for the colour to sink ever so slightly. I want a very particular finish where the oil doesn't reflect the light, I want the oil to almost absorb the light, so when you're looking at the gradients, the different colours form a visual pulse. That pulse gives the work a kind of life if you like.
The paint is applied in very thin layers, with various drying times between layers dependant on how much I want the initial layer to affect the proceeding colour. Going back to the diptychs and the example of one panel being blue and the other orange, the blue would start off as orange and then it would become blue with the subsequent layers and vice versa. This formed a connection between the colours, a relationship, especially at the edges. You have a history there, the underpainting seeps through at the edge, because at the edge the paint is just fractionally thinner.
I adopted that into the Sky Paintings where I build up subtly contrasting colours. Because of the thinness of the oil, even with the uniform finish of the various hues, there are trace elements – flickers – where the eye catches glimpses of those initial layers. When I feel that it gets to the point where the vibration I mentioned – the pulse – is gently coming through the plane, the painting is ready for the final layers, where I work the gradients of colour.
I mix all my colours that I need in a day, and these are applied in set blocks using big brushes. Once the surface has a uniform covering in oil, I then take clean brushes and start working systematically in vertical or horizontal strokes – after each directional pass – I scrape and wipe the paint out of the brush. Through these alternating passes, with the change in direction of stroke, and because of the scraping and wiping, when the brush goes back to the surface it's pretty dry, this means it starts lifting the paint off. As this process lasts for hours, in the course of the day there's an addition and subtraction, and in this addition and subtraction, the colours start to bleed into each other, the set blocks begin to diffuse. This is where another balancing point comes into the process, where the plane is worked to allow a push and pull between the various layers, which in turn heightens the colour vibration as they layers play off each other. Even though I find it difficult to maintain these balance points in the process, it’s because of the removal and the possibility of it working/not working where I find it gets interesting.
ME: Your technique is super precise and has this structure, but as you say also something very emotional. For me as a viewer, these moments at the edges that you were describing are very crucial, when we see some layers appearing, where the delicate and monochromatic gets broken up. Here the works reveals some of its internal structure. It becomes friction, but very quiet, only on the side. It's not loud. And this is probably also one of the moments where the viewers ask themselves, how it's done.
EC: Yes, here people see that it's done by hand, but still have this kind of question mark. I guess a little hook of a question because I want them to stop and actually to spend more time with the work, even if that’s initially just looking for potential answers to process but hopefully this gives way to just looking.
ME: It's very difficult to slow down and get these moments. That's why a lot of people go out into nature because they really have the desire for being in the moment just by being there and focusing on what's straight in front of you. But, it needs the openness to step out of pace.
But, to go back, just one step: In the beginning you were describing the stretching of the canvas, but this is rather new, right? The carrier is something that you started to be very experimental with in the last year or so?
EC: Yes, I always painted on board. Because the initial application of oil is quite energised and expressive, there's a real weight of application with the brush, and with that weight of application I would then bow the canvas, and even with adjustments to the strainers, sometimes it wouldn't get rid of all the ripples that would in turn cast shadows. I wanted a completely uniform meticulous surface. So, panels just really worked for me and I love wood as a material. It’s a really beautiful material. With the panels I would set up a very precise edge, using masking tape, and leave this strip of raw wood. I would have this clear line between the wall, the wood, and the surface, and this made the colour appear to almost hover.
Also, the panels had this connection with the wood coming from nature.
When I started doing the Sky Paintings initially, it was on paper, then when I tried them on the panels, it didn't seem to work the way that I wanted it to. The finish seemed to dry either satin or gloss, and I want the work to be very matt, to have that absorption of light. So, I tried working on and stretching the canvas over the panel. I still feel that I am learning. It's approaching a perfect surface on the cotton where from top to bottom it's pretty much the same. The linen is different. You have these small knots from the way that it's woven. Working the primer to get that uniform surface, it's a challenge, but it's one that I like. So, I'm looking forward to where these works will take me next.
There's a series of questions that I want to answer, and the questions can be both on a technical sense – in the construction of the panels, or painterly sense – with the selection of the colours and attempting to work these colours into each other. Orange and blue worked into each other aren't very happy because I sometimes get something entirely different with unexpected colours that I don't want on the surface to come out. So, I need to find ways. The work raises questions, technical questions, application questions, and in answering these questions more are raised. Work comes from work.
ME: Have there been other lines of development or changes within the work over the time? And, are there certain aspects you would like to develop further in the future?
EC: I moved from Edinburgh to Dundee towards the end of 2020 and it was quite interesting moving to a new studio and having a lot more space. So it's allowed me to work on a larger scale. Whereas before, the studio I had was very, very small, but I absolutely loved it.
Alongside the panels there is a new series of mixed media works on paper in the exhibition. These are built up over a long period of time, multiple layers of different mediums, where I use the translucency of the paint. They start with layers of watercolour, then I use various colours of wax crayon and coloured pencil. The final medium is an alkyd resin mixed with oil to make the oil almost become like a watercolour. A kind of circular process of stages with the mediums. Different colours are mixed with this resin and over a period of months are scraped on and off the surface using a metal blade. I guess the addition subtraction of material is a connecting element to all the different series of works that I do.
But with this series, I would have the finish perfect for about 5 seconds, after that the oil would have shifted, so I have a very little hit rate with these. I then started looking at ways of adopting acrylic mediums, pastes, which were a bit more static. When you scrape it on or scrape it off, the intent that I would have was held. It's kind of like learning to paint every single time that I do them. It's exciting and challenging, but very frustrating at the same time. When I get one to work, it is the piece that I like the most. But because of the low hit rate and the time and energy they take, they are also the pieces that frustrate me the most. It goes against that kind of discipline and control that I spoke about, as despite the discipline there’s no level of control, and the work seems to just do whatever it wants. I guess it's a conversation to be continued between me and the work, but at the moment it kind of tells me what it wants to do. There is a series of five of those in the exhibition – they are pretty small – the image size is about 24 centimeters by 20 centimeters.
I'm a fan of small works though. With Daniel, I spoke about a series of works that would specifically connect to getting this catalogue together, so I have done a series of small paintings on paper that are just called Catalogue Paintings. The paper size is the exact same size as the publication with the actual image size set within the border of the paper. There is the series of 15 of these in the exhibition. They were the most enjoyable works to do because they were so small – a real freedom and pleasure came into the series because of the scale – where I started pulling in different colours to bleed into each other that I hadn't used before. The immediacy was great as a counterbalance to the conditioned process of the other paintings.
I'm looking forward to seeing all the different series together in Dusseldorf because it's not until in the gallery where I get the chance to see how they all work together, communicate together, because they're done at different stages. Like I mentioned before, all the paintings inform each other – work comes from work – the conversation continues from one piece to another.
Marion Eisele is an art historian and curator at KAI10 I ARTHENA FOUNDATION, Düsseldorf.
Interview from the catalogue Eric Cruikshank – Point of Departure (Schacky Art, Düsseldorf, 2022).