Painting my North
My paintings look at the world through a nostalgic lens, one which is inspired and driven by both my childhood experiences and my cultural heritage as a Northerner. These abstracted worlds, inhabited by crudely drawn stick figures, are a way of looking at society through the eyes of my childhood self; Jam being the nickname I was given as a bairn.
Layers of voices are traced out over time. Nostalgic voices, full of dialect, preserve northern, regional identities. Because here we are again, politicians pontificating as they do, every four years or so, on a mystical formula for closing the North South divide. While this performance unfolds in London, we will continue to plod on out of view, silently climbing mountains for canny bags of crisps...and stubbornly hoping nothing will change.
Nee Way
Acrylic, oil pastel, pencil and gold leaf on canvas. (2024/5) 80x100cm
Landlines of the Brigantes
Acrylic and oil sticks on canvas (2025). 75x75cm
Nine panels, each a moment inspired by my experience of growing up in the 'proper' North during the 80s and 90s, expressed in colours, marks, gestures and numbers (derived from local postcodes, addresses and local dialling codes). This was a time which for many, must have felt quite 'grim up north', but for me, it was a riot of playful colour and dynamism - exciting changes were afoot - we got our first landline.*
* Our first dialling code was 0207, this was before they changed the dialling codes in 1995, when central London stole 0207 from us.
If Destroyed Even More True
Acrylic and oil pastel on canvas (2023). 80x60cm
I recall the day when CFC damage to the ozone layer first terrified me. We had an assembly on it at school and then it was talked about by grave looking experts on Newsround. So I drew a post-apocalyptic picture of what the world would look like if we did nothing to reverse it. Here I am some 40 years later, still terrified and still making pictures. IDEMT (If destroyed even more true) was an acronym used in 90s graffitti - ususally added to an amusing personalised insult. Here it is directed at climate change deniers and the ultimate fate of the Earth.
Yan Tan Tethera
Acrylic and oil pastel on board (2023).
A metaphor for motherhood, referencing a multitude of childrens folk tales and 'yan-tan-tethera' (a sheep based counting system traditionally used by shepherds and knitters in Northern England), here spelt 'tetherer' intentionally.
Waak to Walk
Acrylic and oil pastel triptych, on canvas (2023).
This is a visual nod to a Francis bacon triptych I remember being fascinated by while studying art at school. Bacon was a serious artist, he came from an upper class family and started painting while working as an interior decorator in London. He was also seriously unhappy. ...mostly however, this is a tribute to my Grandad, a working class painter and decorator who was really happy in his work. He was also incredibly Geordie and would say he was going to "waaak to walk" (walk to work), which I found really confusing and funny. One day though, he borrowed the work van and having left it unlocked, myself and couple of the kids on the estate decided to play in the back of it. It was full of vast dust-sheets used to protect carpets and furniture on decorating jobs. They were covered in splats and smears of colourful paint, they were magical! I can still picture them and have thought about them frequently while making my own paintings*.
* Since making this I have learned that my Grandad was actually a roofer, who may have borrowed a friend's van that day. I made an assumption as a small child and never questioned it or talked about it since, until I made this painting. I feel sad about that.
The Shusher Man
Acrylic and gold leaf, on canvas (2023).
There's probably a lot of phsychology going on in this. I needed some quiet, it was spontaneous - but as we know, nothing is really spontaneous in art - that dark corner, those cold blues, the rushed application and those tiny glimmers of warm pink.
In front of all that is a man, but not quite a man - he is invisible in body but outlined in gold. He glows at twilight, when the light falls through the window at a particular angle and when it does, I remember to take a breath and be quiet.
No Ball Games
Acrylic on canvas (2024).
Ever So Slightly but not Entirely
Acrylic and oil pastel on canvas (2024).
Something in Future
Acrylic on canvas (2024).
A trio of paintings, each from one of a series of semi-unconscious doodles made on a train journey between London and Darlington. There's something about my quietly persevered childhood rebellion in there, breaking small rules just for mischief and games but also to question authority in whispers, with very little confidence, hoping others with louder voices will say it for me, bigger and better....but leading to what in future? I was a child who was worried about the future - my future, the future of my parents, my friends, the environment, the world. The great unknown vast expanse of 'future' that lies before a child is beautiful and terrifying, we know the bad things lie there and we've all been brave enough to face it,
Old King Coal
Acrylic and gold leaf, on canvas (2023).
The North has a complex relationship with it’s mining history.
We’re proud of our heritage, a worldwide legacy, little blocks of black gold. Everyone worked, collieries were the team everyone supported, they were the village, the community, the home, the family. Northern coal led the industrial revolution. By 1947 it was all nationalised, the whole country prospered - beautifully synchronised socialism. All hail the NCB!
But, pay and conditions were poor - many died in service, many more died later due to lung conditions. There were limited prospects and not many got out. If you were born into a colliery village you were going to work for that colliery village till the end. Toxic black dust coated everything and stuck.
To governments, the North has since become a really difficult child. The one they never know how to please and don’t really care for or understand either. They recently ‘gifted’ the North a new coal mine….
They think we just love coal.
They think we don’t understand climate crisis.
They think we want more jobs so we want to go down the mines again.
They think we probably should be down the mines again, keep us out of trouble.
They think we don’t think.
Snow Demons
Acrylic and oil stick on canvas (2025).
Us three play in the snow, not dressed reet for the caald. Wor eyes are red from caald winds and scrubbin's. Trails of wor sledges weave patterns on the groond, picked oot by the yella sun, castin' its last for the day. Time te gan hyem for wa' tea.
Pavement Notes
Acrylic and Watercolour on paper (2023).
There is a story behind this. It surfaced whilst daubing expressive, subconscious layers of paint, wondering what they would become.
Pavement blobs of discarded chewing gum emerged: The illicit ‘Floor chutty’.
My childhood chewing-gum-denied self, looked down at that forbidden fruit. Tried to imagine how it might taste and feel in my mouth. So I peeled some off, picked out some of the grit and popped it in my mouth before anyone could stop me.
Now I don’t know how long that chutty had been previously chewed or floored, aired, rained and trodden on but I clearly remember the notes of mint that made my mouth feel cold and clean inside.
There's Treasure down There
Mixed Media on Canvas (2021)
The busby bags we got that christmas the drain cover in the middle of the patio curby and bunny hops the clash of pattern in the grandmas houses I trip and fall I break my arm but theres always treasure down there the chewing gum Im not allowed the biscuit and crisp wrappers I can never have so I pick up rocks name them and list them in a fido dido jotter build mini ponds in margerine tubs and bury dead bees in the garden.