Q&A

ERIC NASH

Describe your artistic development; what are the conscious or natural stylistic developments you’ve noted from your early interest in drawing to now?

JORDAN GRANT

I suppose early interest is always pretty hard to pick, I could repeat that classic line of “I’ve always drawn, always been interested” but that’s not entirely true. I used to draw fantasy figures with cartoonish muscular proportions wielding swords and casting spells, and this was normally to either kill time, or exercise small technical prowess to impress friends. I think my first inclination towards thinking of painting as an art form (and especially as something I might pursue) came when I began attending painting lessons with then-local Townsville artist Cary McAulay in early high school. He taught me how to properly consider the human form and render it in space, as well as laying down the foundations of colour theory and how to perceive and recreate light… Much later along the line there was a love affair with street art which was fostered by the incredible RUN Collective. In the year/s of living in the space and spending time with everyone at The Cot this culture preoccupied me, and my sense of aesthetics often relied heavily on the drawn line. This line remained my focus when I shifted back to the human form, and these were the kind of paintings I showed at Umbrella and Perc Tucker those years ago, with the desperately-trying-to-recreate-Egon-Schiele line work and the black or dark grey backgrounds with fleshy sepia tones.

For the first year at RMIT I played with a lot of different stuff half-heartedly as that was designed to be time to shake up your preconceptions and experiment. My ventures here tended to lack something, and I kept my regular painting practice at the core of my submissions. I kept the brown colour palette but began to at least critique my idea of the ‘expressive’ gesture. I was made to realise that my previous attempts at this notion had been totally affected, and simply mimicked aesthetic forms of the past which had actually carried meaning contextual to their time, i.e. German and Austrian Expressionism. This revelation that a replicated aesthetic is achievable but belies its own falsity, and only a painting created with freedom and a sense of informality behind each gesture can truly communicate its effect to the viewer, was my biggest hurdle in that first year. The struggle to be genuine, I suppose that’s the best way to sum it up.

In the second year, 2014, I began to properly consider colour in my work and in particular the Australian palette that the famous set of painters who preceded the modernists struggled to depict. I was obsessed with Arthur Streeton’s Spirit of the Drought because of its warm palette and violet shadows, and the (potentially problematic) allegory of the woman as a foreboding apparition. I wanted to strike at something in the heart of the Australian consciousness thematically too, or at least I thought I did, or could, or something.

At some point toward the end of that year I began to speak primarily with Peter Westwood, the head painting lecturer at RMIT. Of particular influence was a text he introduced me to called Painting Beside Itself by David Joselit, which began to influence my practice significantly. This was also the first time I was wholly engaged in a theoretical approach to painting as opposed to seeing the theory more as something which sits in line with art history. The text focuses on how painting can respond to its new position in the sphere of images we all digest daily, belonging to a system of shifting, evolving networks. Peter often proselytised Joselit’s vision of contemporary painting, encouraging a kind of partial abstraction as the best means to reflect the state of permanent flux that characterises our time, one “of unending commencements” as I recall him once saying.

The final year saw a continuation of Peter’s guidance and a continued interest in painting beyond figuration. I became interested in using cyanotype chemicals in my paintings, the same mixture once used commonly in the making of blueprints. Once the solution is applied, any of the areas of the surface which are exposed to light turn blue. Rather than try to utilise this masking aspect of it, I turned my attention to its physical properties - the way it rendered a kind of filmic effect when mixed with gesso, or how it pooled when mixed with turps and oil mediums. My end of year works focused on this rather ‘provisional’ style of painting whereby the main focus of the work is in their material and the visual effects that are created in their interactions. I considered this strategy to be an attempt at an impermanent and intentionless gesture, as not only did I not divulge a didactic meaning to the work, I myself often had little to no idea of what the outcome of the work would be.

After graduating I have been readjusting and trying to evaluate what I want to take away from the experience, hence why I am now in this position of having multiple visions for my work, and no certainty of any one direction to take them in. One thing for certain is that I have returned to an appreciation of the gestural mark in painting, and to elements of drawing within the brushstrokes.

EN

As you work through having multiple visions of your work, is coming to a singular (though not restrictive) vision or style something you actually wish to achieve?

JG

I don’t see myself aiming for an aesthetically unified practice at all. As I see it right now paintings are — to some degree — a culmination of thoughts, and a constant progression of thought exemplifies an intact sense of curiosity. Curiosity to me seems to be one of the most vital aspects of humanity, and to lose it would be pretty awful. Having said that, maybe one day I will stumble upon a visual language which absolutely resonates with me and I will change my mind, deciding to explore different avenues of content rather than form. And I suppose that’s the most honest answer I can give: My current interest lies in the form and structure of the painting as an object, and so long as this still concerns me I will for the most part forgo intentional content and visual unification.

Then there are pros and cons to both approaches...In some ways I envy the days when I did feel secure in a certain ‘style’, as it affords you a level of productivity that is hard to match, and a confidence in your own practice which is absent when you constantly question the method of communication. But I believe that the rewards that come from this constant self-doubt outweigh those that come from a resolution of content within a known framework; when you stumble upon something new even to yourself – that is pretty special. I think of artists like Gunter Christmann; forever inquisitive! And the span of his work is just incredible. I really admire that.

EN

You’ve previously produced smaller solo exhibitions, and been involved in numerous group exhibitions. How has working towards your first solo exhibition in a main space of a regional gallery affected your process over the past year?

JG

It’s been pretty daunting at times to be honest. It’s such a massive undertaking, especially when my paintings are given to very sudden changes from one to the next. I have struggled with maintaining a balance between keeping at least some small sense of continuity while also not negating the creative principles I aspire to. It would have been even more difficult had I been painting for the whole year out of my old shed in Brunswick, but I was very fortunate in being offered a residency outside the city, and the change has been so helpful it’s hard to think what I would have done without it.

EN

The Artist’s Studio is critical to the creative process. Can you describe your current space and how you think it influences your productivity? What are the ‘essential features’ of a Jordan Grant Artist Studio?

JG

My studio for the last five or so months has been generously provided by the Kyneton Residency of The Macfarlane Fund. Located above a vintage furniture store an hour north of the city, the residency is being established as a program for recent painting graduates. It’s intended to help painters live and work rent free away from the many distractions that can hinder productivity in the big smoke, and I was extremely fortunate in being offered the space just when I needed it. The building is an old 1850s general store and is loaded with charm, providing me with enough space to work on three or four paintings at once without forfeiting life things like a dining table. Another huge plus to having plenty of room is that stretching a canvas is as simple and straightforward as it can be, which saves a lot of frustration.

It’s hard to know what characteristics of my working space would be considered defining, but I know that I tend to wind up with a wide array of old tins, jars and recycled takeaway containers all over the floor, marked with pigment and turpentine, not to mention the rags. I also have a penchant for wiping off brushes on the drop sheets, so there’s a kind of cuneiform skirting the edges of the room. The most important things for me though are just a good selection of records and a bit of greenery. I listen to endless amounts of William Basinski, hence the titles in the show dedicated to his masterpieces Cascade and The Deluge. There is something comforting about the repetition of tracks like this that enables you to focus, sets a pace, and makes you feel dreamy. If there are any better preconditions for painting then I don’t know about them.

EN

How does it feel to be returning not only to Townsville, but to your former work place in Perc Tucker Regional Gallery, to present such an important exhibition in the formative years of your career?

JG

It’s been the cause for a lot of reflection for sure, I keep thinking about how if it hadn’t been for that year I spent with the team there I wouldn’t have had the confidence to apply to study in Melbourne and things would have panned out very differently. The gallery was so instrumental in my development and in that sense it feels humbling to revisit an idea of who I was and consolidate that with who I perceive myself to be now. On the other hand it also makes me feel a sense of satisfaction with where I’ve moved with my work, so it is both levelling and elevating, in that strange way that two conflicting sensations can be symbiotic.

On a side note via a slight segue, there is a painting in the show titled Aufhebung; a German word which has a few different (and ostensibly contradicting) definitions, from ‘abolish’ to ‘preserve’, and even ‘transcend’. Maybe in some slight way the feeling I have about returning to Perc Tucker is something like this word.

EN

Perhaps it is a hard factor to separate from the influences of your RMIT studies, but how do you think moving away from Townsville has shaped your practice?

JG

Absolutely, those two are so inseparable it seems impossible to try to dissect them… I got a much better grasp on the history and context of art, and especially painting, outside of the exposure I had up north. Not that your physical location should have any effect on your ability to learn about something, we all know that the internet has opened up those channels wide enough that tangible distance is basically negligible. Even still, the breadth and proliferation of events and discussions ensures a deeper engagement with your practice, and (yeah this is related almost entirely to study, but) having passionate lecturers and peers whose brains you can pick and hold discourse with is very encouraging. There can also be something liberating about a city like Melbourne that allows you to push yourself and your ambitions further than you might have in a smaller town, but again that is so closely tied to the experience I had at RMIT that I can’t be sure what I’m outlining. Ultimately, regardless of where you move the experience tends to clarify your sense of self, both previous and current. It could have been anywhere and maybe the further away the better in some ways, but Melbourne was ideal for me at the time.