JANE HARDY INTERVIEW

Jane Hardy

is a feature writer who has interviewed a few of the big names from Arlene Foster to Mrs Thatcher.

A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST

Colin Davidson discusses Edna O’Brien’s beauty, why he sometimes paints nudes headless – and his new role as Chancellor of his alma mater, Ulster University, with Jane Hardy.

The new Chancellor of Ulster University, wearing work dungarees and some seriously snazzy trainers (red, white and yellow, perfect for a creative), ushers us into his Crawfordsburn home. Acclaimed artist Colin Davidson, an energetic 52, who recently took over the role as alma mater from Jimmy Nesbitt, takes us into his studio. En route we pass a print of his 2016 portrait of the Queen, commissioned by Co-operation Ireland. The space is peaceful, situated in the coach house, and we’re faced with a characteristic large, noble portrait of Tim Wheeler of Ash. Davidson says he likes to work on eight portraits at the same time, moving from one commission to another to gain new angles. “It’s my most recent work and is finished,” says the artist, outlining the best view for our photographer.

Davidson says with uncut enthusiasm that he is enjoying his new role. “I am thrilled, it’s an honour and a privilege. I’ve a real aff ection for Ulster University, where I studied art under tutors such as Neil Shawcross, John McWilliams and Ralph Dobson.” The artist adds that he has already been installed in the role but is waiting for the ceremonial kit. “I’m getting a new gown and mortar board hat.”

The writer Edna O Brien is Davidson’s most recent commission. He knows her son, novelist Carlo Gebler, and the idea germinated over time. “I met Carlo when he was doing a Radio 4 interview with me. We talked about his mum’s work and I spent a while chatting to her before the plan was worked out. She agreed and I did the painting in September last year.”

Needless to say, the resulting portrait made quite a splash. It was unveiled at Claridges and is now on display at the Irish Embassy in London. The novelist spoke at the event, saying: “I felt I was being stripped but stripped in a good way that would be necessary to what would be eventually on the painting.” Davidson adds that he felt it was a real privilege to paint the woman he describes as a “true creative”. “Edna O’Brien’s life is about the creative process and I felt I needed to refl ect that in the painting.”

The artist outlines his job as our premier portrait artist as a psychological investigation of his subjects, carried out with forensic attention to detail. “It’s interesting, peeling back the facade. Vulnerability is defi nitely involved and maybe we become more vulnerable as we get older. Inside the portrait of the woman I have come to know, who is now 90, there’s a young woman, and a very beautiful one.” A country girl, you could say.

But can physical attraction present its own problems in portraiture? Davidson says that this is now how he regards his sitters. “I don’t see people in that way, as good looking or not, as old or young.”

Colin Davidson pictured alongside Queen Elizabeth II during a reception that was held for the unveilling of her portrait.

However, we both remark on Queen Elizabeth’s beautiful, penetrating blue eyes. Davidson follows protocol in not revealing any private conversation that unfurled during the two-hour sitting he was granted in Buckingham Palace. He does say that it was enjoyable. “I had met the Queen before a few times, but had never talked to her for a long period of time. Beyond the respect she commands, there is a moment you get a sense of the human being, as in any encounter between two people.”

Yet Davidson, who has now chalked up several covers of Time magazine with his portraits of Angela Merkel et al, started out in graphic design. He worked for a noted ad agency and remembers designing a series of theatre bills for The Lyric Theatre. “I had my design practice from ’93 to ’99. It’s a long time ago but I remember doing one for Oscar Wilde’s An Ideal Husband.”

While working as a commercial artist, Colin Davidson continued painting, including landscapes and naturally, portraiture. He chanced upon his trademark scaled-up portraiture when he worked on a portrait of the composer Duke Special, whose given name is Peter Wilson. “It’s about ten years ago now. I produced a larger bust because I wanted to suggest this big personality or facade Peter had built, with a look which is the antithesis of a slightly shy person. It felt right.”

“When you’re painting the face this size, there’s an element of landscape.” A modest guy, Duke Special stares down at you with mascare’d eyes, sporting his trademark long dreadlocks (despatched during lockdown). The painting graced the walls of The Lyric Theatre where Duke Special was artist in residence, but now resides in a private collection. Size matters in art, the Egyptians understood this, so too have modern political regimes who have literally wanted to big up their leaders. What Davidson, who has said he cringes at the term “portrait painter”, has achieved is a kind of nobility and grandeur, which embrace his subjects from Kenneth Branagh to Liam Neeson, Marie Jones to Seamus Heaney.

Later, Colin Davidson quotes Picasso who once remarked that all works of art are in some sense self-portraits. “I think that’s true.” Davidson’s self-portraits at different stages in his life often show a reflective expression, undercut with humour, that makes one think of Rembrandt’s similar exercises in painterly self-analysis.

We go on to discuss Davidson’s series of nudes. There is a lovely naked female, headless and painted using an earthy, sensual palette, in the corner of his studio. He recalls life classes when he was an art student. “It’s something I have done ever since I drew and painted people who were wearing clothes in art classes at Methody, and I’ve been interested in the human form ever since.” Davidson’s 2016 series of female nudes is contemporary. He has painted women hunched over, looking as if they are gripped by angst, occasionally ecstatic, reflecting the gamut of emotions attached to the human condition rather than posing in the serene yet confident manner of Manet’s Olympia.

Colin Davidson thoughtfully puts me right, indicating that this is my interpretation of his work. ”That’s your reading and the spectator completes the painting in a way,” he observes, adding: “It’s like my portraits. You can read in happiness, angst, dissatisfaction and contentment. If one painting is seen by a hundred people, they will all engage with it differently. That’s the power of art, that it can pose these questions. The human form, even without a face, gives away so much. All I’m doing in my portraits is putting a bit of paint on some cloth.” Naturally, the result is much richer than this modest account of Colin Davidson’s profession. As the late critic Kenneth Clark put it, the process of painting nudes takes “the most sensual and immediately interesting object, the human body, and puts it out of reach of time and desire”.

A few years ago Davidson tackled a very different group of people, creating an important exhibition that travelled to the United States and Europe. Colin Davidson has become an informal advocate for the 18 victims and survivors of the Troubles who were his subject for the haunting exhibition Silent Testimony which is returning to The Ulster Museum in September, six years after its first showing in that building. We were talking just after the British government was suggesting a statute of limitation should apply to British soldiers involved in some of the killings during this period. Davidson, whose family was fortunate to escape the conflict unscathed, sounds angry on behalf of the people who agreed to be sit for him. “ I think it’s obscene, to be honest.” He has noted before “While the Good Friday agreement achieved peace, in a way these people paid the price for that.”

The stories behind the paintings are harrowing, with tales of Johnnie Proctor’s father, also named John, who was shot dead in the hospital car park at Magherafelt en route to visit his new-born son. And Virtue Dixon’s daughter Ruth, killed by a bomb which caused the pub roof to collapse where she was celebrating her birthday. But there is human endurance too and many visitors who saw the exhibition last time talked about their sadness, but also the fact they remembered the sitters’ eyes.

Away from painting ¬– and Colin Davidson works office hours in his north-lit studio, blocking off time for media, one or two days a week – Mr Davidson hangs out with his wife and daughters aged 24 and 21 who live at home. “You can probably hear them outside now, we all get along very well,” he says with a smile, not naming them as they have their own lives to lead.

As we say goodbye, you can’t avoid noticing three or four sleek cars outside the property, one a Porsche. The artist obviously likes slow painting and fast cars.