27 January – 18 February 2017
Notorious for his subject matter, one time YBA Marcus Harvey continues to court controversy in a new exhibition while his practice of ‘thinking with your thumbs’ proves inspirational to a young generation of painters
CLOSE FRIENDS with Damien Hirst and one of Charles Saatchi’s YBA darlings, Marcus Harvey (b1963) is probably best known for his controversial portrait of Moors murderer Myra Hindley, created from handprints taken from a plaster cast of a child’s hand and shown in the notorious Sensation exhibition, held at the Royal Academy of Art in 1997. ‘It’s what people know about me,’ says Harvey grudgingly. ‘It’s a bit of a burden.’ The painting certainly attracted attention and had to be temporarily removed after being attacked twice – by fellow artists – on the opening day, once with ink and once with eggs. Windows at Burlington House were smashed and four members of the Academy – Craigie Aitchison, Gillian Ayres, Michael Sandle and John Ward – resigned in protest at the work’s inclusion. Even Hindley herself wrote from prison requesting that the portrait be removed as it showed ‘a sole disregard not only for the emotional pain and trauma that would inevitably be experienced by the families of the Moors victims but also the families of any child victim’.
Ever contentious, Harvey has gone on to produce works that feature the likes of Margaret Thatcher, Tony Blair and Napoleon. His paintings of mountains in the context of Hitler’s Berghof now hang in leading art collector Christian Levett’s exclusive Chalet Edelweiss, which purports to be the largest and most luxurious free-standing chalet in the Alps. The Hitler reference was, however, removed, and the mountains were turned into a backdrop for the City of London.
Harvey’s exhibition at the Jerwood Gallery in Hastings, he entitled Inselaffe (Island Monkey), a derogatory German term for the English, which Harvey learnt from the head chef at a restaurant where he worked as a dishwasher some 30 years ago. ‘There was a battle of insults going on and the head chef threw out the term Inselaffe. I had always felt that, insulting a German, I had the moral high ground, and I thought “island monkey” was quite a weak comeback, but actually it was more politically insightful than it seemed. Whatever I threw at him – “Nazi” etc – didn’t touch on the thoughtfulness and wisdom of that particular insight.’ Three decades later and the insult seemed fitting as ‘a nice catch-all for an expanded Punch and Judy show’, which is how he sees the exhibition of new sculpture and painting, not so much illustrating a theme, but concerned with island identity and, fittingly for Hastings, the sea.
Harvey describes his work as dealing with ‘the national psyche’. His subjects ‘have to be old enough not just to be in the contemporary news, but embedded in the national consciousness’. He thinks of his characters as a ‘cast’ or ‘troupe’ and often they recur in different works. ‘A lot of what I do is normal human stuff. A lot is socially specific to the context of my own geography,’ he says. ‘I suppose ultimately a show of all these figures together would be a backdrop to the island. My work is not a political or social comment as such – the comment is my embracing these figures as being socially significant. Who they come together with is the comment. I don’t necessarily say this is a good person or this is a bad person.’
Being insularly focused does raise a slight barrier for international acceptance, but Harvey is clear that this is not a barrier he would want to dilute: ‘Then it would become like Starbucks,’ he says. ‘I try to make my painting relevant to my own experience of the world. I need to report back from the reality of the world.’
A lot of Harvey’s paintings use a monochrome palette. ‘It simplifies things,’ he explains. ‘I like colour, but a colour palette is more complex. What I do is something to do with journalism, something to do with photography. Black and white aligns itself to history and seriousness. I use it as a Richter/Kiefer type thing. It’s to do with the past. When it’s to do with the present, colour sneaks in. When I think of the future, I think in colour, strangely.’ His works often begin with digital drawings and he has also recently been working more with sculpture and ceramics, but painting remains the ‘main thing’: ‘I don’t feel the need to define painting. It's flat. It’s got stuff on it. That stuff can grow into the real world. I have my political subject matter and my project as a painter, which involves the development of the language of painting out from the norm. It’s very hard to define what it is. Kiefer would stick an aeroplane on the wall and call it a painting and you couldn’t really disagree with him. Mine are more modulated – mainly stuff that I move around with my hands. It’s a primal urge.
‘Making a painting is a description of something three-dimensional that starts talking about becoming three-dimensional. It’s to do with the cerebral and the animal: making a painting would be more cerebral, because it’s descriptive, whereas sculpture would be more animal. My initial idea is always a visual one. I draw it, I see it, I think about it for years. It’s never a case of “This means that and this means the other”, it’s always something you see. The meaning is important but it’s not the front of the idea – it’s not language. Even with writing, the logic and the language should be the last thing. Even when you’re using words, the idea should come without necessarily being understood.’
As well as maintaining his own studio, Harvey – along with fellow painter Peter Ashton Jones – is behind Turps Banana, a project set up in 2005, which now embraces a magazine, a gallery and an art school. The magazine is published twice a year, with full-colour reproductions
and a commitment to no advertising. Described by Harvey as ‘a bulwark against the market’, it contains writing about painting – by painters. ‘A professional writer is a professional writer,’ explains Harvey of this decision. ‘He will have certain things he needs to pull out for a story. A painter really will just be talking about the painting. It’s the niche experience. They’re defended by the palette. They’re defended by the priesthood of painting. They are able to tell the truth and be respected for it because there’s no pain. They don’t have to be balanced. I balance the voices in the magazine, so they don’t have to take that upon themselves. You don’t get a political voice, which is what happens everywhere else and filters out people’s real thoughts. Journalists are worried about getting a bollocking from their editor for saying this or not saying that. Always money is at stake.’
Last year the Turps project received some Arts Council funding. The school is fee-paying. Otherwise, money is raised by ‘going down on bended knee and asking painters for paintings to auction’. The school has been heralded by critic Jonathan Jones as an alternative model for arts education and, in Harvey’s eyes, it is ‘all about building the painter’s mind. It’s about wanting to develop your voice and arrive at that point of confidence’. A stu- dio-based practice approach is central to the school – it is a place where students can paint and not be distracted by other media. It also offers a correspondence course, whereby mentees upload their work and mentors write a 1000-word review five times a year. Both courses are proving popular, despite the lack of qualifi- cation received at the end, and the num- bers involved are rising. The gallery is a platform for students and artists whom
Harvey feels ought to have a degree of commercial recognition. It also hosts an open call twice a year, free of charge.
All in all, Harvey is a busy man. So, what drives him? ‘Being a dad, being a man. It doesn’t come for free – you have to fight for this shit, seriously, it’s quite hard. I’m looking for some sense of guidance – a fundamental truth or idea that’s not just something that arrives from the market.’
