In his remarkable paintings, Wormwood Stubbs examines universal inevitabilities: loss, loneliness, the need for connection. His work is moving but with an edge of dark sharp humor, warm, but with an edge of misery. Memories and dreams are all mixed up with beautiful form and color, combining a bit of hope and a bit of despair. We were so grateful for a chance to ask him a few questions about his work.

Magpies: There’s a strong sense of loss in your work. Loss is an inevitable part of being alive, part of everybody’s life, but it sometimes feels that we don’t have a way to talk about it. But you’ve found a way with your paintings, which have such grace and honesty. It feels therapeutic for the viewer to see them, and I wonder if it’s that way for you to paint them. If the process gives you solace or is cathartic in any way. 

Wormwood: Firstly, I really appreciate that you see my paintings as being honest. That’s really important.  They’re painted for a reason and there is no hiding place from the feelings, emotions and vulnerabilities that they portray. As a private, and somewhat reclusive person, I would find it extremely difficult to express these emotions in any other way than by means of painting, so for them to be seen as honest and authentic is vital.  

Loss was the starting point. My wonderful wife Lisa died suddenly at just 50 years old. My whole world imploded. I was completely lost and traumatised. I couldn’t see any point to my life without her. It took a little while but, despite the shock, I had an overwhelming desire to try and paint what I was feeling. I discussed it with my kids and also Lisa’s mum and dad. I didn’t want to be adding even more misery on them. With their blessing I set about not only painting my grief but also my love for Lisa. 

I had no commercial aims and never thought anyone would be interested in buying paintings with such a melancholic theme. I was just painting for me as a way of expressing my grief and this certainly proved a cathartic experience. It was a way of getting it all out of my system. Some paintings were difficult and upsetting to do but I believe that this was outweighed by the benefit to me of actually doing them. 

I started putting the paintings on Twitter but I was a bit concerned that it may seem like I was wallowing in self-pity. I wasn’t looking for sympathy, I was just painting my emotions as honestly as I could. I didn’t know if people would see it that way but decided to go ahead knowing I could always delete them if necessary. 

It soon became clear that the paintings seemed to resonate with others on a human and emotional level. People understood what I was trying to say. I can’t tell you how much that meant to me. Something I’d never really considered was the fact that the paintings would speak to people who had been through similar experiences. The realisation of this for me was quite profound, despite being blindingly obvious. Many people have experienced loss and grief in their life. If they haven’t, then they will do. It’s an absolute certainty that affects everyone. 

Inadvertently, my paintings had opened up a dialogue through Twitter. People began talking about their own experiences of loss and what the paintings meant to them. People saying that the paintings were a help, or a comfort, or just a recognition of how they were feeling. It was at this point that I realised that these paintings weren’t just about me. They were about everyone.  The viewer could create their own narrative. The story was theirs. I kept this fact very much in mind as I continued with this series of paintings. 

Without doubt, the most profound, and somewhat surreal, example of opening up such dialogue came when I was contacted by the chair of 10^th grade English at a high school in Canada to say that their teaching schedule now included a Wormwood Stubbs lesson. What? This is a joke right? No. She sent me a copy of the teaching schedule. They were using my paintings as a pathway into letting their students interpret what the paintings said to them and therefore opening up discussions around the difficult and sensitive subject of loss and bereavement. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. No matter what happens in the future I feel that this is something of which I can allow myself a modicum of pride.  

Despite me never considering the paintings along commercial lines Panter & Hall gallery in  London expressed an interest in taking a few to see if there was any interest. I think they had six paintings to begin with. Unbelievably they all sold within a month-or-so. I’m extremely fortunate that this has led to many more sales and I can’t thank Tiffany and Matthew at Panter & Hall enough for taking a chance on me. To be represented by such a prestigious gallery is way beyond any expectations I may have had. 

Similar vein of questioning: In looking at your paintings I feel that the central figure has companionship in his loss. I’m a big fan of magpies and nursery rhymes, so before I’d even read the title of Acceptance of Sorrow, I made that connection. But the magpie (sorrow itself?) and the dogs  (and your wife and your memories) all seem to be a sustaining force. Painful, maybe, but comforting in the original sense of the word – giving strength. Can you talk a bit about these figures in your work – the dogs and the birds. 

The central figure (I call him ‘Sad Bloke’) always has his dog with him. If you’re a dog person then you don’t need me to tell you what wonderful, loving companions they are. Sad Bloke certainly appreciates this. Him and his dog are pretty much inseparable. It gives him a relationship. A  reason to continue. This mirrors the relationship and wonderful companionship I had with my own dog after Lisa died. I think the only exception to this was in the painting ‘Close To The Edge’.  There is no dog in this painting. It depicts Sad Bloke sat on his motorbike and sidecar on the top  of a huge cliff. There is no way he’d have taken his dog into such a precarious situation where the implied outcome is unthinkable. I can still remember the concern from my gallery that this could signal the end of the series. Thankfully he turned his bike around a went home to his dog. 

The dog has changed somewhat over the course of many paintings. Originally he was just a plain black dog of undetermined breed. Black Dog is a metaphor for depression, something with which, I think it’s safe to say, Sad Bloke is inflicted. The dog’s appearance changed slightly after  my own dog passed away a couple of years back. I gave the dog a white muzzle, chest and paws as a tribute to my wonderful companion Mungo. In a quirk of fate, it was whilst I was painting  ‘Birthday Tea’, which depicts Sad Bloke laying on a birthday tea for his dog’s 13th birthday, that my own dog passed away. I think I must have sensed it coming. The painting was only half done and I didn’t think I could finish it such was the pain of losing him. It was my kids who persuaded me to finish it as a tribute to our Mungo. I’m glad they did.  

The magpie has featured quite a lot. Of course, ‘one for sorrow’ is pretty much understood by all.  For this reason I was concerned that it was in fact a bit of a cliché. It was however the perfect way to represent sorrow and, because I love birds and have magpies visit my garden daily, I decided  to go with it. I’m glad I did now because the magpie became the focal point of the painting  ‘Acceptance of Sorrow’. This particular painting also represented what I believe was a landmark in my own journey trudging the extremely long path sign-posted grief. After many years I had at last began to accept my own sorrow. I know it’ll never go completely, but it’s now manageable. 

Speaking of memories, I’m fascinated by the paintings with boys in them. As the mother of two boys I feel such concern for the subjects of your paintings. For their loneliness, the black eye, the slingshot, sword, box of matches. What are some of the ideas behind the paintings? Do they  function as a series, or maybe several series? Are they inspired by memories of your own childhood? 

The ‘boy’ paintings are another series in which I just needed to get things out of my system.  Another cathartic journey I suppose. Once again it’s a theme that’s not just about me. Having said that, I was well aware that this was entering a territory that not so many (hopefully) have experienced. 

My mother took my younger sister and left when I was about 4 years old. I was left with my father. Whether this led to him being a drunken bully I don’t know, but this is the backdrop to the ‘boy’  paintings. They’re about isolation and feeling trapped, with a big dose of fear thrown in for good measure. I only wish that I’d have painted them before my mother committed suicide and my father died in recent years. I’d have liked them to have seen the paintings of what they caused.  I’m glad I painted them, but they’re done now. Time to move on. 

Which leads quite neatly onto the new series of paintings I’m currently working on called ‘Dog  Boy’. The story for this series originates from a lad at the school I went to. He was unmercifully bullied. He literally had no friends. Outside of school he’d only ever be seen walking his dog. His  only friend. He was even harangued for this. They called him Dog Boy. I decided that it might be nice to give Dog Boy a voice and just express through him the loneliness, isolation and sadness that this sort of behaviour causes. I’ve not quite worked out how to do it yet, but I’d also maybe like to show a glimmer of hope for him. I don’t know what ever happened to him, but I hope that the scars didn’t run so deep as to ruin his later life.  

I do sometimes wish that I could just be happy painting a nice landscape, or a vase of flowers.  Unfortunately, for me, there would be no satisfaction derived from painting such things. Don’t get me wrong, I fully appreciate such paintings and the work of far superior artists to me, but I  just have an overwhelming desire to paint pictures with narrative and meaning. Something that  invites questions and hopefully connects on an emotional level with the viewer.  

You speak of people finding narrative in your work, and I wonder to what extent you’re telling a story, or if you’re maybe just presenting frames of a narrative for people to connect in whatever way they might. 

I’ve already touched on this, but definitely both. The story in my head is the spark. This gives me something to work with and hopefully develop. I like to know that I can potentially create a series of paintings rather than just a one-off picture. This gives me more of a chance to connect with the viewer and, in turn, they might just be able to create their own story should they wish.  Having said that, people may not see the whole series so each individual painting must be able to stand on its own. 

One of my favourite examples of someone creating their own narrative, and definitely the moment when the penny dropped for me that this was happening, was with my painting ‘The  Anniversary Drink’. It depicts ‘Sad Bloke’ sat at a table in a bar. Glass of Guinness in front of him.  Glass of red wine also on the table. The chair opposite is empty though, apart from a bunch of flowers. The dog has a bowl of water on the floor. So, it’s an anniversary drink all round but one  person is missing. 

I was contacted by someone wanting to buy the painting, but it had already sold. The reason they wanted it was because their grandfather had recently died and it was always their ritual to go to the local pub on a Sunday for a couple of pints of Guinness. So simple, but so relatable  when the narrative becomes your own.  

I read that you worked as a sign painter, and I found myself thinking about this in the way that signs are symbols. So I wonder about the patterns in your work (floor tiles, hourglass in the wallpaper,  etc), and how they’re reflected in the games the boys are playing. And the games themselves. And other small details – the broken record, the kitchen sink. Do you think of your paintings in terms of symbols or metaphors or are these just things that belong in the image as you envision the painting? 

Painting signs is a good discipline in communication. Likewise the use of symbols and metaphors in paintings. I’m no expert in the symbolism used by the classic, revered artists but I  did realise that I could create my own ‘language’ with the use of symbols, recurring images and metaphors within my paintings. I don’t always make them obvious. There are many paintings containing symbols or references that the viewer would never really notice. I quite like that. I  know they are there but it’s not actually essential for the viewer to see them. I suppose a good example of this is that, in quite a few of my ‘Sad Bloke’ paintings that depict a bench, a wooden fence or a tree, I’ve often painted a very small ‘L’ for Lisa inside a heart as though it is carved into the wood. Similarly with the some of chequered floor patterns. Some of the tiles may be a slightly different colour to make an ‘L’ for Lisa. Irrelevant to the viewer but important to me. 

I do enjoy painting a patterned tiled floor or a patterned wallpaper. I just find it more visually interesting than a plain, single-coloured carpet or such like. Having said that, I’m currently  enjoying painting plain, single-coloured walls within a room setting. I think they somehow project the main focal-point images to the foreground. The actual chequered patterns simply came about because, for some strange reason, I vividly remember the chequered tiled floor in my grandmother’s kitchen. There’s no other reason than that really. 

The same applies to the furniture and fixtures and fittings I’ve used in a lot of my room settings.  It often tends to be furniture or items that I remember when I was a young lad. From a painting point-of-view I think these things have character and they have certainly created an interaction with viewers who also remember such things. 

I’ve used the hourglass symbols in my ‘Sad Bloke’ paintings quite a few times. Sometimes as an actual hourglass and sometimes as part of a wallpaper or tile pattern (so pleased you noticed). In most cases the ‘sands of time’ in the hourglass are about to run out. I use this to reinforce the loss that ‘Sad Bloke’ is feeling, but also as a sort of reminder to the viewer that time is indeed running out so they should cherish every moment with their loved ones. 

The games and toys I depict are things that I either held dear, or wished that I had, when I was a lad. They were a form of escape and I loved the graphics. They still hold good memories for me and I really enjoyed using them as part of the narrative in some of my paintings. Particulary pleasing were the games that I could use symbolically as part of the story. My painting depicting the game Mousetrap for example. The painting itself is called ‘Trapped’ and shows ‘Boy’ sitting at a table with the game set-up. ‘Boy’ is looking at a bird in a birdcage to his left. In the background there is no handle on the door. Everything reinforces the fact that ‘Boy’ feels trapped. 

The other symbolic use of a game that springs to mind is my depiction of Cluedo in the painting  ‘…With the Candlestick in the Kitchen’. I’m not going to explain that one. I think all the necessary information is in the painting for the viewer to understand the story. Maybe payback for stamping on my record and breaking it. 

Despite all the sorrow in your work, I find something joyful about it. Maybe in your description of your painting process, which feels almost like playing. Or in the subtle humor that lightens things,  but with such an edge to it. Or just in the fact that you do paint, that you need to paint and want to paint. Do you have an idea of light and darkness in the mood of your work? 

I’m really pleased that you say that. As I alluded to earlier, my biggest concern about painting the sort of pictures I do was that I would be seen as some kind of doom and gloom merchant who was wallowing in self-pity and looking for sympathy. That couldn’t be further than the truth.  Adding touches of humour into some of my paintings is something I enjoy immensely. I have got a somewhat dark sense of humour but I really do enjoy things that make me laugh. I don’t need  too much of an excuse to add something that amuses me into a painting. 

I very much like your observation with regards my painting process. I’ve never really considered  it before but, I think you’re right, it is like playing. I’m still a big kid at heart and my painting style actually developed from me messing around and trying out different things. I just wanted to  create as unique a voice and style for myself as possible. 

My painting process always starts the same way. I prepare a panel and paint it black (as approved by The Rolling Stones). I then begin painting the image just using palette knives and heavy-body paint to create an impasto finish. Once I’m happy with the image and composition  I’ll start refining things with brushes. Working from dark to light I build up the opaque layers and start adding effects. When I’m happy with that I’ll add several transparent layers to bring the whole things to life. As an untrained artist I’m probably doing it all wrong, but it works for me.  

I wanted to go to art college when I was young, but I left school with no qualifications which put an end to that desire. Looking back now I think it may have worked in my favour. I’ve never been taught the rights and wrongs of being a proper painter. I don’t know all the rules, therefore I can do what I want without anyone with more knowledge telling me that I’m doing it wrong. I like to  mess around with geometry and perspective because I like the way it looks. Some of my paintings are more ‘correct’ and conform more to the norm, but over time I’ve come to accept that painting in a more naive style is where I’m happiest. I’m a naive painter (I never call myself an artist, that’s for proper painters) and I love the freedom that affords me. 

I do need to paint. I literally need to paint. It gets me out of bed every morning and I’m still painting in my head before I go to sleep at night. I just love everything about it. From initial idea,  to scribbled sketch, to finished piece of work, the creative process is a powerful drug. Not to  mention the fact that it’s kept me (relatively) sane over the last few years.

The actual kitchen sink in your work, as well as the alleys, the policemen, all remind me of the kitchen sink school of film and painting – probably not an accident. So what are the films, books,  paintings that inspire you? What do you listen to while you paint? 

I can certainly see why you would say that. Ordinary folk, living ordinary lives, surrounded by a whole gamut of ordinary things. Including the kitchen sink. To me that is real life. It was, and to a certain extent still is, my reality. It’s something of which I’m proud. 

I’ve never been one for films really. I don’t seem to have the attention span for them. Ironic seeing as I can spend up to 8 hours a day painting. The one huge exception to this, and something that has been part of my life since I was a lad is the film ‘Kes’ which was adapted from the novel ‘A Kestrel for a Knave’ by Barry Hines. This was the first ‘proper’ book that I ever read.  The film ‘Kes’ spoke to me like nothing I’d seen before or indeed since. I still watch it a couple of times a year. For me, on an emotional and relatable level, nothing comes close to this film. 

As for painters that inspire me, there are so many. Carel Weight, Gerard Dillon, Joan Eardley,  Amedeo Modigliani, Lucian Freud, L.S. Lowry, Simon Quadrat, the list goes on. Such wonderful and inspirational artists. 

Music is nearly as important to me as painting. In fact, I find it very difficult to paint without music. My first decision every morning is to decide what music I want to play. I won’t start painting until that decision has been made. 

Sometimes I want music to match my mood, sometimes to match the theme of the painting I’m working on and sometimes just because I want to listen to a certain band. I’ve got an extremely wide and varied taste in music. Rock, electronic, reggae, punk, new wave, ska, 60s, 70s, 80s,  The Stones, Dylan, Lou Reed, Pink Floyd, you name it, there’s something that I’ll like. 

I suppose if I really had to analyse what I listen to most whilst painting it would be The Cure,  Radiohead, Thom Yorke, Massive Attack and Portishead. To my mind these artists all produce superbly constructed, intelligent music. Well-crafted songs that make you think. Songs that have an emotional pull. For me, whether it be music, film, literature, poetry or art, that emotional connection is so important. 

ABOUT

“Back in the 1970’s my childhood was mainly spent squirreled away in my bedroom drawing the various characters who inhabited my comics. My desire to go to art college was firmly curtailed by the fact that I left school with a rebellious streak and zero qualifications. It’s not big and it’s not clever but school and I just didn’t get on. It was all a bit like Kes… but without the kestrel.

In the early 1980’s I bought myself a copy of ‘Sign work – A Craftsman’s Manual’ by Bill Stewart and proceeded to teach myself sign writing. After spending a while honing my craft I began a new chapter in my life as a sign writer and muralist. Unfortunately, all good things come to end and, with the onset of computerized vinyl lettering, the days of the traditional sign writer were numbered.

Fast forward many years and, although still occasionally feeding the urge to create art, I now had more important things to feed, namely children. I embarked upon a new business venture with my wife. After years of serious graft things were looking ok.
Naturally the fickle hand of fate is always ready to give you a good clout when you least expect it and so it did when my wife died suddenly at just 50 years old. 

No need to dwell on the devastation that this caused but, suffice to say, it was during this time that I decided life was indeed too short and I was going to spend the rest of my days doing what I loved, namely painting. I sold my business, set-up a studio at home and shut the door on the rest of the world.

Paint, eat, sleep, repeat became my life.

My early work was very much a throwback to my sign writing days with paintings in a pop art style and containing graphic elements and carefully crafted lettering. This eventually gave way to the style we now see as I freed myself from the regimentation of sign writing into art that was far looser and less reliant on perfection and straight lines and precise perspective. I have a great admiration for many artists and in particular the works of Carel Weight, Joan Eardley, Gerard Dillon and Simon Quadrat to name but a few. Such wonderful and inspirational artists.

The most important thing for me as a painter is to try and create work with real narrative and meaning.  Paintings that connect with the viewer on an emotional level.” – Wormwood Stubbs

See more of Wormwood Stubbs’ work at wormwoodstubbs.com on. See his work on Instagram @wormwoodstubbs, and on Twitter @WormwoodStubbs. If you’d like to contact Wormwood Stubbs please email – wormwood.stubbs@gmail.com