.png)
David Lendrum: Embracing Abstract Beauty Through Nature and Innovation
David Lendrum’s art radiates a deep connection to both nature and abstract expression. From his early days of sculpting to his current works inspired by the serene landscapes of Norfolk, Lendrum has always sought to create art that speaks directly to the emotions, bypassing intellectual interpretation. In this insightful interview, the artist opens up about the pivotal experiences that shaped his creative vision, from the influence of the Bauhaus Basic Design Course to his ongoing exploration of color, texture, and form. Hinton Magazine delves into how Lendrum’s encounters with different cultures and environments continue to fuel his artistic innovation.
David, your art journey spans over five decades. Looking back, how has your understanding of art evolved from your early years at Newcastle upon Tyne University to your current practices in Norfolk?
My understanding of art has changed over the years but I have always trusted my eyes and emotions in response to it. I prefer art which communicates visually rather than intellectually and it must fill me with a sense of joy, beauty or mystery just by looking at it. It doesn’t need a story or a theory to validate it. It was the art of the Impressionists (particularly Monet and Cézanne) which first inspired me and I worked with the same subject matter (landscape, still life and portraiture) as them.
Embarking on the Foundation Course at Newcastle University, where I studied Fine Art, radically changed my approach. It was based on the Bauhaus Basic Design Course which analysed the formal elements of visual language (line, shape, tone, perspective etc.) without reference to anything seen. This encouraged my interest in Abstract Art and I started making collages which evolved into fully blown sculpture, the subject in which I took my degree. My sculptures were abstract and minimal, comprised of geometric forms. Suspense was a culmination of these concerns. The original piece was constructed in plywood, but as it could not be displayed outside, I had it manufactured in stainless steel in 2021.
After reverting to painting, I have explored different approaches to abstraction, including geometric paintings: Razzle, Dazzle, Colour Field painting: Summer Heat, Abstract Expressionism: Thoughts of Winter, Lyrical Abstraction: Space Journey, and Abstract Impressionism: Peddars Way. Please see them below.
Since my move to Norfolk eleven years ago, elements of illusion have been creeping back into my work, particularly in my Skyscapes as you can see in Skyscape IV and Cloudscape II, below.
There is a sense of ambiguity in my paintings now, and although I title them, the viewers are at liberty to interpret them as they like. There was a time when I didn’t look at nature much for inspiration as I was more concerned with formal considerations in my art - nowadays it is my main source although I transcend it so it is never a literal rendition of it. What I get from the great art of the past is a feeling of wonder, it affects my emotions, I just think, ‘I would love to have that on my wall, I could look at it for ever.’ If I could achieve that I would be happy.
Your time at St. Martins School of Art was formative. Can you share a pivotal moment or lesson from that period that significantly shaped your artistic vision?
My experience of St Martin’s School of Art in London was mixed. I was accepted on to the Post Graduate level Advanced Course in Sculpture, but when I got there, I found the tutors disapproved of my method of working. At Newcastle, I had made maquettes and models before making the final piece, but this was heavily criticised as an incorrect way of working. The pre-eminent sculptor at St Martin’s was Sir Anthony Caro and his method of welding cut and found pieces of steel together to form abstract constructed steel sculptures was largely adopted by the staff and students alike. This was alien to me and I questioned my commitment to sculpture. As some of my contemporaries started building forges and hammering soft iron into quasi organic shapes, I was daunted by the sheer physicality of it all, and I decided to revert to my first love which was painting – I had missed using paint and colour, and now seemed the right time to return to it. I had been unsure about what direction I should take, but when I saw a large monograph with reproductions of Hans Hofmann’s glorious abstract paintings (https://www.hanshofmann.org/) at a friend’s house I was converted. The bright, positive colours, rich textures and bold, confident mark making enraptured me. I was set on my path, as can be seen in my paintings: Green Flash and Bird Garden.
You’ve had the opportunity to work in various countries, from the USA to Germany. How have these diverse environments influenced your artistic style and thematic focus?
I have visited the USA on four occasions, one of which was solely devoted to producing paintings but the other three allowed me to travel across the country and visit art museums, which could also be construed as work. What struck me about Americans was their ‘can do’ philosophy and openness, but at the same time, competitiveness. They have abundant confidence, ambition and a readiness to invest in whatever it takes to achieve success and make a living from their art. Their commitment is very admirable and hopefully some of that rubbed off on me. They worked on a large scale, were prepared to take risks and weren’t afraid of failure. If something didn’t work, they just shrugged their shoulders with the attitude, ‘tomorrow’s another day’ and got on with it. Well established artists were friendly and invited me to their studios and homes which was very generous. The sheer amount of art of the highest quality, which I saw in American museums, also really inspired me.
I have travelled to Germany on many occasions for artist exchanges, exhibitions, workshops and to visit museums. Everyone has been extremely hospitable and welcoming. I have many friends there who have been very supportive and some of my works are in private collections. I have long admired many German artists (particularly the Expressionists like Emil Nolde (https://www.nolde-stiftung.de/) and Ernst Ludwig Kirchner(https://kirchnermuseum.ch/en/, https://www.bruecke-museum.de/en/sammlung/kuenstler/791/ernst-ludwig-kirchner) and being able to visit places like Murnau, where the Blue Rider group originated, inspired me profoundly and influenced my own work.
(https://www.lenbachhaus.de/en/program/exhibitions/details/the-blue-rider , https://schlossmuseum-murnau.de/ , https://www.muenter-stiftung.de/de/das-munter-haus-2/)
The Triangle Workshop in 1984 and your exchange with the painter Jürgen Meyer in Düsseldorf were significant events. How did these experiences challenge or redefine your approach to painting?
The Triangle Workshop in which I participated in 1984 was a watershed moment for me. Created by the renowned sculptor Sir Anthony Caro and Robert Loder, two years earlier, its aim was to bring together abstract artists from across the world for two weeks to share the latest ideas, techniques, processes and materials with the aim of moving abstract art forward in new directions. It took place in Upper New York State at a Country Club in Mashomack Fish and Game Preserve, Pine Plains, New York. The location was a grand house with a lake surrounded by rolling countryside. In the grounds were some capacious barns which were used as painting and sculpture studios. It was a very intensive experience with the artists (primarily from the USA, Canada and Great Britain) producing large amounts of work; included in the programme were lectures, discussions and visits from well-known artists, critics and gallery owners. The American and Canadian painters all worked with their canvas stretched on the floor and most added large amounts of various acrylic gels to their pigments to give their paintings thick textures. They applied the gels with rakes, squeegees, brooms and ink knives. The eminent visiting critic, Clement Greenberg, suggested I stop trying to balance shapes and colours in what he called ‘using European tricks’ but instead adopt a bolder, freer method of applying the paint. I tried this using a broom which gave me a more authentic and personal outcome than hitherto. The following two paintings were created on the Triangle Workshop and directly afterwards:
Left: Out of the Blue, 1984, Acrylic on canvas Right: Assisi Light, 1984, Acrylic on canvas
A few weeks later I exchanged studios with the painter Jürgen Meyer in Düsseldorf where I continued to experiment with working on the floor, using gels and painting with different ranges of colours. I returned home to London in my mini-van with a number of rolled up canvases unlike anything I had done before. It was a new beginning for me. The two paintings below were painted in Jürgen Meyer’s studio:
Left: Pink Pool, 1984, Acrylic on canvas Right: Duisburg Journey, 1984, Acrylic on canvas
The Schleswig-Holsteinisches Künstlerhaus Selk experience in 1988 was a turning point for you. Can you discuss how this residency impacted your work?
My summer residency in the Künstlerhaus, Selk, happened when I was invited to join one British and five German artists to live and paint in a former school in North Germany near the town of Schleswig. The location was idyllic - the school was surrounded by beautiful woods, lakes and moorland with footpaths everywhere. I also had my car so I could explore the whole region. One of the highlights was visiting the home and studio of Emil Nolde, the great German Expressionist at Seebüll which is very close to the Danish border (https://www.nolde-stiftung.de/). The garden, designed by Nolde and his wife Ada, was in full bloom, and inside the house was a superb permanent exhibition of his work from all periods of his life. What particularly resonated with me were his watercolours with their rich, transparent layers of intense colours which gave them a marvellous glow; I have tried to obtain these effects in some of my stained acrylic paintings. I also made some paintings using oil paint where I used thick textures to simulate those that I observed in the boggy moorland nearby, like Moorland Journey below.
Some of my fellow artists became very good friends and we are still in contact. At the end of the residency, I had an exhibition of my work in my studio, and I also took part in a group exhibition at a bank in the town of Schleswig. The following year I was invited to return and mount an exhibition at the Künstlerhaus which led to some further exhibitions in Germany. One of the pictures, which I painted in Selk, was Schleswig Rain.
One of my colleagues at Selk, the artist Annegret Soltau, recommended me for a one-man exhibition in the beautiful and historic Garden Salon of Schloss Heiligenberg near Darmstadt, which was an important event for me.
Since moving to Norfolk in 2013, you’ve drawn inspiration from the coastal landscapes. How do you feel the changing skies and seasons in Norfolk influence your work compared to your time in London?
Living, as I do now, in an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty on the north Norfolk coast has exposed me to nature in a way that didn’t happen in London - although on the rare occasions I made a trip to Richmond Park I could stand in its centre and not see a single house! The relatively low landscape in Norfolk allows for some extraordinary sky effects which are forever changing according to the weather, season or time of day. In London I spent a lot of time going to exhibitions and looking at other art, which of course is good for getting ideas, but it can all become rather second hand. I now look at my natural surroundings for my primary inspiration and there is an abundance of sources. I observe the natural phenomena around me as a starting point to develop abstract paintings - it can be the colours and textures I observe in the cliffs at Hunstanton (Waterfall), the patterns in the sand (Sandpool) and reflections on the beach at Holme (Still Waters), the colours and shapes of the wildflowers in my garden or the eerie light of a full moon along Peddars Way (Peddar Moonlight). You have to get your ideas from somewhere, and this is what I use before turning them into something more abstract. When the painting is completed, the viewer may or may not be able to recognise its source.
I like some mystery in art and a painting which does not have an obvious subject, but nevertheless is interesting to look at, appeals to me. Some of the paintings, I did in London, were rational with clear geometric shapes whereas now I prefer to use more amorphous and organic forms and effects. I have also become a bit calmer emotionally since moving to Norfolk and this is reflected in my work, like in the painting Moonlit Gold.
Your paintings often reflect an interplay of energy and tranquility. How do you balance these seemingly opposing elements in your abstract compositions?
Art reflects life and life is made up of opposites. Speaking for myself, I experience a wide gamut of emotions even in a single day, let alone months and years. As someone who loves music, I have on occasion wished to make parallels with art and music. In classical music compositions there are fast (allegro), like in Overture, and slow (adagio) movements, like in Glow, as well as many others of course. I find both types equally engaging depending on my mood and I have a need to express myself in both ways. In art there is the dichotomy of Baroque and Classical, the former full of movement and the latter quieter and more orderly. When I was painting in a style loosely influenced by Jackson Pollock (https://www.jackson-pollock.org/) and Willem de Kooning (https://www.dekooning.org/), I wanted to create a feeling of intense energy and excitement, paintings that leap at you off the canvas.
Although colour is a factor in these paintings, they are more concerned with gestural drawing. It takes a lot of physical as well as mental energy to paint them, they reflected my mood at the time and I had some exhibitions showing these works. About fifteen years ago I decided to calm everything down and focus on quieter paintings and relationships of colour. To this end I restricted myself largely to horizontals and verticals in my compositions instead of the wilder diagonals of my expressionistic paintings. I have introduced more subtle variations and harmonies of colour as well, which gives them a quieter feeling than some of my earlier ones, like in Scottish Dawn and Streaks of Gold.
Recently I have been trying to combine aspects of both of these approaches which is a new direction for me, like in Southerly Sunrise.
As a former lecturer in Visual Studies, how do you think teaching has influenced your own artistic practice and understanding of abstract art?
Teaching Visual Studies on a range of courses from Level 2 to Level 4 (Higher National Diploma) was primarily aimed at giving students the knowledge and skills to be able to draw and paint from life and to explore various techniques, media and materials. Projects were also set on themes like Geometric Shapes, (as can be seen in my painting Orange Shift, below), Music, Texture or Colour which could be readily interpreted in an abstract way. ‘Abstracting from Nature’ was another popular topic when students would take a vegetable like a red cabbage, cut it in half and create an abstract painting from the patterns, shapes and colours on the inside. I used some of these themes as a starting point for my own work. I taught many aspects of colour: optics, complementaries, contrast, mood, temperature, advancing and receding, to name a few, some of which I applied to my own paintings. Another project, ‘The Style of the Artist’ when students worked in the style of an abstract artist, invariably produced interesting results. My teaching included the History of Art and I introduced students to many key abstract artists. A memorable exhibition which I visited with them was of Wassily Kandinsky’s work at the Tate Modern Gallery in London - we all came away inspired. Thus, teaching both the practice and theories behind abstract art have given me a better understanding of it.
Your work shows a clear evolution from literal representations to a more emotional and abstract language. What sparked this transition, and how do you perceive its impact on your artistic identity?
As a very young aspiring artist, my aim was to draw and paint what I saw around me, and my subject matter comprised landscapes, seascapes, still lifes, portraits, birds, dogs and cats. The following four pictures are examples of some of these subjects.
It was such an instinctive activity for me and I derived great pleasure from doing it. During my teenage years I became more aware of Modern Art and Art Movements; I was interested in the intellectual aspect of art and why artists and groups of artists practised in the way they did. It seemed that there was an evolution going on. One movement evolved into another and so on, and the concept of the Avante Garde developed. Artists couldn’t repeat what had gone before; they had to find something new and different from even their immediate predecessors. At the same time a new rival to representational art appeared - photography - but progressive artists were already searching for new forms of expression which weren’t restricted to literal representations. The first quasi-abstract picture, called ‘The Talisman’, 1888 [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Talisman_(painting)], was painted by Paul Serusier, who was a contemporary of Paul Gaugin. Since then, many artists have explored the language of abstraction, first in Europe and following the Second World War, in the USA. It seemed to me that literal representation in art had been exhausted and that abstraction offered boundless new possibilities. I found Abstract Expressionist and Colour Field paintings very exciting. They could express pure feelings and moods in a way representational art cannot, and I believed that photography could better continue the role of representation. When I was teaching, I drew and painted from life as demonstration pieces for students as all aspiring artists should have a knowledge of visual language, but in my own work I find abstraction offers me continuous new challenges and reflects my identity better.
You’ve been involved in numerous exhibitions and online showcases. How do you view the role of exhibitions in the evolution of an artist’s career, and what significance do they hold for you personally?
Exhibitions are very important for a number of reasons. They give the public the opportunity to see your work, the chance to sell it and for critics to write about it (which further helps to make your work known). A work of art isn’t really complete until someone views it because its main aim is to be seen and communicate to an audience. I have participated in group exhibitions where we have shared the same artistic objectives and of groups or associations based on place (e.g. West Norfolk). It is satisfying to be a member of a group as there is a feeling of solidarity in putting on a show together; you can also discuss, compare and contrast your work with other members of the group. Solo exhibitions focus on a particular (usually current) body of work you have produced or they can take the form of a retrospective which looks back over a longer period. If you want to be successful it’s important to create a name for yourself and having regular exhibitions is the best way of doing that. One of the benefits for me in having exhibitions is that I can use them as a moment to pause and reflect on what I have done and decide how I want to proceed - carry on or do something different. Here you see two photos of my exhibitions at the cultural centre, The Cut, in Halesworth, Suffolk, and at the Purfleet Brasserie in King’s Lynn, Norfolk, UK, respectively.
I have found new opportunities in online exhibitions - they have created a new audience for me and this in turn has led to more offers of exhibitions.
Your artistic process involves a dynamic interplay of colors and textures. Can you describe a specific moment or technique in your process that you find particularly revelatory?
The most significant moment for me was when I started working with acrylic paint and using the technique of staining the paint directly into the canvas. Up to this point I had been using oil paint, which requires the canvas to be painted with a layer of primer before the painting process can proceed (failure to do this leads to the oil separating from the paint and over time rotting the canvas). Cotton Matting Duck is the name of the canvas I use and it comes in different weights and sizes. I buy it in the form of a roll from which I cut out pieces on which to paint. Staining diluted acrylic paint directly into the canvas gives the colours an intense glow similar to that of a printed fabric. The pigment doesn’t lie on the top as in a painting on a primed canvas but instead becomes part of the fabric, giving it a wonderful luminosity. I usually paint with the canvas stapled to the floor and pour, sponge or brush the paint on to the canvas. It is rather like painting with watercolour and further layers of transparent hues can be added. Some beautiful, unpredictable and atmospheric effects can be achieved in this way, like in Pond Mystery, below, which appeals to me. Furthermore, if I want to add texture to the painting, I can employ acrylic gels which come in a variety of thicknesses, shiny or matt. I really enjoy the flexibility that working in acrylic gives me, and another crucial factor is the speed at which it dries - it is so fast compared to oil.
How does your creative process in the studio reflect your personal experiences and emotional state at any given time?
If I have paintings on the walls of my studio, I will look at them and decide if I think anything more needs doing to them. I might be dissatisfied with the colours or the composition - in which case I will continue to work on them until I think they are right and that I can’t add anything else without completely destroying them. It’s a mixture of thought, intuition and experience. At other times I start completely afresh; on these occasions I have a rough plan in my head as to what I will do. If I am going to do a calm painting, like in Rain, below, I will need to be in that mood and likewise if it’s going to be energetic, I need to be in that state of mind when I start. As the boxer Mike Tyson said, ‘Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face’! When you paint, it’s a combination of thought and action and you cannot control everything that is happening. You have to respond to what happens during the process so the end result may be different from what you imagined when you began. Once you start you can’t go back and that is both the fascination and frustration of painting! I do get in an emotional state when I work because I have to keep the momentum going but at the same time I never quite know if the decisions I am making are the right ones. It is only at the end when I stand back and look at what I have done that I can make a judgement. Experience, of course, counts for a lot - I find myself using similar colour combinations, shapes, marks etc. I think that we all intuitively have these types of personal preferences which is like our DNA. I spend a lot of time looking at my work, trying to evaluate it and working out how I can improve it.
Your work has been compared to that of Claude Monet, Willem de Kooning, and Patrick Heron. How do you relate to these artists, and in what ways do they influence your practice?
I have seen many exhibitions by Claude Monet and his work never fails to enchant me. He loved nature and spent his life recording it in all its different guises. Light, atmosphere, colour, texture, it’s all there in his art. He tackled so many themes: haystacks, Rouen Cathedral, poplar trees, Waterloo Bridge, water lilies. It is the freshness and directness of his style, coupled with supreme painting skills, that really appeal to me. There is so much subtlety and mystery too, especially in his late work. My painting, Shimmer Bright, has affinities with some of Monet’s work.
Willem de Kooning’s work has some of the same qualities as Monet’s but of course it’s more abstract and expressionistic than his. My picture Goldfinch Delight, below, has a kinship with Willem de Kooning’s paintings of the 1970s.
I admire the boldness of his approach - he really attacks the canvas with big, broad brushstrokes. He is fearless and takes big risks in his paintings. He will cut them up, reassemble the parts and then paint over them again, just to try and get them ‘right’ in his eyes. They can appear to be wild and unconsidered but there is always a structure to them. He, too, like Monet, has a wonderful sense of light.
Patrick Heron (https://www.wikiart.org/en/patrick-heron) was a superb British abstract painter, whose Tachist and Colour Field type paintings of the 1950’s in particular, influenced me (not so much the later work with colour shapes). His simple formats, mark making and brilliant use of colour really attracted me. He visited the Fine Art Department at Newcastle University when I was a student there, giving tuition and a lecture. In this lecture, he claimed that American artists like Mark Rothko had visited his studio in St Ives and ‘used’ his ideas, which I felt was a little unfair - he was a very good artist in his own right and didn’t need to compare himself to anyone else.
As someone who embraces spontaneity and dispossession of doctrinaire approaches, how do you reconcile this with the need for discipline and structure in your work?
Spontaneity does not preclude structure and order in abstract art and they can be created in various ways. I have used geometric shapes like rectangles, spheres, triangles and trapeziums as well as grids to give structure to my paintings. Repeated elements like patterns, colours and marks can also do the same thing. Additionally, I have sometimes employed continuous or broken overlapping lines in horizontal, vertical or diagonal axes to suggest a type of structure. Some forms of structure, like shapes, are quite obvious but in recent years I have been using more concealed methods which seem more natural and organic.
Here are two paintings of open and hidden structures respectively:
There is order in some of Jackson Pollock’s wildest looking drip paintings, in his case, created by the consistent drip technique, the all-over linear pattern and the harmonious use of a limited range of colours. I have employed some of these principles in my own paintings, like in Cornfield Edge, below.
Looking ahead, what new directions or themes are you exploring in your art, and how do you envision your work evolving in the coming years?
I want to explore some completely new ranges of colours in my work and focus on more harmonious as well as discordant colour combinations as you can see in the two examples, Orange Glow and Wisteria Purple, below.
I also intend to combine elements of my calmer paintings with the more energetic ones which will mean creating new types of compositions. A return to painting in oil is also possible because it will offer new opportunities for mark making. I shall continue to look around me at the natural world as the source for imagery - I’m sure the ever-changing skies here in Norfolk will provide an endless source of inspiration! I am determined to keep painting for as long as I can because I have a need to express myself, and I still want to improve as an artist. As I get older, I find myself in a paradox: the more I know about art, the less I know about it! That really keeps me going.
I will also be allocating more time to my professional development as an artist. I have already written some articles for the online Hinton Magazine and Cultural Dose magazine and I have just recorded 22 YouTube videos about my journey as an artist, which will go out next year. I am also about to embark on a series of podcasts, and I have just begun the task of cataloguing all my works. So, I expect to be as busy next year as I have been this year!
If you want to know more about me and my art, please visit my website: https://www.davidlendrum.co.uk/
In this conversation, David Lendrum discusses the key moments that have defined his artistic journey. From his abstract sculptures to the influence of global travels, Lendrum reveals how experiences in the USA and Germany, as well as residencies and exchanges, have redefined his approach. Now deeply connected to the coastal beauty of Norfolk, he explains how the natural landscape inspires his abstract paintings, transforming colors, textures, and light into evocative visual experiences. Lendrum’s art captures a unique balance between personal emotion and the freedom of interpretation for his viewers.
Picture Credits: Portrait of the Artist, 2024: © Hinton Media, Curtis Hinton; sculpture Suspense: photo and ©: David Lendrum; all other photos: Helga Joergens, © David Lendrum
.png)
留言