It was definitely a pivotal moment of crisis and re-evaluation. I had a sense of tremendous disappointment in what I was doing, a sense of inadequacy and failure—that the work wasn’t good, that it was one bad painting on top of another. So I destroyed all the paintings I had made. This wasn’t a conceptual thing; it was because I thought they were shit. Training to be a signwriter wasn’t about changing my direction as an artist; it just struck me as a way that I could maybe make some money. I was good with a paint brush, I love lettering and I’d done a lot of design work for posters over the years. But something happened in the process of learning [signwriting] and it was to do with the delivery of the material. Painters express themselves, whereas a signwriter wants the delivery to be invisible. The artist’s personal touch is such a big facet of modern painting, and signwriting freed me from that because it is just the paint on the thing; it doesn’t pretend to be something else. Any symbolic aspect had been emptied out. It drew me to the language of graphics, and I could go to the studio with just the idea. When I open a can of paint, I just love how it looks; I almost want to drink it.
"When I open a can of paint, I just love how it looks; I almost want to drink it." — British artist Richard Wright on training to become a signwriter.
From the Art Newspaper (@theartnewspaper@bsky.social) interview here […]
[Original post on typo.social]