ANDREW LITTEN
THE HUMAN SHADOW (THE ANIMAL SMILE)

Building upon his last exhibition ‘Concerning The Fragile’ which was created prior to lockdown with particular focus towards the theme of human vulnerability; this exhibition arguably embodies wider ranging subject matter, further tonality and encourages broader complex and often contradictory emotive readings of human identity, hope, loss, disturbance and transience.

This selection of works, continues the artists exploration of existential human solitude through our innate capacity and desire to connect with, and also disconnect from, others and the world that we inhabit. As the exhibition title alludes, ‘The Human Shadow’ reflects upon territory that Litten is unafraid to explore; of a hidden or suppressed, perhaps darker or troubled element of human nature. However, notably ‘The Animal Smile’ refers to a deep rooted desire or absolute need to connect with nature in order to bring peace and balance to the psyche and healing through connection with the wider world, extending beyond the human. However, even this clear and relatively simple notion or objective becomes emotionally ambiguous as the anthropomorphic suggestion of an ‘animal smile’, suggests potential of a discordant empathetic reading that may speak more of continued disconnect than of union. Yet this is not the point - without whitewashing a modicum of pessimism, the exuding hope radiating within this body of work is sited in the recognition of a real desire to entwine with something ‘other’ beyond ’self’, no matter how difficult the achievement may be, it is this ‘desire’ that offers a bridge to something fuller. Litten addresses such contradictions without giving much away when he says “I think the art in this show has lots of little narratives to interpret.” As ever, with Andrew Litten, it is not about clearing up the confusion, but learning to live with it. The wider message, I think one of love, becomes greater than the sum of its parts.


Joseph Clarke, 2023

LC: Could you expand on your idea of the studio as a ‘big sketchbook’ where you surround yourself with unfinished paintings, drawings, and other artists’ work?

AL: Yes, I like the idea that my studio is a big sketchbook that I can move around in. It’s fun but serious. It’s the idea of being consumed by creativity. I am engaging mentally and physically; the representations are often life-size, so it becomes behavioural, too, as I am aware of my own body in relation to the work. I want the art I make to be charged with a current of connectivity and feel alive, like a mass of raw nerves.

LC: How would you define your approach to representing the human body? You are very much a figurative artist.

AL: My approach to the human body is to make the representation read emotionally. It is important that descriptive information is present, but without slowing the reading or jolting the flow of engagement. I suppose this sounds simple, but it takes time to work through a lot of visual information. Depth of emotion comes through consideration and reassessment of life experiences. To be properly visually emotive you have to take risks and be articulate embracing change. For me, the figure can radically change position or shape as the work evolves. I have to go with it and support the changes compositionally and anatomically. I think this is important if you want to really represent something in a tangible convincing way that is not just stylistic. The face is an essential element for me. We all intuitively read people’s faces to understand their thinking and essentially, we go for the eyes and mouth.I love the fact that the human body is the most powerful timeless model of expression and I enjoy the process of trying to find my own way within a genre that has historical weight behind it.

LC: I think coping with instability is part of wanting to feel alive, which I sense is significant in your practice. It’s refreshing to see an artist examine the human condition so intimately in the digital age. Do you believe that your art mirrors yourself at times?

AL: I hate it when people assume all my work is just about me! I know you weren’t absolutely meaning that though. I have just started my first large scale self-portrait, but I don’t generally want to just put myself at the centre of my creativity. I want to look outwards for widest emotive range and connections. The subjects are mainly based on people I know, so ideas are developed with their thoughts or stories as well as my own perceptions. I love the stress this can put on art to mediate multi perceptions and conflicting input. I am there mirrored too; I suppose, but I think the reaching out is vital. I really like the idea that art can carry an energy of the longing to connect.

LC: What are your habits? Do you have a daily routine?

AL: I don’t think so. My studio is at home, so I pick up the creativity without effort. A predetermined technical approach bores me quickly; if I decide to do one thing, I usually start to see equal worth in doing the opposite. With this attitude, the subject becomes the driving force. I have no habits or routines in the studio. It’s best for me that its all pure exploratory creativity.

I unsually work fast, but can sometimes take years to get them right and usually with dramatic changes as they are brought to life. As a figurative artist, I think the aim is to trick the mind into meaningful recognition. There is a huge difference between simply reading an image of something, as opposed to feeling engaged on a deeper sensory level when the mind properly connects. The artwork should be the focus of intensified activity where the fields of reference have been widened. It involves a high level of engagement for me. My works on paper are quicker which often offers a way into new ideas.

My attitude is to engage in an unguarded way. Luckily, I am able to focus for long periods of time and I work the materials until it feels right - even if the results look wrong and unexpected, it must feel right. Its all very precarious and feels a bit mind bending at times.

LC : Who are your biggest influences?

AL: Well, life piles on experiences and influences. The young teenage me was very drawn to the gritty rigorous ethic of the School of London painters. It was meaningful and I loved the utter dedication of those artists to their life’s work. I realised age 16 that I could get from Aylesbury to Marylebone and visit Marlborough Fine Art easily. I became a bit obsessed with that gallery which at that time had solo shows of Auerbach after Rego after Bacon after Freud. I suppose it was also significant because as a teenager my mind was young and I was discovering important work in the flesh, which set me up to value an intimate one to one connection with art.Then when I was 20, I spent a lot of time around Leicester area. The Leicester Museum collection of German Expressionist prints was extraordinary. The emotive articulacy and directness of those expressionist prints was a significant influence on what I wanted with my early work.

I now think I would find it impossible to clearly say who my art influences are. There is so much historically. In terms of contemporary artist’s I tend to gravitate towards female art as it is typically more emotionally honest - Tracey Emin and Jenny Saville for instance. Louise Bourgeois is so important, and she reminds us that the artwork should always be more interesting than anything the artist says, and the art should be more complex in spirit, and physically diverse, than any one exhibition can contain. I love that feeling – that with a great artist - there is always more to be extract and interpreted. Van Gough is always interesting because no one can quite work him out. Confusion is interesting. Matisse impresses me because he could only be a kind person to have created the work he did. I say that because I’ve been recently thinking about a purity in art, so this occurred to me with Matisse and really moved me. So, overall, my art influences are all over the place and changeable.

There are so many things that can spark an idea. It might be a film sequence, book or newspaper article that gives inspiration. Sometimes a conversation. It’s absolutely bizarre how regularly the spark that is needed just appears in an unexpected way.

LC: You have repeatedly depicted dogs in your paintings which often appear calm or irate alongside male figures. When did you start using this motif?

AL: I started depicting animals in my very early work and they became part of the domestic humble aesthetic I was wanting. I also used to include taxidermy animal parts of birds in assemblages and had a lot of fun with that.

When I later switched to life size figuration around 2010, the increase in intensity of my engagement was significant, physically, and psychologically. The animal references, I think, exist as an extension of the figurative identity, like a smaller compartmentalised state that co-exist with a different energy. It’s fascinating how animals use their senses in a different way to us, and I sometimes try to creatively suggest this swich in interpretation - like an alternative sensory stimulus to embody. I can’t particularly explain what I mean, now that I am trying to put it into words, but when I am creating, I can feel it, and it makes sense why the animals need to be there.

Art has often represented animals to convey the natural world with a respect between humanity and nature. I think the line between us and animals is perhaps more in our imagination that we pretend. I also like the idea of using animal references in my art to represent wider anxieties of the uncomfortable animal instincts within us - group behaviour - wild freedom- only being partly civilised. In this way, animals are good for us to think with in art.

LC: That’s a good way of putting it: animals as an extension of the figurative identity and a way to engage with art. Someone, I can’t quite remember whom, described Francis Bacon’s dog paintings as ‘the anguish of contemporary life’, which seems to resonate now, post-COVID. Looking at your animal works, I am reminded also of mythological hybrid creatures such as sphinxes: half human, half feline. In Greek mythology, it is said they symbolise mystery, enigma and brutality.

AL: Yes, that brutality can be there. Lucas Cranach’s paintings of animals often have a curious blending beast and humanised qualities, particularly in his allegorical compositions. I love his painting Garden of Eden. His paintings are oddly primitive and sophisticated too, and I really respond to that.

LC: It is interesting to see more of your sculpture. What is your approach to this medium in relationship to painting?

AL: I have always made 3D work along with painting, but this used to be mainly assemblage. When I started focussing on large scale paintings, I began making models with clay to refer to. I like the way sculpting seems to use different areas of the brain. These sculptures are made as independent things but often relate to certain paintings. About 3 years ago I realised that casting in bronze can better reflect their intentions and with the support of Anima Mundi we made this happen.

LC: What inspired the exhibition and why the title ‘The Human Shadow (The Animal Smile)’?

AL: I wanted a title that was difficult to pin down. I like the disconnect it creates in the mind with space for interpretation. I wanted this exhibition to express energies and instincts that are at times unexpected, or defy logic. I had the idea of a shadow imprinted in our DNA, however putting it more into words is not want I want to do.

As a side note - and I don’t want to go too far down the autobiographical route and explain everything from a personal perspective, but it is unavoidable fact that I have been grieving a significant loss. The re-balance and cognitive rewiring is profound for me at this stage. The need for a meaningful connect with nature, people and creativity is deeply felt. Grief has created a surge of opened vision. This exhibition is unavoidably an expression of this, and it is, I believe, positive in outlook. But of course, an emotional connect can be complex, confused or frustrated so I also want the art to speak this language of longing.