Lawrence Perry doesn’t buy into the myth of the tortured artist, but he understands why it sells. A figurative painter with a sharp eye for both gesture and image, Perry’s creative world lives somewhere between fashion campaign and oil on canvas. He’s modelled for Gucci, been lensed by Hedi Slimane, and has just joined LBF Contemporary. It’s behind the canvas where he feels most in control, slowing things down, resisting the scroll, and pushing against the attention economy that demands constant performance.
For someone who cut his teeth in London’s creative swirl, his focus is startlingly clear: make the work, don’t become it. Crocs and overalls in the studio might say casual — but the thinking behind the brush is anything but. Lawrence Perry shows his Wound with Pearls piece at LBF @ The Lake II, Muskoka, Canada that opened today.
You’re part of a younger generation of London artists reshaping what contemporary figurative painting looks like. How does living in London feed or frustrate your work? What keeps you inspired here?
I consider myself very lucky to be living and working in London. Not only is there a rich history of brilliant artists that have made their mark here, there are currently some amazing contemporary artists, galleries and opportunities contributing to today’s culture. Don’t get me wrong, there are always moments of overwhelm when you’re working in a busy, sometimes competitive centre – but I try to embrace those challenges and focus more on the positives that a community inevitably provides. My work is undoubtedly informed by those around me and I wouldn’t be able to make the work I do without the help, advice and feedback I get from those close to me.
Do you find it easier to express yourself visually than verbally? What do you think you say in paint that you might struggle to say in words?
I’d agree with that. If it was the other way around, I’d be a writer. There’s no one reason why someone chooses to paint. Some artists use it as a device to convey introspection, whereas others paint for explorative reasons, assessing the world around them. I’d consider myself sitting in the latter camp. Working on a series slows down the process of understanding, giving me time to explore themes more deeply — cementing something that would otherwise be fleeting.
You often paint solo figures. People who look like they’re caught mid-thought or mid-transformation. Are you painting characters, or are they more like fragments of yourself? What first drew you to the body as a subject?
No matter who I paint, there will undoubtedly be part of me reflected in that person, that is the nature of the sitter-painter relationship. I rarely paint myself; instead, I choose people close to me to inhabit these characters. As paintings are a form of static media, I believe it’s the artist’s responsibility to bring more to a painting that’s combative towards this stasis. Gestures of movement, emotional resonance and narrative help with this, unlocking something lifelike that can engage with a viewer.
Fashion and art often romanticise excess, the tortured artist, the messy muse. Was it ever hard to separate your work from that narrative, or were you always clear on your boundaries?
This romanticism of a false narrative angers me, as it doesn’t reflect the artists I know and admire. You’re taught at school about the Van Goghs or Basquiats of art history, presenting that there’s a martyrdom to creating good art. I see it as equivalent to the tabloid media effect, where scandal takes centre stage over consistency. Although these figures made good work in their own rights, I learnt fairly quickly into my career that there are unbelievable artists scattered across both art history and today’s world that are healthy, happy and hardworking; allowing me to drop the belief that I needed to present as a tortured artist.
You’ve just joined LBF Contemporary. What made you say yes to them? Was it a practical decision, or did something click on a more personal level?
I’m very proud and honoured to have been signed by LBF. It really felt like every artist’s dream: being visited in the studio by a gallery that offers you a solo show on the spot because they believe in you and your work. They’re incredible at what they do and the relationship we’ve built is very strong. I’m excited for what the future holds.
You’ve modelled for Gucci, featuring in Alessandro Michele’s A/W 2020 Gucci campaign, The Ritual. How does it feel to have your own body turned into someone else’s canvas? Does it echo or contradict your painting practice?
It’s funny because I’ve never considered myself a proper model – more an art student who wasn’t in the position to say no to opportunities to make money and work with some of my favourite creative directors. Alessandro Michele is very much an inspiration of mine. The opulence, humour and extravagance of his work, with nods to ancient and more recent historical aesthetics, really chimed with me. The modelling part was exciting, don’t get me wrong, but what’s left a lasting impression was witnessing how these projects came to fruition and how Alessandro’s visual language was stamped on everything he worked on. It was a pleasure to be a part of that process.
Modelling can sometimes feel like aesthetic labour being curated, lit, cropped. Has that changed how you think about the gaze in your own artwork?
It’s something I’ve carried across to painting. Not specifically the modelling side, more the entire production. It’s all the intricate contributions behind a fashion show or campaign that make the final images what they are. All my paintings come from reference images that I have cast, styled, lit and photographed, allowing me to crop in on moments that I’ve forged to feel relevant to a wider concept. It allows me to lean into the artifice of visually recording something that’s supposed to feel quote unquote real, then using paint to push it further towards a painterly representation of that moment.
You’ve worked with some interesting stylists and photographers. Are there collaborations that really stuck with you, creatively or personally?
As I’ve mentioned, Alessandro Michele was very exciting for me. I was also shot by Hedi Slimane for his diary, which definitely stuck with me, but I’d be hard pressed to call any of them “collaborations” as I was really just working under their creative control. Having said that, both creative directors seemed very keen to give their models agency to express themselves and bring their individuality to the process.
Fashion is clearly part of your world. Is it something you think about while working on a painting, or more of a separate mode of expression?
If my figures are clothed, then fashion has no choice but to be part of the conversation. However, painting is a different medium to the runway. The clothes I paint are chosen more for their ability to bring light, colour and narrative to a painting, as opposed to the countless other reasons why a designer would include something in their collection.
Is personal style a kind of performance for you, or a place of honesty?
I believe personal style always serves a purpose. It’s a way of presenting what you want to present. Performative or not, I think it comes from a place of honesty in that it may not be who you are, but it’s clearly who you wish to be, which I think is just as important for understanding someone. I’ve had times where I’ve been much more concerned about how provocative I’ve dressed, and moments where I’m very comfortable being understated. At the moment, the bulk of my time is spent in the studio, so overalls and Crocs is what you get.
You’re moving through both art and fashion spaces. Do you think the art world still holds the same kind of cultural capital, or has that shifted toward fashion, music and or social media?
I’d say art and high fashion aren’t really comparable to music, film and social media anymore, purely based on how they’re packaged differently. All you need is an £8.99 Spotify subscription to have all the music in the world at your fingertips – same with a Netflix account or the Instagram app. In fashion, designer works are stamped as luxury because they’re held in comparison with the mass productions of unethical fashion. Art really is something that needs to be witnessed in person, and that requires a reciprocity from its audience to actually go out and see it. The concept of engaging in culture has become so passive in its accessibility, to the point where more cultural capital is being placed upon something that can be consumed on a sofa. Perhaps it can be argued that there is more culture in those who fight against the passivity and build a more authentic relationship with the artists whose openings they go to, which bands they stand in the audience for, or which designers they choose to wear.
Do you ever feel like you’re performing — for fashion, for Instagram, for the gallery world? And if so, is that performance always a bad thing?
Unfortunately, yes. It’s something I’m trying to distance myself from as I don’t believe this attention economy we’re witnessing today serves the individual. I’d rather reach a point where the work speaks for itself and no one knows or cares what I have to say about it.
As someone who moves between being the observer and the observed, do you feel like you’re constantly negotiating how much of yourself to reveal in life, in art, in fashion?
I’m content with being a painter, and the knowledge that I’ll always have that medium to explore what I wish to explore feels like enough.
