At first sight, C. Lucy R. Whitehead’s paintings might look just abstract to you; the organic forms, the rich textures, and the subtle colour use of pinks, purples, oranges, and greens create a weird yet pleasant feeling. But when taking a closer look and diving deeper into her work, you’ll discover that they’re abstractions of the human body.
On view through October 12th at London’s Soho Revue art gallery, her solo show Mollis Machina presents her latest series of paintings and her introduction to bronze sculpture, “which I really got into for this show,” Lucy says. As she explains to us in this interview, her obsession with the human body goes way back. “From a young age I’ve seen parts of the body displayed as anatomical structures made up of tubes and pathways—my grandparents were physiotherapists and my mum was a nurse, so we had posters all over the house which showed cross-sections of feet and ears.” For years, she’s been exploring the topic through her oeuvre, and today we get to know more about it.
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Hi Lucy, it’s a pleasure to speak with you. To get to know you better, what does a ‘normal’ day in your life look like?
I get up around 6:30 am, turn on Radio4, make tea, put coffee on, feed the cats, empty the dishwasher, have a shower, boil some eggs and make a lunch, then walk to my studio in Brixton via a swim in the lido if it’s sunny (I’m a fair weather swimmer) or gym if not. Turn on 6 Music and start painting around 10 after I’ve organised my rags and palette (as I usually leave in a rush the day before). I’ll usually paint pretty solidly till 4 pm or 5 pm, then go for a drink with my studio mates and then head home, make dinner with my girlfriend and then hit the hay. (My morning is the only part which I’ve managed to crack having much of a routine).
To be an artist you don’t really need to study art, but that’s a controversial topic. You hold a BA in Drawing from the Camberwell College of Art, and a MA in Painting from the Royal College of Art. What would you say are your biggest learnings from an academic education?
I think if you ask most artists who went to art school in the UK, that there is very little you learn in terms of skills and techniques—at least in terms of painting and drawing. The format of the education concentrates more on how to think critically about your work (and others) and helping you establish what work you want to make. The practical elements you learn from trial and error, books, and especially from the students around you. The latter is i think the most valuable part of being at arts school. I was fortunate enough to make a really strong connection with a number of my peers at the RCA who I still share a studio with now, and it’s from working alongside them which has been one of the biggest accelerators in the quality of my work.
It’s very easy to become so consumed by a body of work that you lose your head a bit with it, so having different sets of eyes and perspectives, especially from people you really respect, on what you’re doing is really important.
Congratulations on Mollis Machina, your newest solo show. The title roughly translates as ‘soft machine’ from Latin, which I understand is a nod to the human body. Your paintings are so organic, while the image that comes to mind when thinking of a machine is cold, stiff, with not much movement. How do embrace this dichotomy?
I think that’s most peoples’ interpretation, but I see the whole natural world as made up of little machines, systems and networks, the body especially. From a young age I’ve seen parts of the body displayed as anatomical structures made up of tubes and pathways—my grandparents were physiotherapists and my mum was a nurse, so we had posters all over the house which showed cross-sections of feet and ears. Likewise, growing up in Liverpool by the docks, I saw the same unity of mechanisms used to lug containers into ships.
But I think the coldness and stiffness you refer to, of the type of machine you immediately think of, is a crucial part to the work. Because ultimately, we don’t want to think of our bodies in that way or perhaps we can’t? I think it’s part of our human existence to need to elevate our bodies past being something functional and into something higher and more spiritual. It’s that area between the functional and the spiritual within the body which really intrigues me.
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How does one go from the more classical anatomical drawing to the more abstract paintings you do today?
I’ve been working on these ideas for a good few years now—abstracting the body in different ways each time, taking elements from the last trying to figure out how best to achieve it. My work has gone through many stages and processes to get to where I am now, and classical anatomical drawing still plays a part in the make up of these images. But I now use it as only the beginning of the process rather than the end point.
When checking your past work from a couple or three years ago, I see pink is the most predominant hue. However, it seems like the new series of paintings has given more space to other colours like green, blue, orange, and purple. Is this something you’re aware of, meaning, is this intentional to make the body even more abstract by painting it in ‘unnatural’ colours?
Exactly this. The palette I choose tends to exist on a sliding scale, where if the form appears more familiar I’ll balance with lesser so colours, and vice versa.
Looking at your paintings, I understand they’re sort of retorted bodies but, on the other hand, they also remind me of intestines—those curves really make it for me. The body is a major topic in art since it’s, well, our very vessel to go through life. What has painting the human body taught you about your own?
Not much! Other than making me realise how much it finds its way into more and more ideas and aspects of life, consciously or otherwise.
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As a society, we’re growing more aware of how commenting on other people’s bodies can damage mental health. What role do you think art can play into that? Do you see your own oeuvre contributing to that conversation in any way?
I think art can play a role in anything if as an observer you want it to, and there are certainly a lot of artists at the moment dealing with notions around body image head on. Which is a positive evolution from previous depictions of the body in art. I like to think that my work deals with those topics more indirectly by eliminating them from the work entirely. I personally find viewing the body as just a strange object which under the surface is just trying to keep us chugging along silences all the noise above.
I’m curious to know more about the titles of your paintings. Some of them sound totally unrelated to the images (Before the Devil Knows, Two Cents, Soft Key), while others might have a more spiritual meaning (Anchor, The Sanctuary, Bitter End). Could you elaborate on that, please?
Some titles come to me just as I’m working on them, maybe a phrase in a song or book which resonates at the time—such as Before the Devil Knows and Two Cents. The others I feel are more representative of exactly how you said ‘spiritual’; I’m often drawn to terms used to describe people or relationships, or moments in those relationships that also describe something inanimate such as ‘anchor’ and ‘the sanctuary’.
The Mollis Machina exhibit is in London, where you’ve lived for a few years now. We all know it’s an inspiring place, especially for those in the arts and creativity. What do you love the most about the city? And also, what do you hate the most?
I love walking over the river, the parks, the people, the amount of different types of people, the culture, the pomp, the grandeur, and the grit. I hate how much a pint is and the tube in summer.
To finish, what are you most excited for in the upcoming months?
I’ve purposely kept myself clear work-wise after this show to reflect a bit and see how best to develop next, so with the exception of a couple of group shows, I’ll be trying to find some sun, coming up with new work, and actually I’m really excited about dipping my toe further into bronze sculpture, which I really got into for this show.
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Citizen (I), 2024
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Citizen (II), 2024
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Breeze Block (II), 2024
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Hinterland, 2024
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Clout, 2024
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Soft Key, 2024
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Gush, 2024
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Pinch (I), 2024