Max Rumbol
“I have a strange affinity for things that straddle the line, and with my paintings I often find myself trying to make an image that is simultaneously uninspiring yet inspiring; dull yet bright; dark yet hopeful.”
Interview by: Issey Scott
Could you tell us a bit about yourself and your background? Where did you study?
I grew up in a small village in Buckinghamshire, and always had an interest in art - I always loved colour. It wasn’t until fairly late on in secondary school with the guidance of my art teacher that I took it seriously though. I ended up going to the Ruskin School of Art, from which I graduated last year.
I’ve now been painting for around a year and a half. My painting practice actually began with an interest in the characters of the art world, and the performative aspect of being a painter. In particular the way in which the work and the artist tend to bleed into one; something which I think is particularly prevalent and interesting in a society fuelled by social media.
What is it about the British landscape and tropes that appeals to you? How has our post-Brexit status affected your work?
I think in many ways my work is a portrait of my childhood, and involves a visual language that is familiar to me. Growing up in rural England and being surrounded by traditional British design means it holds a place in my heart. Without getting too political, I feel like a lot of stereotypically British imagery is loaded in the context of post-Brexit Britain. Through my work I am looking to explore an alternative side, and in many ways mythologise the British artistic tradition of the past. As a child the YBAs were the artists I looked up to. I remember being told that they were terrible, wicked artists by various teachers and that made me love them all the more.
No43 (Solitude), 2020
No.30 (The Headland at Night), 2019
No.42 (The Woods), 2020
Could you tell us about the significance of how visually dark your paintings are?
So my work usually starts with the development of a fictional artist character in my head, and the creation of the world they inhabit tends to follow. On a personal level, I think my recent dark works have a lot to do with my general mood in the winter months, so in a way they are semi autobiographical. In a broader sense, I wanted to reflect on art’s relationship with the seasons, as well as the notion of a dark/blue period. This tends to revolve around the romanticisation and commodification of the artist’s mental health; for better or worse. It’s an interesting concept to me as it ties into the classical trope of the tortured artist.
As well as this, using darker colours has also allowed me to play around more in terms of the textures in the work. Since I started using darker colours I’ve felt more comfortable experimenting with depth. I enjoy the subtle variations in colour achieved through poor mixing of the paint, sanding back or a very light spray of a brighter tone. This then also adds a layer to the viewing experience which means they offer something else when viewed in person as opposed to on a screen, which is something very important to me.
You describe your take on certain scenes as often having a 'humdrum' aesthetic, which definitely feels apt for the times we're living in. Can you tell us a bit about how you came to this conclusion?
It’s funny because I think part of the reason I became an artist was because I wanted to do something that excited me, but then I tend to paint these slightly dull pictures of imagined surroundings. I have a strange affinity for things that straddle the line, and with my paintings I often find myself trying to make an image that is simultaneously uninspiring yet inspiring; dull yet bright; dark yet hopeful. It’s probably an impossible task but that’s what I think keeps me going.
I think I also enjoy mundane scenes that are presented in a spectacular manner, which probably comes from my love of cartoons as a child. I hope my paintings offer a relatable yet romanticised take on everyday life.
No.31 (Tablecloth), 2020
No.37 (Rite of Passage), 2020
Tell us a bit about how you spend your day / studio routine? What is your studio like?
At the moment I tend to split my day in 2; painting or constructing the work I’m currently working on in the morning and then planning future works and doodling in the afternoon. I also waste a fair amount of my day just looking at art online, and then once a week I tend to venture into London for an opening or two.
My studio itself is very messy and probably not a very safe place to be given the amount of dust floating about. I still have a very early painting of mine stacked up against the wall which seems to get darker by the day. Perhaps it was the subconscious inspiration for things to come.
What artwork have you seen recently that has resonated with you?
To be honest the most eye opening thing for me since graduating has just been the discovery of a wealth of amazing artwork being made in London. I really enjoy Jesse Pollock’s large scale sculptures, and I think Charlie Billingham and Thomas Langley are doing some great things.
In terms of a single artwork though, I’d probably have to say Alex Da Corte’s Rubber Pencil Devil. Never before have I seen a video work that has gripped me like that. I think it just really appealed to my childish sensibilities. I ended up watching the full thing when it was on show at the Venice Biennale.
Is there anything new and exciting in the pipeline you would like to tell us about?
I’m currently working on some new textile works which I’m excited to finish. They are very much testing the limits of my sewing abilities and have caused me a fair few headaches so I hope they turn out alright.
As well as that I have a few shows planned for later this year, but who knows what will happen given the current circumstances!
All images are courtesy of the artist
Date of publication: 29/04/20
