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Hamish Blakely

Hamish Blakely comes from a theatrical background. He's half Irish and his childhood home was a place where extraordinary things happened. It was an environment where his brothers seemed bound to do something unusual. He's very grateful for that.

Drawing was the original expression. I would draw an awful lot, trying to emulate other artists, to understand how they created what they did; but sketching it was and remained to be, until I found the mettle to use colour.

This happened long before I studied at Wimbledon School of Art and Kingston University. Having stubbornly lived in the world of black and white, I finally made myself paint - all exuberant enthusiasm and no clear direction. However, I had a breakthrough when I was 18 years old. I had painted for some time by then, but this was the first time I had made a painting so seriously, with no experimentation, just care and an urgent responsibility to get it right. It was a portrait of my Dad, and without sign or suggestion, I leapt years ahead to produce something my 18 years could have thwarted. This was the turning point. It was no longer a case of just loving painting, but realising that I could be good at it.

It changed everything. Painting replaced drawing completely. I only drew again at college and again, gave it up when I left. I think that I had spent so much time making preliminary studies with pencil or charcoal, opposing the commitment of using colour, I now paint immediately, considering preparatory sketches unnecessary.

Hamish Blakely became an illustrator shortly after leaving college and received a national award. The need to tackle an unlimited range of subject matter, was a very useful experience for him as well as what he loved.

As far as subject matter is concerned, I have always loved painting people, favouring glimpses of figures and anatomy. Even in the enormous, allegorical works of classical masters, I have always been drawn to confined areas of a piece - a spotlit area that reveals a rigid jaw line, or the twist in a turned neck. Often I like to have images remain that simple - paring down extraneous material to leave what feels ephemeral. Other times, I need more of a setting and the reward is in the discipline of being more representative. Ultimately what makes me work is that, despite all the wonderful breakthroughs and milestones I have experienced in painting over the years, I never feel that I have quite nailed it. There is always more to be done, as I think it is very difficult to measure what your potential is, only the gratification that you have not yet reached it.

I have a daily routine that starts and stops at precisely the same time, in my head. What actually happens depends on when I've finished the day before, but I like to rise early, have breakfast slowly looking at the garden with my puzzled, morning eyes. I also guard my free evenings as best I can. Soothing music in the background is the perfect balance to how I paint. It is an intense exercise and there are times when only the burgeoning clicks and bubbles in my gut tell me that several hours have gone before I grab a snack.

Ideally, I like to take regular breaks to clear the head and come back to see the work unfuddled. Knowing when to stop is a real skill and I'm no master; but no matter what has gone before I will always stop on a good point - otherwise I will not be able to leave it. Having finished painting for the day, I am nicely exhausted and just sit and stare at things a while. When I stop blabbing narcissistically about painting, I adore the peace and quiet in the evening with Gail - a nice meal, listening to music or watching movies - this is the very best part of the day.