Andrew Salgado Wants You to Leave and Let Him Paint in Peace

All photos courtesy of Andrew Salgado

Photos of 32-year-old Andrew Salgado often show him spattered with oil paint. He sculpts thick layers of the stuff onto canvases to create massive portraits, which draw viewers to gaze upon accentuated body parts and vivid eyes. Salgado’s colourful flair, abstract twist and emotional style make it hard to look away, which is probably why the value of his work seems to be going up. Born in Regina, Saskatchewan, Salgado painted prairie landscapes as a kid and eventually trained at the University of British Columbia.

He then obtained a Master of Fine Art degree from the London’s Chelsea College of Art in 2009. The year before his convocation, a group of men attacked the artist and his partner at a Pemberton, BC music festival for being gay. Salgado’s work then turned from showing pleasantries to violence — such as the 2008 piece, Bloody Faggot, a toothless and gory self portrait. Since this period, Salgado has received numerous honours and continues to showcase his paintings in galleries around the world. The artist gave an interview by email from Basel, Switzerland, where he opened a solo presentation of his latest body of work at the Volta Art Fair in mid-June. The collection is called This is Not the Way to Disneyland. The day after Salgado’s opening, we talked him about his rise as an artist, his revised view of the 2008 assault while also gifting us with a special Spotify playlist featuring some of the music he listens to in his studio.

Noisey: You went from the little-known city of Regina, Saskatchewan to become a London-based, internationally known artist. Is it strange looking at what you've been able to accomplish?
Andrew Salgado: It does feel strange. I’ve been lucky to experience a modicum of success, but there’s still so much to achieve. It would be really arrogant of me to feel as though I’m already there. I think life is full of surprises and one can never sit back and take what they’ve learned, and earned, for granted. Being an artist is incredibly competitive—the numbers are not in your favor. It’s quite a cutthroat career choice, but I always say: I’m not sure if it’s conviction or stupidity, but I’ve got it in spades.

Your painting style is always changing. I think your portraits have become more abstract since some of your earlier work. What are you currently trying to accomplish with your style?
Yes, I would agree with this statement. I think there is this penchant for all creative types to prove their chops first. Picasso was a great artist because he could do anything, but chose to work in a certain method. So in my experience, as a younger artist there was a desire to prove something, at least, on a certain, almost introductory technical level. I’m moving further and further away from that.

The technique has become cruder, almost naïve in certain areas. It’s uglier. It’s gutsier. My most recent paintings have switched to linen and—I would at least like to think—show the confidence to do more with less. There’s simultaneously an overabundance and an economy of mark-making. A lot of people comment on how I paint the eyes, and – here’s one of my secrets – I’m moving further and further away from that didacticism. I want to challenge myself, but also my viewer. I want them to move further into abstraction and ugliness. I have to dig a new path out of the plot I’ve made for myself. It’s not as easy as leaping out. What would I like to accomplish? That’s a big question. That’s the lifelong pursuit, isn’t it?

I have to ask about the infamous 2008 assault of you and your partner at a Pemberton, BC music festival. You said the incident injected a political angle into your work. Seven years later, does the influence of this hate crime still hold the same weight?
No, it doesn’t provoke or inspire me like it once did. I mean, we all learn from these things and move on. In many respects I’m a totally different person since that incident, so it almost feels like a story that happened to someone else. Certainly, my work has always occupied a certain angle, or politically imbued stance, as a result. I’m working on different ideas that share a certain nucleus. I talk a lot about misanthropy in my work. I’m interested in human nature and our tendency toward violence. I like the macabre or things that appear to be pleasant but reverberate with a type of subversive energy. The current body of work This is Not the Way to Disneyland is loosely based on the statement made by one of the child victims of rapist and serial killer William Bonin and his four cronies. It was something that struck a chord in me, and without being a victim myself, it likely wouldn’t have. I think all the great art— music, literature, painting—it’s all about the dark corners, isn’t it? Francis Bacon once famously stated: ‘It’s not my art that’s violent, it’s life that’s violent,’ and I think that was accurate.

Are you sick of that topic?
Yes. I purposely stopped talking about it after an interview in 2012 when the journalist spoke to me for 45 minutes on all sorts of topics, and when the article came out, it was made to sound like it happened the day before. I felt cheated. I learned a lesson from that. I remember turning to my gallerist, Kurt Beers of Beers London, years ago, and saying, ‘I’m sick to death of talking about this. It’s time to move on.’

Do you consciously work toward any theses or philosophies during the process of your paintings?
Of course. But it’ also important to take the kite and run. In the end, these things work themselves out. I always tell young artists: think less, paint more. It took me a long time to get there, because grad school can be such a disservice to artists. It’s all about concept, concept, concept ad nauseam. I approach it from the opposite angle, where I let concept envelop the work, and not the other way around. There are no rules. Fuck off and let me do it my way, right?

You call yourself a music buff. I've also read certain songs have had direct influence on your art. How so?
Music buff makes me sound like an asshole, doesn’t it? In reality I’m alone all the time in my studio, and the only company I have is my music. I can grow profoundly attached to music. My life, paintings, periods of time—they all have a sort of soundtrack. My exhibition in 2014 in New York was called Variations on a Theme with a direct reference to the musical idea, in which one musical trend can reiterate itself throughout a body of work with subtle changes. I love that idea.

What kind of music do you play in the studio?
All kinds from folk to electronic. I usually try and put on something that speaks to both my current mood but also adheres to the feeling of the paintings I’m working on. I’m an album guy. Start to finish. Sometimes on shuffle–but the purists will think that’s awful! Some albums only sound good in the morning and others only at night. However, the best for me is when that flow kicks in. Where I’ll press play and, before I even realize what I’m listening to, the album is over. That’s when the paintings and the music have a real synergy. I can’t believe I just used that word—synergy. Sorry.

You have an impressive following on social media. Do you ever consciously tailor your style for your fans?
I think it would be arrogant, and ill-advised, if I didn’t pay attention to what’s happening on some level. I’m a creative type and a one-man business. A lot of artists forget that aspect. But I don’t see this as any different as looking at—consuming—loads of art. I think it’s important to visit art exhibitions and have your finger on the pulse in the international art scene. If I didn’t, that would be both glib and stupid. But to say I cater my work toward my following would be erroneous. I’m stubborn enough to do what I want, and I hope the followers continue to follow. But I’m aware not everyone is always on board with what I do, but I have to do it with assertion and confidence. Ambivalence is the kiss of death; polarized opinions are what drive success. Pleasant paintings don’t sell. Pleasant paintings don’t provoke change. Pleasant paintings don’t inspire.

Devin Pacholik can’t paint worth a damn and lives in Canada - @devinpatches