We recently had the pleasure of sitting down with the remarkable painter Vivien McDermid, whose hypnotically textured, dream-like works left us spellbound. Vivien opens up about the deeply personal inspirations behind her art – whimsical clouds, tangled branches, ripe fruit, and darker motifs of shadows, surprises, and flames. Her process is fuelled by vivid sensory experiences – smells, tastes, and bitter bites – and is shaped by the wild, windswept beauty of her childhood on Scotland’s northeast coast. Reflecting on how she taps into the elusive creative headspace, Vivien offers us a poignant glimpse into the passionate spirit that drives her artistic journey.
Where did you grow up, and do you think this has affected your work?
I grew up on the North East coast of Scotland. I think my early childhood was probably very quiet and sensory rather than verbal or social. We lived on the bay of an old fishing village and there weren’t many people around for most of the year. I didn’t go to nursery or anything like that. There was only one shop. It could be really beautiful but also wild, windy, dark and bleak, particularly during winter.
As I got older we moved to a slightly bigger town and I started to meet more children, watch TV, go into shops and stuff like that. We watched our house being built on a brand-new estate in a forest at the edge of the town. I cycled about on smooth, freshly tarred roads and watched on as more and more white, pebble-dashed bungalows, sparkly black roads and neat garden walls seemed to grow naturally upwards and out of the undergrowth.
I think the sudden entry of new, glowy things; adverts for cool toys, places you could go to buy sweets, new friends who had loads of pastel-coloured plastic stuff in their rooms…. that was quite a big deal. I think that stuff finds its way into my work like a sort of escapism. I didn’t exactly feel a part of it – I was more of a slack-jawed and awestruck onlooker. Like watching acrobats or gymnasts in glittery leotards. I sometimes think that these things which felt like a sudden explosion of novelty and magic do intrude into my paintings. Often the paintings begin as dark landscapes, stormy skies or something more earthy, wood-smokey or geological maybe.
How do you enter the headspace where you create your art?
I need to pretend to myself that what I’m doing is not at all important. I approach it all in quite an ambient way – letting everything in my peripheral vision go still. Beneath my feet needs to feel solid, rooted, shadowy and peaty. Above needs to feel like passing clouds, light, windows, breeze, bright white fog, endless. If I allow myself think in terms of ideas or of planning or of applying an image to surface, then I’m completely ruined for the day.
It also only works for me if I don’t think in terms of making a painting. I don’t want to paint a painting that looks like a painting – if I can help it. While I’m working, I find that I don’t want to be thinking about Picasso or Cubism or Modernism or Post-Impressionism and certainly not of making something stylish or catchy. I want to live inside the thing that’s happening, which ideally becomes a universe to be sniffed up, understood and explored.
The pathway into a good day in the studio is probably very tactile most of the time. Like lots of artists I have an ongoing collection habit; rocks, shells, toys, bricks, seaweed, old candles, balloons, other clutter like that. I find that playing around with them I the morning and making sculptures or compositions with them in a focussed but light-hearted way, much like a child playing lego or building bricks, that helps me to find my way into the terrifying thicket of paint and linen. Sometimes also just a shower and coffee is the only way to get on with it all when time is short and fast.
How has your artistic style developed over time?
It’s difficult to see that from the inside. I would say though, that I’ve increasingly realised how important the depth and complexity of colour and texture are to me. I like colour to feel deeply spatial and edible. But to flip that idea onto its head, I have also noticed how much I also now think about simplicity, about weight and about stripping away the things that feel fickle, stylish or over-practiced. It’s that thing about embracing paradox probably.
Do you have any artistic themes that you keep returning to?
I think I would mostly point back up to the first question here. And also add the words taste, bite, geology, coal, roots, clouds, branches, fruit, shadows, surprises, flames, lemonade and shoes.
What do you think motivates you to create your work?
I want to paint a lot in the same kind of way that I want to eat a lot. It’s just there, every day. I also don’t really feel very fluent in any other language. I’m stronger and more able when I’m painting. Being alone is easy and that’s certainly a motivation to be a painter. I’m not that confident in words, in singing or dancing but in my studio I feel rooted and able. I do wish I’d been a bit more innately glitzy or showbiz – particularly in an art-based context. I get a lot of inspiration from watching and listening to women who make beautiful art of their bodies and voices through things like dance, movement and music. There’s so much strength and power in that. I loved dancing and singing until I started to get too self-conscious about whether I was good or not. But as I get older, I’m more comfortable with the thought that instead of having regrets about it, I can bring that curiosity and longing into the paintings. I should probably also go back to dance classes and join a choir.
Where is your sanctuary? (either real or imagined)
Definitely the bath. A very, very hot bath with the lights off and the window open.
What are your hopes for the future? (both artistic and otherwise)
I hope that I can learn how to spend less time ruminating and worrying about everything. That I can get better at not taking stuff to heart. Less time wasted imagining terrible things… I think the thing I want most though, is to learn how to really believe that I can cope with whatever comes my way- even if it’s horrifying and sad. So much anxiety seems to be about a projected or imaginary future self who is unable to cope with suffering. I hope also that I can keep painting well into old age. Also, it would be nice to make time go a bit slower. World Peace, Love etc.
