It was a pleasure to speak with the remarkable artist Andrew Crane, who has been honing his craft for over six decades. Born in 1949 in Croydon, Crane studied graphics and typography at the Central School of Art in London, where he developed his lasting love for words, letters, and numbers, elements that appear throughout his paintings.
Known for his evocative canvases that blend muted tones, cement, and thought-provoking text, Crane creates pieces that resonate deeply, bringing an organic, raw beauty to his work. We first encountered Crane through the Lucas House project, where his artwork Various Ways was selected by Grant-winner Fionn Wilson to enhance an NHS mental health care facility. His piece infused the space with hope and tranquility, offering patients a moment of calm and emotional respite on their healing journey. This transformative power extends beyond patients, touching anyone who encounters Crane’s work, inviting them into a moment of reflection and connection.
Acrylic, crayon and pencil on canvas
We were moved by your painting for Lucas House, ‘Various Ways’. What was the idea behind it?
The idea of being perfect, I think. I guess we all make an attempt to be the best versions of ourselves. We make plans, and sometimes (probably more often than not) those plans appear to go awry. Then comes the judgement – “I did it wrong, I made a mistake, I’m not good enough.”
What if the Universe knows best? Indeed, what if we ARE the Universe? Sounds grandiose? Maybe. Perhaps the idea that I am separate needs to go. Then there’d no longer be a feeling of a separate person among other separate persons. There would be a coming together, a feeling of belonging. We each do it our way, and maybe the various ways are the right way, the only way. Perfect with our imperfections.
Can you tell us about your background and how it may have it may have affected your work and style?
My Dad was a good drawer. He’d sit me on his knee and say ‘what shall we draw?’ He could draw anything! I was very impressed.
Your background is in graphics and typography. Can you elaborate on how these foundations inform your current approach?
Being at art school in London in the sixties, there were quite a few distractions, not least musical ones. I played a lot of table football and tennis and I used to gamble a bit, on the horses, with my compositor friend. I got into the idea of chance, the I Ching and John Cage. College work was a constant interruption, but I loved the craft of setting type by hand and doing visuals of the printed end product. It was a way of making the imagined real – a way of putting what I could see in my head, down on paper. Perhaps more abstract than a drawing of an apple or a landscape, which is there to see, but in the days before computers, a necessary skill.
Your use of letters and numbers in your artwork provide few clues for viewers. What do these ‘messages’ mean?
After the graphics life, words and numbers became a resource for painting. The characters themselves are familiar to all, but more often than not I prefer to use them in an abstract way, like actors on a stage. I’m not sure I like the idea of finding ‘meaning’. ‘Finding meaning’ brings a feeling of safety, of reassurance, of deadness even. I’m not looking for the response of ‘Ah yes, I’ve worked it out’. Then it becomes a memory, a dead thing, the intimacy is gone. I love this expression from Osho; ‘Not knowing, is the most intimate.’ As a child, we know this. This wonder. And as we grow, we are constantly looking for meaning, to feel safe. No thanks.
What motivates you to create your work? You often incorporate a mystical and sometimes spiritual element.
Is it this or something else? A blank canvas is the biggest motivation. And wanting to put something on it. It is so beautiful, so full of potential, and at the same time so terrifying. A blank canvas has no past and no future, like the moment of waking in the morning. That moment before the mind gets engaged, before memories come of what I was yesterday, and what I will be today.
You often use materials from hardware shops, like cement and plaster, rather than traditional art supply shops. What led you to discover these unconventional materials?
The cement was a lucky accident really. I was working to a deadline for a show, on an oil painting of the river Ile in Ilminster. Time was running out, and the painting was awful. At that time my ‘studio’ was an empty warehouse and I spotted a bag of tile cement in the corner. I thought, ‘I wonder if I could obliterate this painting with cement?’ Well, I could, and I did, and the result was rather pleasing. When sealed with PVA it would take acrylic and even oil readily. That was the start of it. Then I discovered stuff in the hardware store. I suppose I was intrigued by the poverty of material and there was a certain freedom in breaking from the convention of what artists use to make art.
The muted tones and soft washes in your pieces create a unique visual experience. How do you achieve the balance between the subtle elements and the more industrial materials you use?
It was a marriage made in heaven.
Who are your biggest influences, artistic or otherwise?
Turner of course. And Tapies. Tapies took me through my cement period and I love the mysticism in his work. Ed Rushca, for his use of language and words. Walter Swennen, Howard Hodgkin, Kounellis. Lately I’m a big fan of Joe Bradley. Apart from painting, Nisargadatta Maharaj is my mentor. His book, ‘I Am That’ provides bedtime reading.
As a self-taught artist, how has your practice developed over time?
In the early days it was watercolour. Sometimes landscape, often banal, like a wooden shed or a roundabout. Then came a ‘Buddhist phase’ and starting to work with oil paint. Around this time I was still doing graphics for a living and employed as resident artist/designer for a company called Global Village – a chain of shops selling crafts and art from the poorer places in the world. I was fortunate to enjoy illustration projects that took me to exotic places like Sri Lanka, The Philippines and Nigeria. After that came the cement period. Not so much cement now, more oil and more humour.
Do you have any advice for emerging artists, wishing to develop their own artistic style?
Trust yourself and be brave. You are the only one that can do what you do. Don’t be afraid to steal from your heroes. There will be dark days and light days. Often, the dark days reveal more about who you are. Don’t be intimidated by others’ magnificence. The fact that you re-cognise that magnificence is fuel for potential.
Where do you find your inspiration?
It could be music or a conversation on the radio, or even internet trawling. I’ve got some good art books. The main thing is to be open to receive. Often a mistake will open things up. I love this quote from Joe Bradley; ‘I think there’s a moment early on when a painting looks good, it looks passable. And then what has to happen at that point is that you have to go back into it and really mess it up. There’s this tug of war, this internal dialogue where you think, ‘maybe this is it, I’m good. This is good.’ But then you know it’s not really good. Usually at that stage it’s relying heavily on old paintings. It looks like an ‘appropriate’ painting. And I think once you go back into it and mess it all up, then possibility opens up – and this is again about distancing yourself, kind of removing yourself – because once you’re not proud of it, you can kind of do anything to it because it feels like a lost cause. And then at that point you can really paint. But you have to kick it over the edge first. You have to kill it.”
Where is your sanctuary? (Either real or imagined)
My home, in beautiful Northumberland and my shed where I work are great resources. The previous tennant (RIP) used the shed as a motorbike workshop. There’s a lot of love in there. The posters of his biker heroes are still on the walls.
Abstract expressionism is a powerful and moving style. What drew you to this genre in the first place?
It just happened. What else is there?
What are your hopes for the future? (Both artistic and otherwise)
I don’t really have ‘hopes’. Just dealing with each day is reward enough.
Finally, could you share with us how you found the process of working with The Responsa Foundation?
It’s such a great project to put art on those walls. The feeling I got when working with The Foundation was one of trust and allowing. The same feeling came from Fionn of course. You both gave me permission to be who I am, and that is a big gift. Thank you.
