Why Benjamin Spiers Is A Name You Need To Know

For all those who were lucky enough to catch Saatchi Yates artist Benjamin Spiers' solo exhibition with Zuecca Projects in Venice last month, i'm sure you need no introduction to the surrealist master, who he is and what he stands for. But what if you're one of the unlucky ones who's only ever viewed Spiers' work through a pixelated screen? Listen up, as we're about to decode some serious sorcery.

When I was first introduced to the nonsensical and madcap world of Saatchi Yates artist Benjamin Spiers, I was convinced AI was involved in the making of his work. I'm not saying I didn't think he was talented (AI or not, Spiers has mastered the art of playing mind tricks) but there was something that seemed a little askew. Being confronted with a painting of a face with holes for eyes will always ignite a sense of eeriness in many, but that's textbook work for Spiers, and certainly not the only way he conveys theatrics and horror. For every painting that exhibited a highly polished, glossy exterior, I couldn't help but ponder something more sinister. Was this my own mind freely cartwheeling or was this Spiers' plan for me all along? - To feel like I'm balancing on the blade of a double-edged knife? All I wanted to know was what AI program Spiers uses to create imagery like that - straddling the worlds of both Rene Magritte and Hokusai simultaneously - and where does his own talent end and the AI work begin? Turns out, everything you see is thanks to Spiers' own imagination - so if you're looking for a computer-generated spectacle... look elsewhere.

To get to grips with who Spiers is and how he's taught himself to forge such wildly outlandish worlds that embrace AI's surrealist aesthetic, I sat down with the artist to quiz him over his formidable knack for manipulating paint and why he considers himself a 'truffle pig for the visual'.

Christina Donoghue: Can you talk me through your painting process? Your ability to manipulate paint to create imagery that straddles both realism and surrealism is quite extraordinary and surreal in itself. Can you explain that process in finer detail? 

BS: My painting process is a bit of a Frankenstein technique - cobbled together from a mixture of instinct, reading and looking at the work of other painters. I find it very pleasurable and stimulating to reverse engineer paintings I like. Often, it isn’t really possible to do that with much accuracy, but the attempt often brings something new into my way of working. I always start a painting with a monochrome layer. This is a way of establishing the composition and laying out the tonal values. It’s quick and easy to make significant changes to the image at this stage. It’s very important to have that flexibility because I often run into problems that require radical solutions. As a painting progresses, I begin to get a sense that some areas that are more important than others. I find you can direct the eye and mind of the viewer in a multitude of ways, using texture, contrast and detail. I like to play around and subvert expectations - my own as much as anyone else’s. Making a painting happens over a long period of time and the experiential aspect allows for a type of thinking that doesn’t happen without that period of extended focus on a single image. Often, I find that a path to a successful resolution of a picture becomes clear, and - for reasons not always clear - I’m disinclined to take it. I want there to be something a bit awkward or roundabout. 

CD: You have a very unique and distinct artistic style, how long did it take you to find your voice as an artist?

BS: Finding my voice is an ongoing work in progress; sometimes it’s a step forward and a couple back. I have faith that my unconscious impulses are the best guide to a singular and ‘authentic’ voice. But the transition from instinct to consciously formulated proposition is a bit gnarly and unpredictable. I’m someone who thinks quite hard about how I operate and I love the idea that I could optimise a recipe for doing my thing, but that always backfires. The important stuff seeps into the work outside of my intended meaning. In a sense, I need to quieten my conscious ‘voice’ to let the compelling stuff speak.

CD: A quick glance at your work reveals a lot about your inspirations and reference points to a wide range of specific paintings and masters from Hokusai to Magritte. How do you decide on which artists to pay homage to in your work? Do such images just speak to you or is it more calculated than that? 

BS: I have an enormous collection of images which I find exciting. Some I love but they will only tangentially influence my work but others are very effective as an armature on which to hang my own content. I’ve done a huge amount of trial and error (so much error!) with what works and what doesn’t. I know I'm being repetitive but I would say I've educated my instinct so much so that it really is my most reliable guide; the thousands of hours I’ve spent looking at paintings have sharpened my sensibility and informed my thinking. I make better choices the more I look and work. The feeling of having trained the visual machinery of my mind is quite palpable to me. I can tell whether I’m in shape or not! It isn’t dissimilar to visiting the gym. Spending time every day living with images, contemplating what they mean to me, and how that meaning is constructed keeps me engaged and sharp. It fires up my appetite to be playful and creative.

CD: I once read a quote of yours where you said, ‘I see myself as a truffle pig of the visual’. Can you expand on this statement?

BS: Haha! I love the imagery of truffle pigs. Truffles are these muddy clots of exquisite flavour, but they’re hidden away, buried in plain sight. Like the pigs, artists have to abandon their dignity, become something animal, sniff around in the dirt, live with the awful feeling of foolishness and futility, and keep desperately crossing one's trotters in the hope that one will unearth this miraculous nugget. The key takeaway here is 'there are no guarantees, no matter how hard you search'.

CD: What is it that draws you to surrealism as a movement? 

BS: I enjoy the absurd, and always have. I remember watching Monty Python with my dad when I was 7 and being blown away by it. The cleverness, playfulness and anarchy instantly energised me.

CD: Would you ever consider using AI in your work?

BS: I don’t use AI. I’ve thought about it, but at the moment I feel no sense of running out of steam. I’m not sure what it would add. More importantly, my joy in painting comes from the surface of the object. The thousands of decisions and changes of mind that scar the surface of the image as I solve the problem of the painting in its making. I fear that AI might simply provide me with an image that I copy, which would negate that struggle and suck out the intense psychic energy invested in the paint itself. 

CD: There’s something quite perverse about your work in the fact that the composition of your paintings makes little sense yet still endlessly intrigues because of this reason alone. Would you agree?

BS: I do agree with this! It’s only partly intentional, though. I like my work when it feels right to me. And maybe what feels right to me has a few complications buried in it.

CD: What emotions do you want to ignite in people who interact with your work? 

BS: Curiosity! I hope my work makes people aware of the 'bigness' of life. How it expands whether we like it or not. I’m a sensual human, I’m greedy for sensation. If that comes across in the work, I’m not disappointed. I really hope people find beauty in my work, despite (or in a dream scenario, because of) the obstacles I can’t help putting in the way of prettiness.