Talking out loud, both physically and visually, to myself but also hopefully to you.

The paintings are often direct, bold, confident - they are frequently labelled (titled) as what they are; a sofa is called sofa, a cool dude is a cool dude, but you still don't know what that means.

Over the years, the works have moved from room and wall paintings, to very big paintings, to human-body sized paintings, to small paintings, to paintings on paper and on whatever I found and wanted to paint on.

The tempo of making itself is often fast, works strewn in the aftermath of the ongoing line of enquiry, only later to be digested and edited at a slower pace.

A need to express and an attempt to connect hovers over the work, a restlessness edging through the seeming assuredness.

An impulse to reinvent, shift and push known ways of working in small but substantial ways, with occasional tangents.

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Below are a series of texts on my work written by others.

The first by action sculptor, Bruce McLean.

The second by artist and writer, Rose Davey.

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stunning difficult thrilling funny stupid dum interesting fabulous barmy obvious clever intelligent perceptive illuminating clumsy elegant classy boring odd inspiring uplifting thoughtful questioning articulate painterly lush skooshy daft bright imaginative original witty sharp tight tasteful mathematical free loose designed composed ordered chaotic neat refined clinical funny amusing tedious deliberate wild sexy calm considered complete finished slack untidy superb distinguished brilliant genius quiet flash hot cool stunning smooth rough messy splattered particular specific unique philosophical decorative radical normal obtuse easy sublime crazy problematic pure personal perfect painting

Bruce McLean June 2019

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Rose Davey on Claire Dorsett.

Commissioned by Workplace Foundation, July 2019.

Claire Dorsett’s paintings have been repeating on my mind for over ten years. I see it in life, I see it in text, I see it in image, and I see it in awkward situations. Her paintings are teenage. They have an angst ridden quality that pretends not to care what we think, but really they are self-conscious and stubborn in their swagger.

I first encountered Dorsett’s work at the Slade School of Fine Art when we studied together under Bruce Mclean and then Lisa Milroy from 2008 -10. She made Kentucky between our 1st and 2nd year; a large painting at 220 x 240cm of black acrylic on raw canvas. I envied the confidence that made that work. It was a colossal moment in image making; a painting that harnessed your attention. In its presence one marvels at the experience, but asked to describe its appeal, the most genuine response is I dunno, I just like it.

Kentucky triumphs in the reoccurring problem of how to translate paint into the content captured in drawing. It succeeds because rather than scale up the idea of a drawing, the artist creates a new moment in paint. The act of painting becomes the subject. It is not a re- enactment of the drawing (executed from the wrist whilst seated) it is painted from the shoulder with the full force of the body.

The marks stop, just at the right point. The artist does not lose faith, they recognise this is enough and resist the temptation to continue. The truth that provoked the original concept of the painting is not obscured by further action, it is revealed through the economy of mark.

Dorsett collects content from life and translates it into material. She identifies what is visually and conceptually significant, removes it from the fabric of experience and repackages it into paint upon surface. Dorsett hoards snippets of existence from all corners of her daily interactions; overheard conversations, popular culture, holidays, anecdotes familiar objects, routine, etc. Private scribblings are made public by paint, and yet her works do not feel overtly autobiographical.

Solid and brushed lines strip the subject back to its basic descriptive elements and essential parts. The graphic nature of the marks and areas of flat colour evoke printed matter; a visual language that reduces the emotional aspect of the artist. The paint is employed to obscure the personal nature of what Dorsett comments upon; a sophisticated diversion from an intimate truth.

We are never certain of what she thinks because the works are primarily visual. Even the text registers as marks rather than thoughts, instructions or narrative. Letters operate as forms used to make formal connections across the canvas rather than solely state the authority of a word. Yet rather than feel consciously aesthetic in their production, they appear to be written in an unthinking scrawl.

This is the key to Dorsett’s drawing practice. They are not drawn to be made into paintings, they are drawn because a thought, observation or interaction has illustrated a universal truth acknowledged by the artist. These are often uncomfortable or humorous reflections that speak of our vulnerabilities and inconsistencies as human beings.

However, one feels Dorsett will select a drawing to transcribe into paint by assessing its aesthetic impact; chosen for its formal rather than emotional clout. The viewer can long for the artist to be a tortured soul, pouring their heart onto the canvas, (something Dorsett has already done in a way that is all her own in The Heart is a Muscle, 2018), but uncontrollable emotion combined with paint can lead to conceited, indulgent work that speaks only of the individual and not of the community. Dorsett’s work avoids this pitfall because they are optically driven. We may hypothesize on the personal story a painting begins to unravel, but we are only ever engaging with a narrative because we find the paint on canvas intriguing.

The various crops of life harvested by the artist into a sketchbook are magnified with their sentiment intact. Even on a colossal scale we read Claire’s text as handwriting and her image as doodle, as if a giant had scribbled these words and images onto the canvas. She sells us a lie by showing us truth.

No Pressure possesses a childlike scribble that describes objects you might find on the inside of a pencil case. The visual language may be infantile but the connotations are not. We are all aware of the tragedy social media can facilitate, and how it can become an unbearably unattainable template through which we live our lives. But Dorsett prevents the critical content taking over the whole painting. The message is broken down and expressed in a formal language that displays the talent of the artist as image maker. The work is oddly joyous and not drenched with doom. The colour startles us. As any painter will know, red and blue are not an easy combination to pull off, especially in the absence of missing primary, yellow. The others hues, therefore have much to do. The orange hair of the figure in the top left, the green grey hair of the top right figure and varied skin tones of all three are essential to the success of the work. Their inclusion, that explores a less limited palette, subtly delivers a work of greater aesthetic integrity that satisfies the eye. The red that spills into the bottom of the painting orientates the work and the black slides our vision around the surface. Within the frenzy of information the frames within the frame isolate visual moments that connect but do not clash.

The placement of text is also carefully considered. It is broken up, written over and appears in higher and lower case. We may reflect on the various societal pressures we are all subjected to by our phones, but it is the quality of paint by which we are seduced.

The message is clear, online dating can suck, but the painted medium used to describe a digital phenomenon is a beautiful contrast of communication methods. The frenetic micro swiping of a phone, versus the sweeping movements of a brush. The many images within the frame that are pushed past our eyes by social media are contained in one; the immediate barrage of infinite content reduced to a single surface to pause within.

Much of Dorsett's work can feel like a retreat from the negative elements of life and into the comfort of the familiar. Bedroom Painting, 2012, presents a collection of objects one might find on a wall in a teenagers bedroom (postcards, photos, tickets, posters etc.) The text in the painting reads If anyone wants me I’ll be in my room listening to The Clash. This personal refuge into music feels innocent, fun and nostalgic, and it makes one long to spend more time in this way. When did an activity, such as listening to music in your bedroom, cease to be an appropriate way to spend your time?

Sofa is one of the most reductive images within the show; a single colour on canvas. The painting is of a soft, pink, squishy sofa. But this is a specific kind of sofa. It is not a psychologist’s sofa, a sofa discarded on the street, a generic sofa such as one you might find in a Starbucks, or a designer sofa. It is more likely to be your Nan’s sofa. A friendly, comforting refuge that likes a laugh and enjoys a bit of tv and a hot cuppa.

Sofa provides sanctuary from the woes No Pressure emits, it is the antithesis of the curated digital canvas of social media. The space it offers is specific, homely, humble, warm and quiet. The sofa seems to have a strong sense of identity. It is proud, comfortable and stable, whereas No Pressure illustrates the perpetual search for meaning and acceptance that social media offers to solve whilst repeatedly exasperating the problem.

The sofa feels anthropomorphised and animated as it edges itself into the canvas. Its backward stagger lines itself up with the sides of the surface it appears upon. It sits in a canvas like a person sits on a sofa. However, this is a sofa we can never enjoy sitting on. It is the idea of sofa.

Hamfisted Heart On Sleeve is a more ambiguous work. It feels a little violent. The raw pink form is seemingly consumed by the teeth of a zip. A collision of visual languages upon a black void pushes the pink forward. It is brushed to reveal the actions of the artist, who has created a fleshy form of volume that reveals inside and out.

The confident handling of paint is supreme, but the title of the image again suggests vulnerability, and exposure. The self-assured mark of the artist continues to illustrate embedded anxieties.

The cartoon like visual language Dorsett employs injects a jovial humour into the work, but look again and the stakes are actually rather high. Many of the paintings feel as if they are attempts to make sense of life and the various things we do in between takes. It is the mundane leisure activities of screen scrolling, watching tv, listening to music, walking to work, etc. that Dorsett seems to capture. But is she critical, supportive or suspicious of these ritual activities? We don’t know.

There is also something inherently British about Dorsett’s work. It exercises a self-mockery to appear humble and relatable, but in doing so perhaps wallpapers over a darker state of mind. It is this more sinister aspect of the work that we as viewers sub consciously lock onto. Perhaps the Sofa is not a friendly safe space. Perhaps it is a sad and lonely space where someone continually watches tv; cut off from experiencing the variety of life portrayed before them. It is this contradictory element to Dorsett’s work that keeps you looking. It says “I’m okay, I’m not okay. I’m fine...honestly.” The stiff upper lip that keeps calm and carries on whilst flailing around inside.

In the words of Wyndham Lewis...

Bless this hysterical wall built round the ego

Bless the solitude of laughter

Bless the separating, ungregarious British Grin*

But all this matters because Dorsett uses paint to turn the mundane into the monumental. She recognises wit in the incidental and shows us what we would have otherwise passed by.

*Lewis, Wyndham, BLAST, 1914, page 26