James Vella Clark is an artist synonymous with the Maltese landscape genre. Joseph Agius talks to him about his latest exhibition, which celebrates an anniversary and developments in his art

TWENTY is an anniversary exhibition of 20 paintings, 20 years since your first exhibition Beyond Perspectives. That exhibition investigated the Paul Klee/Esprit Barthet/Pawl Carbonaro legacy and, perhaps, the awe and admiration you felt for these and other artists who tackled the landscape/urban landscape genre as a new language. Is this exhibition about new directions and shedding off old skin through a more personal and intimate style, without denouncing your artistic origins?

James Vella Clark. Photo: Brian Grech

More than an investigation of other’s works, Beyond Perspectives was more of a conscious and decisive first attempt to invite an audience who was ready to relate to my way of looking at the landscape beyond what some would describe as ‘the traditional depiction’. I knew, even back then, that what I wanted was to look at things differently; I wanted to present something that would define me from others’ work. I always felt it pointless doing what others would have already done or were doing.

What I certainly did was assimilate what struck me most in the style and approach of the artists you mentioned and took that as a starting point for something new. Their impact and influence were the jump-start I needed to set off upon my own path. Having said that, my artistic origins lie mostly in the reason why I paint – to present the world the way I see it and how I would like others to view it. As for style, it is a journey that sees me constantly evolving. God forbid I remain stuck.

Klee’s compositional qualities in his art are a factor of his musical background. Are you inspired by music or is your art an extension of your moods? Do your chromatic choices originate from feelings and experiences that shape your day? Or does the landscape’s characteristics empirically dictate the choice?

Music puts me in a mood. Those who know me best, know how important music is to me. I need music in whatever I am doing, be it work or painting. It is a constant in my life and the influences are extremely varied. Having said that, my chromatic choices are the product of the moment but also a conscious decision based on what mood I want to convey or what story I want to tell with my painting. There are then those instances which happen like snapshots. It is when I happen to notice a particular arrangement of forms and colour, be it in nature or a random reflection and I would need to reinterpret those arrangements and colours. But music remains an overarching element in my artistic output.

The lonely solitary palm tree is a Vella Clark signature. What does it represent? Maybe that trees will soon become a ‘unique’ attraction amid the concrete jungle? Is it a reference to Paul Klee’s silhouetted palm trees and your admiration for his work?

Before the palm tree, there was the cypress tree, representative of death and the afterlife. It was the tree I associated most with death, due to its presence in cemeteries. It was like something in me was going through a slow death. Eventually I went through significant personal life changes which also impacted my art and the way I looked at my own work.

As a result, my landscapes and my palette changed a lot too – the theme became brighter and more uplifting – more exotic perhaps – and this meant that this new chapter had to be marked by a new protagonist – hence the palm tree with its exotic qualities. By time, the palm tree, known for its resilience in the harshest of conditions, became representative of the human spirit within us that seeks survival in the harshest of life’s situations.

Eventually, the palm tree in my landscapes started representing individuals in life contexts and situations, most times representing myself in a specific situation as I relate to others and to the world around me. Ultimately, my landscapes are about storytelling. The stories will never be obvious but only hinted through an assimilation of the various elements within the painting.

This exhibition documents a divergence in your path – abstracted landscapes versus total abstraction, although, in some cases, the palm tree is the only factor of representation. Is this a philosophical observation and comment that colour is the only saving grace in this country? Or are you at a stage in your artistic development in which abstraction offers more possibilities and is a path that you will follow in the future?

Ultimately, my landscapes are about storytelling. The stories will never be obvious but only hinted through an assimilation of the various elements within the painting

It is interesting that you mention the word ‘divergence’. This was the theme of my last exhibition of landscapes in 2017 where I was showing how my landscapes had finally assumed their definite ‘abstract’ quality. That exhibition had cemented my resolve to pursue this path in fact, this current show is an affirmation of that choice. Abstraction will always offer more possibilities and it is a path which I will certainly keep pursuing. But my landscapes will always represent my roots and I do not intend moving away from exploring this genre further.

The church still dominates some of your landscapes, at least those that have not merged into abstraction. What does the church represent for you – an architectural feature of our towns and villages or rather a vestige and memory of our traditions? Or do you think spirituality and morality are still relevant in today’s Malta, overcome with greed, corruption and sleaze?

The church, with its dome and belfry, was always part of my story-telling process. They always overlook the villages and cities I depict because the way they dominate the skyline remains representative of the way religions and beliefs tend to dominate our daily life. But in their specific form, the dome and the steeple have also come to represent the female and the male, and therefore, the way I have them relating to each other in my landscape could sometimes be a metaphor for a specific story between a man and a woman. The mood of this story is then set by the chosen colours which many times carry a specific code. It may sound ‘playful’ but such ‘stories’ are human stories with which anyone may relate.

Villages, towns and the lush fields are losing their battle against the rampant development of cranes and ugly, unnecessary buildings of which there are many examples, as depicted in one of the paintings. Can one harbour hope as the degradation of our beliefs, heritage and landscape sets in?

I am no one to say there is hope or that there is not. Most times, I would tend to say that as things stand, there is very little hope to aspire for in this country, on so many levels, not only aesthetically.

But then again, although paintings such as the one you refer to, could be classified as a personal protest, my role remains that of an artist and my aim is to relate to the immediate world around me through my own work. Having said that, art does not always have to be about beauty, even though it is very tempting to use art as an escape from the ugliness that surrounds us. In my case, I many times find myself trying to seek beauty where others are less likely inclined to find it.

Is there comfort in the non-representational and the merging of everything into a dreamy Gerhard Richter/Joan Eardley escapist reality? Are these particu­lar paintings a murmur or a prayer for some sort of redemption?

Prayer is more personal than this, and as with redemption, I believe that right now, there are many others who need it more than I do! Whereas I have always been of the firm belief that art should be at the service of the artist and not the other way round, I stopped looking at my art as some form of escape. I actually feel it is a very intrinsic part of who I am. So really and truly, to escape and find refuge in art will only see me coming back to myself.

The “comfort in the non-representational” that you speak of, perhaps alludes to the perceived freedom that abstraction allows. But I say “perceived” with a purpose. And perhaps this is why I never really agreed with the term abstraction, because even abstract work knows its source that was, at some point, representational.

In my case, my abstract works evolved from my pushing the compositional boundaries in my landscapes. It was a gradual process that happened across a number of years. And perhaps this is why I look at my art as my personal journey. Just like any landscape changes and evolves over time, so did my visual language as I explored and developed my work. In the longer term, it has helped me understand better who I am and what I am capable of.

Sharing my art is my way of sharing a part of my inner world with those around me and to gradually leave my little mark on this crass world. I have no destination and I will never believe I arrived where I was destined to arrive. After these first 20 years of sharing my art, artistically I am in a good place but there is so much more to come. And perhaps the beauty of doing art is the constant search for new possibilities.

TWENTY, hosted by the Malta Postal Museum of Archbishop Street, Valletta, runs until June 15. COVID-19 restrictions apply. In line with the works’ storytelling qualities, rather than the more formal titles, the artist this time chose to attribute short descriptive stories to the works that the public will be able to read when visiting.