The Scottish artist Jacob Littlejohn is based in New York but his paintings bear many traces of home. Allusions to Celtic folklore, poetry and the landscape appear in paintings both large and small: Hinkypunk (2025), in which shafts of light illuminate a dark forest, is named after the spectral creature said to lure travellers into treacherous bogs and swamps. This work is among others on display in ‘What the Thunder Said’, an exhibition of Littlejohn’s paintings at Karma in New York City (until 1 November). Highlights include Earth in Forgetful Snow (2025), in which Littlejohn has employed his signature technique of scraping, incising and peeling away layers of paint to create surfaces that seem full of life.
Where is your studio?
It’s in East Williamsburg, about a 15-minute bike ride from my apartment. I moved into this space just a few months ago. Before this I was working in a basement, so this feels like a real upgrade. It has wooden floorboards (which I’m a big fan of) and even a view… pure luxury!
How would you describe the atmosphere in your studio?
I’d say it’s relatively quiet and steady. I go in, I work, I procrastinate a little. Usually that’s by spending too much time looking for things I’ve just misplaced. Painting is mostly a solitary practice for me, so the studio’s atmosphere naturally reflects that. The space itself isn’t spotless, but it’s also not a dump – so it balances out, and so does the work that’s produced. To some, it might look more chaotic than it actually feels to me.
Is there anything you don’t like about your studio?
That I won’t have it for longer. Unfortunately, it’s a space I’m subleasing, so I’ll be on the studio hunt again next year. I’m also not a big fan of the cockroaches that like to visit in summer. I’m learning this is quite common in New York studios, though.
What does your studio routine look like?
I tend to get to the studio mid-morning – I like a slower start to the day. Sometimes I’ll go for a bike ride or read a little before heading in. I don’t really have much of a predetermined routine once I’m there, but sometimes I begin by working on smaller paintings or drawings – exercises that can spark thoughts or encourage ideas in other works to take shape. Over the years I’ve realised I tend to work best in the evening. I tried to resist working into the small hours, but now I just give in to it.
Do you work with anyone in your studio?
I don’t, no. I’ve never really felt like I’ve needed to. I enjoy the solitude – it’s nice to have time to forget about what’s happening outside the space and live in your own wee world for a while. I’m terrible at answering emails and texts, so maybe in the future someone could help me with that…
Do you have many visitors?
Not really. I’m not against having visitors, just at the right moments. Over time, though, I’ve found more people are excited to come by. I love when someone initially visits to discuss the work, and then we end up having a little drink and talking about a whole range of things, not just painting.
Who is the most interesting or unusual visitor you’ve had?
I was lucky enough to have Alex Katz come and see my thesis show. Not quite my studio, but I’m going to count it.
Do you listen to anything while you work?
Yeah, I’m almost always listening to something while I work. I can get distracted pretty easily, so having music or a podcast on helps. I tend to put on albums in their entirety, maybe to match or set a mood I’m in. Recently my go-to has been an album by a group called The Scorpions, released by Habibi Funk. As for podcasts, it’s usually Radiolab, something on NPR or The Blindboy Podcast.
What is the most unusual object in your studio?
I’d have to go with the taxidermied pheasant.
What is your most well-thumbed book?
Lately it’s been T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land – it’s felt like a nice companion to my most recent paintings. But if I had to choose authors I continually return to, it would be Italo Calvino and Etel Adnan.
As told to Lucy Waterson.
‘What the Thunder Said’ is at Karma, New York, until 1 November.