For the past two decades the Scottish artist Charles Avery has been largely devoted to his project The Islanders, a detailed depiction of the inhabitants, culture and landscape of an imaginary island. Paintings, drawings, installations and objects related to ‘the Island’ are held in international collections, including Tate Modern and the Kunstmuseum Den Haag. His latest exhibition, The Eidolorama (Ingleby Gallery, Edinburgh, until 19 December) departs from The Islanders. Comprising paintings of flat, abstract and geometric forms, the exhibition shows the artist moving away from the elaborate world-building seen in his earlier work and towards a more pared-back exploration of shape and colour.
Where is your studio?
Homerton, Hackney. Ten years ago, I and three artist friends, Michael Raedecker, David Noonan and Goshka Macuga, had the opportunity to acquire the lower two floors of a building at an affordable price. It had no floors or walls, or anything other than a concrete shell, but it was cheap. We were able to arrange the studios to our own requirements. They’re all quite different now.
How would you describe the atmosphere in your studio?
Smelly. I’m going for the mad genius vibe. I’ve got the mad bit down, my wife, Dorothea, reckons. I have notes and sketches scrawled everywhere, arrays of old jam jars containing very specific colour mixes, often still with a hint of the molecules of their previous contents. Gherkins seem to have a very persistent odour.
Is there anything you don’t like about your studio?
The neighbourhood is pretty lively and there is something about the acoustics of the street that means you can hear every conversation as if you were having it yourself. There are frequent altercations. Sometimes it’s quite interesting. You get used to it. Having said that, I now have noise-cancelling headphones if it kicks off too much.
What does your studio routine look like?
The moment I walk in I can’t help glance at what I have been working on, immediately identify an issue and try to tackle it right away, before I forget quite what the issue was. Ideally a coffee and a bun are quite high up the agenda. I work long days in the few weeks before a show. As I drift into the evening, I like to have a beer or some wine while I work.
Do you work with anyone in your studio?
Only my daughters, two of whom are at university, but do bits and bobs for me in the holidays. They are all very capable and talented and are pretty much the only humans that I would trust with any hands-on assistance. The vast majority cannot be outsourced so I do it myself. My youngest is still at school. I’ve had assistants in the past, and I expect I will in the future, but it needs to be the right person, and quite part-time, as tracts of solitude are invaluable. I no longer get lonely as the problem-solving of the work enthrals me, but one does get a little unsocialised.
Do you have many visitors?
Only trusted friends or family, or other artists. My gallerists will pop in from time to time. The studio never seems presentable enough to have collectors or the like. I’m either too preoccupied getting work ready for a show, or there is no work in the studio because it has all gone to the show, so there’s never a good moment.
Who is the most interesting or unusual visitor you’ve had?
About six months after my dad died I had regular visits from a beetle, over quite a long period of time. It was quite pushy and behaved in quite un-beetle-like ways. One morning I came in and was very sad to discover it had fallen into a pot of primer and whitewashed itself. I left it in the bottom of the yoghurt pot where it had expired. I returned the next morning to find it gone. It appeared again about a week later, same attitude, parading around on my drawing board. My sister said that it must have been a different beetle of the same species and that there were probably others in the studio, and that she had killed several identical ones just that last week and that it was the warm weather that brought them out.
Do you listen to anything while you work?
Strictly Radio 4 and the occasional podcast, but I’m very happy working in silence. Sometimes Radio 5 Live for the sport. I love to listen to the tennis commentary during the slams. There are some great commentators: Annabel Croft and Russell Fuller are my favourites; Abigail Johnson is a rising star. I met John McEnroe at a dinner at a fundraiser at the Whitney in New York a few years ago. He shook my hand and announced himself: ‘John McEnroe, Tennis Player’.
What is the most unusual object in your studio?
I have a good few curios, but my favourite is a realistic sculpted cobra-esque snake in strike pose. About half of all people don’t actually seem to like snakes – that might explain my lack of successful studio visits.
What is your most well-thumbed book?
My sketchbooks. They are many and they are in no order. When something occurs to me that I want to preserve for future reference I grab the nearest sketchbook and find some space in it. When I have to find the note, I need to pore through all my sketchbooks until I locate it. They are a mass of scribbles, more detailed drawings and diagrams, and notes, often indecipherable even to me.
‘Charles Avery: The Eidolorama’ is at Ingleby Gallery, Edinburgh, until 19 December.