"The physical smallness of Joanna Whittle’s paintings – where-ever they arrive from and resonate with – make the viewer come physically close, leaving the safe space of the casual stroll past pictures glanced at. They make us really look. Only then, when near and attentive, do we see how intensely painterly they are, how much the effect and the affect arises from the sure confidence of the artist’s touch, the delight of the experienced brush that has animated a tiny inflection on a tree or placed two dots of paint upon each to create a single pink light piercing the damp gloom of the lonely night. Her work is, as the artist said to me a ‘celebration of painting’ in its technical mastery, its knowing relation to its peers and antecedents and ultimately its deeply affective and hence philosophical meditations on being in the world, when human relations to the environment are more acutely significant then ever. This evolution of a landscape painting practice so affectively attuned to the hurt of human alienation and to mourning strikes a deep chord in this moment."
Griselda Pollock, 2020
The work deploys material and illusory qualities of paint in an exploration of both real and imagined landscapes.
The subjects are an enactment of romantic notions of the ruin with decaying structures and verdigrised surfaces. However, the buildings and sites are more contemporaneous and the paintings often contain signifiers suggesting on- going, furtive activity.
The tent paintings represent fragile and temporary structures constructed within these notions of the ruin and time passing. Canvas sits in water; ropes are pegged in to fluid land. Time sits still and moments brush against each other – canvas rots and weeds scramble over surfaces, but some lights remain on or have just been lit. They hold their own histories, ideas of vanished circuses or fairgrounds- events once frenetic now silenced and ominous in dusk or rain. Concealing their internal space whilst their exposed surfaces weather and rot, they are hostile in their refusal to reveal their secrets. The still light ossifies both tents and trees, like a petrified forest, whilst liquid, motile elements pool around them making these worlds almost static, yet they seem be slowly moving towards an uncertain or foreboding conclusion.
The paintings are often constructed from several elements giving them a frozen static quality. The weather is oppressive, about to storm or kick up wind whilst red light reflects from clouds. The water or mud isolates structures and trees, making islands and increasing the sense of something being not quite right. Rather than the uncanny however, the paintings pursue those small moments of uncertainty, or hesitancy in our understanding or perception of reality and consequently realism. Elements give way to each other – grass becomes mud, becomes water which undermines the stillness, there is an undercurrent of flux or motility, of places emerging and submerging.
The overanxious handling of the subject matter is almost forensic, each element is studied and exposed. But equally elements give way to fluid and rough rendering to undermine this certainty. The paintings are on a small or miniature scale making these worlds more focused and intense. They are not bodily landscapes but rather operate as small hallucinations or worlds running concurrently or beneath reality, formed by minute perceptions.