Leaves of the Brush recalls cubist and surrealist influences. Set within a fresh coat of bright paint, this Martin Claydon exhibition investigates the artificial world of art itself.
Within the gallery window sits Steel (2024), a work that, at first glance, appears chaotic – an array of sharp lines, stark shadows and blinding highlights. Jagged glimpses of open, ravenous mouths inside steel pots and cans, along with severed hands acting independently, form a jigsaw of eerie disarray. Yet, it is the crimson flesh and curling smoke veiling bones and bowls that ultimately pulls the viewer into the gallery space.
Leaves of the Brush presents a large array of Martin Claydon’s fantastical works, taking up two levels of the gallery space. The white walls are lined with varying sized canvases, each with their own morbidly constructed composition. There is a surprisingly large number of works that include artificial limbs, especially feet, and Claydon makes reference to their inclusion as a symbol of painting itself. They become symbolic of the artist’s yearning to mimic and represent a fully realistic yet stylised world – it is an artificial replacement of the real. To the audience, they may just melt into the composition, an interesting figurative form that’s repainted in practice of representing the real.
Aside from the many configurations of the natural and built world, Claydon’s technique in rendering these cubist constructions are, simply put, beautiful. Thick strokes of impasto weaving between colours creates layers of objects, melding into the background or being brought forward. His sharpness in works such as Inclination (2025) are only softened by his textured use of colour in splashes of blue and red within the beige-ness. The rendering of shifts between light and dark are smooth, yet the blockiness of Material (2025) is reminiscent of stained glass windows.
A standout in this exhibition is the work Crucifixion. It depicts a cliff framed by two wooden beams; behind it are repetitive small waves moving through the work. The composition is topsy-turvy, you don’t expect the land aspect to jut out the side of the world, untethered to any further landscapes. Almost camouflaged within the rocky outcrop is a spider climbing up to its egg sac. On the other side of the work, a thick nail sticks into the wooden beam, casting a red shadow. Is it a stigmata? Or, with the spider and its eggs, a symbol of pain and rebirth?
Claydon’s solo show at CBD Gallery is overwhelming in its sumptuous colours and strokes of thick paint. It is a feast for the eyes. There is an overwhelming warmth in the colours that draw the viewer in to inspect tiny hidden symbols. It would be interesting to unpick these and further understand why the artist has chosen to depict these specific scenes. The paintings are busy, almost as if rendering the constant evolutions within his mind. The underpaintings are sometimes visible; there are artificial versions forming one of the many layers of the work.
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The dynamism in the scenes and attention to detail make Leaves of the Brush a must visit.
Martin Claydon: Leaves of the Brush will be exhibited on the ground floor and first floor until 10 May, moving to the first floor until 14 June at CBD Gallery, 72 Erskine Street, Sydney.
