Jo Walter has really inspired me to consider possibilities such as uniting shared memories of family history, and how art can reconfigure memory. We met at West Bristol Open Studios, where I was intrigued to overhear Jo talking about how she uses memories in her work. This blog is based on our subsequent discussion.

Over to Jo:

“There's so much art that's based on imagination, think about Giotto’s angels:

Childhood revisited

“The experiences that you have as a child are very, very intense. I can go back to a moment in time and there I can smell hear, taste… my whole body remembers what it was like to be in that moment. My mum and dad have both died now, a huge thing for me personally, so it feels very natural to be looking back to my childhood. It isn't a forced process, lots of memories come back and forth. So it is easy to then expand into my memory, my peripheral viewpoint. It's almost like you inhabit your childlike self. And you say: ‘I'm just going to look around this room, look around that landscape’, and transfer that to paper. I may not have depicted it entirely realistically, but to me, it's real. It matches my memory of my real experience. But there is an element of imagination, because I’m telling a story.

“My Childhood - The Chenille Tablecloth” was based purely on memory. So how could I be definite about the edges? I really felt that it was more about the mood. I didn't want the paint to interfere too much. I wanted it to be so that you just felt the enclosure of the room, and the lamp light was sort of glowing and pervasive. And maybe the painting carried on beyond, with no edges.

I've always felt that my painting was an emotional response to my life. None of it is just plain painting. Even if it's a bunch of flowers on the table, to me it's an emotional response. Because that's how I live - very emotionally. I see a good piece of work, and emotions pop out! I respond to the world like everything is amazing all the time. It's a bit intense.

Sharing memories of a shared lived place

“So I thought I'd do a really big drawing - I had this lovely wall, put a huge (4ft x 5ft) piece of paper up, and just started. I sent it to my sister, who said “You’ve forgotten the jam cupboard. And you’ve forgotten that the windows only had six panes in each sash”.

I didn't want to start again, so I put slightly transparent paper over the areas that I had originally drawn, and altered it over the top. It just grew from there.

I talked to each family member and asked them for help. And what really has been wonderful is extending my memory. So each time they mentioned an object, it would spring into my mind. Like the biscuit barrel. It's cream China. It's got roses on, and a little flat lid that makes some noise every time you secretly take a biscuit. Only my brother could take that off without it making the noise.

All of us loved doing it. I talked on the phone about it to each one of them. And it helped - we're a close family anyway, but hearing different perspectives has allowed me to change some of my memories of the past in a really positive way.

Changing memory

“The little landscapes are almost like postcards to myself. I knew that working from memory was not going to be the same as the reality. I can go to this place, and see that view, but it won't be the same as my memory, because of what people have done to the house and things.

Each time I painted that view it changed slightly, because I remembered it slightly differently. That's another really fascinating thing about memory: When you remember by observing the memory, you change the memory. And particularly if you look at a photograph. So that was a really good discipline not to look at the photographs.

“I've done paintings that are based on life, but they're not! Even when you think you’re painting from observation, as you consider your composition you’re imagining how it might look. As you pull your eyes from the subject to your canvas, you are using your memory of the subject.

I might set up a still life (usually flowers), and work from that. I don't paint solidly for two days, I go back in and out, so the plants change and die. So I'd take some photos, then also use my imagination to create the composition that I wanted, and rectify the distortions of the camera to match my memory of the subject. So if there wasn't a line somewhere and I wanted a line I put the line in, because to me it's more important that the image sits where I want it to be. That's the great thing about painting, you are completely free to do exactly what you want. I actually I think I'm not that brave about changing things. And I'm becoming more brave.”

Huge thanks to Jo for providing the pith of this blog, and proof reading the butchery that passes for my editing.

View Jo’s work here, and on Instagram. Contact Jo by email here. If you have enjoyed this blog, please do leave a comment, subscribe, and pass it on to friends!

Thank you so much!

Gail x