John Monks is a British artist who works between the UK and France. Monks studied at Liverpool School of Art and the RCA, 1977 - 80. His work is in the collections of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; Yale Centre for British Art, New Haven; CAS; Arts Council Collection; The V&A; Manchester City Art Galleries and Santa Barbara Museum, California. Monks has held numerous solo exhibitions around the world and has been included in a number of major British art survey shows at institutions. For his upcoming solo exhibition at Long and Ryle, Monks is presenting new oil paintings, Palette is on view from 24 October to 10 January 2025 at Long & Ryle, John Islip Street, London.
In this interview with MADE IN BED, John Monks discusses his unexpected journey into art, his experiences at the Royal College of Art, and the influences that shaped his creative process. He reflects on the evolution of his work and his upcoming new solo exhibition.
Angel Song: To start this interview, can you first tell me how you got into the arts, and what was your experience like at the Royal College of Art?
John Monks: It happened completely by chance. I had no background in art—never seen a real painting or been in a museum. When I left school at 16 with no idea what to do, someone suggested I try a foundation course. On the very first day, it was like a light turned on, and I thought, ‘This is what I want to do.’
The Royal College was exciting and challenging. It was part of the V&A building back then, and we had a private entrance into the museum. The real catalyst, though, was my fellow students. The tutors were great, but it’s your peers who push you the most. We were all unsure of what we were doing, and that drove us to learn and compete.
AS: Did you always know you wanted to be an artist after that experience?
JM: Once I started, I never looked back. But it was competitive getting into the Royal College wasn’t easy, and you had to have real drive. It was hard then, just like it is now, but I was lucky enough to find what I wanted to do so early on. After the Royal College, I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do. You put your degree show up, and if someone liked it, great. If not, you just moved on. I met a guy, Graham Payton, who opened a gallery in Covent Garden and asked if I wanted to show my work there. It was completely by chance.
AS: How did your style develop during this time?
JM: At the Royal College, my work was non-representational, influenced by minimalism. I was fascinated by abstract elements, like crinkled red paper on the underground that picked up dirt. It wasn’t ‘about’ anything, but it had a figurative quality.
Over time, I started painting more literal things, like an old electric fan. It was a big shift to representational work, but to me, it felt like a natural progression—still inspired by what I’d seen, but more grounded in reality.
AS: How important were your fellow students to your artistic development?
JM: Your fellow students are your real catalyst. If you get a good set of tutors, great. But they’re really just an extra. The people you’re a student with are the most important, I think because you’re all in the same boat. You’re all not really sure what you’re going to do or how to do it. We learned so much from each other.
Often, dialogue with fellow students is what helps you grow the most. We pushed each other, especially when one of my friends said he was going to apply to the Royal College of Art. That competitive nature made me think, 'Well, I’ll apply too!' That kind of interaction drives you forward.
AS: Can you tell me about your process and how you approach completing a painting?
JM: I don’t think paintings are ever really finished. I think you just leave them alone. Sometimes you get to a point where you think, ‘I don’t know where to go with this,’ so you put it away and come back later. I don’t believe in overworking a painting—at a certain point, the surface becomes too worked, too layered, and it limits what you can do.
When you start a painting, you have an idea or some inspiration, but you’re not in complete control. You want the painting to inform you as you work. It’s a bit like solving a puzzle. The painting itself suggests things, and that’s what keeps it interesting. If it’s too planned out, it loses its energy. You’re looking for that moment when the painting tells you what it needs, which can sometimes take years.
AS: What role does the physicality of painting play in your work?
JM: It’s crucial. When you make a brushstroke, there’s a certain emotion or energy behind it, and that’s what makes it unique. It’s very physical. That’s also why I never agree to copy a painting—it would be impossible to replicate that same energy. It would just be a facsimile, but without the same emotion behind it.
Painting is a very tactile process for me. I do a lot of glazing, where you apply thin layers of paint over one another. It’s about creating depth, making things come forward or recede. The process itself informs the final result.
AS: Your upcoming show, Palette, includes two new landscape paintings. Can you tell me more about this direction?
JM: Yes, landscapes are a big part of this new show. I’m interested in how you can draw people into a painting, and how you create a sense of space and movement. Doorways and corridors appear often in my work because they offer a kind of escape point. It’s about focusing the viewer’s attention on certain elements while allowing other things to fade into the background.
With painting, unlike photography, you don’t have a single focal point. You can guide the viewer’s eye wherever you want by manipulating focus. I like that idea—of directing attention and creating a narrative within the painting.
AS: How important is your studio space to your practice?
JM: For me, studio spaces are essential. This place here was originally a stable, and when we first came, it was completely derelict. There were no floors, just earth, and everything was black with dirt. But I like that history. It influences how I think about my work. My studio in France is much smaller, but it has a rich history dating back to the wars. There’s something about working in these spaces with a past.
You know these things about the space, but you can’t see them. It’s like trying to paint something unseen. In a way, that’s what I’m always trying to do—inhabit my work, and put myself in it without literally being there. The history of the place becomes part of the process.
AS: How do you view the relationship between memory, dreams, and the imagery in your work?
JM: Well, I would say I have my reasons for doing it. A successful piece of art is probably one where you're so invested in it yourself that it gives off something that others can connect with in their own way... It’s not a unique image—there are lots of people who’ve painted rooms—but you’re painting it in your own way. If you can connect with it sufficiently, it kind of gives off heat, it gives off something that people can respond to.
In the end, why I’ve painted it isn’t going to make you like it or dislike it... Unless you can connect with it in your own way, you’re not interested.
AS: Do you ever feel that your work is 'finished,' or is there always more to be done?
JM: You’re never fully satisfied, and I think that’s a good thing. I think all artists have that mentality—never being completely finished. You’re always searching, always thinking, ‘The next one, the next one.’
You’re after that thing just out of the corner of your eye, not quite sure what it is, but it kind of leads you on. Sometimes, though, you recognise when you’ve done something that’s really good for you. It doesn’t happen often, but it’s those moments that keep you going.
AS: How do you define success in your work?
JM: I think if you even look at great artists, there’ll be maybe half a dozen or a dozen things they did in their life which were great, and maybe three of those are truly exceptional. It doesn’t happen often.
What tends to happen with people who are good is they make fewer out-and-out blunders. But you look at someone like early Cézanne or early Goya—they were quite crude, quite naïve, but always powerful. There’s no half-heartedness, just an absolute drive to make the thing. That’s what I’m always looking for—something that stops you in your tracks.
AS: What drives you to continue creating, even after so many years of practice? and what are you looking forward to next?
JM: You just want to do better things. You want to do better versions of what you’re doing. I mean, when I exhibit things, I’m happy for them to be seen publicly. But by that stage, I’m quite relaxed about it. It’s the doing of them that matters. Once they’re done and photographed, they’re out of your hands. Next week, you’ll get out a new canvas and there’s no pressure—nobody knows you’re doing it, and you can just think, ‘What are you trying to do here?’ It’s about keeping it going, driving it forward.
You just keep doing it. You just keep driving it along, keeping it going. Hopefully, it leads a life that also encompasses other people and things. In the end, you do what interests you, what drives you. You’re always after that next thing, always striving to do better.
Many thanks to John Monks on behalf of MADE IN BED.
John Monks Solo exhibition PALETTE is on from October 23rd to January 10th at Long and Ryle Gallery.
