#20: Not Always About Art: The Unlikely Inspirations Behind My Work
When people ask me where I find inspiration for my art, they’re often expecting me to talk about other painters, galleries, or movements. And yes, I’m always paying attention to what’s happening in the art world. But honestly? Some of the most important sparks come from places far outside it.
Comedy, strange music, even conversations overheard in the middle of town — all of it feeds into how I paint. Not always directly. Sometimes it’s a rhythm or a tone, a moment of humour or chaos. But it sticks with me. It shapes the way I approach the canvas.
Flat Moon, supporting Apollo Junction at Leeds Beckett SU, Leeds, Saturday, April 26th 2025.
Comedians, Chaos and Creative Rhythm
In the studio, I often paint to the sound of comedy podcasts. Mike Birbiglia, Richard Herring, Stewart Lee — they’re all obsessive about structure, about timing, about what works and what doesn’t. They’re also very open about failure, which I find strangely reassuring.
There’s a rhythm to how comedians speak. A pacing. A build-up and a pause. Sometimes I think painting has its own kind of punchline. The moment something lands. The bit you leave in. The bit you wipe away. Listening to these comedians work through their ideas makes me more comfortable working through mine.
Flat Moon & The Joy of Disorder
One of the biggest jolts of inspiration I’ve had recently came at a gig in Leeds, where I went to see Apollo Junction — and caught Flat Moon opening the night.
They completely blew me away.
Flat Moon are strange in all the best ways. Their lineup alone tells you something wild is coming: a theremin, a gold telephone, a ridiculously tight drummer (known as the Metronome of Yorkshire), a saxophonist who infuses the whole sound with a rich jazz energy, and a bassist who moves like he’s plugged into the national grid. Their frontman is a combination of charisma and chaos — genuinely unpredictable, and all the better for it.
Nothing about their music is “safe” or conventional. It doesn’t sit neatly in one genre, or follow the rules. It’s alive, it’s messy, and it’s incredibly skilled. It made me want to stop trying so hard to make things “make sense” in my own work. To let loose. To surprise myself.
A History of Noise
Before I found indie bands or experimental funk weirdness, I started with Metallica. Heavy metal was my teenage world — all power, growl and energy. Then came the indie nostalgia: Arctic Monkeys, Kaiser Chiefs, that golden mid-2000s moment. Those bands feel like part of my DNA now, even if I don’t listen to them daily. They remind me of who I was — and how far I’ve come.
These days, I still love those familiar sounds, but I find myself pulled more and more towards music that throws me off balance, music sits in the gut, not the brain. It’s intuitive. It makes me want to move. And paint.
From Ears to Canvas
You won’t find literal references to bands or podcasts in my paintings. But you might find the looseness, the rhythm, the joyful disorder. You might sense a saxophone wailing behind a brushstroke, or a comedian’s well-timed pause in the structure of a composition.
Art doesn’t have to begin with art. Sometimes it begins with sound. Or story. Or a bizarre gig in Leeds!
Letting It All In
What I’ve learned is this: it’s not about chasing inspiration. It’s about being open enough to notice when something moves you, and generous enough to let it change your work.
So whether it’s a perfectly told joke, a nostalgic indie riff, or the chaotic joy of a band like Flat Moon — I’m listening. And somehow, that all ends up in the painting.
.M.
Be real.
Make art.
If you’d like to learn more about my creative process or see my latest work, feel free to reach out or check out the rest of my website.