The Exchange: Sean Thomson and Rhys Coren

“Oh my god, it’s as if someone’s sunbleached Memphis”, Rhys Coren says about his collaborative exhibition with Sean Thomson at The Artist Room gallery. The installation has also been likened to both a Lars von Trier film and a public toilet. They sat down with Laurie Barron at Plaster HQ to talk about American modernist taste, Raymond Hains paintings and ruthless art directors. ‘Sean Thompson x Rhys Coren’ continues in The Artist Room’s outdoor project space until 10th February.

Laurie Barron: Hello Sean and Rhys! Could you start by telling us about your respective practices and how this project came about?

Sean Thomson: I started by assisting Poppy Bartlett, a brilliant set designer who often worked with David Sims. Set design is about learning by doing. It’s about knowing where to source stuff and how to build things. Then  I began working with photographer and stylist Venetia Scott, who let me do my own sets on her shoots. Since I joined my agency, Magnet, I’ve been working with photographers, magazines, brands and on fashion shoots and music videos

I’d been friends with Milo [Astaire, founder of The Artist Room and co-founder of Plaster] for a while. He mentioned an idea to utilise the outdoor space of The Artist Room to do something a bit unexpected. Initially, I wasn’t interested – just because I hadn’t done anything in an ‘art world’ space before. Then I thought about it. I’d had an idea for some time to work with tiles and to create something more like an artwork. I thought this was a great opportunity to take the plunge.

Rhys Coren: For me, the project also came from chatting with Milo. It’s quite rare to come across someone in the London art world that has such American-focused modernist tastes; to be really into sort of Elizabeth Murray and Mary Heilmann – huge artists that haven’t necessarily translated quite so much here. I was showing him some work and I just saw the light bulb go on in his head. He immediately grabbed his phone, showed me your [Sean’s] work, and was like: “I just had this idea on the spot”. From there, we worked out that the constituent parts of our practices combined could create something new that neither of us was doing. I had been working on these small monochromes, which is rare for me – usually, my work is quite punchy and graphic. So it was amazing that you were planning this graphic, punchy installation. I thought the small quiet monochromes could fit within – it just worked.

ST: Before the meeting, I was actually a bit hesitant. Milo was very much pushing me to collaborate and had sent me a couple of ideas, which I just didn’t think would work. Then he showed me your practice, and I could see the connection between what I was doing and your monochrome works.

RC: They were in the back of my mind for a while. The way I make my paintings is that I scan drawings in, vectorise them and use a laser cutter. I then spray things vertically down to create a kind of double-dry effect from the surface of the woodwork that I compile to create the paintings. I get this massive overspray of dust and basically – rather than it being one sort of solid colour – it’s really washed out because it’s composed of so many tones together. Somehow, that accidental palette matched perfectly with your palette. So I’d been making these works almost as a byproduct. It reminds me of an ongoing joke with friends following a bad studio visit. Someone might ask a question like: “have you ever thought about showing the drips on the floor?” So I was making them as a kind of joke. Sometimes, when an idea comes together so quickly, I feel a bit cheated or guilty, but it’s perfect.

ST: I’m always so interested in the accidental. An obvious example is the London Underground; those walls where there are layers upon layers of historical marks. They look like Raymond Hains paintings from the ’60s. I just constantly take photos of them.

RC: You can see that building of layers in your work: wallpaper and paint, tiles on tiles. There are also these little paintings, which act as another layer. But yeah, I don’t know if I would have ever done anything with them. Now I’m so glad I did, they’ve opened up lots of other avenues.

From an art perspective, I was like, “oh my god, the installation was as it someone sunbleached Memphis”, but turned the saturation down a bit. Also, because we were working with the lights off for a while, it felt like a Lars von Trier film. Then, in the process of making it, you and your assistant were covered in dust and it looked like a scene from Saw. The end result knocked my socks off. I thought: ah, this is a bit creepy, a bit beautiful. It was stylish and a bit deliberately not like ‘art’.

ST: Throughout the day, it would change. In the middle of the day, it would look quite friendly. Then in the evening time, it’d be much moodier. Some people compared it to a public toilet which I liked. I did actually build a toilet in a previous editorial… The medium of tiles is internal and external. They’re used externally in underground tunnels and public spaces, and also in kitchens and bathrooms. That’s why I contrasted these tiles with a deeper layer of wallpaper that references a very domestic world of floral and kitsch wallpapers.

RC: Was it a 360 approach? Because surely, if you’re making sets for photographers, it’s all focused in one direction from the photographer’s lens. And here you’ve made a fully immersive installation…

ST: I did the renders from one perspective because that’s all I ever do – I forgot about the rest. I was like oh my god, I’ve got to do the whole remaining part of the room. But actually, that was the most interesting part. Because then my work became more like a random drawing: more organic, more freestyle.

RC: When we were working out where to hang work, there wasn’t one part of the space was overbearing.

ST: Where we hung the works was not where I thought we were going to at all. With your experience hanging exhibitions, I took a step back. Because I could see that that was your strength; I would have gone into a kind of autopilot and created something flat.

RC: I can be quite ruthless with myself if it’s old work, but quite often when you have a shell or are working right up until the moment, you can lose a sense of objectivity.  But it just felt really easy in that space because, yeah, you had rhythm to it. Some walls were busier than others, some lent themselves better for hanging paintings.

ST: I thought you were quite considerate, you came in and were very sparing with what you were putting up. That wasn’t what I thought would happen.

RC: But that’s how it can be ruthless because you’ve done most of the work. I could see what was better for the room.

ST: I think I would struggle with your way of working: this patient way of letting things unfold.

RC: Maybe it’s my complete lack of patience that means I have to put hours and hours in!

ST: Having to think totally independently for myself like that was such a challenge. And it’s something you’re doing constantly.

RC: Being an artist can, at times, feel a bit schizophrenic. You have to be lots of different versions of yourself. Sometimes I’m slightly envious of the fact that you could be in some sort of transactional relationship where someone’s like, ‘I want that’.

ST: A pat on the back from someone else can be twofold…  because often, I get the opposite in my work!

RC: What is the opposite of a thumbs-up? A dark stare?

ST: Fashion can be quite cutthroat. Sometimes you come in and the art director is like ‘what the fuck is this?’ or ‘it’s not what we envisioned’.

RC: No one would say that to your face in the art world! They’d just say: ‘Well done!’

With projects like this, it’s great to be able to take little risks. If you’re always thinking something’s forever that can be scary, you know, so it’s cool to make stuff that’s just a bit fun.

ST: It’s funny because, for me, this feels very permanent. It’s open for six weeks when I’m normally working on a set for a two-day shoot.  Sometimes the photographer doesn’t even shoot the project well and it’s gone forever. It can be frustrating in that sense. For me, this installation is basically permanent! I was like, oh my god, it’s gonna be up for six weeks!

RC: Mary Heilman always used to joke about why she thought she was a postmodernist: because she thought her work extended beyond the edges. Modernists thought paintings were confined within their frame, and that nothing goes beyond the edge,  and what you see. She liked the idea that her works could be cropped waves or roads and a viewer could imagine more beyond the real image.

This installation brought out all the information that I would usually try and squeeze into the picture frame. So all of a sudden, everything within that rectangle painting I’ve made is doing the opposite to what it did before. It functions almost like a panel in a sound studio that absorbs all exterior information, creates something quiet, and allows the wall to breathe. So the work did the opposite to what I’ve done before; the complete reversal of the punchy thing sitting in a big empty space.

ST: I think there’s such a link between set design and art. Lots of set designers and artists traverse similar spaces. So, moving forward, it inspired me to try and do more projects just for myself.