Jethro Jackson

Above, below, beyond.

 A series of paintings that have captured my imagination for almost three years.

2021: Above.

 A warm wind brought the smell of salt over the dry golden corn from Porthtowan. The deep blue of the horizon contrasting with the sunburnt land. Across the valley, an engine house stood abandoned, silent and still. Merging into the landscape like a moth against tree bark. For years it’s been almost invisible – as nature attempts to reclaim and absorb it back into the land. The chimney is all you can see now, breaking the skyline. A proud monument to Cornish history and heritage.  

 My mind slipped from the vista, free-falling into the human-made spaces beneath. Under the engine house there is a labyrinth. Chiselled, hammered and forged through granite by men and boys from another time. They were following the ore to something greater. Their entrepreneurial endeavours so alien to my world of paint and brush.  

 I knew then that I had to get into these spaces - to feel, see and smell the reality of a mine. 

 2022: Below 

 Nervous anticipation tied my stomach into tight knots as I sat squeezed into the back of a pick-up truck. With our backpacks filled with torches and pasties, we fell out of the vehicle. There was plenty of banter and jokes, but I soon grew quieter as I found my boots and coat. The realisation of what was about to happen dawned as the great Atlantic coast stretched out in front of me. Plunging cliffs fell away beneath and squawking seagulls flew overhead, reminding me exactly where I was. 

 Etched into the cliff face, barely visible, was a path leading to the adit (the passage into the mine). As we began the terrifying traverse, my feet slipped on the loose surface rock and my fingers gripped tightly to whatever they could find. The phrase “...fuck, what am I doing here?” went through my mind. Although I was hiding it, I was terrified and completely unsure.

 We stopped on a ledge. My fellow adventurers Tim, Henry & Sophie found their helmets and torches. I looked around and could see nothing but rock. Tim saw my confused, pale face. “We’re going in there mate.” I looked again. There was a 3ft opening in the granite, its entrance partially covered by earth and grass. I find tight spaces extremely difficult and I was not mentally ready for this start. But looking down to the breaking waves 150ft beneath me, I realised I was committed. There was no turning back.

Water dripped onto my face as I pushed myself through the narrow entrance. The darkness instantly consumed my senses as I fumbled for my head torch. The light cut the darkness to reveal a reality so alien, that I instantly felt sick. A chaos of decayed, collapsed wood and earth part-filled the tunnel. Trembling, I became completely overwhelmed with panic, but I pushed forward. The tiny glimmer of light from the escape had already disappeared.

 At that point I knew I was at the mercy of the mine. Cligga had me and I had to relent, to open my mind and senses. My journey beneath had begun. 

2023: Beyond

  The visual narrative and conversation in this series appeared during the first months of painting with automatism back in the studio.

 I was determined to strip back and abstract the landscape, and the inspiration that I’d found on that afternoon in Porthtowan began to make sense. I looked at the post war modernist painters for inspiration, searching for clues to pull my own thoughts and brush marks together.

 Historically, I’ve worked with thick layers of paint, applied wet with energetic, instinctive marks. This abstract group asked for a different approach - layers of thin paint in washes and glazes. It’s been a huge change in terms of the timescale involved. At first I found it frustrating and uncomfortable, having to wait weeks between layers. But I soon began to relax into this slower pace and process. On reflection, I feel this has been imperative to the series. It’s become a vital part of the narrative, tying the work to the time endured by the miners as they cut through solid rock. 

 I have woven further thoughts and narrative into these paintings as my mind has swirled over the last few years, but I’ll leave it to you to unpack and discover what lies hidden. As abstract painter Howard Hodgkin said, “The English language is the disease of art.“ I don’t want to affect the feeling you may find. 

Jethro Jackson

July 2023