The Figure in Flight - Anthony Scullion: Georgina Coburn

Scotland has a strong tradition of figurative art as witness, from Joyce W Cairns’ monumental War Tourist series to the hauntingly dark illuminations of Ken Currie, Jenny Saville’s meditations on civilian casualties in the Syrian war and Peter Howson’s brutish, cartoon-like Armageddons. Bearing witness to human conflict and mass displacement, Anthony Scullion’s work is testament to what painting can do to acknowledge human experience with compassion. The complexity of emotion in his paintings is rendered with consistent warmth of palette, focused on relationships between figures, often in transit or Exodus. The sense of dislocation is universal, seen in isolated groups of figures in semi abstract interior hallways or open spaces. It is the emotional gravitas and humility of Scullion’s art that sets him apart and invites the viewer deeper into his work.

Born in East Kilbride in 1967, Scullion graduated from Glasgow School of Art in 1992 and has developed a style of grounded resistance to an increasingly overwhelming state of humanity in crisis. Like frontline journalism, art that makes us see is more urgent than ever in a “post truth” world. Sometimes a jolt of shock is necessary, but perhaps in this era of digital bombardment what is communicated quietly, in tactile media like oils and mixed media is more potent. Whilst Scullion’s strong draughtsmanship and adept paint handling is obvious, it is his sensitivity to the human condition, a combination of vulnerability and hope, which elevates his practice.

The guiding light in Daybreak (oil on canvas 56 x 76cm) which illuminates the figures of three children carrying backpacks, also ignites the foreground grasses, the ground on which we stand as viewers. In the current climate, it is impossible not to think of migrant crossings and refugees from conflict when looking at this work. However, where rapid fire global news reports desensitise, Scullion gives us pause to reflect. Hues of pink and gold soften the shadows on the midground horizon as we witness potential emergence out of a long night. Even at distance, Scullion invites personal narratives led by the tender consideration of human figures and a palette of flesh, which we all are. It is an illuminating, imaginative space which stares reality in the face and still manages to comfort in awareness, rather than overwhelm with fear.

Leaving (oil on canvas 76 x 102cm) is an intensely moving painting, exploring a deeper psychological shadow space. Two figures, only partially visible and bathed in warm, yellow light, one clinging to the back of the other, bring empathy to experience. The positioning of these figures has them leaning into darkness and uncertainty in an arc of raw emotion and grace. The way that memory clings to our backs in sorrow and loss when we are wrenched away from place or kin is invoked by this image.The negative space that surrounds the two figures, or aspects of self, is freed by imagination. Scullion creates a powerful space within the painting where we may project our own experiences of grief, belonging and loss.

In a smaller Leaving study,(oil on board 20 x 25cm), an older and younger child are outlined in earthy red. The older child wears a box around the midriff, with a makeshift propeller, while the younger child being piggybacked appears to have cardboard wings. They are hooded, their arms contained within the costume and therefore without agency. There’s a feeling that this should be play in imaginative flight, yet it is anchored in dislocation.  Equally in the downcast gaze of Lost Cause (oil on board 21 x 29.5cm) the drawing is pared down, a meditation on whether escape is possible on an intimate scale.

In Scullion’s Inheritance series, generations of displacement are suggested, with universal interiors and figures moving toward destinations unknown. What we bequeath to ourselves, and others is suggested with figures being carried. Inheritance Study (oil on board 20 x 25cm) focuses on a mother with a child on her back, outlined in russet tones. The woman’s face is turned slightly towards the wall as if in contemplation of it, in a strange harmony of turquoise blue and warm fleshy hues. The subtle play of darkness and light on the figures and canvas scraped bare has a psychological dimension, with painting as an excavation of the soul. The child on the back could be an aspect of self, carried in adulthood.

Scullion’s powers of observation are beautifully realised in The Good Samaritan (oil on canvas 51 x 69cm). Deep, earthy tones of red and ochre anchor the painting. In a hallway a figure in a coat and boots, which could be male or female, leans forward with the weight of another on their back. The way the arm of the carried figure has dropped, conveys exhaustion- a journey not just within the building to home, but one of much longer duration and distance. Lived experience weighs heavy on the human form. The Good Samaritan II (oil on canvas 76 x 102cm) is reminiscent of Käthe Kollwitz in the focused embrace of two figures. There’s a feeling of the sweep of time and history into the bottom right corner and beyond the picture frame. Lit from the side and defined with dense shadow, the figures could be fallen or falling, held in that moment of recognition.

Human recognition and facing uncomfortable truths permeates Scullion’s art. View to the west (mixed media on paper 57 x 76cm) is an exquisite drawing and extremely poignant. A disembodied head with one the eye perhaps shot away, gazes aloft. This is war art which could be drawn from multiple global conflicts. Scullion creates beautiful textures, bled into skin and fine hair, tiny details that make us regard the figure rather than turn away from it. This dissolution of flesh implies looking toward a dream which is itself corrupted and disintegrating.

In works like Non – violent protestor (Oil on arches paper 45 x 38cm), Volunteer (oil on wood 28 x 56cm) and Community Leader (study, oil on board 22.5 x 19cm) youthful, weathered faces carry a weight of responsibility abdicated by elected leaders the world over. These faces communicate an attitude of care and a want of justice. Where I am is not my home (oil on canvas, 115 x 105cm) is the most overt expression of oppression in Scullion’s current suite of paintings. Stripped to the waist, a female figure crouches on the ground in what feels like an abandoned urban space, the wall above scratched with a child-like drawing of a house. Her body casts a shadow and the paint handling in the viewer’s foreground, dripping with ochre, adds to the sense of kept unease. The skin on her back carries a history and there is a feeling that the moment just passed or about to come, could deliver violence. The title leads us in contemplation of where this woman / human being truly resides and parts of ourselves forced into submission. The drawn marks in Scullion’s paintings are emotionally residual and stay with you, opening thought and reckoning with what is happening in the world.

The value of art that beckons us not to turn away should never be underestimated. Scullion’s paintings are focused on humanity, confronting what is and what might be, if we stop to look and feel what it is to walk in another’s shoes. Human experience becoming personal carries the hope of change within it and as seen in his work, there is no better conduit than the immediately tactile discipline of painting.

Georgina Coburn February 2023