I sit down with Jess in her corner of the studio. Large windows frame spectacular views of Edinburgh Castle, while sketches, photographs, and fragments of drawings sit alongside enormous canvases, their surfaces alive with gestural strokes of pink, orange, and red. Paintings lean against one another, half finished ideas spill onto the floor, providing a glimpse inside the artist’s mind. Yet there is a quietness to Jess’ manner which contrasts with the unapologetic energy of her paintings.
Lunt explores the uncomfortable relationship between private identity and public display. Growing up as a part of the generation that had unlimited access to the internet, she has become increasingly aware of the ways in which women’s bodies are presented and judged. Online dating, in particular, has informed this. Describing the experience of being reduced to a profile and a series of photographs, she reflects: “You just become consumable yourself. These men are just swiping on me, and if I don’t fit their checklist, then I’m just getting swiped away.”
These ideas find their way onto canvas through distorted, exaggerated and deliberately awkward depictions of women. Her references range from 1950s and 60s pornography to fashion magazines and contemporary social media. She is particularly interested in the contrast between the cinematic romance of older erotic imagery and the dehumanised nature of contemporary pornography.
Jess Lunt Splice 2, Oil on Calico, 210 x 190 cm
Lunt questions what happens when women reclaim imagery that is normally associated with the male gaze. Her figures resist idealised femininity, instead embracing fleshiness, plasticity, and imperfection. She also draws parallels with the macho gestures of male-dominated abstract expressionism, finding something almost ridiculous in what she sees as mere heroic posturing. “I do try to be a bit cheeky with it,” she admits.
That cheekiness is perhaps best captured by Two Fingers Up, recently exhibited at Embassy Gallery. Depicting two legs raised into the air as though swearing, the piece is a gesture of defiance that refuses to take itself too seriously.
For Lunt, humour is inseparable from the politics of her work. “I want women to look at my work and kind of see a sense of themselves in it,” she explains, “but try to feel a bit of humour in it, so that maybe we can take our power back.” Lunt describes her large scale paintings as a form of manual labour, joking “Instead of cooking dinner for my husband, I’m painting this painting for myself.” Her process is instinctive and energetic, often involving quick bursts of painting. Drips, splatters, and rough edges are deliberately left visible. “I like my work to be the right thing in the wrong place,” she says, resisting the polished finish she feels the contemporary digital art world can demand.
As graduation approaches, Lunt hopes to continue exhibiting and making increasingly ambitious paintings. She wants to inspire other painters, while offering women something recognisable, humorous, and perhaps liberating. “It’s true and it’s raw and it’s messy,” she says, “but there’s beauty in imperfection.” If her paintings offer a little humour, defiance, or escapism, she feels she has achieved something.
Photography by Elliott Dusome and Jess Lunt.
