Leisure
Liminal Gallery, Margate
10.08.26 - 13.09.26
Liminal Gallery, Margate
10.08.26 - 13.09.26
Strictly No Readmittance
Oil on canvas, 21 x 29.5cm, 2026
Can
Oil on canvas, 40 x 50cm, 2025
Air - After E.H.
Oil on canvas, 60 x 90cm, 2025
Surveilled (ii)
Oil on canvas, 25 x 40cm, 2025
Surveilled (i)
Oil on canvas, 25 x 40cm, 2025
Legs (curb)
Oil on canvas, 75 x 121cm, 2025
Legs (summer)
Oil on canvas, 85 x 121cm, 2024
Legs (knot)
Oil on canvas, 85 x 121cm, 2024
Loom
Oil on canvas, 120 x 120cm, 2024
Bus Stop
Oil on board, 41 x 80cm, 2023
Surveilled (diptych)
Oil on canvas, 2025
Theo really goes nuts for a particular kind of tracksuit – the heavy, dry, blunt, stiff kind that does show its fluidity and tensions, yeah, but only clumsily. The material brings to mind military gabardine, as in, in it we can see an aggregation of resistance and high-tech dexterity. Understanding this aggregation is crucial to a modern man such as Theo. Maybe the stiff tracksuit will reveal to us some secrets about masculine glamour.
Because these paintings are close-ups and decontextualise their subjects they can be felt as landscapes. That is, wondrously. Look – the runnelled creases and hillocks of the valley. The glimmer of the sea on a cloudy day. The sunset of an orange Nike swoosh and then the Adidas parallel lines implying train tracks.
Sportswear logos promise that we are still moving. Even when we’re sitting on the phone at the pub or on the computer working from home, we are moving. Yeah. We love moving. You are still a living thing, says the tracksuit in the city. You do have a physical body and your body is still useful to you, even at leisure. You could play some sports, for example, right now or some other time. Any time at all. You are still a mover. It makes sense that, in an increasingly still world, we wear these active clothes more than ever.
Because these paintings are close-ups and decontextualise their subjects they can be felt as landscapes. That is, wondrously. Look – the runnelled creases and hillocks of the valley. The glimmer of the sea on a cloudy day. The sunset of an orange Nike swoosh and then the Adidas parallel lines implying train tracks.
Sportswear logos promise that we are still moving. Even when we’re sitting on the phone at the pub or on the computer working from home, we are moving. Yeah. We love moving. You are still a living thing, says the tracksuit in the city. You do have a physical body and your body is still useful to you, even at leisure. You could play some sports, for example, right now or some other time. Any time at all. You are still a mover. It makes sense that, in an increasingly still world, we wear these active clothes more than ever.
The Nike swoosh should look exactly the same every single time, shouldn’t it? We know it so well. It must represent movement without moving. Ironically, capturing that lack of individuation requires a great deal of labour with a paintbrush. This self-torture is a comical and deeply endearing aspect of photorealist paintings. In the hope of somehow absorbing the immortal replicability of logos we will work, and pay, a great deal. I remember the schoolbooks of my mates at primary school filled with scribbled Nike ticks. Each tick represents anxiety.
Generally this is anxious viewing. The anxiety of seeing branding in landscapes. The anxiety of a conspicuous logo dictating the composition of an image. The anxiety of all attachment. The anxiety that maybe everything we do is in pursuit of a dream of total, final inertia, deindividuation and stillness and, I guess, peace. In denial of this fear we wear sports clothes and we embrace.
Henry Johns
Generally this is anxious viewing. The anxiety of seeing branding in landscapes. The anxiety of a conspicuous logo dictating the composition of an image. The anxiety of all attachment. The anxiety that maybe everything we do is in pursuit of a dream of total, final inertia, deindividuation and stillness and, I guess, peace. In denial of this fear we wear sports clothes and we embrace.
Henry Johns
Theo really goes nuts for a particular kind of tracksuit – the heavy, dry, blunt, stiff kind that does show its fluidity and tensions, yeah, but only clumsily. The material brings to mind military gabardine, as in, in it we can see an aggregation of resistance and high-tech dexterity. Understanding this aggregation is crucial to a modern man such as Theo. Maybe the stiff tracksuit will reveal to us some secrets about masculine glamour.
Because these paintings are close-ups and decontextualise their subjects they can be felt as landscapes. That is, wondrously. Look – the runnelled creases and hillocks of the valley. The glimmer of the sea on a cloudy day. The sunset of an orange Nike swoosh and then the Adidas parallel lines implying train tracks.
Sportswear logos promise that we are still moving. Even when we’re sitting on the phone at the pub or on the computer working from home, we are moving. Yeah. We love moving. You are still a living thing, says the tracksuit in the city. You do have a physical body and your body is still useful to you, even at leisure. You could play some sports, for example, right now or some other time. Any time at all. You are still a mover. It makes sense that, in an increasingly still world, we wear these active clothes more than ever.
The Nike swoosh should look exactly the same every single time, shouldn’t it? We know it so well. It must represent movement without moving. Ironically, capturing that lack of individuation requires a great deal of labour with a paintbrush. This self-torture is a comical and deeply endearing aspect of photorealist paintings. In the hope of somehow absorbing the immortal replicability of logos we will work, and pay, a great deal. I remember the schoolbooks of my mates at primary school filled with scribbled Nike ticks. Each tick represents anxiety.
Generally this is anxious viewing. The anxiety of seeing branding in landscapes. The anxiety of a conspicuous logo dictating the composition of an image. The anxiety of all attachment. The anxiety that maybe everything we do is in pursuit of a dream of total, final inertia, deindividuation and stillness and, I guess, peace. In denial of this fear we wear sports clothes and we embrace.
Henry Johns
Because these paintings are close-ups and decontextualise their subjects they can be felt as landscapes. That is, wondrously. Look – the runnelled creases and hillocks of the valley. The glimmer of the sea on a cloudy day. The sunset of an orange Nike swoosh and then the Adidas parallel lines implying train tracks.
Sportswear logos promise that we are still moving. Even when we’re sitting on the phone at the pub or on the computer working from home, we are moving. Yeah. We love moving. You are still a living thing, says the tracksuit in the city. You do have a physical body and your body is still useful to you, even at leisure. You could play some sports, for example, right now or some other time. Any time at all. You are still a mover. It makes sense that, in an increasingly still world, we wear these active clothes more than ever.
The Nike swoosh should look exactly the same every single time, shouldn’t it? We know it so well. It must represent movement without moving. Ironically, capturing that lack of individuation requires a great deal of labour with a paintbrush. This self-torture is a comical and deeply endearing aspect of photorealist paintings. In the hope of somehow absorbing the immortal replicability of logos we will work, and pay, a great deal. I remember the schoolbooks of my mates at primary school filled with scribbled Nike ticks. Each tick represents anxiety.
Generally this is anxious viewing. The anxiety of seeing branding in landscapes. The anxiety of a conspicuous logo dictating the composition of an image. The anxiety of all attachment. The anxiety that maybe everything we do is in pursuit of a dream of total, final inertia, deindividuation and stillness and, I guess, peace. In denial of this fear we wear sports clothes and we embrace.
Henry Johns
