An interview with Mark Charlton: Writer and painter

Mark Charlton is writer and painter living in Wales and Wiltshire. He’s a rare combination of serious artist and successful mainstream businessman, holding down a directorship of a large public company. His first book, described as a journey into fatherhood and landscape, will be published in 2012.

On his blog, Views from the bike shed, Mark writes: Someone once described me as a polymath; I had to look it up. But I guess it fits: writer, painter, father, kayaker, thinker, collector, nature lover, adopted Welshman,
one time climber and occasional cyclist. 

Mark is also a regular contributor to the WOWH site. This October he’s co-tutoring a course in blogging for writers at the national writing centre in Wales. The guest reader will be none other than Fiona Robyn.

Hi Mark, what drives your creative work?
That’s an interesting question. At a psychological level I’m not sure I know the answer. But I do know there are three recurring inspirations to my work.

The first is a love of landscape, particularly wild places that I find myself returning to time and again. I live half the year in Wales and this is fundamental to my creativity and wellbeing.

The second is my children and the delight I found in fatherhood – my three boys are a constant source of wonder.

The third is more difficult to explain.

It’s quite common for artists to describe a feeling of separateness, a sense of looking in on the world. But just occasionally we glimpse something that transcends analysis – and for an infinitesimal moment we connect with a world beyond us, the world perhaps, as it really is. The late welsh painter, Peter Daniels, once told me he wanted to capture ‘moments of seeing’ – the milliseconds before we name and categorise and place in order what otherwise assaults our senses. I think that describes it well.

What would you say to yourself if you could go back in time and meet yourself at the beginning of your creative career?
Have courage. Expect to face ridicule and for others not to understand. Don’t be precious; be prepared to lose what you’ve gained to find something better.

The most important influence on my creative life was the painter John Skinner, with whom I worked for eight years. I met him in my thirties and he transformed both my creative confidence and the way I looked at the world – the sound-bites above are all his. If I could have my creative life again I’d wish to have met him in my teens.

More generally, I’m a great believer in mentors – we are never too old or experienced to be guided. So maybe ‘get a good tutor’ would be the first thing I’d say.

How do you keep creating when things get difficult?
I make space.

I do it physically by tidying my desk, sorting paperwork, making lists of jobs that been hanging around; I delete appointments from my diary, schedule what’s necessary and then get back to the ticking the list. Sometimes it takes days, weeks even.

I find this process of clearing is important. As the mess is sorted so are my thoughts – what’s remains then finds its way into my writing and painting. Often I spend more time clearing than creating, but I’ve come to accept it as part of the process.

How does your creative work affect the rest of your life?
My immediate response is to say that creativity is not something I separate from the ‘rest of my life’ – it’s as integral to it as oxygen is to air. But less philosophically, my creativity has served me well in business. My work style is evidently what the psychometric gurus call a ‘split wheel’ – this means I have both a creative and an analytic side. The creative side helps me see possibilities that others miss, but my practical side ensures I still get results.

And I should say that I’m incredibly lucky to have met my wife Jane. She is hugely supportive of the time I take to write and paint and think. Without her tolerant understanding the ‘rest of my life’ would not be as it is.

What is it like to send your work out into the world?
Exhilarating.

Of course it can be nerve wracking and most of us fear ridicule or misunderstanding. But I find most people are generous. And there’s a deep satisfaction when something I’ve created resonates with others.

I remember when I sold my first painting; the excitement that somebody was prepared to pay for what I’d made. I get that same buzz when reading aloud or pressing ‘publish’ on a blog post – one of the best things about blogging is the comments readers leave and the connections that can make. A few years ago I wrote a post about a lost writer whose book had made a difference to my life; three weeks later he contacted me as did hundreds of others who’d been influenced by his writing.

My first book will be published next year – much of it is concerned with my children; all of it a personal journey. Sending it into the world is perhaps the scariest thing I’ve done – and yet I’m excited too.

What was the best advice anyone gave to you?
‘If I was you, I’d walk this rapid.’

Twenty years ago I was pretty good kayaker; I paddled some of the world’s biggest rivers and had an ego to match. But I was never as good as I imagined - and I’d have probably killed myself had it not been for the advice of those who knew me better. Kayaking taught me that you need to commit to succeed, but there’s also a time to step back, to remember why you’re there in the first place.Some of this is about getting older, but when I was younger the landscape was very much a playground. Nowadays it has a different dimension. It’s more important to go wild camping with my young son, sometimes only a mile from our house; to sit out
and tell stories as we watch the stars, than it is to climb summits or conquer rivers.

What helps you to pay attention to the world?
Thinking.

For all that people now regard me as a writer and painter, it was philosophy that I studied at University. I often spend hours just thinking - figuring out how I feel about politics, art, family, the land…

And then there’s always my banjo, but you really don’t want to hear that.

Thanks Mark. Click here to see Mark's Writing Our Way Home blog posts.