It all began in late August during my live demo at • nook • gallery and studios. I was nearing the end of my solo show, The Wonder Series, and had decided to run a few painting demos to share what happens behind the scenes of my practice. It wasn’t a performance. It was about showing the reality of painting: the quiet decisions, the messy palette, and the questions that come from people watching you work.

That Saturday, the 23rd of August, I was mid-demo painting my friend Sam Weeks. The setup was simple: easel in the centre of the room, oil paints lined up in their usual order, turps, rags, and brushes. I’ve used the same Seawhite of Brighton A1 drawing boards since I was a kid in the 90’s, and they’ve become an extension of how I work. Painting live feels very different from being alone in my studio. You’re constantly balancing between focus and conversation, explaining colour choices, and trying not to forget what you were doing mid-sentence. But that’s part of the fun.

Halfway through, in walks Russ Sargeant with his friend Henrik Olsen, a photographer. I’d met Russ earlier that summer through United Artists of South Birmingham while working on Art in the Heath. I’d been completely taken with his work from the start, the honesty of it, the rawness.

We started chatting about the painting process, about spontaneity and chance. I remember saying how much I love impromptu decisions, those moments when something just happens and you go with it. And right in that moment, there he was, unplanned and unexpected. So I turned to him and said, “Actually, can I photograph you? I’d love to paint you.”

Henrik had his camera with him, so I slipped straight into Art Director mode, something that comes naturally after years of working with photographers and film crews. I gave a few quick directions, Henrik clocked exactly what I meant, and within minutes he’d captured the shot. It was instinctive, smooth, collaborative, and one of those five-minute exchanges that just clicks.

The shoot! Henrik Olsen and Russ Sargeant

I left the photo parked for a few weeks, knowing it would eventually become a painting.

Fast-forward to Birmingham Open Studios in late September. I was back at • nook •, the same place where that idea had sparked, surrounded by people drifting in and out to see the work. It felt right to bring Russ’s portrait to life there, in the same space where we’d first met.

Open Studios has become a bit of a rhythm for me. I started painting live in 2022 and somehow it’s stuck. It’s where I’ve kind of become quite instinctive. The conversations, the constant movement, the need to make quick decisions all force you to trust your instincts. There’s no room for hesitation. You just act. And sometimes those are the best decisions of all.

The painting that drew me to Russ in the first place was one of his called Archaeology, a pink piece where he’d scraped back the surface to reveal other layers beneath. It’s literally about digging away, uncovering what lies underneath. That became the starting point for my own painting of him.

Archaeology by Russ Sargeant https://russsargeant.co.uk/

In a way, painting him felt like performing my own act of archaeology, unearthing Russ through paint. I wanted to weave his pinks into my own palette, so I enhanced the reference photo in Photoshop, pulling those tones forward. I used Michael Harding Opera Rose, rich crimsons, and deep glowing pinks to translate his language of colour into mine.

Painting, for me, is meditation. I work in long stretches and don’t put the brush down until it feels complete. With Russ, I had both weekends to paint, surrounded by the hum of visitors, questions, and conversation. Between those moments I’d drop back into focus, working in five-minute bursts of instinctive decisions. Quick brushwork. Fast choices.

After Open Studios, I was wiped out. I took a break, no painting, just time to breathe. When I came back to it weeks later, I was in my home studio again. Alone. Quiet. Settled. The familiar rhythm returned. I pushed for those pinks to stay luminous, willing them to hold their own on the paper. It mattered that his own work was reflected in mine, a conversation between two painters.

Like in Archaeology, this was about uncovering. The moment it really came alive was when I painted the eyes. That’s always the moment. When suddenly the person is there in the room with me.

All my portraits feel like they hold something of the person. My mate Sam had recently said, “You’re slowly immortalising us all,” which made me laugh. But maybe she’s right. These are people who’ve crossed into my life and left a mark.

For me, being a portrait artist is, in a way, a record-keeping of connection. Each painting becomes a snapshot in time, a memory of meeting, a conversation, an energy. Whether that connection lasts a lifetime or just a few moments, it exists.

When I look at the painting of Russ now, I see all of that. The chance meeting, the collaboration, the shared curiosity. It’s archaeology in its own way. A visual record of having met, of having really seen someone, and of wanting to hold that moment just a little longer.

Unearthed: Painting Russ Sargeant

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Unearthed: Painting Russ Sargeant

Paint Lingers – a new monograph

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