Defying the norm: An interview with Grayson Perry on what it means to be an artist

When I arrive at Grayson Perry’s somewhat hidden-in-plain-sight Islington studio (pre-restrictions), I’m met by a slightly worse-for-wear Perry; he’s had a few too many the night before and has a sore throat. He’s wearing a T-shirt and on it is printed a Mail Online headline: “I blame alcohol and kebabs.” It’s a conservatory-style building with a glass roof and we settle down – him on a sofa, me on a director’s chair covered in his illustrations; a tapestry above both our heads – to chat the changing art world, Alan Measles, semi-pro mountain biking, therapy and public “popularity”.

In case Perry CBE RA is new to you, here’s the low-down. Originally from Chelmsford, Perry graduated from Portsmouth Polytechnic in 1982 before toiling away at his practice for years, largely out of the public eye. A Turner Prize win in 2003 catapulted him onto the international stage and, frankly, he’s not stopped since.

In the intervening years, Perry has exhibited work – often based within ceramics and pottery but certainly not confined to those media – across the globe, released series after series of compelling documentaries on Channel 4 (many of which have earned him BAFTAs), become chancellor of UAL, delivered Reith Lectures, written books, curated exhibitions – the list goes on.

Through all of these projects, Perry has continued to explore autobiographical stories and universal themes of identity, culture, gender, class, sexuality and religion, all with a wry tone that challenges the liberal elite and pokes fun at the traditional art world, while resonating with far wider audiences. Of all the names in the contemporary art scene, he is perhaps most familiar to those who don’t seek out art. Through a decades-long cultivated persona, he connects with people, making them rethink notions they thought they understood and, perhaps most notably, making them laugh.

Last summer, alongside his wife Phillipa Perry, he brought creativity into Britain’s homes during lockdown with his TV series Grayson’s Art Club, making new works and hosting masterclasses as well as collaborating with other artists and comedians. A raving success, the show’s second series began on Channel 4 last Friday and will continue for six weeks until 2 May.

INT: Was that something that drew you to pottery and ceramics in the first place – that people had preconceived ideas of it?

GP: I wouldn’t say I was necessarily drawn to it. It was a fairly happenstance thing. I’d made a few clay things at college but nothing very serious. It was just that my friend dragged me along to evening classes and I got into it. I realised that I could make stuff – you know, I was broke and it was just before Christmas! So there was an element of pure pragmatism there but what I liked about it as a vehicle for sharing relatively challenging ideas and images was that the pot always remains this stable thing that everybody understands. So you can really push the boat out but it’s still a pot. It was like, I know what that is and that was an anchor for all the other stuff I wanted to put on there.

INT: There’s familiarity with that form.

GP: It’s very useful – that familiarity.

INT: On the subject of looking back, a lot of your work does reflect on your upbringing or take into account how it impacted you. A big part of that is Alan Measles, who I love. At what point did he take on this more muse, God-like status for you?

GP: While I was in therapy, he came up a lot because he was such a powerful, what they call transference object or transitional object, I forget what the phrase is. That started to imbue him with this glowing significance and then shortly after I finished therapy, I had an exhibition in Japan which I called My Civilisation because I liked this idea that I’m a one-man culture. Which we all are, of course! So I thought, I need a God, all cultures have a belief system and I thought, within a second, of course, it’s Alan. So I started making work about Alan as God and it’s a metaphor that has reaped rewards. Now he’s in the public consciousness, I can play with that, which is lovely. He’s the perfect metaphor for God being something you grow up with and project onto.

INT: He’s something you’re not even aware of knowing.

GP: He’s hegemonic.

INT: On the subject of students, you do a lot of work at Central Saint Martins and other universities. I imagine a lot of students come to you for advice, especially because you didn’t make a living from art until quite late in your career. What do you tell them?

GP: I can only teach people to be like me, I’m not a professional art tutor and it’s also a very different art world from when I was coming up. It’s a strange one – you had room for growth when I was coming up and I think now, it’s the opposite, it’s contracting.

INT: Do you think it’s easier for people to get their work noticed, though? For example, I imagine if you studied at art school in 2020, a big part of your practice would have been having an Instagram account to put your work out there.

GP: It’s very different now isn’t it, because that whole Instagram thing has a different tone. I think it’s great that people can put things out there but the tone isn’t right – the minute you say IG, Insta, etc, I deflate slightly.

INT: Something I love about your work is that there are constant juxtapositions at play and it seems like that spills into your life too. For example, you’re really into your cycling?

GP: Yeah! I’m passionate about it. I cycle to work and go mountain biking out in Epping Forest. I can be out on the dirt in 25 minutes from here.

INT: And you did that semi-professionally for a while, right?

GP: I rode for a shop team for a while. I never made any money out of it but I was very serious about it. I did mountain-bike racing for 12 years and for several of those I was very very keen and obsessed.

I remember going to a mountain-bike race the night I was nominated for the Turner Prize and I had to keep it a secret. It was quite a muddy race, I remember, out where the Olympic Park is now and I was going around with mud splattering in my face, smiling, singing “I’m nominated for the Turner Prize” in my head haha!

INT: That’s amazing! So much of your work is about identity and that’s a massive backlash to the idea of “an artist” because so often people don’t associate art or artists with sport.

GP: That was one of the attractions for me, actually. Artists aren’t meant to be competitive (although they are, of course) but I love the naked competitiveness of cycling as a sport because you pass someone and it’s like, eat my dirt! That’s a nice feeling. There’s clarity.

INT: You’re very open about your experiences with therapy. Can you tell the difference between the work you made pre- and post-therapy?

GP: Most of the early work is quite raw aesthetically and not so ambitious in terms of how long it would have taken to make. The same sort of themes are floating about but I suppose I was younger, rawer, clumsier in my bids for attention.

INT: Was there ever a worry that going through therapy would quash some of your creativity?

GP: I think a lot of creative people are suspicious of therapy because of that; because they think their quirks are their creativity. Which is a huge mistake. I always describe it as someone coming to clean your tool shed – they don’t throw the tools out, they throw the shit out – and you can find the tools easier afterwards! So for me, therapy was incredibly useful. It wasn’t just about sorting out my emotional health but also it gave me a subject and a view of the world, almost as a philosophy, a clarity of vision. A lot of people think therapy is a woolly, spiritual experience. I would say it’s the opposite – it’s the most bullshit-free zone I’ve ever encountered.