I meet artist and art therapist Roger Arguile in the Gallery Print Centre, for the opening week of his new show Raw Material. I have time to take a look around and absorb myself with his visual language and artistic world. Paintings made from photographs, found objects and colour…mostly red, textural, pigmented, not jumping at you but creeping to tickle your retina. The guiding thread of the work seems to be people, portraits or fleeting shots in motion, all, or nearly, anonymous. My curiosity awoke, who are they? Who are they smiling at? Was it Roger, himself, that photographed them? Then came the emotional response, one that cannot really be explained as its trigger and origins are unknown. My gut was speaking a nameless language but one thing was for sure, I really looked and I could really feel.

I wanted to know more about these alluring pieces and Roger seemed to be keen on telling me. We sit, amidst his work, in this centrally located ‘East London-style’ gallery that is also a print centre. Creations and exhibitions work hand-in-hand as a perfect duo of process. I ask about Roger’s background and how it has informed his visual and conceptual choices. He starts by telling me about his training, within fine art and art therapy in Reading University, Goldsmiths and Exeter, explaining that he also worked at the London Film-Makers’ Co-op in the 1970s.

[I] …was very interested in old home movies and filmic material using film in a very creative way, along with people like Peter Gidal and Derek Jarman – those sorts of people around that time. Experimental film was quite big at the time. That led me to photography as well. So those two areas have hugely influenced my work as a painter.

Roger speaks of his painting insight; Fancis Bacon, Lucian Freud and artists using found objects like Andy Warhol and Jasper Johns. Another area that has had a huge impact on him is performance art or elements of theatre. It was this aspect that led him to the images he uses in his work, also incorporating old home movie stills that his grandfather shot. The work that is shown in this exhibition is part of an ongoing project; some paintings were created this year, others date back to the early 80s, but all have this concrete presence of the individual or the subject.

My interest has always been very strongly about the portrait and about how we are as people; what emotional impact visual material has on us when we look at it and that’s kind of always been my focus and still is. It’s relevant and kind of universal in a way.

Roger tells me that the motivation behind his work is ‘…about honouring or preserving in some rather respectful way the image of some person.’ He harbours the essence of a moment within his paintings by overlaying photographic material with found objects and oil paint. When I ask about the origin of these objects and the reason for this particular type of material, he starts by explaining the source of one specific painting incorporating a feather; ‘I think it’s because it’s physical, like the feather in that picture up there. I found that feather on the labyrinth floor of Chartres Cathedral… it’s physical, it’s real, and that’s what I like about oil paint. It’s such a natural, powerful sort of medium…’. These elements, combined with photographs, trigger a raw emotional response, creating evocative imagery filled with physicality.

I want to know about the origin of these photographs and whether or not Roger works or has worked with found images or if he only uses his own photographic language. He tells me that his pieces comprise both elements. For example the photograph in his painting, Memory Of A Holiday (2015), was one out of a-hundred-and-fifty reject images given to him by someone who worked by the seaside, taking portraits of passers by, if they wanted. Some never came back to collect their shots, this gave Roger the opportunity to build on anonymity, which he enjoys to engage in. Other works are photographs that he, himself has taken. Colleagues, friends or strangers, he withholds a large personal archive. He refers to one of his works, Portrait (2015), explaining that he had taken a shot of someone he worked with; ‘…it’s two photographs. One is a one-hundred-and-twenty second exposure of her face and the blurred image underneath is a sixty second exposure of her face upside down, during which she moved her head…like when children make butterfly pictures, when you fold it, like a reflection.’ The image is central to a red oil painting, framed by light grey and black lines of masking tape. Roger mentions that he uses tape as a framing device, linking back to his interest with theatre and film as a spotlight. ‘It focuses…in a performance way.’ he says. Another way in which Roger uses framing is in the presentation of his works. All of them are mounted using a wooden frame under glass. He proceeds to explain the reason for this display by saying that this, once again, links to two of his major ideas: anonymity and performance.

I like using glass partly to protect it and also because it pushes the image back, which gives it a kind of mystery. The other element of it is that you see your own reflection, as you’re looking at it sometimes, which whether you like it or not drags you into the picture. This helps to make a sort of relationship that art can bring and I think that has a resonance with the way actors can make a relationship with their audience in theatre. In art and photography it’s through a method like this.

I am curious to know more about the role that this idea of anonymity plays for Roger and how important it is in regards to him and the viewer. He says, ‘…the element of anonymity helps to get rid of emotional baggage that might be connected with that person. You are then left with the raw emotion of relating to this person.’ He talks of a primitive bond that occurs between the image and the viewer when identity is not revealed. He even goes further by relating this special affinity as an animal connection, permitting the viewer to observe the work with a new and uncluttered gaze. I then call attention to two specific works Tanya Signing Her Name (1984) and Joseph (2015), where I notice that the identity of the subjects has been revealed, seeking to find a reason for singling out these people’s names. He responds by telling me ‘…actually – like a lot of rules – sometimes you break them don’t you, and so it’s not a kind of rule, but it’s something I do occasionally…’ and giving me the little human anecdotes behind each work. Tanya Signs Her Name being a portrait of a person he had worked with in the past. Having profound hearing loss, Roger photographed her signing her name and caught the movement of the last letter being ‘A’, as she laughs at the situation. He then tells me about Joseph; a person that he had met in passing when he was in New York, crossing the Brooklyn Bridge.

…he was there and I just said ‘hello’ I think and we started talking a bit and he didn’t mind me taking his photograph. In that instance, using his name kind of pins him down as a very specific person but obviously just ‘Joseph’, I don’t know his second name, I don’t know anything about him other than what he told me, which was that he use to be a bingo caller and he was on his way to the post office, I think.

I speak of my take regarding Roger’s works. I tell him that this idea of unnamed subjects directly makes me think that by applying oil paint onto part of the image, he is, in a way, concealing some information yet the oil paint acts as an energy trigger. It is as if what is held within the subject can seep out to touch the viewer, concealing solid or ‘factual’ visual evidence in order to give way to emotional and sensorial notions. We embark on the subject of looking, as he links my thoughts to the idea of obtaining a disturbing quality in an image, provoking the viewer into looking inside. He compares this aspect to our natural human curiosity in glancing at a crash on the motorway or peering though to see a baby, an insatiable inquisition.

I can’t help but ask Roger about his initial inspirations, that decisive moment or starting point, that pushes him to get the ‘click’, the trigger that gives way for an artwork to be born. He replies, instantly, saying that it all starts with a figurative image, or a movement that he witnesses for instance in a magazine or on the tube, as an external stimulus. He chooses the photographic material and alters it to create a distance from the figurative aspect: giving way for the ‘flow’.

Art is often about editing away as much as you can, so that what you’ve got left is powerful and strong – a bit like when you make a nice sauce, or gravy or something, render it down a bit and it becomes tastier. I then link this back to his continuous interest in performance and theatre, relating with this idea of a movement. He speaks of our art culture nowadays, and how a lot of the artwork we witness embodies this idea of gesture.

…there’s been a lot of blurring since the 60s I think, between art, music, theatre, writing, a lot of blurring. People take down barriers, which has been very creative and it will stay creative until all the barriers are down and no one will know what to do anymore. I think order is very important in art and it’s the dynamic balance of order, structure and freedom that make something that works.

Roger carries on by discussing his art therapy practice where this idea of structure yielding creative freedom becomes key. ‘What works best is if they (the patients) know that the art therapy session is within a very secure framework into which they can put all their feelings and emotion in.’ I enquire about how he perceives the link between his artistic practice and his art therapy work. He focuses my attention on the fact that it is important as an art therapist to know what it is like to be an artist. He believes that it revolves around the process of the relationship and the art piece, and the ability one has to communicate and know when to speak, or not. In a way, he describes it as an editing job, similar to a filmmaker, musician or painter.

I would like to know more about his interest in people. I ask about his practice and how it has evolved over time, whether he has always harboured a love for ‘the human being’ or if it is a passion that has developed over time. He says that from early on, he was fascinated by the subject, whilst looking at old home movies and ‘…the flickering fragility of the images on the screen…’. Then, his eyes light up, as he mentions a film that his grandfather created.

One of the most interesting shots my grandfather made was in Eastbourne in the early 40s. He shot a long shot of a boat going along the horizon… terribly boring but to be able to keep the camera that still for about, I don’t know, 30-40 seconds of this shot and as it went along, the bandstand came into view and you saw the heads of people. That scanning like that was a bit like a Jacques Tati film. Little things like that have had a strong influence on me and again it’s all about focussing and editing down and boiling down to the nitty gritty. I think slowing things down is a bit like editing down, it concentrates the mind, and it’s not boring.

This act of coming to a halt introduces a different way of looking. Not like our Western society where the brisk flashes of fragments keep coming at us like blurs of landscapes on a fast train. Knowing how to be still opens up new possibilities to absorb things and make sense of what is in front of us. Roger Arguile could be described as a salmon. This is in no way a dismissive fishy comparison. What I mean by this is he, against all odds and currents, manages to swim in opposition to this rapid era of inattentiveness. He himself, aims to stop for a while, and pushes us to do so, in order to gain the richest emotional response to life, starting with looking at the beauty of an artwork. Roger’s message can be compared to a modern-day version of The Fables of Jean de La Fontaine, with the all-time famous proverb ‘Slow and steady wins the race’.