Few artists capture the lack of identity and melancholy of modern life as well as Eric Lacombe; his paintings are eerie and powerful representations of modern man that speak to an inner anxiety that so many feel.
As a writer, other people’s art is a constant source of inspiration, whether it is writing, music, paintings, or something else entirely. It is such a joy, then, when you find someone’s art that speaks to you on a very personal level and reflects something you would like to achieve in your own work. Eric Lacombe is such an artist for me (also known as Monstror online). The wretched, contorted portraits he paints, are truly breath-taking. The streaks of colour dragged painfully across the canvas evoke such a profound sense of pain and loneliness that it is difficult not to be drawn into the internal hopelessness of the paintings. It is a sense of faceless despair that I myself attempted to achieve in my novel ****, or, The Anatomy of Melancholy, and seeing Lacombe’s paintings represent so perfectly the atmosphere I endeavoured to create, is an incredibly powerful experience (even if it does leave one slightly in awe).
I‘ve shared a few of Lacombe’s works here, focusing on the ones that I feel tie in with the atmosphere of ****, or, The Anatomy of Melancholy, but I really encourage you to seek out more of his work. Beyond the fairly wretched portraits I’ve included in this post, Lacombe also paints wonderfully earthy images, which while melancholic still, show a rather unsettling morphing and muddling of the human world with the natural world.
I can’t encourage you enough to seek out more of Lacombe’s art work – his website can be found here: http://www.ericlacombe.com/home.php and you can also find much of his art on his Instagram account.
Anyone that has read my work will know art is an important inspiration behind parts of it – keen observers will have spotted references to Munch, Dali, Rothko and more in ****, or, The Anatomy of Melancholy, and my new novel revolves around a trip to the Dali Musuem in Figueres – but I’d be interested to know what art inspires your writing, not necessarily paintings but any form of creative endeavour.