Marcus Nelson: ‘Boxing and painting have more in common than people realise’

Raised in Oxford, but with half his family from Manchester (‘I feel like I’ve got northern blood’), Marcus Nelson is a painter who captures the conflicts and contradictions of being a man. His sinewy, contorted figures have a brutality at first until you notice the tenderness that actually embraces them. They’re inspired by his love of boxing and martial arts, topics of conversation he feels are alien to the typical art circles whilst studying at Central Saint Martins.

It’s not just through paintings that Marcus has set out to address the  ever-evolving questions about masculinity. His collective, Boys Don’t Cry, which first began as an exhibition, has gained prominence and respect among emerging artists and – whilst taking a brief hiatus because of Covid – nonetheless continues to be a vehicle for difficult discussion. 

How did you first get into art?

I remember doing art when I was a kid, as most kids do, in a meaningless sort of way to pass the time. I was relaxed when I did it. But I was very into martial arts too, which was my main focus. The only reason I actually started painting is because I got detention at school when I was about 14 and got sent to the art school as punishment. I met this amazing art teacher George Dowell, and we had this very close bond. She sadly actually ended up contracting cancer while I was at school, and I did this whole painting series documenting her treatment. And that was really why I got into it, it gave me a sense of identity when I was younger, which was really important to me.

It sounds like from an early stage you were willing to go into a subject with quite a deep intensity…

I’ve always been interested in the darker side of life. But George really fostered that in me, and was one of the most influential people in my life. Sadly, she passed away recently.She was a huge influence on me and, in a lot of ways, formed the structure of how I thought about art. She always encouraged me to tackle things that weren’t easy to talk about. Art became a way to talk about the uncomfortable things and put them out there for people to discuss more. 

In terms of form, how did painting become your form of choice?

Painting is a very different thing to other disciplines, and that was always what I really enjoyed. Because of the art school ethos – it has a ‘painting is dead’ narrative – and they generally don’t want painting, it’s more sculpture and performance art. I didn’t really have that much interest in any of those things. And also, I felt very self-conscious talking about things that I was interested in – like masculinity and combat sports. In art school circles, some people don’t like or appreciate those topics. It was like my consciousness didn’t realise that was something I could talk about. 

I didn’t have a studio, so I started painting in the evenings in my flat. That’s when everything clicked into place and I fell back in love with painting. It was also when I started to paint about what I was interested in, because I didn’t have the tutors breathing down my neck, and didn’t have other students giving me a hard time. 

I started to paint about boxing. I was boxing heavily at the time and thought, “Well, I don’t really know what else to talk about so I may as well just paint boxers”. I started to share them on social media and they got really good responses. I thought, “Wow, this is weird, I can actually talk about what I’m interested in, and people engage with it”.

I’m just trying to put myself in those shoes in your flat. Did you feel at all torn at the time? You’d be boxing in the day, and would come home to paint…

There’s much more in common between boxing and painting than a lot of people realise. They’re very, very similar things. They’re both solo sports. They both require discipline. They’re both creative. They’re both difficult. You make yourself vulnerable when you do either of them. In both, you’re in a very alien world because they both have a social hierarchy and a social code. So, for me, even though they were so different, they really inform each other. 

The gym has always been important to me because it’s like a dose of reality in the art world. The art world can be very shallow, and not real in a lot of ways. It can be very plastic, whereas boxing’s not. And I just kept doing it. For me, it’s such an important coping mechanism with some of the stuff I deal with in my mind. It’s like a temple. 

It’s a focus, isn’t it? A one-to-one activity…

Yes, and it takes you out of yourself. I think, in this day and age, it’s very special to have a relationship with an art form where you’re completely focused on it; where you’re not on your phone, not worrying about what you’re having for dinner, you’re just completely focused on that one thing. And that’s always been good for me, because otherwise I get distracted and start getting into trouble. 

Let’s talk about Boys Don’t Cry, your project set up in 2018. What was the motivation behind it? 

Mental health has always been a close issue for me because I’ve dealt with mental health issues, on and off for a long time. And, Brooke, my girlfriend, has her own reasons for being interested in that topic. We met and said we should do a show together, we wanted to collaborate and wanted to do a show about something we both care about, which was men’s mental health. 

At the time, there was just nothing really out there on it whatsoever, especially in the art world. However, there had just been the standing men on the ITV tower, by Mark Jenkins – a really amazing piece of artwork. And that in a way was really a bit of an inspiration. We thought it was really cool he’s talking about that, but I think we still thought, ‘Is this okay to talk about?’.

Were you surprised that there wasn’t much like that in the artworld, specifically portraying men’s mental health?

It was a bit of a penny-dropping moment, because we were having dinner and talking about, saying, “Shit, there’s just nothing out there.” And I remember at the time, I still felt a bit insecure about publicly talking about masculinity in my work at art school, because of the environment that was there at the time. And we said, “Well, why don’t we just do a show about masculinity and we work with some people we know who care about the topic, and we can raise some money for Calm and it can be a charity thing, let’s just do it, why not?” 

I look back on it and laugh because we were so green and just still figuring things out. But we did it, we put a show together, and we called it ‘Boys Don’t Cry’. It was just supposed to be a show. And then the response was just insane. And then it snowballed from there. 

We’ve worked with different people – people have come into the collective, and they’ve gone their separate ways. It’s this sort of rotating thing. But the core idea is that it’s a group of guys from completely different walks of life, from all over the UK and Ireland, and different social backgrounds, but they all have this common thread of looking at masculinity and men’s mental health. It’s just a big old dialogue with a big old support system. 

Why do you think it was such a taboo in the first place? Why did you feel inhibited to talk about men’s mental health, at first?

I don’t know, I think you’ve got to bear in mind, this was around the Me Too movement, and I think that was a really important thing that happened, and there was this time of really questioning masculinity, toxic masculinity, and why so many men were behaving so badly – which I think is a really important thing, of course it was. 

But I think somewhere along the line of that, the conversation got slightly difficult, to talk about masculinity in any other way than being toxic. And I think you pair the really awful behaviour that some men had during that time with the really horrific male suicide statistics, and there’s clearly a link there. But it wasn’t being explored. It was almost as if one was happening without the link to the other. 

I’m not saying I know what that link is. But we just felt like there was something really important to talk about that, because three in four suicides are men, and in the age we’re at now – between 19 and 49 – suicides are the most likely cause of death for us, above road traffic accidents and cancer. So, to me, that’s something worth talking about. 

Array

fury, acrylic on canvas, 130 x 170cm

‘Boys Don’t Cry’ was set up to be a vehicle for conversation. Conversations aren’t easy. They’re complicated. This issue is very complicated. There’s a lot of difficult things to unpack with toxic masculinity and with the male suicide statistics. Men are in this difficult time where there’s this re-evaluation of our sex and what it means to be a man. We’re contributing to that conversation and keeping it balanced, open,  supportive and… nuanced. I guess that’s a good word, because human beings are nuanced, they’re not one dimensional.

You said the intention was to start a conversation. Do you feel like you’ve achieved your goal?

We’re having the conversation right now, aren’t we? I’ve had loads of interesting conversations with people about this. It’s funny how many people – men and women – are touched by this issue. It’s not just limited to being a man. I’m happy that I’ve been able to put the issue out there more, for people to read about it, talk about it, whatever. 

What does it mean to be a man to you? And what have you struggled with? 

Well, I’m still trying to answer that question, which is why I’m still painting about men, because I’m still in this never-ending identity crisis about myself as man. It’s the key issue in my life, that’s why I talk about it in my work. I don’t have the answers, really, to that question. People ask me sometimes and I wish I had something cool to say, but I don’t really because I guess I’m still figuring it out.

Well then, let’s turn to some of the answers that you do have, or your workings, that we’re surrounded by. When did these sorts of forms and sinewy characters come into existence? 

It’s a long two to four years’ worth of endless painting. The longer I painted, the more the work developed. In terms of this figure that keeps reappearing in different ways: in a lot of ways, I’m interested in the work being about the individual, but also about the group. So, you’ve got this figure who is technically one person, but technically all part of the same form. 

The characters have nothing on them, barely even skin, they’re just these flayed fingers, anatomical fingers, with no eyes, and no distinguishing facial features, and oftentimes no mouths. I guess in a lot of ways, they’re like that because I want them to be universal, and I want people to engage with them and see themselves in the work in some way. I’m not going to sit here and tell you exactly what I want them to see because I think that ruins the beauty of art, because it’s really nice that people have different interpretations of the work; I certainly have my own one, but I’m not going to pin it down because I think it needs to be fluid to some extent.

I see something quite violent and tender at the same time, as though there’s a fight breaking-out but they’re also embracing. And that’s much like the topic of men’s mental health in some respects – a need to look tough in one respect, but an actual need for caring and empathy on the other…

That grey area between the two is a really important part of the work. That’s something I really strive for when I’m painting them, because I think it comes back to this idea of nuance and how things aren’t concrete, they’re not black and white, they’re often grey. A lot of my experience with martial arts and combat sports has taught me that because you have these moments in the gym where you’re trying to take each other’s head off, and then as soon as the bell rings, you’re giving each other a sloppy hug and a kiss on the cheek. I’ve been in that situation many times. 

What is that? Why do men act that way? To me, that’s what’s interesting. I want to make images that aren’t easy to read and are confusing and are tender and violent. That’s what I think life is to a certain extent, and I think that’s what’s interesting to ask about masculinity, because, I think all these images are bordering on the erotic in a way, you’ve got these flayed men who are all falling over each other, but, there’s something in it as well that I feel isn’t sexual. 

And that’s an important part of it because I think boys and men need to be more emotionally vulnerable with each other. One thing I can say about masculinity, from my own experiences, is that one thing we can do to help this issue of male suicide is to be more emotionally vulnerable. I guess that’s what the work’s about in a lot of ways. 

And that uncertainty over whether it’s pain or pleasure, consent or violation, order and chaos, is a very important part of the work and it’s something that every time I make a painting it’s very important to include because the answers aren’t easy. I don’t have the answer to any of this stuff, really, and I don’t think anyone does. I think anyone that does claim they have the answers is not really being that genuine because it’s a very complicated issue. 

Did you have an injury? 

Yes, I did, I have some eye problems from boxing. I have a vitreous detachment in both my eyes, from just a succession of concussions basically. It’s actually quite rare that someone would get them. Normally, amateurs or pro boxers get them, so I’m quite unlucky in a sense, because I was sparring a lot in the gym, probably too much. But, yeah, I was very unlucky in a sense, but in a lot of ways I was lucky because I remember just before the pandemic started I saw this dot in my eye. And I thought, “What is that, it’s weird, like this black dot in my eye”. And I went to the optician, and she said, “Oh, no, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” and sent me back off. 

And I went back to the gym the next day, sparring, getting hit in the head. Then almost a week after the first lockdown happened the gyms were closed and I had more of these dots in my vision. I went back to the opticians and saw the ophthalmologist and she said, “Do you do you play any contact sports?” And I told her I do boxing. She said, “Ah, okay, this is what’s happening. You need to stop doing that, right now.” Because basically what happened was, if the eyes is a structure, you’ve got the retina at the back, which is what you see with. And then you’ve got this protective layer at the top. This layer had come off, and it’s disintegrating.

But I can still see, I’ve still got twenty-twenty vision, which I’m very lucky for. And luckily I stopped when I did, because if you keep pushing it, there’s a risk it could go to the back of the eye. So, in a lot of ways, I’m very unlucky, because it was very difficult for me to stop that part of my life and I felt very emasculated for a long time. And I felt that really damaged my sense of masculinity. 

But in a lot of ways, it’s funny, because that actually led to this whole body of work and my work actually becoming a lot more intense and a lot more authentic because I didn’t have access to the gym anymore. So I started really painting a lot of mixed martial arts imagery and boxing imagery. It was almost like a way of me grieving over a part of me that had died. I was very lucky because it didn’t get any worse. I can still see fine, and I can still paint. But, yes, it was a scary time for a bit.

So no more boxing, long-term?

No, no, no, no, no. No, I need to be careful. It doesn’t mean I can’t still go and train. I mean, I still train all the time, but I just can’t spar anymore, get hit in the head, which is fine, you know. 

So what’s next for you with your art? 

Yeah, I’ve got a solo show in April, where I’m showing a whole new body of work. And then I’ve got some group shows in March and the spring and maybe the summer, which I’m working on as well. So there’s a lot of stuff coming mid-year, but I’m just in the sort of preparation stage, being in the trenches, coming in here every day, and getting the work done.

Are you a bit of an obsessive? Perhaps in the same way you deal with your sport?

When I’m interested in something, I’m 100% all in. But I’m not interested in that many things. But I have to be all in because I need this stuff to keep me level-headed and focused and happy in a lot of ways. It’s no secret that it’s very important to me to keep discipline in all areas of my life, because it’s very easy for it to slip.

And what’s next for ‘Boys Don’t Cry’?

Well, we had a bit of a difficult time over COVID because we had some shows with galleries that we were supposed to have, and they got cancelled, because the galleries had to move on with their programmes. So we’ve been in a bit of a hiatus in terms of exhibitions. But hopefully, we’re going to be doing some in the future. And me and two other painters from the collective are going to be doing a group show, I think in the summer, so that would be like a ‘Boys Don’t Cry’ show.

And maybe we’ll try and do one at the end of this year, or maybe the start of next year. But it all depends on where we’re at with the pandemic because it’s just an uncertain time to plan for anything. But hopefully we’re going to do some more.

To visit Marcus’ site, click here.

And to see more of his work on Instagram, click here.