Portrait of the Artists

We meet Ken Spooner and Alice Gabb, the celebrated artists whose work stars in the campaign for our new ‘Super Nature’ collection.

Ken Spooner

Growing up as an evacuee, Ken Spooner spent his days crafting art out of reclamation finds – then, as a teenage rebel in the 1950s, he bought an ex-military motorbike and drove down to St Ives, where he quickly became a part of the vibrant local creative scene.
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All these years later, Ken shows no signs of slowing down – his prolific output of paintings, sculptures and ceramics still as brilliant and bold as it ever was. We spoke to Ken about his extraordinary journey from the make-do-and-mend of post-war Britain to making friends with some of the most legendary artists of the 20th century…

Tell us about how you came to be an artist…
 
I don’t think you can ever “become” an artist, you’re always trying to be one but a lot of art is out of your grasp: you think you know what you’re doing and then with the next brushstroke, you’ve discovered something else. I’m always learning, hopefully I learn something every day that can be added to what I already know.
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I grew up scribbling: there was no TV, no wireless, just bits of paper, crayons, dad’s toolbox… so if I am an artist, that’s how I became one. In those days it was make do and mend, you didn’t have a choice. Even now, I see a piece of wood and think: what can I do with it? That’s what art is to me: an element of discovery by using what’s around you. And, it’s about the search for magic: looking out of the window and liking the shape of a tree, the colour of a flower, then adding that in to see if it works. If it doesn’t, you just scrape it off and move on to something else. 
 
Your work harks back to indigenous, early art while still feeling very punk in spirit and relevant to today. What inspires you?
 
Everything inspires me. I don’t dismiss anything; I learnt a long time ago that you have to leave every door open. It’s that simple.
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Once, after a show of mine in Switzerland, I was invited to a reception at a collector’s home up in the mountains – I got looking at these paintings in the kitchen when a chap asked me what I thought of them. I said they were amazing, and he said, “they’re mine, but I prefer your work”. He told me that all he could do was paint the same picture – in yellow, in blue, in red. His work was worth a lot of money and yet he said to me, “whatever you do, don’t get in a trap like I am”. That was one hell of a lesson to learn, and I’ve always remembered what he said to me. Painting the same skyline every day doesn’t make art – so keep the doors open.  
 
You have led such a rich life – can you tell us a bit more about your story and ethos?
 
In one of my past lives, I was an antiques dealer and handled some truly amazing objects – ancient carvings that were hundreds or even thousands of years old, like a stone from Egypt with the cartouches on. That’s real art, when it makes you tingle! 
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I travelled the world and met Jean-Michel Basquiat in New York, Keith Haring in San Francisco… It was good business and good fun – and I use a lot of those memories in my work without realising it. I’ll stand back from my work, think of certain artists and have a conversation with them. I’ll ask, “What silly thing can I do now to give this piece something? What would you do, Picasso? What would you do, Basquiat?” I’ll then see the idea forming on the canvas. 
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I don’t draw the painting then fill it in, like painting by numbers – I go straight onto a white canvas, make a few marks, and then take a really good look at it. Each mark suggests the next, it’s a progression but none of it is preconceived. That’s what makes me do it everyday, because I never know what it’s going to be. 

Alice Gabb

A talented calligrapher and lettering artist, Alice Gabb is, like us, based in Hackney. And just as we do, she balances creativity with a conscience: working on commissions from her Dalston studio while offering up beautifully made banners to local community spaces, free of charge.
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Emblazoned with messages of belonging and connection, Alice’s work draws upon the past – from the rich history of banner-making in Britain to her use of vintage fabrics – yet feels increasingly pertinent. We spoke to Alice about the enduring power of letters, both as an art form and as a means of sparking change through protest…

Tell us how you became an artist and what inspired you to start making banners...
 
I’m a trained illustrator and graphic designer, but I have always been interested in hand-lettering and hand-rendered typefaces. So, after I left university, I got a stall at Broadway Market and sold hand-printed stationery for years. I then went on to learn modern calligraphy and, as that has since become so popular, it led me to do what I do now. 
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The banners were completely separate to that: during a trip to America, I saw a banner that was hundreds of years old which read ‘Universal Toleration’ – when I looked that up, it turned out to be a British phrase on a British-made banner – and that lead me down a huge rabbit hole of research. I then started making my own modern interpretation of these old banners, remixing the various histories of banners from the UK.

How do you use art as a medium to manifest change?
 
Art is absolutely crucial as a medium to change: when you look at movements and campaigns, while they can succeed without art, it can amplify your message so much quicker. I go to a lot of protests and hold placards up, so I’m always thinking about language and messaging. 
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It’s often thought that the people who affect change are public speakers and the ones whose voices are out there, loud – yet artists actually have such an important role to play behind the scenes. While banners can physically block roads and cause a nuisance, the ways that photos get circulated these days means that people holding up statements has a lot of power.

The ‘Super Nature’ banner you created for House of Hackney conveys our dual domains of art and nature. 
How do the two connect for you? 
 
I am a keen gardener, and I’m also trying to read lots of literature reminding me that I am a part of nature and not separate from it – that’s such a lost message and so much of the reason as to why we’re in a total mess now. A lot of my protesting is centred on climate justice and climate change; it couldn’t be more of a running thread through everything that I do. So I just try to remember that I am nature.