TO TITLE OR NOT TO TITLE

Many years ago, in an exhibition, I had a couple spend a good half-an-hour perusing my collection of paintings hanging on the wall before settling upon the work they decided they would like to buy. Everything was going swimmingly, right up to the point of sale; chequebook in hand, pen-poised, when the man asked me to confirm the location depicted in the painting.

Now, at this point, I should say that all my work was clearly labelled, with titles, describing the location of each subject. Generally speaking, although I’ve often tried to come up with innovative and interesting painting titles that, hopefully, contribute to the work’s overall mood, I have to say I’m not really very good at it. Therefore, ‘Sunset over….’ or ‘Winter in…..’ type titles have generally been the norm with me.

So; back to my prospective buyers. What happened was this; when I told them where the painting was of, they changed their mind! That was it. No sale. Because the painting was not of the place that they thought it was (either they couldn’t read, or they knew of a place with a similar name and had been confused), the sale was off. Only minutes prior to this moment, they were happy with the painting and more than willing to part with their hard-earned cash in order to own it and hang it upon their wall at home. Not only that, they’d spent thirty minutes or more over choosing it! The chequebook was put away, the painting was re-hung and they left me feeling quite perplexed and every so slightly angry.

This was several years ago. Since then, I’ve actually, occasionally, lied to people when they’ve asked me to confirm a painting’s location. If they believe a scene, so positively, to be a spot that they know intimately, who am I to spoil their rock-solid certainty? Why should I run the risk of possibly losing a sale just for the sake of pedantics?

The result of all this is that, for a long time now, I’ve half-jokingly said to people, when mingling in an exhibition or the gallery, that I live for the day that someone buys a painting because they like the painting and not because of where it is. Which is, of course, slightly overlooking the almost certain fact that one of the primary reasons people buy paintings in the first place is because of where it is. If they’re visiting a place they’ve never been to, which has a gallery full to the ceiling with local scenes, then the likelihood of them buying a painting or print of that very same place as a momento is probably quite high.

I’ve started to see titles as a potential barrier. There are, without a doubt, some deeper issues at work here. I recently removed all the titles from my original paintings so see what, if any difference it would make, and I think the result is worth pondering over. When a painting has a title, I believe reading the label is one of the first things a viewer will do if the image takes their eye. Without a title, a painting speaks entirely for itself. There’s nothing to distract the viewer. It might, of course, be a place the viewer is familiar with – that’s okay; well-known landmarks have had artists reaching for their paints since time began. Alternatively, it might simply remind the person of a place they’re familiar with, or provoke some kind of memory not even remotely associated with the scene before them, but a strong memory all the same. Do you see where I’m going with this?

With very few exceptions, every landscape I paint is based on a real place. I’ve been there, been inspired by it, sketched it, and ultimately produced a watercolour from it. Not all the scenes I choose are instantly recogniseable. If fact, the ‘pot-boiler’ is something I try to avoid (although, I remember an argument with someone who claimed my painting of the cottage in Langstrothale was just a case of ‘jumping-on-the-bandwagon’ and no amount of me explaining that some views are just there, begging to be painted, no matter how many times or by how many artists, was going to change his opinion). ‘Quiet corners’ are far more interesting to me. There was a time when I seriously considered applying nothing more than a six-figure OS grid-reference number to every painting by way of a title.

And isn’t a title just a label anyway? How is it possible that labels can have such a way of influencing the apparent value of commodities – in fact, isn’t a painter’s signature a form of label? (I would never dream of not signing a painting upon completion).   Phew! I feel like I’m raving now, but happy to have got it off my chest.

The jury’s out on this one, though, I suspect. There will always be those people who insist that every painting should be endowed with a title, whilst some may agree with the concept of allowing a painting to make its mark without such an encumberance.