Blurring authorship, the series unfolds as a negotiation between two artistic sensibilities, a conversation of marks, colours, and ideas that merge into a shared visual language. In the following interview, Andrews and Fletcher reflect on boundaries both literal and conceptual, the rhythm of collaboration, and the evolving landscape between “yours,” “mine,” and “ours.”
Your individual practices approach boundaries in different ways. How did these distinct sensibilities negotiate with one another when working on the same canvas?
Although our practices express boundaries differently, there are many points of crossover: boundaries of space, nature and structure, built and natural environments, the soft and the hard, formal qualities of the work, and the language of abstraction, thresholds and social space.
You could define a boundary as a meeting point between two contrasts: a contrast of colour, mark or pace, or between physical spaces, public or private, built or natural. In this sense, both of our practices, though emerging from different conceptual perspectives, overlap across all these areas.
This idea of the boundary as a meeting point is embodied within these works. The paper becomes a new space, and we negotiate that space together, responding to both the physical spatial qualities of the landscapes we are working with and the formal qualities of the marks and colours used.
Rather than each of us approaching boundaries differently, the boundaries are formed through our joint negotiation of the canvas. For example, during the development of a painting, certain areas may be masked off before being reworked. The revealed section becomes a new space within a space; a boundary to be explored as both a depiction of the landscape (a hedgerow or intersection) and, in a practical sense, as a meeting point of marks and processes.
You describe the work as “passing back and forwards between both of our hands and lenses.” At what point does a painting stop being “yours” or “mine” and start being “ours”? With that in mind, are there any pieces either of you feel more attached to?
Rather than a finite handover of ownership, the works are conceived jointly. We are both present throughout each other’s processes, and each artwork’s concept is born out of a shared dialogue within a shared passage of time.
We both make independent studies alongside the collaborative works, which act as starting points and research. We review these studies together and decide which elements to carry forward into the collaborative pieces. We generate a large volume of work during development, much of which does not progress to completion.
Within this series, we produced several diptychs that we are both particularly attached to, as they were the first of their kind. They combine a conceptual approach — exploring two passages of time or comparing distinct subjects within a single artwork — with the technical and creative challenges that come from managing these additional moving parts.
Did you establish rules or limits for how to work together, or was the absence of rules part of the process?
We have a loose working method, partly dictated by the materials and by how our processes have evolved together. However, these are not conceptual rules or strict parameters that are always followed. Occasionally, a painting may be reworked outside of this order, depending on the subject, or if we feel it has not yet reached its final state.
We share a background in fine art printmaking, and printmaking methodologies underpin both of our individual practices. We have an inherent understanding of working in layers, of the limitations and restrictions associated with traditional print processes, and of a certain precision inherent to those techniques. This shared understanding forms a subconscious framework that shapes our collaborative approach.
Euphrosyne, your work often addresses the politics of space: public versus private, gendered or unseen divisions. How did these ideas manifest when mapping rural landscapes?
I see the boundaries and markers of rural landscapes as metaphors for wider divisions of space and the politics of space within my work. Dense, laid hedgerows punctuated with thorns meet tightly clipped plantings claiming a plot; a stark metal edging deters intrusion, while delicate curtains adorned with roses soften the thorns, domesticated and made fit for the home.
I’m interested in the history of such boundaries and the plants historically used to create them. In rural landscapes, I’m drawn to plants with dual roles, those that exist naturally in their habitat but are also cultivated and controlled within urban environments. For example, privet grows naturally along much of the south-western coastline of England, yet the same plant family is used in manicured urban hedges to delineate public from private space.
The colours, forms and textures of the rural landscapes referenced in these paintings also nod to the history of the decorative arts, where stylised floral motifs were applied to domestic furnishings to bring a sense of familiarity and the calming presence of nature into the home.
Daniel, your mark-making often carries strong emotional charge. How do you look to embody the landscape through your mark-making?
Normally, colour and mark hold equal importance in my work. For these collaborative pieces, colour was primarily introduced through Euphrosyne’s painting, allowing me to focus on the mark-making and the physical application of paint.
I worked intuitively, continuously shifting pace and gesture — at times working quite aggressively, then interjecting moments of calm — as I sought to reflect both the loose forms and the perceived movement of the landscape. Strong winds buffeting dead bracken prompted brisk, varied brushstrokes; gorse seeds popping in the midsummer sun evoked erratic, spiky gestures; while delicate wildflowers nodding in the breeze inspired broader, flowing movements with finer embellishments. The physical act of painting and producing these marks became a direct response to the open environment in which the work was made.
You both speak of the paintings as “initial distillations” of landscape. Can you elaborate on this? What does it mean for you both to distil landscape?
When we speak of “initial distillations”, we refer to how these works break down the fundamental elements of landscape, re-presenting our visual interests in a simplified and concentrated form. They capture an essence rather than a representation: presenting a condensed visual language that separates yet combines form, concept, colour, and mark. This concentrated language carries through into our wider practices.
What role did intuition play in your mark-making, especially when working in situ within the landscapes themselves?
The works are highly intuitive, developed en plein air. Some were made during winter in harsh conditions, where time spent outside directly affected the pace of the mark, or the ability to mask or refine delicate areas.
In this sense, the elements themselves became collaborators. We produce numerous studies to ensure the works remain fluid and experimental, never rigid or overworked. They are reactive and responsive, mediated by the immediate environment.
There’s a tension in the works between the hard and the soft. Does this relate more to geology and agriculture, or to the push-and-pull of your two practices?
The relationship between ‘hard’ and ‘soft’ exists in both our practices, formally and conceptually. Formally, it manifests in the interplay between strong monochrome line work and soft colour washes. Conceptually, it reflects the tension between natural and built spaces, between the materials associated with comfort and domesticity, and those used to deter or divide, such as soft furnishing fabrics versus hard metal surfaces.
Many of the works exist in several iterations before being finalised. What makes you stop at a particular point, and how do you both agree on that?
One of the most important aspects of collaboration is having another perspective to help determine when to stop or continue. This dialogue can push the work in unexpected directions and provides the confidence either to stop at an uncomfortable point or to keep pushing further. Working collaboratively allows us to see our work through a different lens, offering a refreshing freedom and revealing creative potential that might otherwise be overlooked when working alone.
The collaborative process introduces a spontaneity and looseness that are central to the work. This spontaneity is, however, balanced by structure, provided by the next stage of the process and by the differing perspectives we each bring.
As relatively abstract, minimalist works, there is always a tension between how far to push something and how much restraint to exercise, finding the point where the work feels resolved without going too far.
Do you expect the viewer to read them as landscapes, or as something more abstract? How do you wish viewers to respond?
Rather than reading them as specific landscapes, we hope viewers experience the encompassing sensations of being within a landscape; the sounds, scents, and rhythms. The works are also inherently abstract and will hold different meanings and interpretations unique to each viewer.