A Change of Heart: Matt Leines Forgives Us All

Matt Leines is that rare artist who can extract numerous—and often times conflicting—emotional responses from his viewers. At once visually inviting and conceptually inscrutable, Leines’ ink drawings, woodcuts and watercolors weave narratives of a hidden land populated with bearded seafarers, marauding jungle beasts and vigilant demigods wielding lightning bolts from the sky. Primal in their essence, his creations traverse archetypical landscapes; they beckon memories of things simple, sinister, legendary: an archer aims his bow while riding a ram in one particular work; a hirsute, flesh-eating monster gobbles unwary woodsmen in another. Leines’ is a world of familiar make-believe—one that is as tantalizing as it is unsettling.

Born in New Jersey, educated at Providence’s Rhode Island School of Design, and having recently moved to Philadelphia, the 28-year-old artist has honed his aesthetic and developed a workable system of symbolic imagery in quick time. On the occasion of his first monograph, entitled Matt Leines: You are Forgiven, Leines is steadily wooing critics and aficionados alike with his meticulously detailed settings and protagonists. Seemingly informed by both ancient myth and contemporary pop culture, such as cartoon heroes, action figures and the History Channel, he readily trespasses between high art and commercial design. Thus, while garnering one solo exhibition after another, Leines finds vocation in various industry enterprises. Just this year, his images graced stage banners at San Francisco’s Outside Lands Festival and also the cover of the LP debut from Philadelphia-based psychedelic bashers, Pink Skull. Whether you’re a gallery hound or electro junkie, there’s something about Leines’ primordial palette that speaks to us all.

Filter recently spoke with Leines about his new book, the evolution of his art, and why it makes no sense to try to understand his world.

Was it difficult to choose the pieces that would appear in the new book?

Matt Leines: I guess so. When I was first starting out as an artist, I used to keep a little portfolio to show people. Eventually, I stopped updating it. I’ve been pretty awful at documenting stuff ever since, so some of these things we had to track down and get re-photographed. There were so many drawings that I hadn’t seen since I’d made them...it had been four years in some cases. I had a picture in my head of what these things looked like, and then when I saw them, none of them matched up…It was sort of fun, actually.

You just moved to Philadelphia from suburban New Jersey. Has the move affected your work in any way?

The not-really-seeing-the-daytime-that-often schedule hasn’t changed much, but it’s good to be in a city again. I just felt like I was getting complacent in the suburbs…It’s interesting because I used to do a lot of architectural-type drawings and I’ve come back to that. I’m drawing buildings again. If I stand in front of my house and look north, I see the Philly skyline, and it seems like those buildings are appearing in my work…I think the city has definitely had an affect on what I’m doing.

You are perhaps best known for your drawings and smaller pieces, but you create large works as well. When the scope changes, does your process change, too?

Everything starts as a sketch. To be honest, that’s my favorite part—filling sketchbooks. But, I was unsure how that would translate to large scale. Then, I figured out if I could change the line width or just make things the same as the drawing—but just ridiculously big—I could make it work. I finally decided that even though it’s bigger, it’s still the same vantage point. Usually my drawings aren’t something that will pull you in from across the room; if you look at them from far away, they’re just a big mess of color. But with large-scale stuff, it’s basically just a giant version of my drawings which engages you from a distance—it’s all because of the scale.

Did formal training help you discover different approaches to your art?

I don’t think I was taught how to make art. Every problem I’ve ever had was figuring out how materials work together. It’s just been trial and error. We had technique classes at RISD and I didn’t learn anything, but that is my fault for not caring about it. It’s not what I was taught there, but what I learned. I had two really great teachers who would give me an idea, and I’d have to try to find a way to convey a message without being super literal; try to find an interesting approach to the problem at hand. And that’s how my style came about—trying to do things that were different and explained things differently.

You did the artwork for the new Pink Skull album. Have you created other album covers as well?

A few times. At first, I did mostly small stuff for friends’ bands in New Jersey. Then I did this record for [Beautiful Losers director] Aaron Rose’s band, The Sads. I did his first album cover, kind of. I did a painting years ago and later on, he asked, “Can I use this for a record cover?” I said, “Sure.” Three years later, it actually came out. But I only tend to do stuff like that if I know the parties involved and I’m into what they’re doing. Not that I’ve gotten tons of offers, but if it’s not something I could totally get into, the money would have to be really, really good.

With people requesting your participation in various projects and also considering that you now have a book published of your work, what do you think draws people to your art?

The hardest question to ever answer—and it’s usually asked by family members who don’t have much exposure to art—is the question, “What does this mean?” When I make a drawing, I have some idea of how the elements relate to each other. I feel like there’s something in my work where people can look at it and take away something that I couldn’t have ever thought of. Hopefully, everyone can get something out of it that is personal.

If something changes inside you when you’re experiencing art, therein lies the meaning of what art can do, right?

Exactly. Have you ever read Luis Borges? I get this strange feeling all the time from reading his work. A lot of it I don’t really understand, but each time I read it, there’s something going on in my head that changes. I really appreciate that quality and it drives me forward. To change how we feel, without having to understand, is all that really matters. F