Collecting Moments with James Robert Morrison

For as long as he can remember, drawing has been a safe space for James Robert Morrison to retreat. “I used to make drawings of animals copied from images in my father’s encyclopaedias and portraits of pop stars from my Smash Hits magazines,” he recalls fondly. “I could get lost in drawing for hours.” Not much has changed. Morrison can draw endlessly and uninterrupted when he gets into a rhythm; the only thing occupying his mind is the gentle movement of pencil caressing paper. And it must be a caress. Press too hard, and the paper will tear.

Morrison is perhaps best known for his cigarette paper drawings, born from an unexpected moment of inspiration: the artist caught wind of a teenager's remark about a gay couple, describing them as "never having more than a fag paper between them." In the UK, before becoming a homophobic slur, ‘fag’ was a colloquial term for a cigarette. Fuelled by this linguistic twist, Morrison dived into his teenage stash of gay porn and began to draw various scenes and encounters on ‘fag’ papers. Over time, this choice evolved from artistic experimentation into a bold reclamation of a term meant to wound and demean. 

Morrison has come to appreciate the little rips and smudges on these delicate papers as they bring a sense of humanness and rawness to his pieces. “I used to strive for perfection, tearing up pieces I’d smudged or wasn’t happy with. But now, I see the beauty in these imperfections.” A little smear here or there allows Morrison to show up physically and honestly in his work. They assert the sensitivity, the awkwardness, and the beautiful messiness of genuine human connection, further emphasised by the sense of communion often associated with his medium. 

Morrison’s latest drawings, ten of which we are launching exclusively on Rise Art, present a significant milestone in the ongoing series ‘There is never more than a fag paper between them’. These pieces are not just a culmination but possibly the conclusion of this collection, at least for the foreseeable future. While the artist hesitates to say "forever," a new project beckons after being on hold for over three years.

Curiously, some of these new drawings seem to have moved away from traditional portraiture and instead present anonymous close-ups of what can only be left to the viewer’s imagination: hands reaching for hips, tender embraces, hints of violence. The context remains largely hidden. We can see an unmade bed behind Luca and Finn and what appears to be a doorway leading to a balcony to the right of George and Ronnie, but where these figures are and what is happening are teasingly withheld. 

Morrison’s recent close-up works seem to have a slightly more mysterious tone, too. This could be due to the unsettling nature of not being presented with the whole story. As a viewer, it’s almost like we’re looking through a keyhole into a significant moment in someone’s life. “Are they having an affair? Is this a loving embrace? Are they fighting? The possibilities are endless.” 

The anonymity of his subjects speaks volumes, echoing the silent battles waged by so many in the LGBTQIA+ community. It is also a resounding reminder that we can never truly know what lies behind closed doors nor fully understand the full picture. Growing up when anti-gay sentiment was at its peak, Morrison recalls the heavy weight of societal pressure to conform. In a pre-internet era marked by the darkness of HIV/AIDS and the cruel shadow of the homophobic Section 28 legislation, positive queer representation was a distant dream. 

Viewing these images from this perspective feels somewhat intrusive, as if we're peering into a private moment—prying into the only space where these subjects can express themselves freely. There’s also the underlying feeling that their anonymity might reveal the lingering stigma surrounding public displays of affection, particularly within queer communities. Despite strides in LGBTQIA+ acceptance, there remains a significant journey ahead towards full inclusivity and understanding.

And yet, the mind wanders on. Perhaps these glimpses are not there to dissect the necessity of privacy, but rather to invite us to marvel at the subtleties and depth of human touch. Maybe, ultimately, these collections of moments make you feel something, and therein lies the point. With one hand on his chest, Morrison holds out Damon and Rory to me. “I feel like I’m being touched here when I see this one.” 

These enigmatic close-ups, employing a deceptively simple technique, both bewilder and captivate. I deeply admire Morrison’s refusal to confirm or impose a singular truth onto these narratives; there are no right or wrong answers, just your own interpretations and what this stirs within you. All of these images tell a story and, like the best, cliff-hanging novels of all, leave us hungry for more.