Jack Vettriano Studio Life [ハードカバー]

I'll confess it now, I'm not much of one for most modern art. I tend to find it too loud, or too busy, or just plain awful. But, as they say, there are exceptions to every rule, and Scottish born, self-taught, artist Jack Vettriano is one of them. You might not recognize his name right off, but if you saw his work, you would know right away who he is. The best known of his works are the two paintings, Elegy for the Dead Admiral and The Singing Butler. It seems that nearly every poster shop in the world has these two available.

But I prefer his moodier, darker works. In those, men and women are shown in intimate moments. Some have dangerous overtones, others are very sexual in nature. Sometimes there is nudity, but not very often. But what does come across in every one of them is a sizzle of passion and intensity.

With his book, Studio Life, Vettriano lets us into the world where he creates his images. Even more interesting, he shows us just how he gets there -- from the places where he gets his inspiration from -- Scotland, London and Nice, France -- his models, where he works, and finally, himself.

The book is filled with photographs and reproductions of Vettriano's works, from the inital sketches and rough ideas, to how he sets up his models for a shoot -- and sometimes uses himself as a model, all the way through to the final painting.

Other intriguing aspect is how culture has both influenced, and has been influenced by, Jack Vettriano's work. I was rather pleased to see that some of my own favourites were there too -- musicians such as Leonard Cohen, Joni Mitchell and Bob Dylan, to name a few. There's edgy glamour in his paintings, the women in them leggy and made up with scarlet lipstick, the men in suits and ties and impeccably turned out. In our age of open sleaze, and Hollywood excess, what I like about them is that it harkens back to a time when there was a bit of danger to being in love, that being with someone sometimes was a risky thing indeed, and everything could be bundled up into a single glance or the turn of a head. And sometimes, in Vettriano's work, the cigarette in a hand, or a glance.

An interesting touch is the introduction to the book, penned by none other than a fellow native son of Fife, Scotland, long time mystery author Ian Rankin. He discusses some about the nature of both the writer's and artist's life -- namely, they work alone, they have to, or otherwise nothing would ever get done.

I rather enjoy Vettriano. He's got a rough and tumble honesty to him that strips away most of the elitism or obfuscation that most modern artists cultivate. And there is a real skill underneath there, his figures are very alive and there. While his people are nearly too perfect, in a stylized film noir way, the viewer's eyes keep going back. There's a story in that painting, a snapshot of time, and you've just been allowed a peek inside. But just a peek, mind, it's up to you how the rest of it will play out.

If you can handle the sometimes disturbing, sexual, tone of his work, Vettriano is an artist that is worth a second look. While I know that there is a snowball in hell's chances of ever owning one of his works, his books do let me have a bit of his work for my very own. And that is enough.

Five stars. But not for everyone. Proceed with caution.

I am a long-time fan of Jack Vettriano's work, particularly his limited-editions, so I was looking forward to reading this latest book, Studio Life. I was not disappointed. It's a good read - all about Jack's early life, his adolescent years, how and why he began painting. Some very good photos/explanations of how he sets up his paintings, and of course, fabulous photos of several of his paintings, including a couple of some very interesting close-ups of his work.

I would highly recommend the book to those who enjoy Vettriano's paintings, however, I cannot imagine anybody not enjoying it - easy to read, divine photos, beautifully produced.

This book purports to be an inside look into the studio life of the artist; what we get really is a drawn out explanation of his truly pathetic life. Vittriano is a person with no soul or depth. he deserted his family to spend years with prostitutes which is somehow romanticized because he is "an artist" His work as a derivative hack is really a pastich of American illustration. Somehow the market is Scotland and press have built him up enough to make money off this drivel. But, nontheless, what is his studio life? He takes photos and paints. The end? No info on what type of materials he uses. He primes the canvas orange. That's it. The reason it is apparent is that he has no technique. He is an empty pathetic man creating empty pathetic art.