Thomas D Wright tells us about his solo exhibition - A Corporeal God

We managed to catch a bit of time with Thomas D Wright in the week his solo exhibition opens at Gallery 46.

Your exhibition A Corporeal God suggests a tension between the divine and the physical. How does this duality manifest in your photographic and painterly language?

When it comes to my work, I don’t view these two paradoxical concepts as separate entities, but rather combined as one, well-lubricated, undulating organism. As your word divine suggests, the work became a kind of saviour to me.

While battling a 15-year stint of self-destruction and drug addiction, I had to draw on what some would describe as a higher power to overcome it. Though not being religious, it wasn’t God I turned to, but rather a deep faith in my art, an internal fire and driving force to fulfil my artistic potential with everything I had. I still strive daily for that potential, but the claws of addiction that once gripped my mind have been severed.

These ideas manifest through a visual language that links back to a lasting passion of mine, the essence of the Baroque. Employing drama, theatre, emotional intensity, finding beauty and romance in the grotesque, which resonates deeply with me. I get the same sensation from surgical imagery as I do from Baroque religious paintings. Both carry powerful connotations of hope, faith, and the idea of being saved. Turning the parasympathetic beauty of the human form into a sympathetic image which both disgusts and enthrals. This stirs a physical sensation, it makes me feel alive.

You often blur the lines between mediums—where does photography end and painting begin for you in this body of work?

Firstly, it’s worth pointing out that I am not a photographer, I’m just an artist with a camera. The camera is a magnificent tool that allows me to capture and document moments in a quantitative way. Though my aim isn’t to make a documentary, there’s already plenty of people doing that. My role is to creatively communicate the extraordinary, life-saving scenes unfolding before my eyes.

What I present is a qualitative response to this awe-filled experience and a way of marking not just the moment, but also current surgical techniques, which at some point will be obsolete.

Often, I’ll use the photographs, or fragments of them as reference for paintings. Although the mediums are fundamentally different, I feel they meld. There’s a continuity that runs through both in their tone, their expression and the atmosphere. Authenticity is also essential. It matters that I’ve been there, that I’ve seen and felt what I’m painting. That lived experience gives the work a much deeper credibility, one that can’t be fabricated.

The figures in your work feel at once mythological and vulnerably human. Who—or what—are these bodies channeling?

I like your phrase, vulnerably human, it captures something essential.
Many of the figures in my work bear the marks of imperfection, fragility, and emotional truth. They are not portraits of individuals, but actors, channeling life as I’ve experienced and observed it. This includes what I’ve lived through directly, but also everything I’ve absorbed, my research, studies and perception of the world around me.

The figures shift, sometimes its anatomical observation, other times dissolving into something more surreal, even mythic. The pendulum swings between what is real and what is imagined, what is seen and what is intuited. I think of the works as a classical musical score. The instruments of the orchestra are played in such a way as to stir the emotions at the will of the composer. There are no words. Like the composer, It’s a sensation I’m communicating. If that feeling comes across, then my job is done. I know what they mean to me, however the viewer will apply a meaning or narrative based on their own life experience.

There’s a visceral tactility to your surfaces, even in your photographic work. Can you talk about your material process and how it informs the thematic weight of the show?

I paint in oils these days. I was late to discover them, in fact I have only been using them since 2022 when I started my MA. Prior to that I was using acrylic, spray paint, enamel and anything else that I could grab that would make the required mark. Now, I can’t understand why it took me so long to pick them up, as they are a joy to use. The materiality of oil paint is something mildly erotic.

My process with oils involves starting smooth, often working from a photo reference. Building up layers and adding body to the surface, though if what’s going down is not hitting the note, I will scrape off, destroy, blur and distort the areas I’m not happy with, which will leave a ghostly reminiscence of previous layers. I find these areas as interesting as the rendered sections. This will happen multiple times in a painting. It’s a constant back and forth until I find the balance between well rendered and painterly chaos.

I will very often distort the characters’ mouths. The mouth is an intriguing and versatile cavity, the receiver of nourishment, the giver of pleasure. What we put into it can keep us alive, what comes out of it can invite broken bones.

The photos are shot to resemble the paintings, though this is easy as the light in the operating theater already delivers a strong chiaroscuro effect due to the intense spot lights on the subject. The conditions are already set up beautifully for these dramatic scenes.

How has your relationship with the camera changed over time? Do you see it more as a witness, a weapon, or something else entirely?

The camera is the ideal tool to capture the details in the immediate moment. The photo allows me to study, interpret and translate what I’m seeing into a visual language that makes sense to me. And now, with the development of the surgical photography project, my relationship with the camera has developed beyond just holding hands.

As my search for authenticity in the work continues, the camera is also the perfect tool to gather a collection of original references, objects, figures, expressions, poses, observations of light and shadow, whatever is needed to build the painting. Previously I would rip images from the internet, as many of us do when we need a reference immediately. Though this brings a void to the work, and when someone asks you about the painting, there’s nothing worse than having to say, well, I just found the image on the internet. It’s not authentic. What is our art if it’s not authentic?

You’ve spoken before about the influence of classical art and religious iconography. How do those visual histories sit within A Corporeal God? Are you revering or unravelling them?

I most certainly revere them. In my eyes, the art that poured out of the catholic church is some of the greatest the world has ever known, and I expect will draw crowds at museums and churches for as long as it exists. Do I need to be a devoted catholic to appreciate it? Absolutely not.

In a historical context, A Corporeal God marks a requisite point in surgical history. As surgery and technology become more integrated, we are approaching the end of such manual techniques. These images will act as historical documents.

There’s a distinct sense of theatricality to your compositions. How conscious are you of staging, performance, and gaze in your image-making?

It is complete theatre, and a performance. I am, in general, quite a mellow character, I project my emotional intensity through the passion and drama in the paintings. I hope the viewer can connect with this emotion when they take in the work.

However, when it comes to the surgical photography, no pose or position is staged. It’s all real. As much as I would like to ask, can you please drop that hand a little, or can you step into the light, obviously that wouldn’t go down well.

Do you approach painting and photography with the same emotional or conceptual intent, or are they speaking different languages in the same conversation?

In short, yes I do. I see them as extensions of each other, having used different tools to get the results.

Your work often navigates themes of identity, flesh, and transcendence. What role does autobiography play in A Corporeal God?

Autobiography plays a large part in all my work, even when the subject swings to specific topics. Painting, and image making is my way of communicating. Why do I feel the need to express this in my work? Because, quite simply, it helps me find peace.

If A Corporeal God is a kind of altar, what are we being asked to worship—or confront—when we step into it?

I hope the exhibition will nudge us to appreciate the short time we are here, to consider our brief existence on this planet, and how we treat ourselves and each other.