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Why John Byrne is one of Scotland’s greatest artists

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Why John Byrne is one of Scotland’s greatest artists


A Big Adventure, John Byrne’s retrospective at Glasgow’s Kelvingrove Art Gallery, offers a fascinating insight into the breadth of skills of one of Scotland’s best-known creative forces.

During an illustrious career he has traversed a number of cultural genres with success as an artist, playwright and scriptwriter with many stage and TV hits. Over the last 60 years he has built up an impressive catalogue of outstanding creative works that have become part of the Scottish cultural landscape, gaining him international recognition. Now in his eighties, Byrne is still painting and writing plays, his desire to create still burning fiercely.

The exhibition includes portraits of actors and musicians including many self portraits, figurative works, illustrations, cartoons, album covers, films and promotional material. He has worked in all sizes and mediums from thumbnail storyboarding to full gable-end murals on tenement buildings.

As a researcher looking into the lives of contemporary artists in a culturally dynamic Scotland, the show has given me unique insights into the distinctly Scottishness of Byrne’s work, approach and dedication to his craft.

Humble beginnings

Growing up in Ferguslie Park, Paisley, in one of the most deprived areas in Scotland, you would expect Byrne’s work to be deeply marked and influenced by that experience. However, there is rarely any sign of darkness or trauma in his artworks; in fact, his art is often joyful, displaying a gentle playfulness.

Byrne struggled to make a living as an artist after leaving Glasgow School of Art in 1963, and after a few years he decided to create an alter-ego called “Patrick”. Under this name he submitted some primitive-style artwork to the Portal Gallery in London which he pretended was painted by his father. It was accepted and exhibited in 1967, kicking off Byrne’s professional artistic career down south.

Billy Connolly.
John Byrne/Glasgow Museums Collections, Author provided (no reuse)

He progressively developed his writing skills in the 1970s to the point his artistic output declined and he became fully immersed in the world of scriptwriting and theatre. In this transitional period, he worked with both visual images and written dialogue as part of a fascinating creative process where his character ideas were visually illustrated and then allowed to mature and take form, before developing their own authentic voices.

The play and scriptwriting successes of Writer’s Cramp (1976), Slab Boys (1978) – based on his own experiences working in a carpet factory in the 1950s – Tutti Frutti (1987) and Your Cheating Heart (1990) interrupted a developing artistic career which was sidelined for 20 years. But he continued to produce powerful graphics and illustrative work supporting and promoting his plays and works for television.

A polymath talent

How can this extraordinary talent be summed up? Byrne is a figurative artist whose work is grounded in his exploration of the human experience which can be seen at the centre of both his scripts and his visual artworks.

A John Byrne painting of the actress Tilda Swinton.
Portrait of Tilda Swinton, Byrne’s former partner.
John Byrne

In the early 1980s, a group of young painters called the New Glasgow Boys (referencing the influential late-19th century modern painters the Glasgow Boys) also achieved international success as figurative painters, building upon Byrne’s own artistic output exploring the Scottish working-class psyche.

He is an architect and creator of narratives exploring deeply human characters and their complex relationships, capturing specific periods in time from a very Scottish perspective, as in the working-class characters in the Slab Boys and the rough and ready Majestics band in Tutti Frutti.

Even in his portraits, where he wrestles to understand both himself and the personalities who sit for him, we are given insight into a deeply personal journey. His portraiture is often comedic, and full of playfulness and irreverence, particularly when it comes to his own image.

Painting of the artist John Byrne.
Hands Up self portrait.
John Byrne, Author provided (no reuse)

The 40 self-portraits which dominate the show are larger than life, often set within city and seascapes, using a variety of mediums and nearly always showing him holding his trademark roll-up, a curl of smoke hanging in the air. In his earlier works, such as Self-portrait with Red Palette (1975), they can be serious and melancholic, and later on, full of humour where he does not take himself too seriously. But in more recent works, such as Big Selfie (2014), for example, darker traits reveal themselves, as Byrne muses on mortality and his image as the ageing artist.

In Byrne’s portraits, he treats his sitters with varying levels of respect, from the comic and affectionate, to the deeply serious and more reverent. This is expressed in his varied use of media such as flat oil paint, scraperboard, pastel, water colour and prints. To me his Conté crayon drawings of his daughters, Celia Asleep (1973) and Rebecca (2010), resemble the sketches of Leonardo.

The cover of the Beatles Ballads album.
One of Byrne’s many album covers.
John Byrne/Parlophone Records.

His love of R’n’B and rock’n’roll, together with his close friendships with musicians and actors drove his early artworks through album cover designs, paintings, portraits and caricatures.

His covers include the Beatles Ballads album as well as work for Gerry Rafferty, Stealer’s Wheel and Billy Connolly, whom Byrne has painted several times. His visit to Los Angeles with the singer Donovan had a significant impact, inspiring watercolour studies such as the gentle Burnt Orange LA (1971), and larger scale paintings of black musicians which were exhibited in Glasgow on his return.

A line drawing of Emma Thompson in her role as Suzi Kettles in John Byrne's play Tutti Frutti.
Emma Thompson as Suzi Kettles in Tutti Frutti.
John Byrne, Author provided (no reuse)

His fascination with black musicians has seeped into his artistic fantasy lands including Messiah (2015), a tryptic of musical figures in a fictional American city. And his ongoing relationship with teddy boy and rockabilly culture is reflected in the quiffed Fegs of Underwood Lane, his most recent and current play. It tells a story of a young skiffle band trying to make it big, and involves the big issues of love, religion, sex and death, written in memory of Gerry Rafferty, a close friend who also grew up in Paisley.

This retrospective highlights the quintessential Scottishness of Byrne’s work, in his resilience, his enduring humour and his focus on the frailty of human experience often lived on the edge of working-class communities. It is a richly rewarding show which underscores John Byrne’s rightful place as one of Scotland’s finest and most prolific artists.



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Blurry, morphing and surreal – a new AI aesthetic is emerging in film

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Blurry, morphing and surreal – a new AI aesthetic is emerging in film


Type text into AI image and video generators, and you’ll often see outputs of unusual, sometimes creepy, pictures.

In a way, this is a feature, not a bug, of generative AI. And artists are wielding this aesthetic to create a new storytelling art form.

The tools, such as Midjourney to generate images, Runway and Sora to produce videos, and Luma AI to create 3D objects, are relatively cheap or free to use. They allow filmmakers without access to major studio budgets or soundstages to make imaginative short films for the price of a monthly subscription.

I’ve studied these new works as the co-director of the AI for Media & Storytelling studio at the University of Southern California.

Surveying the increasingly captivating output of artists from around the world, I partnered with curators Jonathan Wells and Meg Grey Wells to produce the Flux Festival, a four-day showcase of experiments in AI filmmaking, in November 2024.

While this work remains dizzyingly eclectic in its stylistic diversity, I would argue that it offers traces of insight into our contemporary world. I’m reminded that in both literary and film studies, scholars believe that as cultures shift, so do the way we tell stories.

With this cultural connection in mind, I see five visual trends emerging in film.

1. Morphing, blurring imagery

In her “NanoFictions” series, the French artist Karoline Georges creates portraits of transformation. In one short, “The Beast,” a burly man mutates from a two-legged human into a hunched, skeletal cat, before morphing into a snarling wolf.

The metaphor – man is a monster – is clear. But what’s more compelling is the thrilling fluidity of transformation. There’s a giddy pleasure in seeing the figure’s seamless evolution that speaks to a very contemporary sensibility of shapeshifting across our many digital selves.

Karoline Georges’ short film ‘The Beast.’

This sense of transformation continues in the use of blurry imagery that, in the hands of some artists, becomes an aesthetic feature rather than a vexing problem.

Theo Lindquist’s “Electronic Dance Experiment #3,” for example, begins as a series of rapid-fire shots showing flashes of nude bodies in a soft smear of pastel colors that pulse and throb. Gradually it becomes clear that this strange fluidity of flesh is a dance. But the abstraction in the blur offers its own unique pleasure; the image can be felt as much as it can be seen.

2. The surreal

Thousands of TikTok videos demonstrate how cringey AI images can get, but artists can wield that weirdness and craft it into something transformative. The Singaporean artist known as Niceaunties creates videos that feature older women and cats, riffing on the concept of the “auntie” from Southeast and East Asian cultures.

In one recent video, the aunties let loose clouds of powerful hairspray to hold up impossible towers of hair in a sequence that grows increasingly ridiculous. Even as they’re playful and poignant, the videos created by Niceaunties can pack a political punch. They comment on assumptions about gender and age, for example, while also tackling contemporary issues such as pollution.

On the darker side, in a music video titled “Forest Never Sleeps,” the artist known as Doopiidoo offers up hybrid octopus-women, guitar-playing rats, rooster-pigs and a wood-chopping ostrich-man. The visual chaos is a sweet match for the accompanying death metal music, with surrealism returning as a powerful form.

Doopiidoo’s uncanny music video ‘Forest Never Sleeps’ leverages artificial intelligence to create surreal visuals.
Doopiidoo

3. Dark tales

The often-eerie vibe of so much AI-generated imagery works well for chronicling contemporary ills, a fact that several filmmakers use to unexpected effect.

In “La Fenêtre,” Lucas Ortiz Estefanell of the AI agency SpecialGuestX pairs diverse image sequences of people and places with a contemplative voice-over to ponder ideas of reality, privacy and the lives of artificially generated people. At the same time, he wonders about the strong desire to create these synthetic worlds. “When I first watched this video,” recalls the narrator, “the meaning of the image ceased to make sense.”

In the music video titled “Closer,” based on a song by Iceboy Violet and nueen, filmmaker Mau Morgó captures the world-weary exhaustion of Gen Z through dozens of youthful characters slumbering, often under the green glow of video screens. The snapshot of a generation that has come of age in the era of social media and now artificial intelligence, pictured here with phones clutched close to their bodies as they murmur in their sleep, feels quietly wrenching.

A pre-teen girl dozes while holding a video game controller, surrounded by bright screens.
The music video for ‘Closer’ spotlights a generation awash in screens.
Mau Morgó

4. Nostalgia

Sometimes filmmakers turn to AI to capture the past.

Rome-based filmmaker Andrea Ciulu uses AI to reimagine 1980s East Coast hip-hop culture in “On These Streets,” which depicts the city’s expanse and energy through breakdancing as kids run through alleys and then spin magically up into the air.

Ciulu says that he wanted to capture New York’s urban milieu, all of which he experienced at a distance, from Italy, as a kid. The video thus evokes a sense of nostalgia for a mythic time and place to create a memory that is also hallucinatory.

Andrea Ciulu’s short film ‘On These Streets.’

Similarly, David Slade’s “Shadow Rabbit” borrows black-and-white imagery reminiscent of the 1950s to show small children discovering miniature animals crawling about on their hands. In just a few seconds, Slade depicts the enchanting imagination of children and links it to generated imagery, underscoring AI’s capacities for creating fanciful worlds.

5. New times, new spaces

In his video for the song “The Hardest Part” by Washed Out, filmmaker Paul Trillo creates an infinite zoom that follows a group of characters down the seemingly endless aisle of a school bus, through the high school cafeteria and out onto the highway at night. The video perfectly captures the zoominess of time and the collapse of space for someone young and in love haplessly careening through the world.

The freewheeling camera also characterizes the work of Montreal-based duo Vallée Duhamel, whose music video “The Pulse Within” spins and twirls, careening up and around characters who are cut loose from the laws of gravity.

In both music videos, viewers experience time and space as a dazzling, topsy-turvy vortex where the rules of traditional time and space no longer apply.

A car in flames mid-air on a foggy night.
In Vallée Duhamel’s ‘The Pulse Within,’ the rules of physics no longer apply.
Source

Right now, in a world where algorithms increasingly shape everyday life, many works of art are beginning to reflect how intertwined we’ve become with computational systems.

What if machines are suggesting new ways to see ourselves, as much as we’re teaching them to see like humans?





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We’re in a golden age for body horror films – as Demi Moore’s The Substance proves

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We’re in a golden age for body horror films – as Demi Moore’s The Substance proves


In the 1980s, film scholar Barbara Creed coined the term the “monstrous-feminine”. It refers to the way that female monsters are typically portrayed as threatening and disgusting for reasons connected to their bodies and their sexuality. New film The Substance takes a leaf out of Creed’s book by proposing a feminist critique of female experience through the visceral language of the body horror, a sub-genre preoccupied with the transformation, destruction or grotesque exaggeration of the human body.

The Substance is a film about a fading Hollywood star who will go to any lengths to stay beautiful. After having her TV aerobics show cancelled, Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore) resorts to a mysterious serum that can create a “better” version of her – a younger double she can inhabit a few days at a time.

As the pull of success and the return of public recognition lure Sparkle away from her older, now abandoned self, horrendous mutations ensue. It seems poignant that the protagonist of this dark parable should be played by Moore, an actor whose looks have long been scrutinised.

In the October issue of Sight and Sound, the film’s director, Coralie Fargeat, explains that it’s not intended as a caricature, but “a mirror of society’s misogynistic mentality”. It really is “that gross … that violent in the real world,” she argues.

Many agree with her. In a review for Film International, film critic Alexandra Heller-Nicholas goes as far as to call The Substance a “documentary”, due to its “emotional fidelity”. That is, its ability to make literal the disconnection between body and consciousness caused by ageing, which impacts women particularly negatively.

The trailer for The Substance.

A growing body of films

The Substance is not the only major film in 2024 to be marketed, either fully or in part, as “body horror”. This is surprising because body horror originally emerged as a niche, often independently produced, sub-genre.

Body horror’s gruesome aesthetic and themes of corporeal decay, transformation and mutilation can be off-putting for many viewers. Yet films like Love Lies Bleeding, Tiger Stripes and I Saw the TV Glow (which all had wide releases in 2024) have turned to the sub-genre. Their directors have been drawn to its ability to tell timely stories about the way corporeality, identity and social interactions cannot be separated.

These films are largely about marginalised or maladjusted people. They show how our personal actions and sense of identity are always affected by the availability of role models and the limitations imposed on people by governmental, educational, religious and familial forces. For example, the teenage protagonist in Tiger Stripes rebels against the expectations that, because she is a girl, she should cover her hair, show modesty and be courteous.

From Poor Things and Infinity Pool (both 2023) to Hatching (2022) and Titane (2021), the 2020s are shaping up into something of a new golden age for body horror.

Novelist A.K. Blakemore has written of the rise of “femcore” – a literary trend of “ultraviolent body-horror”. Eliza Clark’s Boy Parts (2020), Alison Rumfitt’s Brainwyrms (2023), Monika Kim’s The Eyes Are the Best Part (2024) and the anthology Of the Flesh (2024) are included under this label.

And there’s a similar trend emerging in streaming shows, from the episode The Outside from Guillermo del Toro’s Cabinet of Curiosities (2022) to Alice Birch’s remake of David Cronenberg’s Dead Ringers (2023).

The body horror in The Substance.
Courtesy of Mubi

A sub-genre with substance

One of the key things that characterises this contemporary wave of body horror is the influx of directors who identify as women and as queer.

There were far fewer women and queer directors in the late 1970s and 1980s, when body horror gained popularity thanks to films like The Evil Dead (1981), The Fly (1986) and Hellraiser (1987), than there are now. This decade has made big moves towards inclusion, and the film industry has been greatly impacted by social movements like Me Too, Trans Lives Matter and Black Lives Matter, even if much work is yet to be done.

Body horror is particularly appealing to creators who would have previously found it difficult to make a living in the world of commercial filmmaking. Filmmakers (including Rose Glass, Amanda Nell Eu, Jane Schoenbrun, Hanna Bergholm, Julia Ducournau, Michelle Garza Cervera, Natalie Erika James, Alice Maio Mackay, Nia DaCosta and Coralie Fargeat) have found a valuable lexicon for feminist, trans-activist and anti-racist messages in the sub-genre. Many of them talk about their work as highly personal – if not based on their direct experience.

The body horror sub-genre is attuned to the violence of social exclusion and discrimination. Its metamorphic, painful, insidious and carnal nightmares help articulate the concerns of a new generation of artists for whom corporeality, and sometimes simply being visible, has become a political statement.

David Cronenberg closed his classic body horror film Videodrome (1983) with the emblematic line: “Long live the new flesh!” He needn’t have worried. It’s here to stay.


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Angry, wise, or plain horny? Zeus comes in many forms onscreen – just as he did in the original myths

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Angry, wise, or plain horny? Zeus comes in many forms onscreen – just as he did in the original myths


With a flash of garish colour and the blaring of an ’80s rock track we are on Mount Olympus, home to the pantheon of ancient Greek gods and goddesses.

But its not the Mount Olympus you’d normally think of. It’s an opulent house with large-screen TVs and gold watches. Overseeing it all is mighty Zeus, the king of the gods, played by Jeff Goldblum.

Netflix’s new six-part series, KAOS, is a brilliant reimagining of classical mythology for the 21st century. Created by Charlie Covell, writer on The End of the F***ing World (2017–19), the series follows six humans who learn they are part of a larger prophecy – their fates at the mercy and whims of the Olympian gods.

Narrated by Prometheus (Stephen Dillane), the series is darkly comedic in its exploration of themes from the original myths, such as power and abuse, gender politics and life after death.

Goldblum’s take on Zeus is mercurial. Powerful, but petulant and selfish, his Zeus is insecure. It’s a fascinating take on the god. “My character is complicated and charismatic, not to mention cruel,” the actor revealed in an interview.

The ancient Greeks themselves were ambiguous about Zeus. He could be a fearful figure or a humorous one. He ended up with dozens of epithets, ranging from Areius (“warlike”) to Zygius (“presider over marriage”), and most commonly Olympios and Panhellenios to signify his divine power over gods and humans alike.

Hollywood has similarly found a variety of ways to present Zeus, but usually in supporting roles (unlike in KAOS, where Zeus takes centre stage). In fact, one early cinematic appearance of the god was at the birth of filmmaking itself, in Georges Méliès’ silent film Jupiter’s Thunderballs (1903).

Zeus the powerful and vengeful god

Zeus (and his Roman equivalent Jupiter) was the god of sky and thunder in the Greek pantheon on Mount Olympus, and the father of many heroes and demigods of classical mythology. His main visual attribute was the lightning bolt, which is hinted at cleverly in a number of scenes in Goldblum’s performance.

The most common portrayal of Zeus in film and television is that of a vengeful and wrathful god who interferes with and manipulates the activities of others.

In Clash of the Titans (1981), a retelling of the myth of Perseus, Zeus (Laurence Olivier) manipulates the gods to support Perseus.

And this continues in the 2010 remake and its sequel, Wrath of the Titans (2012), in which Zeus (Liam Neeson) is an active participant in a plot centred on the struggle against Hades.

In the film Immortals (2011), although Zeus is often detached from the plot and merely observes, he is ultimately roused to action by anger.

Similarly, in the Percy Jackson films and TV series (based on Rick Riordan’s books), Zeus is characterised by his anger directed at Percy as he accuses him of stealing his lightning bolt.

Zeus the lustful abuser

Zeus was, well… there is no other way of saying it… horny. Incredibly horny. Despite the long-suffering protestations of his wife (and sister), Hera, Zeus would go on to father innumerable gods and demigods in the original myths.

His affairs with both divine and mortal women were almost always non-consensual and always ended badly for the seduced woman, who would either immediately die upon seeing Zeus in divine form or suffer the inventive vengeance of Hera. As Susie Donkin explained in the title of her 2020 book: Zeus is a Dick.

Unlike many filmed portrayals of Zeus, KAOS does not shy away from this aspect of his behaviour. But it is perhaps best represented in the adult animated series Blood of Zeus (2020-), in which much of the plot is driven by the aftermath of Zeus’ sexual proclivities.

Zeus the father figure

Hercules (Herakles in Greek) is one of the most filmed characters of all time, so the appearance of Zeus as his father is expected.

Perhaps most fondly remembered by all is Disney’s film Hercules (1997), in which Zeus (voiced by Rip Torn) is a warm and wise father. “For a true hero isn’t measured by the size of his strength, but by the strength of his heart,” he advises his son.

Hercules in New York (1970) is a cult film best known as Arnold Schwarzenegger’s first (dubbed) role as the titular strongman in contemporary New York. Here, Zeus (Ernest Graves) is responsible for Hercules’ exile – angry, but wanting the best for his son.

Anthony Quinn played Zeus in the TV movie The Circle of Fire (1994), which kick-started the TV series Hercules: The Legendary Journeys (1995–99) and its spin-off Xena: Warrior Princess (1995-2001). Zeus appeared periodically in both. Although Hercules in the series often referred to the neglectfulness of his father, Zeus is still presented as a loving parent in each appearance.

Zeus the comical

Zeus is also perfect to poke fun at. The ancients did it; in Aristophanes’ comedic play The Birds, for example, Zeus’ all-seeing vision is blocked by merely a raised parasol.

Perhaps the best example of this in modern cinema is Russell Crowe’s depiction in the Marvel movie Thor: Love and Thunder (2022). In this campy take, Zeus is all lightning bolts, with a toga that hides very little, and a controversial Greek accent.

But there was also a poignancy in Crowe’s Zeus, such as when he states:

It used to be that being a god, it meant something. People would whisper your name, before sharing their deepest hopes and dreams. They begged you for mercy, without ever knowing if you were actually listening. Now, when they look to the sky, they don’t ask us for lightning, they don’t ask us for rain, they just want to see one of their so-called superheroes. When did we become the joke?

Just as the ancient Greeks had many versions of Zeus, so does the modern world. And Jeff Goldblum’s brilliant performance suggests we certainly haven’t seen the last of Zeus’ thunderbolts onscreen.



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