In the work of Aiyla Beau, abstraction becomes less a fixed visual language and more a form of psychological and emotional navigation. Created intuitively and without predetermined outcomes, her paintings emerge through instinct, gesture and response, balancing raw immediacy with moments of control and restraint. Layers of marks, scratches, text and colour collide across the canvas, forming compositions that feel suspended somewhere between memory, atmosphere and subconscious release.
Before moving fully into abstraction, Beau worked across photography, modelling, illustration and design, experiences that continue to shape the physicality and visual confidence of her practice. What distinguishes the work, however, is not simply scale or energy, but the sense that each painting records an internal conversation unfolding in real time. Themes of chaos, human connection and the search for meaning run throughout the practice, informed by an ongoing fascination with the nature of reality, emotion and the structures that exist beneath apparent disorder.
Working from her Bristol-based studio under HAUS of BEAU, Beau has developed a body of work that resists over-explanation, instead inviting viewers into spaces that are instinctive, immersive and emotionally charged. Rather than offering certainty, the paintings leave room for interpretation, becoming fragments of thought, tension and sensation that continue to shift long after the work is complete.
Your work has evolved into large-scale abstraction. What prompted that shift, and what did abstraction allow you to express that earlier formats could not?
I first started experimenting and playing with abstraction during the third lockdown. Prior to this, I had been working as a hyperrealistic illustrator, creating colourful photorealistic images using oil pencils, a painstaking and lengthy process of perfect rendering. I loved being able to create such pieces, especially as I was taking the reference photos myself and had full creative control. However, during lockdown, and the limited and restricted lifestyle we all endured, coupled with an emotionally unstable living situation that I felt trapped in, I found that the limitations and restrictions I had to adhere to in order to create such pieces brought about an internal feeling of claustrophobia that I had to do something about. I needed an outlet, and the first thought I had was to throw paint around, which was the start of everything since.
There is a strong sense of instinct, immediacy and emotional atmosphere in your paintings. Do your works begin with a specific idea, or do they emerge intuitively through the act of making?
My process can take a number of paths, but the only truly consistent thing is that there is zero prep. I don’t draw out ideas, I don’t have a sketchbook to speak of, no plans. I’ve actually found that doing this, for me, is counterintuitive. If I “try” to paint something from start to finish, it always feels contrived and off. The very most I will do before I start working is daydream. I’ll stare into space, go on thought walks while half asleep, ponder certain ideas, but I never allow myself to come to a full visual conclusion before I hit the studio.
While actually working, I usually just get bases down, make marks, write stuff, and eventually I’ll start responding to what I’m looking at, adding and subtracting elements as I go. I try really hard not to get too attached to parts of the work I like, as then we’re falling back into contrivance. Inevitably though, there will come a point where the piece is almost ‘there’ and I know I only have maybe one or two more chess moves to make before I ruin it and have to start the whole process again.
The only thing to do is sit and stare at it, think about other things, turn it upside down to see what my brain spits out. Sometimes it’s the final move, sometimes it’s to leave it the hell alone. This way of working feels more like a collaboration between my past self and my future self, almost discussed on the canvas. The art is the product of this weird conversation with myself.
Colour plays a central role in your practice. How do you approach colour as a language for emotion rather than representation?
I have quite a restricted colour palette, I think. Or more so, the colour palette I love the most is quite restrictive. I have certain trios that I prefer, and then expand with different variations of them. Nothing in the choosing of colours is representative of anything other than my desires at the time. If I want to grab pink, I’ll grab it. Want contrast? Let’s get it. Subtlety? That’s fine. I just allow myself to pick what I want. Sometimes I’ll question it because it doesn’t ‘make sense’ or I’ve done it a bunch already, but I’ve learned to just listen to the instinctive nature of it, as it’s rarely wrong.
I wouldn’t say I use colour to portray emotions though. That’s more in the linework or structure of the piece. In a fair few pieces, the scratches in paint layers are my actual nails scratching the canvas in frustration, which usually precedes a breakthrough lol. But the colours are very much chosen emotionally.
Many of your works carry titles that suggest psychological or internal states. How important is language in framing the viewer’s experience of your paintings?
I honestly feel like titles are half of the artwork. I’ve had many occasions where people have bought work because of the title’s resonance with them. I always choose my titles post-work. I’ve found, again, that if I pick the title and go from there, I’m almost performing for the title. It never works.
I guess I work almost retroactively. I paint the work, stare at it, think about how the process felt, remember my emotions while going through it, and then relate that experience to whatever general theme the whole project is about, or whatever is going on in my life or the world at large. Sometimes it comes immediately, sometimes randomly as I’m falling asleep I’ll hear it in my head and have to write it down before I forget.
One thing I do try to do with my titles though is leave them open enough for viewers to have their own interpretation rather than spoon-feeding them my personal perspective, maybe by posing a question or a statement that can ring true for many, but in a variety of different ways.
Scale seems significant in your work. How does working large impact both your physical process and the emotional presence of the finished piece?
Big work all day lol. I love making large-scale pieces. I wanted to for years, but only last year decided I was going to go for it. It’s incredibly satisfying both during the process and after the work is complete. Painting on such a large scale requires a lot of physical effort, so you really do put your whole self into it. The challenge comes in trying to obtain compositions that are easily produced on a smaller scale within the same ratios on a much larger scale. This took me a while to figure out, I won’t lie, but one day it just clicked.
I find with larger work people become slightly more overcome by the piece, in the same way that standing looking at a sunset on the beach is so much more awe-inspiring than looking at one on your laptop. It’s something bigger than yourself, both physically and metaphorically speaking.
I think a lot of it has to do with the subject matter I’m interested in. My work generally focuses on the ‘bigger’ questions that haunt us as a species, ones we really don’t have definitive answers for, and having these ideas explored at such a large scale brings a gravity to them that isn’t quite captured in smaller pieces, in my opinion.
Your practice sits between raw expression and controlled composition. How do you know when a work is resolved?
I know a work is done when I feel like I have nowhere to go. I’ll normally leave something if I’m not sure and come back to it later, and if I’ve stared at it every which way and, no matter what I’m thinking, nothing seems like the right thing to do, then it’s done. It’s a skill I had to develop over time. I ruined a lot of work by not knowing when to stop.
What are you currently exploring in your work, and are there any new directions or materials you are interested in developing?
There are a few different directions I’m currently exploring in my work. Theme-wise, I’m play
ing with a mini project around a personal life experience I’m having. I’m not giving away too much lol, but it’s something that I’ve been noticing for a while and I want to put my own spin on it in a mini series, I think.
Practice and process-wise, I’m being drawn to a few different things, a more minimalistic style, but then also many, many layers. I’m daydreaming about super simplistic naïve ideas, lettering keeps popping into my head, childlike drawings, odd compositions. There’s a lot of stuff bubbling passively in my thoughts. I’m excited to see how it’s all going to culminate and come together visually.
Your recent solo exhibition at The Artpad in Bath felt like a focused and considered body of work. How did the pieces evolve over the months leading up to the show?
The recent solo show actually came together and progressed really smoothly over those few months. There were only a couple of times I had to really fight through a sticky patch to get the pieces to form. It brought about a realisation of how I need to work moving forwards. I seem to be able to focus on not focusing when I have a whole project in place rather than just arbitrarily painting, something I only figured out during the production phase.
Having the bigger picture of the project on my mind allowed me to paint without that particular painting becoming the focus, thus allowing the flow to flow better. The pieces came about in the same fashion as they always do, the same process, but the guiding force behind them came from a much more intangible place that felt quite eerie at times, almost like it wasn’t me. In doing this though, I think the more natural physical motions, compositions and marks started to link the pieces together as I worked through the series, creating that cohesive feeling.
Looking ahead, how do you see Haus of Beau evolving, both as a personal practice and as a wider creative identity?
I honestly feel like I’m at the ‘actual’ start of this journey. From not knowing a thing about abstraction five or so years ago, practising and experimenting with literally everything to find out what I liked and how I painted, now I think I’m like a kid who’s just figured out how to stand up.
Going forwards, I want to paint even bigger pieces (obvs) and develop my practice as much as I can. I have an insatiable appetite for expansion. I’d love to see how far I can take this journey. I’d obviously love to show more, work with more like-minded folk, and see my work in the hands of some of the world’s largest collectors.
I’m also obsessed with interiors, so I’m keen on working with designers and partnering with developers to create stunning, art-driven spaces. Overall, I’d like my work to continue to evolve into something that brings people together through shared experiences, to pull people out of the everyday grind and allow them to question, daydream, and ponder subjects they might not have considered before, to look at things from a different perspective, the bigger picture. To escape.
