Leicester-based contemporary artist Tim Fowler is known for his large-scale botanical paintings, distinctive fluorescent colour palette and energetic approach to mark-making. Working across oil, acrylic, spray paint and mixed media, Fowler creates vibrant, semi-abstract compositions that explore the relationship between nature, cultural identity and personal history.
Having initially focused on urban landscapes and portraiture, Fowler’s practice took a significant turn when banana plants introduced into a shared studio sparked a fascination with botanical subjects. What began as an exploration of form, colour and texture gradually developed into a deeper investigation of the historical movement of plants and their connections to his own West African and Caribbean ancestry.
This research formed the basis of his major solo exhibition, The Ground, at Attenborough Arts Centre in Leicester, which explored migration, colonial history and cultural heritage through botanical imagery. Alongside these themes, Fowler continues to push the physical possibilities of painting, often working across numerous canvases simultaneously and experimenting with monumental scale.
In this interview, Fowler reflects on the early influences that shaped his ambitions, the unexpected development of his botanical practice, the realities of building a career as a full-time artist and his hopes for the future.
You have said that seeing Basquiat represented someone who looked like you building a serious career as an artist, and that it changed what you thought might be possible for yourself. Does that early moment still feel important when you look at where your career is now?
Yes, that moment still feels very important to me, looking at where my career is now. Not only the fact that he looked like me, which at the time was something I’d never experienced before, but it was my first real introduction to what a modern-day successful artist looked like. Having collectors queuing up to buy his paintings before they were even finished, galleries offering him exhibitions, and hanging around with celebrities all impressed me and sparked my ambition to get to that position myself. It’s not so much that I still specifically think about Basquiat himself. It’s more that it opened a door in my mind that can never be closed.
After graduating, you spent several years working as a teaching assistant while continuing to paint after work. Looking back, do you think those years of persistence shaped the way you approach your career now?
I have fond memories of my time as a teaching assistant, especially the kids I worked with over the years. It was very challenging, as it was an SEBD (Social, Emotional and Behavioural Difficulties) school, but I loved it. However, it was never the dream. I knew that teaching wasn’t for me, so it confirmed my decision to pursue a career as an artist. The job taught me a lot of important life skills, but I’d say it prepared me more for fatherhood than anything else. I think whatever job I had done in those early years wouldn’t have changed where I am now. I’ve always been very driven and motivated to achieve my dream of being a full-time artist.
Your work moved from urban scenes to portraiture before arriving at the botanical paintings you are now so strongly associated with. Did the plant work feel like a genuine turning point because the subject finally matched the freedom you wanted in the painting itself?
Yes, that is exactly it. I enjoyed painting urban scenes and portraits at the time, but after a few years, both of these subjects began to feel more and more restrictive in terms of how I wanted to paint. I didn’t understand that frustration at the time until I started the botanical work. Then it felt like I could fully stretch out, and suddenly all this inspiration and these ideas started flooding in. Since then, I feel my practice has gone from strength to strength, and I’m growing as an artist. However, without those early subjects, I wouldn’t be where I am today. My colours, combinations, brushstrokes, etc., were all developed then, and my style evolved during those years.
The Ground explored plants that followed migratory routes connected to your own West African and Caribbean ancestry. What changed for you when botanical imagery became connected not just to form and colour, but to personal and historical research?
This was a time when my artistic practice and my own personal interests merged together. They initially started as two separate focuses in my life. My daughters were around five years old, and their personalities were developing. With my wife being half Iraqi and half Irish, and me being half Caribbean and half White British, my kids were a real mix of cultures. That led to a more in-depth interest in my own family history, but at this point, it had no connection to my art. However, this was also around the time I began painting banana plants. People kept asking if it was connected to my Caribbean roots, which it wasn’t. As my research went on, and as people planted the seed in my head regarding the connection, the two started to overlap. Other plants like tobacco, sugar cane and cotton started coming up in the books I was reading, and soon they became the focus of my paintings.
I ended up being offered an exhibition at Attenborough Arts Centre in Leicester, which became The Ground. I took my family out to Barbados, where my mum’s family come from, and visited botanical gardens, spoke to curators and locals, and learnt so much about the island’s history and its connection with Britain. I commissioned a De Montfort University film graduate called Nik Trzcinowicz, who I’d already been working with, to produce a short documentary called The Ground to accompany the exhibition.
You have spoken about banana plants entering a shared studio almost by accident and opening up this whole direction in your work. Do you enjoy the fact that such a major shift began with something so unplanned?
Yes, I’ll forever be grateful to my studio mate Tom Van Herrewege, who brought those banana plants into the studio. It came at the perfect time because I’d already decided I was moving away from portraiture and had begun working on some abstract pieces. The transition to painting the banana plants was a gradual one, with the leaves starting to appear in the abstract work. Then the plant became more and more of the main focus. Not only was the physical presence of the plants in my space important, but Tom’s knowledge about them in general was too, teaching me how they grow, reproduce and die, etc. The more I learnt, the more curious I became, and soon that transitioned from banana plants to all types of plants.
I think it’s great that it all came from interacting with other creatives and grew into the basis of my whole practice. I think the best ideas and inspiration come from unplanned encounters in life. It’s often when you try to force these things that you get creative block.
Your colour palette has become extremely recognisable, particularly the fluorescent pinks, blues and acid greens. Did that visual identity develop instinctively, or was there a point when you consciously began pushing the colour further?
People often ask about my colour choices, and it’s become what I’m most known and recognised for. They’re curious about how I pick them and where the inspiration comes from. My palette is something that I have developed over the years. It’s become brighter and more fluorescent, but they’re colours I’ve always been drawn to, even in my early works. The short of it is that they’re simply colours I like, and I think they sit well together.
It wasn’t until people started mentioning them, or referring to them as ‘Tim Fowler colours’, that I really started thinking about it. I try not to let outside influences dictate decisions in my practice. The work is for me before anyone else, but this is easier said than done some days.
You often work on ten, fifteen or even twenty paintings at once. Is moving between works essential to keeping the energy spontaneous, rather than allowing any one painting to become overworked?
Yes, I’d find it very difficult to just work on one piece at a time. I often think an artist’s worst enemy is their own mind. For me, this increases massively when working on a single painting. I start overthinking decisions, colours and the direction of the piece. Then the frustration and stress build up, and I can’t paint in that frame of mind. Working on multiple paintings means that if I’m struggling with a certain piece, I can just switch to a different one or start a new one. Then, when I feel ready to come back to the difficult piece, I’ve got fresh eyes and I’m in a relaxed state.
The only problem with this method is that if I don’t have a deadline, I’ll just keep starting new work and not finishing anything. So having an exhibition or project means I’m forced to revisit the difficult work.
Your studio in Leicester gives you the freedom to work on a monumental scale, sometimes with ladders and unconventional tools. What happens to your relationship with a painting when it becomes physically bigger than you are?
I am very fortunate to have a massive warehouse as a studio, so I have the space to work at a very large scale and, equally as important, a place to store the paintings once they’re finished. Working at that scale is something I feel I have to do every so often. Usually, once a year, I’ll devote a month or so to making some big paintings, even if I don’t have any exhibitions lined up or a specific reason to paint them. I just have to get it out of my system.
It’s a very different approach working at that scale. It’s a lot more physical; you have to use your whole body rather than just your arm or shoulder. This, in turn, has a direct impact on the painting process and the outcome. Using decorating brushes instead of artist’s brushes is going to leave different marks. I find there are a lot more unknown outcomes, which leads to really interesting results. I learn so much from making these pieces, which I then take forward into future smaller pieces.
You have been open about the fact that large paintings are partly about experimentation and enjoyment, while smaller works help sustain the business of being a full-time artist. Has learning to balance those creative and commercial realities changed your idea of success?
I soon realised that as enjoyable as it is making large paintings, they’re a lot harder to sell, store, transport and even fit into certain spaces. Not many people have the space for 4m canvases, so I try to limit how many I make. However, I’m lucky that I have the space in my studio to store them without too much hassle. I have a more realistic view of the art world now.
When you’re a student, the majority of the work you look at is in museums, big art fairs like Frieze, or blue-chip galleries. These often show very large-scale work, so it’s easy to associate large paintings with success. The older I got and the more I learnt about the art world, the more I realised that this is a very small percentage of the work out there. The idea of what success is as an artist is constantly changing, and it can be a dangerous thing to focus on too much, as it depends on the person. What is success? Likes on social media? Selling? Being accepted into an open call? Winning a prize? Celebrity collectors?
You have built an international career while choosing to remain in Leicester. What does the city still give you creatively, and why has it been important not to feel that success requires moving to London?
There were points when I was younger when I considered moving to London. I always knew it was the most important place for getting my work seen in the UK. However, the cost of living there always put me off.
Leicester is only an hour away on the train, so I was always confident I could continue to live here but still make it as an artist by getting into the London art scene. Social media was also starting to become a more powerful tool for artists to use to get their work seen.
As I got older and had children, the idea of moving to London became less and less of an option. I already had my foot in the door with galleries, was doing art fairs there, and my social media presence was growing. When I spoke to my London artist friends about studio costs and compared that to what I could get for my money in Leicester, it became a no-brainer.
I don’t get to attend as many PVs as I’d like, but I still manage to travel down fairly regularly for fairs and shows. I’ve now become a bit of a success story in the city as an artist who’s ‘made it’ while staying in Leicester. Leicester has a great community of artists and creative spaces, but it’s still important for artists to see what’s happening in London. I just don’t think you need to live there.
You have spoken about Leicester having a lot of artistic talent but not enough accessible places for emerging artists to show. Having built your own career there, what do you think the city’s art scene most needs next?
Leicester has great universities, amazingly talented artists and plenty of affordable studio spaces. I think the main thing missing is places for local up-and-coming artists to exhibit work. We need a city-centre gallery to nurture local and graduate talent.
This would help build their CVs, as well as their confidence. It would also encourage students who aren’t from Leicester to stay here after they graduate, rather than moving back home or to London. This is something I’d like to help build in the future and use my name to develop a platform to help other artists build their careers.
It would also encourage Leicester’s non-artist residents to develop an interest in the arts and potentially increase sales.
You have said that you still want bigger exhibitions and international residencies, particularly in places such as the US or Asia. At this stage, what kind of opportunity would genuinely push the work somewhere you have not been before?
I’d love to have an exhibition or residency somewhere that has a direct connection to plants, such as the Shirley Sherwood Gallery at Kew Gardens or the Eden Project. To make a body of work that responds to their collections and archives, and to work with their team of botanists, would be amazing.
That would enable me to learn so much more from real experts about the topics that inform my practice. I’d like to do something similar internationally, where the climates and their specialist areas are different.
Aside from the botanical garden focus, I’d also like to have an exhibition of my larger-scale works in a US gallery. I’m building a large following there, and I’ve shown a number of times in various states, but never my big pieces. However, I’d want to produce the entire body of work out there, hence the residency aspect.
Creating work in a new environment often has a direct effect on the outcome, whether it’s inspiration from the surrounding area or simply the space I’m painting in, the weather, the people. It all leads to new ideas and approaches.
Website: timfowler.co.uk
Instagram @timjfowler
