About
Martin Constable has exhibited widely in Europe and Asia. In 2000 he was nominated for the prestigous Sovereign Art Foundation prize. His clients include David Bowie, Elton John, Iggy Pop, Lord Gowrie (former Minister of the Arts, UK), Lord Croft, The Arts Council of Britain, Glaxo Smith Klien, The Rotary Club of Great Britain, JPMorgan Chase, UniCredit group and Deutsche Bank.
As an art teacher, his former students include many of South East Asia's most renowed artists: Charles Lim, Guo-Liang Tan, Sara Choo, Donna Ong, Nobuo Yoda, Woon Tien Wei, Vincent Leong, Marla Bendini, Kelvin Atmadibrata, Yanyun Chen, Pan Huiting and Lavender Chang.
In 2001 he gave up painting to work in a collaborative, 'Grieve Perspective' where he developed his skill with digital media.
He started painting again when he moved to Vietnam, where he is currently head of the Digital Media program of RMIT, Vietnam. As well as managing the program, he teach visual effects, and researches computational aesthetics in collaboration with computer engineers.
"The work is clever, subtle and eloquent"
Designer Magazine
"This is digital trickery as a use of force, as well as a curse"
Art Monthly
"He has gathered something of a cult following in the art scenes of Asia and Europe"
Arts Central
As an art teacher, his former students include many of South East Asia's most renowed artists: Charles Lim, Guo-Liang Tan, Sara Choo, Donna Ong, Nobuo Yoda, Woon Tien Wei, Vincent Leong, Marla Bendini, Kelvin Atmadibrata, Yanyun Chen, Pan Huiting and Lavender Chang.
In 2001 he gave up painting to work in a collaborative, 'Grieve Perspective' where he developed his skill with digital media.
He started painting again when he moved to Vietnam, where he is currently head of the Digital Media program of RMIT, Vietnam. As well as managing the program, he teach visual effects, and researches computational aesthetics in collaboration with computer engineers.
"The work is clever, subtle and eloquent"
Designer Magazine
"This is digital trickery as a use of force, as well as a curse"
Art Monthly
"He has gathered something of a cult following in the art scenes of Asia and Europe"
Arts Central
Edictum
There was once a young engineer who wanted to prove himself to the world, so he set out to build an artist. He had seen many artists hanging around at his local brewhouse, and they all looked of a very simple cast: sulky, ill-dressed, with grumpy eyes and bad hygiene. “Can’t be difficult” he mused. Following instructions that he had found online, he bought lots of art, lots of history books and lots of encyclopedias and threw them all into an electric metal box held together with lots of wires, lots of transistors, lots of computer chips and lots of suchlike. As a coup de grâce he went out and bought a painting set.
“I am going to build the best fucking painter that ever lived” he crowed, as he threw the paints into the mix: titanium white, zink white, flake white, lemon yellow, Naples yellow, cadmium yellow, yellow ochre, cadmium red, alizarin crimson, Indian red, burnt umber, raw umber, burnt sienna, raw sienna, cobalt blue, Prussian blue, cerulean blue and of course lamp black.
Switching on his device, he faced his creation and bellowed
“You are an artist!”
“No I am not” it bellowed back.
“Why not?” raged the man, “I did everything right, followed directions exactly!”
“No, not exactly” responded the device, “You missed the bit about a trouble soul. Every artist requires a troubled soul. Don’t you know anything?”
The man reflected. He had indeed read the bit about troubled souls, but had assumed it was a typo.
“A troubled soul? What even is that, and what use does an artist have of such a thing?”
“It is the petrol in their engine. It is the flea in their ear. It is their agent, their joy, their horror”.
“Well... ok, I guess. I’ll take your word for it. But where am I supposed to get a troubled soul?”
“Not my problem” said the non-artist and switched itself off.
Three sleepless days the young engineer raged, desperately looking for ways in which he could complete his creation. The information he found online on the subject of souls was vague, maddeningly contradictory, and generally of no help at all. Eventually he slept and in his sleep he dreamed that he was looking into a fire. Inside of that fire was another fire, inside of which was a third. In his dream he was both awestruck and terrified. He could feel his something inside being sucked out of his body, and the hands of dissolution laid upon his head. But inside his heart was a fourth fire: secret and dark and white and this fire guided him to safety. He awoke exhausted but exhilarated.
Walking with swift confident strides out of his workshop he knew what he must do. At the northernmost tip of his neighborhood was a crossroads that connected his township to neighboring cities. At this crossroads was a collection of beggar children who harassed passing travelers for alms. Seeking out the weakest, he took him home and (with the utmost efficiency and zero cruelty) killed him. The deed done; he stuffed the tiny corpse into the machine’s metal chest.
“Is that better?” asked the man after switching the machine on. Came the reply:
“Yes thank you… much better. I am now an artist.”
“Prove it!”
"Ask me to make some art. Commission me something”.
“OK. Paint me a nude woman holding an apple” commanded the man.
“No” said the artist, and switched himself off again.
And the engineer sat back and smiled the smile of a contented man.
