Bird’s-eye view

Paul Martinson’s startlingly realistic paintings of birds, in startlingly surrealistic settings, are formed by his previous career as a science technician.
Working in the applied biochemistry division of the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research (DSIR) in Palmerston North in the early to mid eighties, he conducted “many varied and fascinating experiments with surgically-modified cattle and sheep”. He says the work, concerned with animal nutrition, shaped his thinking about animals as individuals with unique personalities. Even sheep, as it turns out, are mostly non-conformist. An experiment involving infusing a flock of sheep with a radioactive isotope called phosphorous 23 proved particularly perspective altering.
“Each reacted to the experience in a different way,” he says. “Some showed trepidation, others were defiant. The subtle nuances in their behaviour were fascinating. It’s something that’s stuck with me and is the main reason I paint animals the way I do.”
Paul, who grew up in Palmerston North, painted obsessively in his spare time, selling his surrealist canvases though a friend. As much as he enjoyed his work at the DSIR, the call of the wild, and particularly the painting of it, won out in the end. In 1986, aged 30, he turned to painting full-time. His interest in the environment and conservation prompted a move to the Wairarapa, where he spent his days observing, sketching and painting native birds at the Pukaha Mt Bruce National Wildlife Centre.
Nearly a quarter of a century later, birds still dominate his works, although his manner of painting them has evolved significantly. After many years of painting portraits of birds for natural history books and surrealist works in his spare time, Paul found the two streams merging.
“I discovered I could use my knowledge of birds and the [surrealist] style of painting as tools to bring the world in my mind to life,” he says.
That world, his recent works suggest, is ripe for the exploration of topics such as the environment, evolution, life cycles, death and sexuality. His recent exhibition ‘Mellomania’ consists of a series of dark, dramatic and almost post-apocalyptic watercolour, acrylic and oil paintings. Birds, which often appear to be asleep, comatose or dead, and equally inert naked female figures inhabit a world that is at once familiar and fantastic, painting an ominous picture of future life on earth.
Conscious that New Zealand was “a giant bird farm” before humans arrived, Paul explores the interconnectedness of living creatures in his work.
“I’m interested in the idea that every living thing is an equally valid entity driven by a temporary life force. All creatures make free choices within the framework of their need to breathe, eat, sleep, reproduce and explore the world.”
He is fascinated by the way the way humans and birds have evolved over time.
“Birds evolved from the dinosaurs our ancestors once lived in fear of. Now, the roles are reversed. [Birds] are so similar and so different at the same time. They are the aliens I live with and vice versa.”
For Paul, the female ‘Venus’ figures symbolise the link between humankind and other natural forces. Representing both ‘the mother’ and ‘the lover’, they encourage contemplation on life, death, need and desire.
Paul believes artists have a responsibility to tackle tough (including so-called taboo) subjects. As he sees it, our five senses enable only a limited understanding of the universe. We need to combine our understanding of both art and science to appreciate “the absolute truth”.
“Death, sex and violence aren’t necessarily easy to deal with, but they are part of our existence and the truth of our lives. And painting, to me, is about truth first and foremost. Creativity is the tool we (and science) need to see further.”
Paul’s works tend to provoke extreme reactions; people love them or loathe them. At a recent opening, ‘A slip of the tongue phenomenon’, which depicts a woman and two herons nestled together on a swathe of fabric, generated typically polarising opinions.
“One woman told me she could feel the heron’s feathers passing across her naked body, while another said it was degrading to women and bad, bad art. Funnily enough, they both seemed like ordinary women with an interest in art. It makes you realise how paintings become a window to the beholder’s mind.”
Paul is relishing the freedom of being able to paint what and how he wishes, after what he describes as “decades of slavery to objectivity”. He has produced paintings for two books on New Zealand birds, including the Te Papa Tongarewa-commissioned Extinct Birds of New Zealand, which is now held by major museums worldwide.
While Paul describes the three-year Extinct Birds project as “a terrible struggle” which left him $130,000 in debt, he appreciates it was an invaluable opportunity. The book, written by Dr Brian Gill, was named a finalist in the 2006 Montana Book Awards and Te Papa bought all 58 of Paul’s paintings to hang in its permanent collection in Wellington. Having established his artistic credentials and, as he sees it, made a statement on the birds’ behalf, Paul finally felt “justified to paint subjectively”.
“I think of my work now as a fusion of the two worlds I’ve inhabited: art and science,” he says.
Now living in Masterton with his German wife Uschi, and their 17-year-old daughter, Paul says his chief goals are to help his daughter find contentment and translate his ideas into powerful artworks.
“The pictures are in one’s head constantly. It’s getting them out which is the nightmare.”
Lorna Thornber