Few people can boast of having multiple artists in the family, let alone having access to an extensive archive of their letters, sketches and paintings. Edinburgh-based artist Ragnar Lochhead (b. 1997) is one of the exceptions. His great-great grandfather was the Edwardian Impressionist, John Brakewell Baldwin (‘Brake’), and he has been surrounded by Brake’s paintings from a young age. At first stored in a shed, then a loft, and now his home in Leith, Ragnar has long been influenced by Brake’s artwork; whether sneaking into the out-of-bounds attic to catch a glimpse, or unboxing them and hanging them on the walls of his home. Although a valuable resource to have as a young artist, the burden of such a collection is also significant. With a cup of tea in my hand, and a glass of wine in his, Ragnar and I sat down to discuss his practice and figure out if there’s a family resemblance between Brake’s work and his own; the answer may surprise!

John Brakewell Baldwin was born in 1885 in Eltham and was a contemporary of artists such as William Nicolson, James Pryde and John Singer Sargent. He studied at the Heatherley School of Fine Art, where he also met his future wife, and fellow artist, Edith Wilson. Originally based in England, the family gained a permanent Scottish connection after Brake’s daughter and Ragnar’s great-grandmother, Mary, married Dr Jim Lochhead from Kilmacolm

Brake’s work gained moderate success in his lifetime, as he depicted every day and domestic scenes with an impressionist touch, often painting his own servants. His great love for Edith, meant she was also a constant inspiration, model and subject matter. In letters between the husband and wife, it is clear they were both supporters of each other’s work, often submitting art for shows together. In 1914 the couple had seven works selected for show at the International Exhibition between them.

Brake is perhaps most well-known for his so-called Sewing Series; a group of works depicting women, his servants and his wife alike, sewing either for leisure or work. This somewhat unusual focus for the time, gives us a look through the keyhole of Edwardian domestic life. In his painting of Edith titled Sewing in the Sun, 1913, we are even given a glimpse into the intimacy of married life. Although outwardly a simple, semi-pastoral scene, Brake allows his love of Edith to creep in. Her pink and rosy cheeks glow from underneath her bonnet, perhaps blushing from the sun or at being her husband’s model once again. Using the same bright whites, mauves and cool blues for both Edith’s dress and the textile she’s embroidering, Brake forces us to focus on her hands which break up that mass of white fabric. We are then drawn directly into the action under her brow; the concentration on, and labour of, sewing.

There is a lightness of brushstroke and use of colour in Brake’s work; the glow of starched cotton, or polished silverware candlesticks elevate every-day domestic scenes to the same lofty heights as nudes or portraits, something which allowed him to make room for himself alongside other impressionist contemporaries. This acclaim, however, was sadly short lived as Brake passed away suddenly in 1915 due to complications with surgery. Edith was devastated and Brake left behind two daughters, Mary and Pamela. Shortly after his death, Edith banished his paintings to a garden shed.

From this point on, Brake’s work was stored out of sight, where it slowly but surely began to decay. This image of paintings, many depicting family members, crumbling away, was one that stuck with Ragnar from a young age. What developed was a vocation to save his great-great grandfathers work from being lost.

When I asked him about the burden of this caretaker-ship, Ragnar quickly got up a photograph showing a portrait Brake painted of his sister-in-law, Olive. A soft and relaxed portrait hinting at their close relationship, the painting is literally being undone by time. Chips of oil paint are peeling off the canvas threatening to devour Olive with them. This is what Ragnar is up against as he seeks to document and save his family’s collection. It’s like “sand falling through fingers” he reflected, as he wondered whether his paintings might also end up in a shed after he’s gone. There is a perception that paintings, especially those in galleries and museums, are permanent entities; this Portrait of Olive is proof of the opposite. Art is inherently fragile and threatens to un-do itself at every opportunity. It is the awareness of this tension between the already created battling with potential destruction, that was key in Ragnar’s development as an artist.

Although surrounded by art from a young age, Ragnar originally wanted to study chemistry, interestingly a subject necessary for art conservation. He soon realised, however, that art was not just about making something pretty - something he is confident and capable in doing - but rather a problem to be solved. Art is his opportunity to be innovative. He is of the school of thought, that all images are already within the paper or canvas, and it is the artists job to excavate them. Likening his practice to finding something in the dark, or cutting through a forest, for Ragnar, the subject is already there but the artist must first break a sweat to reveal it. Indeed, in his charcoal drawings, one of his main mediums, Ragnar first “fills the page with dark” and then begins removing pigment, revealing the image therein. This reductive approach allows him to essentially ‘collaborate’ with his materials, utilising them to their full potential as tools to reveal an image. He seems to chase his outcomes, much like him chasing the sand, or indeed paint chips of Brake’s work running through his fingers.

Although a multimedia artist, painting and drawing are his self-proclaimed “bread and butter.” His house is filled with canvases and sketches from him and Brake alike. You get the impression that this is a true artist’s house. He showed me some of Brake’s paintings in his make-shift studio in amongst building materials. It should be noted that as well as the family’s current artist-in-residence, he is also an accomplished handyman and craftsman, moulding his own ceiling roses and plastering walls.

One of his unfinished works sits upon an easel which was once Brake’s. Meanwhile some of Brake’s own works are stacked against the wall ready for hanging. There’s a metaphor somewhere here, in the old replacing the new, but I’ll leave that up to you. I was struck by the juxtapositions of Brake’s The Mirror, 1911 (one of his most well-known works) sitting next to an unfinished work by Ragnar. Although not stylistically similar; there is a nice continuity in the same care and attention to the bodily form. It is as if the folding fabric at the base of The Mirror has crossed over into Ragnar’s work, and the model has now fallen back onto her mattress pedestal.

Ragnar told me about how the moment of making is imbued with the tension of creating and destroying. Here we see Brake’s indirect influence. As Ragnar grapples with family legacy, trying to save family artworks, we as viewers are constantly forced to decipher whether something is coming together or falling apart. There is often an unravelling in motion in Ragnar’s work and there is a sense that this movement continues long after he lays down his brush or stick of charcoal.

We clearly see this idea in All, But Not Gone II, 2023, a wonderfully abstract scene of a figure sinking into folds of cloth, this time illuminated with silver leaf. Dare I say there is a similarity to Brake’s ability to elevate domestic scenes; here a figure, perhaps wrapped in bed sheets, is adorned with precious silver, rendering the scene as quasi-religious. It is in this work in particular where Ragnar’s use of materials is perhaps most successful. Using silver leaf on the body and some of the fabric folds, the work is bejewelled and made luminous. On the other hand, the metal has begun to do what it does best when exposed to the elements: rust! On closer inspection we see the tell-tale orange of oxidisation creeping over the surface. There should be no cause for concern here though; the oxidisation is on purpose. Ragnar lets the material take the lead once again. As the silver leaf continues to oxidise, change and develop, the work evolves. It is in many ways exactly what is happening to Brake’s work, but delivered in a controlled and purposeful way. When he explained this practice, I understood a direct correlation between him seeing Brake’s work languish and succumb to time, and his desire to control and experiment with that process. Interestingly this delicate balance between creation and destruction was picked up by Brake himself in a letter to Edith where he states, “how a flick of a brush could either make or destroy a painting.” Ragnar takes this one step further and wills on destruction. Just as Ragnar “fills the page with dark,” he could just as easily wipe it away again.

Ragnar began showing me some of his earlier works. He opened a side door into one of his home’s many box rooms, full of crates of books and stacks of paintings. On top of some boxes was a rolled-up work titled Shroud of Past States, made for his degree show at Duncan and Jordanstone in 2019. Created by first scrunching and shaping thick paper, pigment was then applied, filling some of the crevices. Although controlled in its application, the grooves of the paper ultimately dictate where the pigment will settle. Again, we see a form of collaboration with materials as he lets them control final details. He explained this work was his loose homage to the Turin Shroud and it should be considered an imprint of sorts. It is clear he is thinking about the traces artists leave behind, whether purposeful or by chance; another clear side effect of caring for Brake’s work.

There is an interesting conversation between All, But Not Gone II and Shroud of Past States. The latter an imprint after the fact, the former the moment before we reach out and pull away the shroud. It is not a stretch to imagine the two works as a before and after; with Shroud of Past States as the final stage, after the orange of oxidisation has taken over.

Beyond the artistic use of traces and play between the dichotomy of creation and destruction, there is another influence from Brake’s work, the burden of the caretaker. The pressure of looking after, not only an important artist, but one of family importance too, is significant. Ragnar candidly described feeling uncapable of saving works from the ravages of time. In many cases, like the portrait of Olive, the damage has already been done. It is only through his own practice that he is able to take back control. The notion of legacy is important to consider here. The presence of Brake’s work in his environment has forced Ragnar to address the ideas around remembrance; how it is ultimately controlled by the care and attention of others. Through his use of materials, Ragnar interestingly circumvents this by giving his work half-lives. They will change, breakdown, decay and that is all within his control.

It would be easy to expect a more direct influence of having an artist family member, perhaps adopting a similar style, use of colour or subject matter. The influence of John Brakewell Baldwin on his great-great-grandson, Ragnar Lochhead, is more convoluted. Described by historian Charlie Lush, Brake “was not an artist, however inspired he was by another’s work, [who] would grab the nearest canvas and make a fair imitation.” This is the same for Ragnar. He is inspired by his relative’s work, but in more indirect ways. It is the presence of Brake’s work, and its slow decay over time that has shaped Ragnar’s practice. He plays with creating and destruction, deliberately controlling this process, something he is unable to do for Brake’s work. Ragnar pushes materials to the edge, and indeed over it, and we see how time reacting with the various mediums is part of the process. What archivists and museum curators try to avoid at all costs, i.e. damage, oxidisation, decay, Ragnar does on purpose. It’s a middle finger up to posterity. This link across four generations, between two painters, shows how truly influential it can be to have another artist in the family.

Rosie Shackleton

All images courtesy of the artist, unless otherwise stated