An Ecstasy Of Light And Air

On the eve of her latest exhibition, painter Emily Patrick talks to Emma Crichton-Miller about the creative roots of her poetic oil and tempera paintings

- Emma Crichton-Miller

THE day I visited the painter Emily Patrick, I had cycled through the formless urban sprawl of southeast London, beset by traffic and surrounded alternately by buildings going up and buildings falling apart. It was with a great sense of relief that I rang the doorbell of her beautiful 18th-century house. The tall trees of Greenwich Park stood opposite and, behind, through the windows, I could see a lush, green garden. The world once again seemed rooted and steady.

Emily, who was born in 1959 and has lived in London since she left university, is known for her sensitive portraits and delicate still lifes of simple domestic scenes that she conjures into compelling liveliness with her brushwork and strongly pigmented oil or egg tempera paints. A third primary thread in her work is landscape. These paintings encompass fields full of wild flowers tossing beneath blustery skies; corners of sunlit woodland; a stand of brambles; a cabbage patch in Portugal’s Alentejo; a view across gardens to urban roof tops; a magnolia tree swaying; and even a view of Deptford Creek, all whitecapped brown water, swirling seagulls and exuberant buddleia bursting from old bricks.