How Matthew Walton’s Work Takes Shape

Reflect. Acrylic, watercolour, pastel and pencil on paper. 16 x 20 inches.

What does the body tell us? In the attention-grabbingly graphic world of Toronto-based artist and former animator Matthew Walton, oh so much. He presents a unique vocabulary of physicality in his work, which nods to the subtle yet unmistakable queer gestures that the artist himself admits to wanting to expunge from his own characteristics in the past.

Now, these movements are explored and exalted, as Walton’s curvaceous Cubist-coded figures snake their way across his magnetizing mises en scene, which are realized through mixed media paper and canvas works crafted with acrylic and watercolour paints, as well as pastel and pencil. The intimate images are part the current canon of queer art that, while inherently political and often fraught, also increasingly includes moments of mellowness, serenity, and affection.

“One artist who has really inspired me in last few years is Louis Fratino, a contemporary American painter,” Walton mentions during our interview. “His work is beautiful – tender portrayals of queer love and relationships. And our generation is lucky to be able to make the kinds of work that we do.”

In capturing a spectrum of emotions through his practice, some of Walton’s “characters” are languid, others euphoric; and others still are just plain bored. We can tell this from the articulated mundanity in which they exist: They’re spied scrolling on their phone while sitting on the toilet, or flipping absent-mindedly through a magazine while gabbing to a friend. These scenarios are entirely relatable, yet Walton – who graduated from Sheridan College’s Animation Art and Design program just a few years ago – renders them in such unexpected technicolour contrasts that these everyday activities take on an enchanted quality.  

I first came across Walton’s work while looking for artists to highlight from this past Summer’s Toronto Outdoor Art Fair; his vibrant palette and the dynamism derived from it caught my attention right away. Walton unsurprisingly won the Best of 2D Works Award during the Fair, and my husband and I happily took home his piece Escape – a citrus-coloured creation featuring an exaggeratedly relaxed figure reaching for a slice of pizza and a turntable’s arm simultaneously. As a stoner, it really spoke to me – and when I spoke to Walton recently about his oeuvre, we bonded over our mutual love of elevated art appreciation. “My favorite way to unwind is by like, smoking a joint and then either looking through art books or putting music on,” he told me. “It's such a nice way to connect with art of any kind.”

Escape. Acrylic, watercolour, pastel and pencil on paper. 15 x 13 inches.

The notion of connection (or lack thereof) is a through-line in much of Walton’s work, and there’s a gentle and joyful approach he takes in expressing his themes. Often, it’s the sense of authentic unawareness that each of his figures possesses that strip (no pun intended) any notion of unseemly voyeurism from viewership. We’re not leering at these folks but rather, as Walton notes, catching a mere glimpse of a private moment.

“We're all interested in other people,” Walton says when I mention to him that his imagery doesn’t have the confrontational or creepy connotations that the idea of voyeurism can evoke. “I'm glad that there isn't that sinister aspect with my work, but it does still scratch an itch of voyeurism.”

In more public forums, you can catch Walton at the next Artist Project fair coming up in May. And he’ll be presenting a solo show with pieces for sale at one of my favourite local boîtes, Donna’s, in mid-January.  Read on to learn more about the evolution of his practice, the universal poignancy of his figures’ mannerisms, and why joy is important.

I’d love to start by talking about the evolution of your work. I understand you have a background in animation.

As soon as I could hold a pencil I would be drawing – and my dad and I enjoyed making art projects together, like things out of papier-mâché. I guess I’ve always had the desire to make things. But in thinking about the future, especially once I became a teenager, I began thinking that I would have to find a career that made use of my skills, rather than making a living as an artist. This manifested into me doing animation projects by the time high school came to an end.

I grew up in Newfoundland, and there aren’t many opportunities to learn about or train for creative jobs there. I had heard about Sheridan College’s animation program here in Ontario, and that was my goalpost for the longest time. It took the two attempts to get in – it’s a very competitive program, but I enjoyed my time there. Within the program’s parameters, the intention was always about making your own vision come to life from start to finish. It was a really great time to learn about self-expression. And, of course, I learned all the hard skills I needed to work in the industry.

I graduated in 2020, and my work experience after college was based on being totally remote. That certainly didn’t help things, but I also found the animation world wasn't what I was hoping it would be. I thought I would get a sense of fulfillment from a job within a creative field – some my professors tried to warn me that these jobs can often feel like working in a factory, like you’re a cog in a machine. But I’ve always loved the idea of storytelling, and I was determined to see if I could find any satisfaction in an animation role. But it just it didn't happen. I gave it four years, and that was enough to tell me that I didn’t even enjoy it enough to continue until I eventually got a role where I might be able to be more creative. I told my partner, Simon, that I didn’t know how I was ever going to be happy in that career. He reminded me that the whole reason why I wanted to go into that job was because I’m artistic – and that I needed to go back to that passion. Since then, delving into making art for art's sake has been much more fulfilling and freeing.

Monday. Acrylic, watercolour, pastel, and pencil on paper. 11 x 14 inches.

When I think about someone having a career in animation, I assume everyone in that world wants to create the next Bart Simpson or Linda Belcher – an iconic character. Who are the people we see in your work now?

I don’t necessarily approach creating any piece as though I wanted to make one character; it’s more that I want to show a person experiencing a moment. But in a way, they have become characters and that jumped out to me with my first series, Gays Of The Week. Those figures are all personifications of the way I see a certain weekday being like if it were a person.

What’s interesting is that the way I would approach designing a character in my art practice is completely different than the way I would for an animation assignment, because I find parameters are quite helpful – there are certain things to adhere to when working on an animation. But what’s been fun for me is that I’ve been able to create these characters in what I would call a design way, because it’s a 2D image. The character doesn't need to move or to rotate, and that's been so freeing because it's just about the shape that the character makes and the story that character tells in just one image.

I love how you give the moments these characters are in a kind of quiet respect, even though you describe them as mundane; things like sitting on the toilet, or vegging out listening to music. You’re focusing on everyday things but the way you represent them has a slight fantastical quality to them.

Working within the confines of these things that we do every day is interesting – to make that playful and different. The thing I’m most drawn to about the mundane and everyday practices, or perhaps rituals, is that they provide familiar environments for my characters to inhabit. These mundane settings and domestic spaces are places where they’re fully at ease and authentic, they’re being exactly themselves because they don’t perceive anyone watching them.

Usually, the poses my figures take are pretty ‘flamboyant’ – something I used to try to train myself out of growing up. You know, like limp wrists and crossing legs too femininely, hands on hips, et cetera. Body language was such a giveaway of my sexuality even before I was ready to give up that information myself, and it would scare me. Now I think it’s beautiful, and with this work I’m able to celebrate it.

Beach Day. Acrylic, watercolour, pastel, and pencil on paper. 15 x 19 inches.

Tell me about the theme of queer liberation in your work.

Highlighting joyful things can be just as useful a tool in bringing people together as work with heavier subject matter. Let’s say someone with different political views sees my work; if they feel like they’re in on the joke, or they find a feeling of delight, that’s important if it makes someone like me seem more relatable to them. Maybe it starts a feeling of connection.

When I started making art like this, I was in a low place. I wasn’t sure what my career was going to look like. I wasn’t satisfied at all. I felt very lost. This work being so positive did me wonders. At the Toronto Outdoor Art Fair this past Summer, I was explaining the work to a visitor, and they said, ‘So this work is the result of depression?’ And I said no, this work brought me out of the depression. Simon has told me that he’s seeing someone that he hasn’t seen again for a long time. And if that's the good that it can do me, it could do the same for other people.

Let’s talk more about the Toronto Outdoor Art Fair. It was an amazing time for you!

Starting my current practice felt like a big, indulgent risk. I left my last contract in animation to throw myself into art and see what happens. TOAF was going to be my first time bringing this work anywhere and showing it to people in a public setting.

Not only was it an affirming experience and the sign I needed to be like, okay, let's keep doing this. But it was also overwhelming emotionally after feeling so bad in my last career. I felt very thankful.

Chit. Acrylic, watercolour, pastel and pencil on paper. 18 x 18 inches.

Was there a particular interaction you had during the fair that sticks out in your mind as being special?

Yes, I had an incredible conversation with a lovely person who happened to be a queer woman of colour; she told me that she had rarely ever been able to see herself in work by a white, cis man, but that she could in mine. We talked about how the way I represent figures is able to step beyond ideas of race and gender, and how powerful of a tool that is in letting others in, especially as a way to celebrate queerness. It left a profound impact on me. 

And what are you working on right now?

What I’m exploring right now, and this relates to a theme that was in a lot of the work at TOAF, are every-day moments of connection versus disconnection. If it was a show, the title would be Dis/Connect. I think, in some ways we’re the most connected we’ve ever been but so many of us grapple with feeling more disconnected than ever. This might seem like a subject that’s been overdone but I’m enjoying exploring that dichotomy through a playful queer lens.