Extracts from ‘An Artist in Residence’
by Colin Cameron
Originally launched at the Royal Academy of Arts, London, in conversation at the Benjamin West Lecture Theatre
Adapted and extended as an interpretation of Jeremy Houghton’s working philosophy.
THE BYSTANDER
In many of Jeremy Houghton’s residencies, there exists an early and necessary phase of withdrawal. Not a physical absence, but a deliberate repositioning – a step away from the centre of activity towards its edge. From here, observation becomes possible without interference.
Within environments such as Windsor Castle or the structured theatre of Wimbledon, access does not imply participation. The artist is present, often in close proximity to the subject, yet remains outside its immediate function. This distance is not detachment, but a condition for clarity. It allows the artist to register not only what is seen, but how it is experienced – the rhythm of movement, the intervals between actions, and the atmosphere that binds them.
At Windsor, this position led not to the ceremonial centre, but to the Royal Mews. The outward perception of the castle is defined by history and spectacle, yet the daily rhythms of the stables revealed something more fundamental: repetition, care, preparation. Horses moving through routines, hands at work, moments of pause between activity. These intervals – often overlooked – began to define the structure of the work.
Crucially, the Mews also provided a unique vantage point from which to experience and depict the Queen and her family. The horse occupies both a public and private role within royal life – present in formal ceremony, yet equally embedded in the more personal, day-to-day rhythms of the household. From this perspective, Houghton was able to observe a rare overlap between these two spheres, where the distinction between public image and private life becomes less defined. It offered not only a different subject, but a more complete understanding of the institution itself.
A similar shift occurred at Highgrove, the Cotswold residence of King Charles III. Rather than focusing on the gardens, which are widely regarded as the defining feature of the estate, attention moved beyond them towards the agricultural life of the land. Livestock, cultivation, and seasonal cycles revealed a slower, less visible rhythm – one that aligned closely with the King’s long-standing commitment to environmentally conscious farming and sustainable land management. In this context, the farm became a more revealing lens through which to understand this aspect of his life and values. Here, too, meaning was not found in the obvious focal point, but in the spaces around it.
In these situations, the artist does not seek to complete the image too early. Instead, there is a willingness to remain within uncertainty – to observe without resolving, to allow the structure of a place to reveal itself over time. What emerges is not a fixed narrative, but an awareness of how presence is shaped through both action and pause.
LE FLÂNEUR
From this position of stillness, movement follows. The role shifts from bystander to flâneur – from fixed observation to active drift.
Across residencies, this movement is both physical and perceptual. At Goodwood, the scale of the estate – ancestral home to the Dukes of Richmond – and the diversity of its activities resisted a single point of focus. Motor racing, horse racing, aviation, agriculture – each operates within its own tempo. Rather than imposing a hierarchy, Houghton moved between them, allowing relationships to emerge gradually.
This wandering is not aimless. It is attentive. The flâneur collects fragments – gestures, alignments, fleeting moments where structure becomes visible. At the Aston Martin centenary tour, this required moving ahead of the convoy, finding positions where motion could be understood in relation to landscape. What was gathered were not complete images, but partial glimpses – intervals within a continuous flow.
At Wimbledon, the same principle applies within a more contained environment. The focus extends beyond the players to include the broader choreography of the event: the stillness before a serve, the shift of attention across a crowd, the brief suspension between points. These moments of pause – the spaces between action – carry as much weight as the action itself.
Through this process, the work remains open. Meaning is not imposed, but accumulates. The image begins to form not through certainty, but through repeated encounters with the same subject from different positions.
THE OBSERVER
It is only once removed from the immediacy of the residency that the process shifts again. In the studio, the observer emerges, and with it, the act of distillation.
The material gathered – sketches, photographs, memory – is not transferred directly into painting. Instead, it is reduced. Elements are removed, compositions simplified, and attention focused on what carries weight. What remains is often fragmentary, yet precise.
In the equestrian works developed from Windsor and Goodwood, this reduction allows the subject to emerge through space rather than through description. A horse may be defined not by its outline, but by the absence around it – the untouched paper or canvas that holds its form. The image exists in the tension between presence and absence.
In sporting works, this principle becomes more pronounced. Sailing paintings, for example, often rely on large areas of open space, with only minimal marks indicating the presence of boats or figures, as seen in works developed from the 2012 Olympic Games. The energy of the scene is conveyed not through detail, but through contrast – between movement and stillness, between what is shown and what is withheld.
The same principle extends to the flamingo works, though in a different register. Here, individual forms dissolve into collective movement. Birds merge with reflection, water, and atmosphere. Boundaries soften, and the distinction between figure and ground becomes fluid. The image resists resolution, existing instead as a shifting field of perception.
Across all of this work, space is not empty. It is active. It holds tension, rhythm, and possibility. The interval – the pause between marks, between forms – becomes structural. It is within these intervals that the image breathes. This sensitivity to interval – what might be described as a form of “ma” – underpins much of the work.
This approach reflects an understanding that a painting does not need to resolve everything it contains. To leave something incomplete is not a failure, but a recognition that perception itself is partial. The viewer is invited to enter the work, to navigate these spaces, and to complete the image through their own act of seeing.
CONTINUITY
Across his residencies, Jeremy Houghton’s practice moves through three interconnected states: withdrawal, movement, and distillation. The bystander, the flâneur, and the observer are not separate identities, but phases within a continuous process.
Whether working within royal institutions, sporting environments, or the natural world, the same principles apply. The artist seeks not to describe what is immediately visible, but to uncover what lies beneath it – the structures, rhythms, and intervals that define experience.
The resulting works do not present complete narratives. Instead, they offer fragments, suggestions, and spaces. Meaning is not delivered in full, but constructed through the act of looking.
In this way, the paintings remain open. They do not close down interpretation, but extend it – allowing perception, memory and imagination to converge within the image.