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Preslav Kostov is a London based artist whose work engages with the intricacies of identity and recollection of memories. Employing the technique of automatism, Kostov’s paintings emerge from a cumulative process of self-questioning around past observations. Kostov’s imposing compositions dialog with the form and palette of the old master painters, presenting imagined scenes of discovered narratives situated within a liminal realm. His works speak to the enduring reality of human experience. He is a recipient of The Elizabeth Greenshields Award (2021 & 2023).
Photo by Brynley Odd Davies.

Hi Preslav! It’s a pleasure to sit down with you! First question that I always ask: How does a regular day look for you in London?
Preslav: My days are pretty routine and most structured on Tuesdays and Wednesdays when I have to be somewhere at a certain time to teach. The rest of the days, I arm myself with a coffee for the hour- long bus ride from my house to my studio. I know I should leave in time to avoid rush hour, but I chalk it up to making a choice. Greedily, I like to sit at the front of the upper deck and read a book by the window. I must paint for at least six hours; otherwise, I get restless.

I’m curious—growing up, what kind of kid were you? What did you enjoy doing, and how did you spend your time?
Preslav: As a kid, I was largely on the move between different family members because my mother worked multiple jobs and didn’t spend much time at home. Bulgaria at the time was still somewhat settling into its post-Soviet mode of operating. Kids didn’t have much in the way of fancy toys or products, but almost every family had a house outside the city as a summer escape. My fondest memories were the long summers at my grandparents’ house in a village called Five Wells. There was a gang of seven children, and we’d unite at the start of June and spend every day outside making bows and arrows, building forts in the woods, and bombing down hills on our bikes. We’d meet at 8 a.m. after breakfast, break for lunch at 1 p.m., and then be out again well after dark. Someone’s grandfather had a lathe in their garage, so we could turn wood to craft swords, which we’d then decorate with enamel paint. Good times!

Alright, so when did you start painting, and when did you start taking being an artist seriously?
Preslav: At some point, my mother came to London to join my stepdad, and after two years apart, they brought me over too. I couldn’t speak any English as I had studied German in school in Bulgaria. The school placed me in a special needs class, so not quite understanding what was going on around me, I spent a lot of time just watching. This was before smartphones, and Google Translate was crude. With hindsight, some of the messes I accidentally got into were very comical.
We lived very modestly, so I couldn’t participate in the things my school friends did. At some point, I started drawing because pen and paper were always available. I was hooked, and after a while, my schoolteacher encouraged me to paint. I haven’t stopped since. My intentions were always to make something meaningful to me, but I never understood what taking it seriously meant. I found that attitude arresting—a stifle. In my mind’s eye, I imagine some of my favorite painters like Phillip Guston and Neo Rauch perhaps hiding a cheeky smile.

Ok, Preslav, with these next series of questions, I will try to delve into your work as best as possible… Can you tell me about the technique of automatism? And how long has it taken you to perfect it to how it looks now?
Preslav: I have always been interested in allegory and metaphor. Perhaps it stems from those early days in England where conversing felt like a never-ending game of charades. After a while, as I became fluent, the challenge of representing things indirectly had already become ingrained. Naturally, I couldn’t run away from that mindset in my paintings either.
I’ve always had an interest in painting flesh—De Kooning said that oil paint was meant for it! However, I wasn’t so interested in direct observation. So I decided to try puzzling narratives together, much like how one would leave a note for themselves; sentence flow, punctuation and considerations for the eyes of others would be unnecessary.
The fragmentation, ambiguity, and continuous process of interpretation and reworking somehow felt more honest as a journey. While the paintings usually explore a discovered narrative, informed by personal memories and associations, I didn’t feel the urge to resolve any of them in a communicative way. Whether I’ve perfected it is a personal debate. What keeps me going is that I try to work intuitively, and as such, I am always chasing something. People perceive my process as technical and preplanned because there’s some hint of realism.

Your paintings often evoke narratives situated in a liminal realm. How do you define this space, and what draws you to explore it?
Preslav: I see it as a sort of stage, and I like that it has constraints. I find that more activating than oppressive. The gestures, encounters, and the violence that binds the forms together stand in for things I am often unwilling to discuss directly.

Identity and memory—why are those themes important for you to document? And how do personal experiences shape your paintings?
Preslav: Throughout my life, questions of identity have been a constant. My father was Russian, so I was a Russian in Bulgaria. In the U.K., I’d be told to go back to my own country, but in Bulgaria, I’d be the Brit(“ish”) kid. In art school in London, I’d be a “yob,” and in art school in Leeds, I’d be considered posh. So identity was always something I found fascinating to work with. Sometimes I dream of finding a place where I’m just like everyone else around me, but I think that would actually be so boring.
The fragments and gestures that survive to the surface of my work are only safe from being altered once they can hold their own with everything else. There is no hierarchy of record within the works. I recently made some paper with a friend, and I found the motions to be very similar to my paintings. We ripped up personal magazines, birthday and seasonal cards, old drawings, and letters. Then we blended those and floated a sieve-like frame into the pulp, which “caught” what formed our sheet of paper. In a way, that’s exactly how the paintings come about.

What role do recollection and self-questioning play in your work?
Preslav: Recollection and self-questioning are essential to my process. This active form of persistent reworking builds the paintings up. Each canvas journeys over several months, and they conclude themselves once there is no further way in.
How do you approach blending the visual language of old master painters with contemporary themes in your work?
Preslav: I often get associated with old masters, but I think those who celebrate the past might be quite horrified by my process and methodology. Perhaps it’s because of my treatment of light and bulbous forms within the work. I see this formalist aspect not too dissimilar to a verbal accent. The things I discuss in my work are inescapably contemporary, but my sound might ring foreign. That doesn’t bother me.

With that in mind, which of the old masters do you look up to the most? And why?
Preslav: I’ve always been quite taken with Titian for his colors and Michelangelo for his drawings. From the more recent old masters, I admire the late Rembrandt paintings, where his brushstrokes become a mesh of impasto passages. Goya’s prints, The Disasters of War, are also always floating around in my mind.
How has being a two-time recipient of The Elizabeth Greenshields Award influenced your practice or opportunities as an artist?
Preslav: The foundation has been absolutely instrumental in allowing me to attend the RCA and complete my MA. I wasn’t raised to live on handouts, so I worked three jobs during that time. However, there would have been no way to pay for the course without their support. I can’t thank the foundation enough. I also owe thanks to a couple of tutors for their support and an artist friend, Henrik, who gave me space in his studio to work. It takes a village!

Can you walk me through your creative process from beginning to end result?
Preslav: I start with impulsive line drawings. Some of them catch my eye, and I roughly translate them into a splodge or stain on a white canvas with a big brush. From there, I take a stab in the dark and place a piece of anatomy onto the surface, much like how a child might recognize a corner of a cloud as the face of an animal. Sometimes those early fragments make their way into the final surface, though often, they don’t. I was fascinated by this play of pareidolia.
Can you also tell me about your use of symbolism? How do you approach color?
Preslav: I approach color very intuitively. Just like the figures, which stand in as actors on a stage, I want my color to feel iconographic rather than naturalistic. London isn’t very rich in light or colour, but when I’m away, I saturate my mind with chroma. That usually lasts me halfway into winter before the muted palette returns.

So, with what we just talked about, what are you hoping to convey?
Preslav: My paintings are my way of compressing an amalgamation of observations I make around me. I don’t want to muscle them into an illustration and burden them with a message. They are fragments in their own right.
Ok Preslav, now for something totally different. In a parallel universe, who would you be, and what would you be doing?
Preslav: Sometimes I think it would be cool to be one of those people who spend their days building one- off wooden furniture. I watch hours of these projects on YouTube and aspire to the mental gymnastics of Japanese joinery.

Can you tell me a story about a time when a connection with someone had a big impact on you?
Preslav: A friend of mine, Henrik, had a huge impact on me during my time at the RCA. He not only encouraged me but also shared his studio space when RCA would kick us out for a long summer or the holidays. That kind of generosity is something I deeply admire and hope to pay forward someday.
What qualities do you find most important in the people you choose to spend time with?
Preslav: I like people who are excited about something and eager to share that excitement with me.

Anybody you look up to?
Preslav: I admire artists who can reinvent themselves and have reformulated their practices over the years. Gerhard Richter, Jack Whittens and Philip Guston sit on this list for me.
What motivates you?
Preslav: I need very little motivation. I wouldn’t want to do anything other than wake up and paint every day.
How would you describe a perfect day?
Preslav: My studio days are perfect, but if we could just turn the sun up a little more, I’d appreciate that, thanks!

Alright Preslav, I always end interviews with these two questions. The first is: What’s your favorite movie(s) and why?
Preslav: The last film that impressed me was “Perfect Days“.
The second is: What song(s) are you currently listening to the most right now?
Preslav: I don’t listen to music much because I find that it affects the pace that I paint at so in the studio it’s mostly podcasts. I’m guilty of being an Arctic Monkeys fan for most of their career. My friends would probably wag a finger if I listed anyone else. I know the last two albums are controversial, but I quite enjoy their whimsical poetics. Some might say they’ve leaned into insufferable theatrics, but what’s life without a little play?