Jarvis Brookfield's art begins in the unexplored spaces of the mind, drawing inspiration from altered states of consciousness and the raw complexity of being human. With a focus on painting, the work delves into what it means to exist, to create, and to find meaning in a world that often feels fragmented. Each piece becomes a reflection, not just of the artist’s journey, but of a universal search for connection, healing, and clarity. In a world driven by the external, Jarvis’s work invites a pause, asking viewers to turn inward and explore their own depths.

✧✧✧

Can you pinpoint a single moment in your life when you realized art was not just a passion but your purpose? 

It wasn’t a single moment for me as it was more of a series of events. For the longest time growing up, I spent a lot of time drawing but overall and especially as I entered my teens, I felt incompetent. I could do some things reasonably well, but I didn’t care much for school. I’d often lose interest, stagnate, and move on to something else before ever achieving anything substantial. So, I felt like I was drifting a lot of the time without direction.

Then, in 2015, I had a powerful visionary experience. A voice told me to start drawing again, and I knew it was important. The following year, I heard another voice that said: “Start with colour.” Not long after that, I  discovered the work of a few amazing artists, which blew my mind and opened my eyes to the endless possibilities of what could be created. Until then, I hadn’t really been exposed to art in any meaningful way and didn’t even know much about what ‘art’ was until 2017 when I started my uni degree and was exposed to the richness and depth of art history. From 2016 to 2019, I taught myself how to paint and sharpen my drawing skills. I had always drawn from as far back as I can remember but I noticed something different in how I was approaching it compared to anything else I’d tried before. The learning curve was steep; riddled with tears, self-doubt, self-loathing and even blood and bruises, but there was something visceral in me that knew this was different and worthwhile regardless.

 

It was the first time, at around 25 years old, that I felt a sense of purpose. I felt that I could be of service through art. It wasn’t just about self-expression too, as it felt more about creating something meaningful that could have a positive influence. That sense of purpose has persisted ever since and continues to grow deeper and shape the way I live and work today.

Do you believe an artist's passion is something destined or a conscious choice?

I’m currently reading ‘The Soul’s Code’ by James Hillman, which presents the acorn theory, the idea that,  before we enter life, we choose our path. According to this notion, everything from our parents to our place of birth and the experiences we encounter is part of the blueprint our soul selects, but just before we enter into this world we forget. In this way, what we’re drawn to in life might be something ordained, a calling seeded within us before we even arrive. I’m poetic at heart, so I love that idea. To a large extent, I do believe that destiny plays a huge role in an artist’s passion. I don’t believe in accidents either. But at the same time, I’ve realised how important conscious choice is. We must choose to show up and honour the gifts we’ve been given.  There’s a quote that resonates with me too: “God shows you who you are by what you love.” And I see it that wherever our attention is naturally drawn is where we’re meant to discover more about who we are. Passions, especially those that light us up or where we feel satiated, are like vehicles that reveal our essence, and it’s up to us to follow where they lead.

That said, not every artist feels constantly compelled to create and I don’t either. Creativity, for me, is like a neverendingly bountiful tree, always available if I choose to approach it with sincerity. Even though I don’t always feel compelled to create, I genuinely feel a duty to not take my calling for granted by being practical,  pragmatic, and intentional in my work, honouring the gift I’ve been given.

In the end, I think it’s both destiny and choice. The calling may be there, but it’s our responsibility to listen, respond, and nurture it into something tangible.

Does spirituality or a connection to something larger than yourself influence your creative process?

For me, the reality we experience, this world we see and move through, is interconnected and woven together by an omnidirectional fabric that permeates everything. I believe the divine is reflected in all aspects of life, and rare moments of openness, we might get to catch a glimpse of the bigger picture.

When I’m creating, especially during the act of drawing, I see it as a collaboration with the divine aspect that underlies creation. I feel like it’s a big error for artists to carry the entire weight of their work and their calling on their shoulders. That’s a bit too much pressure. Instead, I draw inspiration from the Ancient  Greeks’ notion of an artist having a genius or daimon: a guiding spirit or muse that accompanies us throughout life. In this way, I see my process as a dialogue between myself and something timeless; a process of co-creation that acknowledges the mystery and magic inherent in life.

How has your upbringing or cultural heritage shaped the themes and techniques you explore in your art today? 

Growing up as a mixed-race kid in a predominantly white area of the UK had an impact on the themes I explore in my work today. I never felt a strong identification with any one culture, religion, sport or community. And so, there was always a lingering sense of being slightly out of place and never feeling grounded. My upbringing was pretty normal, but I see how my early experiences shaped my curiosity. My parents were (and continue to be) open-minded and never imposed strict ideas about what I should or shouldn’t do, but when they separated, my mum had to work long hours to provide for me and my older brother. So left to my own devices on the weekends and summer holidays I’d spend a lot of time outdoors, exploring the natural world by collecting insects, examining textures and patterns in plants with magnifying glasses, digging holes and burying my toys (don’t ask), taking the spade and sheers out the shed to make dens and climbing trees with my friends.

Culturally, I wasn’t exposed to the fullness of either my African, Scottish or East Anglian heritage.  And so that sense of not quite belonging persisted well into my early 20s. But it led me to seek meaning in different ways, mostly through rebellion in my teenage years, getting into fights, trouble, and experimenting with drugs which started to become a self-destructive spiral. But it also opened the door for me to search for a sense of meaning.In college, a now great friend of mine introduced me to meditation. At the time, I didn’t fully understand it, but I was curious, so I thought I’d give it a go. And those early months of practice brought profound experiences. Sensations ringing in my mind, diaphanous rays of colour coming toward me in my inner vision. I’d never experienced anything like that and so apart from having a rich dream life it was my first encounter with the vertical dimension of life; the sense that there’s more beyond the surface.

Meditation organically opened me to explore psychedelics, and one profound experience radically changed my perspective. I had been grappling with questions about why I was here and how to make sense of feelings of shame, guilt and displacement. And that experience gifted me a vision of the interconnectedness of all things. It showed me that we’ll never fully grasp the magnitude of life, but we can receive glimpses of its mystery. I saw how deeply entwined we are with nature, too and so after that, I started to nurture the connection to my imagination more, which had always been present but underexplored.

Today, those experiences continue to inspire my work. I’m always fascinated by the multiplicity of nature and the depths of human experience. And so, my art aims to reflect these aspects of life through what I regard as imaginal paintings that attempt to tap into something universal to encourage contemplation, wonder and introspection.

Can you take us through the evolution of an artwork, from that first spark of inspiration to the finished piece? 

Since I started making work in a more focused way, I’ve only had a handful of moments where a fully formed image flashed in my mind. 

Most of the time, my entry point is more mundane. It often begins with bubbling frustration, feeling stuck or stagnant, even while working on paintings I’m enjoying making. I like to put those feelings to work though, so I’ll reflect on what I don’t like, what I do like, and ideas that have passed through my mind.  Usually, something will stand out—like floral forms, which have been taking precedence in my current body of work. From there, I’ll set a goal: ‘I’d love to make six drawings with floral elements.’ I’ll jump in and complete them in a week. But when I look back, they’ll often feel empty. And that’s when I"ll realise my focus was more on achieving the goal of completing six drawings, rather than creating with the right quality of intention. At that point, I go back to my core intention: creating work that feels healing, meaningful, and collaborative with something deeper and beyond myself. I’ll sit with that for a day or two, contemplating it by writing or while walking. Then, when I draw again from that more receptive place, something more interesting usually emerges.

When the imagery has taken shape, I start contemplating colours. I’m really drawn to Persian rugs, ancient masks, silk scarves, ceramics, and Thangka paintings, all of which inform my palette. I’ve recently started doing rough colour studies to save time when mixing paints. Then, once the colours are ready, I transfer the drawing to the canvas. I love using traditional techniques by creating underpaintings and working through layers until the image feels dimensional and alive. For most of the process, I work in silence to stay present and connected. As a reward, I’ll pop some music on for the last 30 minutes of my session.

When a piece is finished, I always feel like I didn’t fully create it. I remember doing the work, but it didn’t feel real, so I never took full ownership. It’s ironic because I call them “my paintings,” but in truth, the process feels like a collaboration with life, my daimon, or something unseen and universal. Maybe that’s why I enjoy the work I do so much. I always feel a bit sick when people say they hate their work as I’ve never felt that way. Sure, some pieces don’t resonate, so I’ll just paint over them. They weren’t meant to be. I’ll figure out what went wrong, reflect on it, and move on. I believe that creativity is never-ending, there’s always more.

Do you have any rituals or habits that help you enter a creative state of flow?  

Intention setting is a big part of my creative process. Before I begin working, I’ll often say a simple statement  to myself, like: “I intend to do my best by being as present and focused as possible.” It helps centre and remind me that my role is to be grounded in the moment.

Sometimes, as I’m working, I might hit a barrier whether it’s a bit of tension, attachment to outcomes, or getting lost in thought. When that happens, I’ll often catch myself, go back to my original intention and say  something like: “My intention is to be present and help bring this vision to life, knowing it has chosen me to  do so.” I even talk to the work sometimes, as if it’s a child but not in a patronising way. This simple act often pulls me back into the flow.Another important ritual for me is physical exercise. I go to the gym four times a week, combining intense cardio and weight training. I’ve found that giving the restless, animalistic part of myself what it needs in the morning allows me to approach my work with more presence and calmness. The physical exertion and challenges release tension and clear my mind which helps create the conditions for me to get into a flow state.

Entering a state of flow is about balance between mind, body, and spirit. It’s about showing up fully,  with intention and care, and trusting that the process will unfold as it’s meant to. When I approach my work with this mindset, the act of creating becomes less about control and more about collaboration with something larger than myself.  I highly recommend a book titled ‘Flow’ by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. It’s a dense book, repetitive in parts but delivers a deep and comprehensive look into how the state of flow can be entered and what it means in relation to the bigger picture of experience fulfilment in our lives.

How do you reignite creativity during those inevitable periods of self-doubt or stagnation?  

Taking the pressure off and lowering expectations is key for me during periods of self-doubt or stagnation.  While creating art is deeply fulfilling, and sometimes feels essential for survival, the reality is that we aren’t just one thing — which took me a minute to understand. When stagnation creeps in, I now see it as a sign that another part of my nature is being neglected. It’s like a signal to take a step back and rebalance.

I like to think holistically too so creativity for me isn’t something that exists in isolation. Even though I see it as a mostly impersonal force, it’s equally tied to the way I live my life. So, when I’m feeling stuck, I’ll do some digging and focus a little more on nourishing my body and mind: eating well, exercising regularly, seeking novelty, nurturing relationships, and making time to play, taking in new information. For me, that might mean visiting thrift shops or museums, watching films, meeting new people, listening to music, reading, or travelling, even if it’s just a day trip and getting out in nature. I’ve come to realise that I have many interests and needs, and honouring them helps keep my creativity vital. I’ve found that the best way for me to avoid prolonged stagnation is to focus on creating a life where these things happen regularly. So, I intend to make sure there’s something on the calendar to look forward to,  whether it’s a motocross race to watch online or see in person, a phone call with a friend or family at the end of the week, or a walk-in nature. These small experiences help make my life feel more wholesome, allowing the creative well to fill up.

Even during slower periods, I’m still engaged with my work in small ways. I’ll draw from life, sketch something silly, or scribble without overthinking it. And because I usually have several paintings on the go,  there’s always something to dip back into in the studio. I see creativity as like a bountiful tree; it’s always there, always available to everyone who chooses to converse with it, especially if and when I approach it with sincerity. I think it’s important to keep showing up, even in small ways, not give in to self-loathing for too long or disheartenment and trust that the flow will return.

Name five pivotal lessons you’ve learned that shaped your artistic journey.  

✧ Being intentional.
✧ Doing my best by staying focused and present.
✧ That whatever I want to create, I should learn everything about it—and the full language of my chosen medium.
✧ Staying open by looking at everything, whether I like it or not.
✧ Remembering that it’s not all about me. That I’m part of something far more mysterious and that I am in service to God.

If you had only 24 hours left to create, how would you spend them?  

I’d savour every moment. I’m not rushing to do anything or stressing myself out at all. I’ll get up whenever I naturally arise, get my walk in, maybe hit the gym, come back have a cuppa, check what needs to be done,  and work on that for a few hours. 

After that, I’m rewatching Interstellar, followed by calling a few close loved ones, including my family and a few friends. I’ll then destroy a fire meal (probably a lasagne), followed by good sex. After that, I’ll have another cuppa, chill, write, reflect, make a prayer, give thanks, conk out, and bon voyage.

In an increasingly globalized world, how can artists preserve authenticity and cultural integrity in their work? 

There’s a quote that I love concerning this that says “Go inward for your arts, for they cannot be found in  foreign parts.” I believe that preserving authenticity starts with listening inward more. Understanding who we are not just from the contents of our mind but more so from what speaks to us, and what naturally draws our attention. It can be difficult to distinguish as the world is noisy and our ego can often contribute to that noise, but I find that this is the way.

Nowadays distractions are everywhere. The engineers of culture have created these superficial pedestals of materialism, fame, and attention, all of which aren’t inherently bad but are used as vehicles for disillusionment; Tools that often pull us away from what is real and meaningful. Without awareness, artists can easily fall into the trap of creating for external validation rather than from a place of truth and fulfilment, which I have been guilty of. To preserve authenticity, I believe that it’s about taking control of my mind and reclaiming the whole of my being. This means not just engaging in artistic practices but equally nurturing the self, physically, mentally,  and spiritually. Art doesn’t exist in isolation from life. The artist and their art are deeply intertwined. And so, if the aim of an artist is to make beautiful and truthful work then the vehicle through which the art comes must be as well-oiled and sharpened as possible. Not perfect, obviously, but taken care of. 

For me, authenticity isn’t about trying to stand out anywhere near as much as it’s about deepening my relationship with what makes me, me. I’ve found that it’s about quieting the noise of the external world while still engaging with it, simplifying and leaning into what feels true to me. I like that quote by Ralph  Ellison in his book Invisible Man which goes “Play the game but don’t believe in it.” It’s a little longer but this part I find fitting. 

And so, when artists commit to this process through introspection, reflecting on their heritage, physical movement, reading, journaling, spending time in nature, looking after their body and contemplating their interactions with the world, I believe that they will naturally tap into something deeper and become integral and vital individuals. When we create from that place, we’re not just making art. We’re extending the light of consciousness and contributing to something much larger than ourselves. Anything else is as Terence Mckenna once said “a dithering while Rome burns".

✦ ✦ ✦

Art, for Jarvis, becomes a form of dialogue between the seen and unseen, the conscious and the unconscious. Every painting has a deliberate search for meaning, a commitment to honesty, and a reminder that creativity is a bridge to something greater than the self.