by Peter Blake was born in Dartford, Kent in 1932 and went to art school at Gravesend Technical College. Leaving at the age of 15, he did national service and then trained at the Royal College of Art. His early works were instrumental in defining British poplar. In 1967, he famously designed the cover for the Beatles’ Sergeant Pepper‘s Lonely Hearts Club Band. In his varied career since, he has continued to develop an unusual and iconic style in painting, collages, drawing and sculpture. He lives in Chiswick with his second wife, the artist Chrissy Wilson, to whom he has been married for 37 years.
How does it feel to be showing what is really your first solo sculpture show at an age 91?
About 10 years ago, I was doing a lot of very diverse work – painting, drawing, collages, sculpture. And I realized enough that it would never be seen, that I would probably never have a third retrospective. So I decided to put on a series of shows with [the gallery] Custody of Waddington. The first was portraits and people, the second drawing. This is the sculptural element of that concept. There are also three series of collages that I have made over the past two years. I sit still with a pair of scissors.
You are a famous collector. Are you still collecting?
Almost everything in the show is found in one way or another, then I put it together to tell a story. I had to put aside my own collecting bug, because my big studio in Hammersmith is full. But I’m still collecting for work. As soon as I start making a piece – an Elvis shrine for example – I’m looking for things.
Do you think the public’s perception of you has changed?
Oh, very much. As with anyone’s career, you have an exhibition and one critic likes it, and four critics don’t like it. Then you do some more and someone offends you. It’s a rollercoaster. It’s a huge factor that I’m still here. People take me more seriously in the art world.
My life is happy the way you would say Gustav Klimt was happy
Why were you not taken seriously?
That is quite complicated. I have elements that sit uncomfortably within the world of painting. Things like humor and sentimentality in my work, which were somewhat sneered at, are now being re-evaluated. I think a lot of people like what I’ve done.
Although you are always described as a pop artist, you have always been an outsider what is it now…
The potted history of pop art is that in America in the early 50s you got Jasper Johns and Robert Rauschenberg, then the second wave with Warhol and Lichtenstein, and in England, more or less at the same time, you had the Independent Group, which was a discussion group about popular culture. I went to some of the meetings but I was never a member.
My contention is that the actual phrase was coined at a dinner party when I was talking to the critic Lawrence Alloway. I explained that I wanted to make art that was equivalent to pop music. And Lawrence said: “What? Kind of pop art?” Other people would tell you a different story, but that certainly happened, and I think it was the first use of the phrase.
Why did you want to make that kind of art?
I hoped that a different kind of people would look at art. I hoped that young Elvis fans could look at my pictures in the same spirit.
What was the role of creating the Sergeant Pepper cover for the Beatles in 1967 play in that?
I always say it was a mixed blessing. At that point I was well established. He didn’t make me. I’ve done about 20 album covers and in my mind it’s only one of those. It is the one I love Gettin‘ in Over My Head to Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys.
Do you still work every day?
I work all the time when I can. I have had many illnesses in the last two years when I have not been able to work, but I mostly work five or six hours, although now I work at home, not in the studio.
What motivates you to keep creating?
I love doing it. In a way my career is over. I have achieved some things I wanted to achieve. I was very happy to receive a knighthood. I’ve always been a great royal. Now, I finish a body of work and then I think, what should I do next? At the moment I am performing James Joyce’s Molly Bloom Ulysses. In the last three days, I have started two new paintings and I have started a series of tiny images showing The Great Gatsby. They will not be finished; the Ulysses could, depending on the time.
Looking back over the years, is there one that stands out for you?
If you laid out all the work, there would be strong bits and weaker bits. I’m not going to say: “Oh, the 60s were a great swing, that was my best decade.” Was not. I was not really a swinger. I didn’t do any drugs at all. For me the 1950s were national service and the Royal College, then the pictures soon became pop art, then in the 1970s I lived in Somerset and the pictures were idyllic. I came back to London in the 1980s. Each decade has its own character. I don’t feel homesick for a while.
How good are you with technology?
Years ago, David Hockney and I were asked to test one of the first computers. But at that point I didn’t really understand what he could do. Hockney used it and used it brilliantly. I still can’t operate a computer, but I work with someone who is brilliant. I’ve done the cover of Mark Knopfler’s re-recording of Going Home to raise money for the Teenage Cancer Trust with the top 40 guitarists in the world. I found the images and worked with someone who cut them out and then put them together.
You always seem happy. Are you?
Basically, my work is optimistic. People have different reasons for painting. Some people are very political. And some of them become macabre. My life is happy the way you would say Gustav Klimt was happy.
What do you do when you are not working?
I read a lot. I watch TV a lot. I prefer Monday nights, quiz night, The University Challenge and so on. Chrissy and I went out a lot to eat or to clubs and stuff like that. But that’s curtailed because I’m in a wheelchair – my knees have gotten worse.
Do you have a secret to your longevity?
Chrissy is my secret. She takes good care of me. She is magic.
