As a six-year-old, when his mum went out to work, artist Jonathan Baldock used to get dropped round at his nan’s. She taught him how to crochet, sew and knit, he remembers, now aged 44. He’s sat today in front of a wall of art books in his London studio, nodding gently under a black baseball cap and clear specs. ‘It was a great way to occupy me while we watched TV. I absolutely loved it! I was a very obviously queer kid: quite effeminate, a birdwatcher, a knitter, you know? As a teenager, I became aware that knitting was another pointer to my queerness and I had to distance myself from it. I didn’t want to stand out as odd. Then I went to art school. I started off painting, but I went back to textiles. I embraced it all again. I definitely think making, or creating, has saved me in many ways.’

Baldock’s wonderful, tender, sage and uncanny new show Wyrd was commissioned by Jupiter Artland and is currently on display in their deliciously ornate Ballroom Gallery. Walk in and you’re met with an inviting circle of 1970s-style children’s toys. We find a pair of adorable little penguins with shiny black beaks poking out from white furry hoods; two toy dogs made of hessian, satin bows round their necks, hands and feet overlapping cosily on a crochet blanket; a unicorn called Purity with eyes made from large orbs of milky rose quartz. But look closer: the dogs have human feet, with toes wrinkled perfectly in pastel ceramics while two big clay snails slithering over the parquet floor have neat beards and human features. Underneath the unicorn dangles a massive penis which could double as a petite draft excluder for a door. 

All the animals in Baldock’s magical menagerie have been identified as having same-sex sexual behaviour. His orange clownfish nods to the 500-odd species of fish that can change sex, transitioning from male to female for the good of the shoal. Two whiptail lizards on the floor reference the all-female species of reptiles, who can reproduce asexually. Embroidered on their back in curly yellow stitching are the words, ‘let’s go outside’ and ‘always been here’. Wyrd is the artist’s way of challenging mainstream ideas of what is ‘natural’ and ‘normal’ in the animal kingdom. And, in turn, the human world.

‘The springboard for the show actually came during a site visit to Jupiter Artland. I saw this news story about a same-sex couple of [female gentoo] penguins in Edinburgh Zoo called Muffin and Mitten who were raising chicks together. I’ve done tons of reading on the topic of queerness in animals, so I’m naturally drawn to these stories.’

I Google and find another, older headline in the Daily Record which reads ‘Edinburgh zoo penguins turn gay for lack of females.’

‘What did they mean: like “prison gay”?’ I ask, puzzled. 

‘Exactly! Right?’ sighs Baldock with a weary groan. ‘I just find that kind of reporting really frustrating. Like fuck off!’ he laughs, rolling his eyes. ‘Studies go way back on same-sex animal relationships; there were gay penguin sightings back in 1913. They just had to be way more coded in the way it was described. Those stories weren’t recorded. I follow a collective of queer scientists, and have read lots of books on this, like Evolution’s Rainbow by Joan Roughgarden. There’s even one for young adults now called Queer Ducks (And Other Animals). This stuff isn’t new. Wyrd is bit of a fingers up to the two-by-two Noah’s Ark story.’ The misleading, loaded news reporting hit a nerve with Baldock who was at primary school when the deeply controversial Section 28 legislation was introduced, banning schools from ‘promoting homosexuality.’ ‘I come from a very conservative, very religious Church Of England then Mormon background. Conversations have changed so much. You didn’t talk about queerness then. My upbringing was really underpinned by that idea of “naturalness,” the Darwinian idea of male and female. I’m still addressing a lot of what that did to me.’

That formative hurt and those inaccurate, insulting notions informed Wyrd, presented alongside his work Warm Inside which is hung in Jupiter Artland’s Steadings Gallery. A stunning, calming and grotesque collection of large cocoons dangling from the ceiling, it evokes both the womb and the tomb. Woven from pink wool and filled with lavender, on closer inspection there are ceramic hands, feet and masks inside. Like the ears and noses in Wyrd, they are casts taken from Baldock and his partner, Rafał Zajko, adding an element of autobiography. Baldock made Warm Inside while in isolation during lockdown and following several deaths in his life.

‘Underneath these cosy crafts, familiar materials and soft colours, even that relaxing lavender smell, I was thinking about very serious subject matters,’ Baldock says. ‘My work is rooted in working-people’s crafts; there is functionality in knitting and sewing. I want my work to be inclusive and generous, while addressing serious issues. Lavender has historically been used in embalming, to mask the smell of death. The thing about death is it makes you think about life and all its beauty and fleetingness. It’s that light and shade I’m interested in.’ 

Baldock’s summer takeover of Jupiter Artland came about through the venue’s founders, Nicky and Robert Wilson. ‘Jonathan is a very gifted artist; both a good egg and a great thinker,’ says Nicky. ‘His work is a warm hug with a lot of teeth. He gets across this soft love and deep messages.’ That appreciation is mutual. ‘Hand on heart, working with Nicky and Rob has been one of the nicest experiences,’ Baldock responds.  ‘They’ve been particularly supportive and nurturing. Maybe it’s due to being a privately funded institution, but I never felt censored or pressured to make something sanitised. I felt understood. They got this mix of the beastly and the monstrous with the erotic and scary and mythical.’

As part of the Jupiter Rising festival on 16 August, Baldock will be in conversation with Queer As Folklore author Sacha Coward, discussing untold queer stories in myth and folklore. ‘I love exploring these stories of bodies in transition, creatures as outsiders, rule breakers, unlawful lives. It all ties in with my love of nature and birds, and my love of folk tales and working-people’s histories too. I didn’t come out to my mum until I was 18. She approached me actually; she could see something was making me very depressed. Things could have been better, definitely. But thinking about my mum’s background (aunts, uncles, friends, blah blah), homophobia was rife growing up. I heard it all the time.’  

Baldock believes that in those circumstances, the hardest thing to accept may be yourself. ‘You feel like a monster. My mum left the church because of me. She is very vocal now about her gay son and very pro-gays. She’s an ally, absolutely! I feel very grateful for my mum. I come from a generation where not everyone is that lucky. I never came out to my nan, which at the time I felt was a relief. You worry about disappointing people.’

I ask what his nan would make of the incredible technical mastery in his work: the laborious stitching, the decision to hand-spin and dye his own wool with plants, the neat precision in his multi-disciplinary craft. ‘My mum always says “oh I wish your nan could see this! She would be so proud!” I like to think that.’ 

Jonathan Baldock: Wyrd and Warm Inside, Jupiter Artland, Wilkieston, until 28 September, as part of Edinburgh Art Festival; main picture: Neil Hanna.