From TKE Studios in Margate, artist Lindsey Mendick speaks with candour and humility about SH*TFACED, her landmark solo exhibition at Jupiter Artland. From a heartfelt personal angle, Mendick battles her own trials and tribulations with binge drinking, all the while not imposing a moral verdict on gallery visitors or trying to push them towards sobriety.

Against the bright, white walls of her studio, the artist’s magnificent turquoise bob complements a sprightly energy. Her wardrobe is a spectrum of daring colour, including a feather-trimmed chartreuse yellow dress which she wore to the exhibition’s opening party. Yet, SH*TFACED marks the first time she has found the courage to paint her sculptures white. ‘I’ve been hiding my sculptures under glaze and colour,’ she reflects, divulging how she has felt afraid to ‘present them as they are to the world.’

Friends and studio visitors (including Bob Geldof and Tracey Emin) have brought Mendick out of her colourful sanctuary. ‘If you paint them white, people will be able to see how hard you worked on them,’ Emin advised her. Welling up ever so slightly, Mendick says how healing it was to paint the first sculpture white: ‘there were no jokes to it; that was the first time I felt confident enough to not apologise for my art.’ She went on to paint the remaining ten white, each stroke a step towards accepting the exhibition space she deserves to take up.

SH*TFACED uniquely weaves in moral conundrums inspired by Robert Louis Stevenson’s The Strange Case Of Dr Jekyll And Mr Hyde. I push Mendick on the gothic novella’s influence, asking whether she has re-contextualised the idea of ‘masking’ in terms of how neurodivergent people are socialised to conceal certain traits. While she hadn’t thought about it that way, the interpretation resonated because ‘the exhibition is about keeping up appearances’ and how booze interferes with the guise of professionalism. It transpires that clinging onto masks is even more essential in the microcosmic art world.

‘Booze is still a sticky subject in art,’ she says, elaborating that every private view is fuelled by alcohol, leading to the potential of drunken mistakes and waking up with a heavy sense of regret. I request the lowdown on SH*TFACED’s private view, but the Jupiter Artland team have approached the topic of alcohol carefully in terms of attendees’ comfort and safety. This extends to Jupiter Rising, Edinburgh Art Festival’s collaborative public event on 19 August, in which Mendick will curate ‘the ultimate night out’ with Glasgow-based queer workers’ co-op Bonjour.  

Our conversation circles back to shared feelings of imposter syndrome and struggles with self-confidence. Once the interview reaches its natural end, I’m left ruminating on how I rely on alcohol as a social lubricant because of shyness; how I have taken shots before job interviews and first (and second) dates for courage. As Mendick exposes a private dialogue in a public setting, there is solace to be found in her art and her reflections, turning inward to detangle shame from drinking habits.

Lindsey Mendick: SH*TFACED, Jupiter Artland, until 1 October.