James Vaulkhard’s latest exhibition, The Sublime & The Consumed, at London’s Blond Contemporary, presents a striking reimagining of the American landscape—one haunted by exploitation as much as beauty. Inspired by the 19th-century Hudson River School yet sharply contemporary, Vaulkhard’s pastel-on-wood works pulse with luminous colour and creeping shadows, framing nature as awe-inspiring and imperilled. His 5,000-mile journey across the US in 2024 yielded not the untouched wilderness of romantic tradition but a terrain scarred by greed and nostalgia, where human intervention looms like a gathering storm.
Curated by rising star MC Llamas, the exhibition interrogates the paradox of the sublime in an age of climate crisis—what happens when boundless potential becomes fragile? Vaulkhard, known for politically charged portraiture (including his collaged Donald Trump piece), turns his eye to the land, asking how reverence and consumption collide. Below, the artist and curator discuss myth, mark-making, and the uneasy allure of a world on the brink.
James Vaulkhard (Artist Interview)
Artlyst: Your exhibition, The Sublime & The Consumed, reflects the American landscape through the lens of environmental and political uncertainty. How did your journey across the US shape your perspective compared to the idealised visions of the Hudson River School painters?
James Vaulkhard: The timing of the trip turned out to be unexpectedly poignant. I spent the month leading up to the US election travelling and flew back to the UK on election day. The political tension in the air inevitably shaped how I experienced the landscape. Unlike the Hudson River School painters, who captured an idealised, untouched vision of America, I encountered a landscape marked by contradiction—breathtaking beauty juxtaposed with deep scars.
What stood out most was the contrast between the natural and the human-made. Roadkill was a frequent sight along the highways, a stark reminder of our fast pace. Industrial complexes rose where there had once been open horizons. In places like Wyoming and California, entire regions were still scarred by the aftermath of wildfires. These landscapes were still grand, but the pressures of modern life and environmental change undeniably altered them.
That said, I want to emphasise that I set out with an open mind, looking for adventure and awe-inspiring landscapes—and I certainly found them. It’s undeniably beautiful—endless big-sky country for days, which is pretty special for a landscape painter.
You employ vivid colour contrasts in your pastel works—golden hues against ominous shadows. Can you discuss how this visual language conveys the tension between natural beauty and human impact?
I’ve always been interested in how colour can be symbolic, much like the abstract expressionists or Joseph Albers, who explored how colours work together. I play with these contrasts to create an emotional pull—where the bright colours represent moments of light or beauty, and the shadows bring in something heavier or more mysterious. For me, shadows aren’t just about adding depth; they also create a sense of presence. Sometimes, I think about how my own shadow interacts with the landscape. It becomes more than just a trace of myself—it blends into the scene in a way that feels connected to the environment, especially on a solo trip like this.
Your work has been described as interrogating “the aesthetics of the sublime” in an era of ecological fragility. How do you balance reverence for nature with a critique of its exploitation?
That balance was something I grappled with constantly during the trip. As I drove across the US, I was struck not just by the beauty of the land but by the many interruptions—industry sprawling across once-open space, barbed wire carving up the terrain, vast lots filled with unsold cars, roadkill marking the violence of speed and sprawl. It would’ve been easy to focus purely on those signs of human impact to take a documentary or dystopian route. Instead, I let the landscape remain central and build in the critique more subtly—through colour, composition, and mood.
Rather than depict the modern directly, I used the language of the sublime—those sweeping vistas, dramatic contrasts, and luminous light—but let it fracture slightly. There’s tension in the skies, unease in the shadows, a kind of fragility in the way the land is held. I wanted to honour the beauty still there but not romanticise it. The colour became symbolic: golden hues carrying a memory of something idealised, while deep blues and bruised purples suggest what’s been lost or is under threat.
Ultimately, the work is about holding two things at once: reverence and reckoning. Nature still commands awe, but that awe is laced with discomfort in this era. The sublime isn’t just a celebration anymore—it’s a question mark. And that’s the space I wanted to work within.
Your portrait of Donald Trump (2017) used collaged imagery of dictators. Does your current exhibition continue this politically charged approach, albeit in a more abstract landscape form?
The Trump collage was part of a side project I began experimenting with back in 2016, around the time of his first spree of executive orders—particularly those around immigration. It was very much a satirical piece, using collage to juxtapose imagery of dictators and comment on the early signals of his presidency whilst poking fun at him.
In contrast, I didn’t start with this new body of work to make overtly political statements. The recent series, focused on the American landscape, isn’t driven by a political agenda in the same way. That said, the timing of the road trip—leading up to the US elections—has made the whole experience feel surprisingly poignant and, at times, quite foreboding. It’s been a serendipitous alignment; the landscape itself began to echo a kind of quiet commentary on America’s current state without me needing to force it.
Having trained in classical portraiture, how does your background influence your treatment of landscapes—do you see them as “portraits” of a place imbued with subjectivity?
Growing up in Kenya, I was surrounded by beautiful landscapes, which I started to paint from quite a young age. These early experiences shaped how I viewed landscapes, even before I trained in classical portraiture in Italy. My background in portraiture has undoubtedly influenced my approach to landscapes. I see them in a similar light, as portraits of a place, each with its character and presence.
After my classical training, I’ve developed a deep understanding of composition, influencing how I approach my landscapes today. I paint with a specific sensibility, but I also see my training as a foundation to build. Over time, I’ve allowed myself to bend the rules a bit—focusing less on rigid form and more on what feels right for the mood and essence of the landscape. It’s a blend of structure and freedom from my training and my surroundings’ natural influence.
MC Llamas (Curator Interview)
Artlyst: The exhibition is described as a “meditation on landscapes and how we alter them.” How did you and Vaulkhard collaborate to frame this dialogue between past grandeur and present fragility?
MC Llamas: I believe that landscapes are a great allegory and spark internal human dialogues and consciousness. James’ work is very introspective and vulnerable, and the way he articulates his compositions is quite awe-inspiring. His current body of work results from a very meditative state of mind, as first put forward by the Romantic generation, which famously included JMW Turner and John Constable. These landscapes, however, are based on visions of quietness and stillness, offering a departure from the known “Sublime” described by Edmund Burke, which characteristically was more tempestuous. James’ sceneries are peaceful and tranquil, giving the viewer space for introspection and respite.
Grandeur and fragility are inherently associated, and vast landscapes and picturesque mountain ranges give space for reflection and self-introspection, which are fragile and vulnerable states of mind.
Blond Contemporary’s program emphasises art’s “transformative power” through a political lens. How does The Sublime & The Consumed align with this philosophy?
Quoting Phillip Blond: “The sublime was always conceived by modernism as an ultimate triumph over nature – the point where the human mind experienced itself as not just equal to the magnificence of the earth but as exceeding it in cognitive power and potency. Consider Casper David Friedrich’s 1818 painting ‘Wanderer above a sea of fog.’
James’ work reverses this by recovering the sublime as Coleridge envisaged: as a power of nature to transcend and transform the viewer, to articulate and express redemptive value. The political extension of this is obvious – nature can teach us how to behave, how to order our society and how to value what is valuable.”
Vaulkhard’s work contrasts with Ansel Adams’ monochrome depictions of wilderness. As a curator, how do you see colour functioning as a narrative tool in this exhibition?
Colour is extremely important to James’ practice, similarly to Peter Doig and David Hockney, he uses colour in an emotional way, rather than a descriptive one. The juxtaposition of greens and reds in James’ paintings make the surfaces vibrate, they are a tableau of nature, with deep humane emotional substance. These works are an homage beauty of the landscape, as seen through the lense of the artist, James is narrating his version of the Sublime by way of colour juxtaposition, creating incredible tension and dialogue between the elements. The artists’ tonality gives each natural component of the works a “personality” and a sense of charisma.
You’re known for curating works that blend classical techniques with contemporary concerns. How does Vaulkhard’s training in traditional art inform his modern critique of the American sublime?
James went on an American route of the Sublime artists, taking himself to the geographical points the artists had painted before him. He had direct contact with the environment and started the painting process from life. This gives the works an incredible element of spontaneity. It is this classical training that enabled him to capture those elements of the landscape accurately and eloquently. There is excellent value in painting from life; one can see the difference in compositional awareness, spatial recognition and intelligence. It is this spatial dexterity that allows James to be very flexible in his rendering of his surroundings. This agility with the mark-making translates into near abstraction on the artworks’ surfaces, an understood and extremely self-aware conceptual painterly rendering. His representation parallels that of the American Sublime, taken from the same source. With these artists in mind and great respect for their surroundings, James recreated a visualization of the same principles.
Your platform, GUERIN PROJECTS, celebrates “ethereal beauty” amid the human experience. Does this exhibition’s tension between awe and decay redefine that vision in a more urgent ecological context?
The representation of “Awe and Decay” have been central to the artistic practice through decades, I believe that it is fundamental to most artist’s internal dialogue, it is the result of this interpretation which makes the conversation on the canvas so interesting and tense. James Vaulkhard’ body of work is also an important reminder of the beauty of the natural environment surrounding us, he gives us the opportunity to take a moment and appreciate the value of the sublime.
James Vaulkhard ‘The Sublime & The Consumed’ runs until 9 May 2025 – Blond Contemporary London