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The Sacred and the Profane Amanda Game is intrigued by the diverse influences in Philip Eglin’s new work. Gathering dust on a glass shelf in Philip Eglin’s studio in Stokeon-Trent sit a group of tiny, modelled red clay figure groups of The Artist and his Model. Just a few centimetres high and created, he tells me, in a panic as he was coming towards the end of his three year study at the Royal College of Art and had not enough work to show for it, these captivating miniatures hold the seeds of much of what has followed in the subsequent two decades. In their almost Rubenesque curves one can see his remarkable, sensuous handling of clay, his developing references to the iconography and images of the art of the past, in particular the female nude, and his keen understanding of historical ceramics – in this case early Staffordshire figure groups. To spend a few hours in Eglin’s studio is to become physically
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CERAMIC REVIEW 239 September/October 2009
and intellectually immersed in his exceptional and encyclopaedic imaginative world. The figures occupy one small shelf in a studio crammed with visual prompts for the viewer and the artist. Glaze tests; plaster moulds; newspaper photographs of jubilant footballers; his own life drawings; children’s drawings; half finished medieval jugs; scribbled notes; sheets of transfers; books of Renaissance paintings; piles of commercial china blanks; discards from printed Spode factory ware; bags of White St Thomas’s clay; plastic bottles; soft porn lithophanes; postcards of medieval woodcarvings and much, much more. The rhythm of his studio is almost overwhelming in its intensity of information, reminiscent of the studio of the late Sir Eduardo Paolozzi, lovingly recreated in all its eclectic glory at the Dean Gallery in Edinburgh.