Jonathan Hateley: A Sculptor’s Dance With Time And Nature

Lucy: Welcome to Sculpture Vulture. I’m Lucy Branch, a sculptural conservator and author who is endlessly fascinated by public sculpture. I bring you a series of interviews with sculptors and other fascinating people involved in this field that inspires me, and I hope it will do the same for you. You can find photographs that accompany the episodes and the show notes at sculpturevulture.co.uk.

Hello, Sculpture Vultures, and thank you for joining me today. I’m super excited because tomorrow I’m heading off for a jolly in Dublin! By the time this episode drops, I’ll already be back. It’s a strange thing, thinking about it now as something in my future while knowing it will be in my past by the time you listen. It all feels a bit like science fiction!

My first stop will be in Drogheda to visit friends and check out some local sculptures. I’m especially looking forward to seeing works by the end-of-the-show sculptor Laurie Disson Gremmel. She’s behind the statues of Sir Tony Soxburn and the handball champion Joe Maher. Then, I’m off to Dublin for an event hosted by the Maud Gonne Society.

You might remember Orna Ross from a few episodes ago, where she spoke passionately about her campaign to have Maud Gonne commemorated in bronze in the heart of Dublin. There’s a big meeting happening about it, and I couldn’t resist getting involved. I want to see Maud Gonne and as many women as possible immortalised in sculpture. It’s going to be fantastic meeting Orna and other like-minded people.

While in Dublin, I’ll also pop over to Trinity College to see Sfera con Sfera (Sphere Within Sphere) by Arnaldo Pomodoro. These iconic sculptures can be found around the world, with pieces in Washington, New York, and San Francisco, among others. This one in Dublin has been on my personal must-see list for ages.

I use this little app called Quizlet—normally for students cramming for exams, but I use it to track sculptures I want to visit. Whenever I come across a sculpture that piques my interest, I jot it down in Quizlet, including its location. Then, when I’m travelling, I check to see what’s nearby. Pomodoro, sadly, passed away in 2002, but his work, especially this piece, remains iconic.

I’m also eager to wander the city and see if I stumble across anything unexpected. Public sculpture sometimes surprises you, especially during the festive season. You can find new or temporary installations that haven’t been widely publicised. That kind of discovery is one of my favourite things about exploring a city.

In the news this week, we’ve been making headlines ourselves! Kenneth Maguire, a journalist at AP News, reached out to interview me. There’s been some negativity in the press lately surrounding sculptures of sports stars, with criticism that they don’t look much like their subjects. The Guardian even went as far as calling Harry Kane’s most recent sculpture, in Waltham Cross, “the stuff of nightmares.” While I admit it may look more like a distant cousin of Harry Kane in some discomfort, I’m not a fan of sculpture bashing.

In the interview, I spoke about the history of commemorative sculpture and how it’s not the same as portraiture. It’s a different genre entirely. Of course, masters like Basil Watson and Hywel Pratley seem to nail it every time, don’t they? But historically, even sculptures of athletes weren’t necessarily realistic. Sculptors would often reuse forms or idealise their subjects, as we discussed in an episode about six weeks ago on the origins of sculpture.

But enough of the news! Today, I’m interviewing Jonathan Hately, whose work first caught my attention when he reached out during Season One after hearing the show. We had a great chat on Facebook, and I fell in love with his work immediately. However, at the time, I wasn’t sure if his portfolio fitted with the focus of the show because he didn’t have any permanent public works.

But in the last couple of years, you may have come across his work in places like Hampton Court Palace, Woburn Abbey, Great Windsor Park, Roddington Hall, and the Chelsea Flower Show, among others. He really has developed a very unique and identifiable style—I’ve truly never seen anything quite like his work before.

His pieces are figurative, decorative, incredibly colourful, and deeply serene. I began our conversation today by asking Jonathan how he first came to sculpture.

Jonathan: How did I get started? Crikey. Probably with a brontosaurus made of egg boxes when I was about five years old. That was likely the first thing I brought home and showed my parents. It just felt, at the time, like something special.

It probably didn’t even resemble a brontosaurus, but for me, it felt like the start of something. I think I got a lot of attention for creating it, even though it wasn’t very good. But at that age, it seemed important. From then on, it just carried on—this feeling that I had to create all the time—and that’s how it progressed.

Lucy: You’re lucky that it came to you so early, though.

Jonathan: Yeah. My childhood was interesting because my parents had no clue about art at all. I think while I was developing these skills at an early age, I didn’t really know what I was doing or where I was heading with it.

That feeling of searching for where I was going and why I was doing these things carried on throughout my career.

Lucy: Was there someone who became a big influence and helped make it a possibility for a career? Or did that happen gradually?

Jonathan: It all happened gradually, but I did have support. My mum was always behind me in everything I did, even though she had no idea where it might lead.

At school, I had two art teachers, Mr. Bottomley and Mr. Platt, who were particularly good and very encouraging. At one stage, while I was doing A-levels, the expectation was that you had to do more than one subject. I was studying technical drawing alongside art, but I dropped the technical drawing quite early on because I didn’t get on with the teacher—or maybe he didn’t like me!

Instead, they allowed me to use my free lessons to attend a one-day-a-week sculpture course in Stafford, which was nearby. That course was run by Stuart Osborne, who was something of a maverick. He was loosely connected to the main college, which ran a standard foundation course.

For a year, I worked from the figure, and Stuart taught me how to make a mould from the cheetah I sculpted during that time. The combination of his guidance and the support from my art teachers really pushed me forward.

But then, it didn’t continue to be that straightforward. Stuart wanted me to join his unconventional course, which would have taken me on a very different path—completely outside the traditional foundation-degree route.

My mum came in to talk to him, and in the end, I went the conventional way. I did a foundation course in Stafford and then a degree course in Wolverhampton, which was near where I grew up.

It could have gone either way. If I’d followed Stuart’s path, I might have gone straight into what I’m doing now. Instead, the traditional route led me into the commercial world.

Lucy: I think you realise as you get older that there isn’t just one road. You sometimes look back and think, “It’s funny I got here because I didn’t take the direct route,” but it still works out when you’re meant to do something.

Jonathan: Exactly. I don’t regret any of it—the way it all unfolded.

Lucy: Did you go straight into an art-based job, or was it something completely different that helped you start earning money? You know, when we get to that point in our lives where we need money?

Jonathan: Yeah, I remember my first wage—it was £2.50 an hour. I worked for an architectural model-making company. They’d seen some of my work, which was very illustrational, and they brought me in to paint the little figures that go on the models of potential buildings.

Honestly, it was a bit soul-destroying. On top of that, I had to move from my home in the Midlands to London. Facing the reality of painting those tiny figures wasn’t exactly inspiring.

But while working for that company, they got a commission to create a 1:25 scale model of the set for The Phantom of the Opera, which was already running in London. I ended up working on that project, and eventually, the company commissioning the work hired me directly to finish it.

So, for the first couple of years I spent in London, I was working on that. I still remember when I started working for them, they increased my hourly rate to £3.50. I felt like I was rolling in money by then!

Lucy: But the thing is, even if the little models were soul-destroying, working for the theatre must have been much more interesting, surely?

Jonathan: Oh, absolutely. I really enjoyed it. It was strange, though, because before that, the only theatre I’d ever seen was the pantomime in Wolverhampton. Suddenly, I was going to shows in the West End!

From there, I moved to my only ever full-time job, which was as a prop maker at the English National Opera. Part of the job involved going to showings of each opera—often on a Monday morning. You’d go into the theatre and watch the entire performance until about lunchtime.

It was so exciting. Mind you, some of the operas did have us nodding off, especially at that age! But overall, it was thrilling, and we walked around London as if we owned the place. It was such a great time.

Lucy: So, the theatre really opened up your world. It sounds like it gave you a glimpse into something you’d never experienced before.

Jonathan: Absolutely, it did.

Lucy: How long were you working in that kind of field? I think I saw that you’d also done some work on TV sets?

Jonathan: Yeah, I’m hopeless with dates, but going through the ’90s and into the 2000s, I eventually went self-employed after four years with the English National Opera. I worked for places like the BBC, often in short stints.

I never seemed to settle anywhere for too long. I also worked with Henson’s and Pauline Kindersley. I even did some dinosaurs for her! But I eventually ended up at a place called Asylum Models and Effects.

That place was fantastic for me at the time. They had so much work coming in, and I had to sculpt whatever was required. It was similar to the English National Opera, where you had to create whatever a designer envisioned for a show, often on a very tight deadline.

At Asylum, which primarily worked on commercials and films, I had to be quick and good straight away—there was no time to ease into it. I remember one project in particular: sculpting a giraffe from its head down to its shoulders.

It had to replace a real giraffe in a commercial because the real one wouldn’t cooperate—they wanted it to stick its head and neck into the back of a car they were advertising.

I sculpted it in just three and a half days, but then the production process took over. Someone flocked it so it looked furry, they added eyelashes, and they fitted it with mechanics so it could move its head and blink. The final product looked amazing—all starting from that quick sculpt!

Lucy: What an incredible training ground! To have to do that kind of thing so quickly—three and a half days is nothing!

Jonathan: No madness anymore. I’ve gone the opposite way now. I think far too long about my sculptures.

Lucy: Because you don’t have a deadline in the same way that you did when someone else was saying, “That’s it, that’s all the time you’ve got.”

Jonathan: Exactly. That’s what used to happen. I’d get incredible tension in my shoulders from the constant pressure of those lurking deadlines. Every now and again, when I’m working now, that tension starts to creep back, and it’s a kind of reminder—I don’t have to work like that anymore. Sometimes I do, but not as much.

Lucy: It’s funny, isn’t it? Often it’s self-imposed, isn’t it? Even though you don’t have the same kind of deadlines, your body responds like you still do. I quite often remind myself—and this will sound really stupid—but I think, I’m the one driving this. It’s up to me to change gear, up or down. No one else is controlling the pedal.

Jonathan: Absolutely.

Lucy: So, when did you step away and start moving toward your own thing?

Jonathan: It started when the work I’d been getting at Asylum began to dry up. The gaps between when they needed me got wider and wider. Then, as computers started taking over traditional skills, I was left wondering what the hell I was going to do.

I even dabbled with digital sculpting. My wife, Serena, bought me some software for my computer to try my hand at sculpting digitally. I did a few jobs with it, but it just didn’t feel the same to me.

The trouble was, in my mind, there was no way you could earn a living in the arts. It felt like the only people who could make it were doing work like Tracy Emin or Damien Hirst. And I was a million miles from wanting to do anything like that.

I got quite depressed about it. I ended up going to a group session that was all about exploring yourself and your potential. It was a sort of self-discovery workshop. I remember wanting a summer house for our tiny garden—a space to use as a studio—but I kept arguing with myself about it.

During one session, the group literally grabbed hold of my arms, one side playing devil’s advocate and the other encouraging me to go for it. Eventually, they persuaded me to get the summer house. I did, and that’s where it all started.

I held an open studio event in my garden, even though I’d only produced about eight or nine sculptures. The public came round, and I sold some pieces. It was such a thrill—it had me hooked from that point.

Even from that first open studio, my little entry in the catalogue brought in commissions. I ended up getting some work for schools in Kent over the following couple of years. That was a steep learning curve—creating sculptures for public spaces and exhibitions.

But then things plateaued. I didn’t know how I was going to make a living like I had been before.

Lucy: It’s funny, isn’t it, this pervasive belief that you can’t make a living in the arts? It’s everywhere. I try to help at careers evenings with kids, and even now, it feels like I’m trying to make them believe in magic. They just think, No, I need a proper job, or I want to be well paid.

I try to get them to see that the creative industries are huge and that the world needs imaginative minds. But I can tell they don’t quite believe me—it’s like I’m speaking a foreign language to them.

Jonathan: Yeah, exactly.

Lucy: And believing in your own dreams—it’s such a hard thing to do, let alone convincing anyone else.

Jonathan: It really is.

Jonathan: Yeah, absolutely. And I didn’t really have any reason to believe in the possibility of making a living from art because my family would never have bought art. We were a working-class family, and it wasn’t something that ever crossed their minds. The commercial world just seemed to make more sense to me back then.

But the way things developed, it actually became quite difficult. I rented a barn on a farm for my workspace, but it didn’t have any windows and was quite small. During the winter, I’d go in while it was dark and leave again in the dark, which could feel pretty depressing.

I was doing a lot of resin casting at the time, and I got to the point where, whenever I sold something, I almost didn’t want to sell another because it meant I’d have to cast it again. It started to wear me down.

By 2015, I was really searching for help, and I came across the Pure Arts Group, which is run by Leslie Samms in my area. I read that she offered mentoring, and it just seemed like exactly the opportunity I’d been looking for. I reached out to her, and she’s been mentoring me ever since. She’s been wonderful.

The first thing she said to me was, “You can’t do everything yourself.” That advice made such a difference. After that, it seemed like the right people started coming into my life at the right time—assistants, collaborators. Lucy, my first assistant, stayed with me for six years, and now I have Sue, who’s been incredibly helpful.

When I moved into another barn—a larger one with windows—it changed everything. The new space felt more like the commercial world I used to work in, with people around and a sense of energy. It wasn’t so isolating anymore. That change of environment seemed to unlock a new phase for me, and things just started happening.

Lucy: I wonder if being in that dark barn was what inspired the luminous, colourful figures you create now. Did the darkness bring out the light?

Jonathan: Not exactly. It might have started there, but I think the change in energy after moving to the new barn played a bigger role. The additional space and light made a huge difference.

I remember working on a piece when I got a call from Linda Blackstone Gallery. They wanted to show my work in New York and Hong Kong. I couldn’t believe it at the time, and from there, things just kept building.

Lucy: The figures you create are stunning—beautiful on every level, from their surfaces to their colours and forms. Where did they originate? Have they always been in your mind, or did they evolve over time?

Jonathan: There’s always been an illustrative side to my work. Earlier in my career, I even illustrated books during challenging times or when I felt like I needed a break from messy, hands-on work. My degree show was actually focused on book illustration.

At that time, Spitting Image had just come out, and I loved the idea of using painted models for illustrations, like in the Sunday Times Magazine. But I hadn’t thought about the cost of producing something like that for a publisher. When I showed my work to publishers, they suggested I create a book myself and then come back, but that was too much for me to take on as a young artist starting out.

That idea of combining illustration and sculpture stuck with me, though. One pivotal piece I created in the dark barn was called 365. It was a sculpture made up of 365 small blocks, each representing a day of nature from a single year. Each block was based on observations from walks we took throughout that year, and together they formed a larger piece—a record of my life in nature.

After finishing 365, I felt like I had to keep working with that connection to nature. Living on the farm, I became more aware of the changing elements and seasons, and it deeply influenced my work.

As for the colours, they came from a mix of my past and something I was reading at the time—a book by Deepak Chopra. He talked about how, on a molecular level, we’re made of the same energy as everything in nature. That idea resonated with me, and I wanted to reflect it in my work.

Jonathan: So, I ended up with this idea for a sculpture—a figure that would also reflect nature. I wanted the figure to transform into a tree. While I traditionally sculpted the figure, I made the decision to cut into it, carving a tree-like pattern across its surface, almost like negative relief.

I then highlighted the leaves and branches with paint to create contrast, and that was where it all began. The response was positive, and I went on to create more pieces in a similar style. There were moments of self-doubt along the way, but my mentor encouraged me to keep pursuing this direction. Over time, I became more confident and relaxed, accepting that this was my style, and that continuing in this vein was the right path for me.

Lucy: I wanted to ask—are the figures inspired by dancers? Did that influence come from your time at the opera? They seem like dancers or nymphs. How would you describe them?

Jonathan: Oh, gosh. I think it has been, almost unconsciously, inspired by my time in theatre. I remember going to see the Bolshoi Ballet and other companies like the Kirov Ballet during the opera’s off-season. We’d even have lunch with the dancers. I can still picture these delicate Russian dancers queuing up for meals with enormous plates of food. You’d wonder, Where do they put it all?

Nowadays, I work with various models. I photograph them and choose poses that convey the idea I want to express. There wasn’t one specific dancer or inspiration—it’s more about finding the right look and pose to illustrate the feeling or concept I want to share.

Lucy: When I look at your sculptures, I feel like I want to be in their world, whatever that world is. Are they supposed to be otherworldly, or are they spirits of this world?

Jonathan: I see them as a kind of crossover between the figure and nature. Their eyes are often half-shut or closed, almost like they’re meditating. It’s as if they exist in both worlds at the same time—blending the human figure with the natural world. I suppose it’s an attempt to show what they might be thinking about, manifesting outwardly.

Lucy: I love that idea. Though I have to admit, when I try meditating, all I can think about is whether I’ve forgotten to take the washing out or something equally mundane! But the serenity in your work—do you think that’s something you’re seeking, or is it more about expressing who you are?

Jonathan: Oh, it’s definitely something I wish I had! I long to be more relaxed in life, but unfortunately, I’m full of artistic angst. Like you, I’ve tried meditation many times—even guided sessions. But they’ll say something like, Think of the colour yellow, and I’ll spend the rest of the time obsessing over which shade of yellow it should be.

I struggle with it, but I’m trying. We’ve moved to a beautiful place surrounded by countryside, and I’m constantly working on being more at peace. I couldn’t ask for a more idyllic place to live and work, but tension still creeps in from time to time.

Lucy: You have a successful business now, and as we all know, art isn’t just about creating—it’s a balancing act. You have to handle the business side too, or else your work won’t make it out into the world. That must come with its own pressures.

Jonathan: Absolutely, but I’m incredibly lucky. I have an amazing support system. My wife, Serena, handles all the admin for my business, which is a huge help. Then there’s my mentor, Leslie, who’s been an incredible guide.

Jonathan: I feel like I ought to be able to just focus on the making and not worry too much about everything else, but somehow it doesn’t work out that way.

Lucy: What’s the best part for you? Is there a moment in creating where you feel that high? It can’t all be angst!

Jonathan: No, definitely not. The first part of sculpting—when the idea starts to come together—is incredibly exciting. In the past, I’ve rushed through the armature stage because I’m so eager to throw clay on and really get into it. That has caused some problems toward the end of the process, but I’ve learned to slow down a bit.

Still, that initial roughness, when you’re just starting to shape the vision, is probably the most thrilling part for me.

Lucy: So, it’s seeing the vision you’ve imagined and sketched actually take form?

Jonathan: Exactly. It’s incredible. But then, as with most projects, that rush eventually ebbs. There’s a lot of labour involved to reach the final stage, and you need that initial burst of excitement to carry you through the slogging bits.

Lucy: I imagine the detailed surfaces on your work must take ages.

Jonathan: They do! I’m actually working on three pieces at the same time right now. I thought by alternating between them, I could avoid getting bogged down or feeling like the work was becoming monotonous.

Lucy: And has it worked?

Jonathan: Not entirely. The challenges you face with one figure seem to crop up with the others as well, so it can feel like you’re dealing with three times the difficulty. But I’m making progress—it’s all good.

Lucy: Do you spend much time looking at art yourself? How do you recharge your creative energy?

Jonathan: Honestly, most of my time is spent in the studio. When I first started working with my mentor, she insisted I visit as many galleries and exhibitions as possible to understand the art world better. She encouraged me to approach it as if I wasn’t an artist, just to see what’s out there.

It was a great exercise, but I haven’t done it much since. These days, the only art I see is whatever is displayed alongside mine at exhibitions or galleries.

Lucy: What about your habits when you’re working? Are you a thinker, someone who spends a lot of time mulling things over? Or are you more of a doer, always sketching and getting ideas down on paper?

Jonathan: I like to do some sketches beforehand, but I’m pretty impatient. I want to get started right away. That probably comes from my commercial background, where quick turnarounds were the norm.

I still treat my work a bit like a job—keeping fairly strict hours, working nine to five, six days a week. I set goals for each day and push myself to meet them. It’s quite regimented, really.

Lucy: Do you have routines that help with creativity or managing tension? A midday walk, maybe?

Jonathan: We have three acres here, so I often take a walk around in the mornings. When we first moved here, we’d also take walks along the seafront, which isn’t far away. We recently lost our dog, but I’m hoping we’ll get back into those seaside walks soon.

Lucy: Do you feel more refreshed after a walk?

Jonathan: Absolutely. I’ve even told Serena that if I’m ever really stressed or things aren’t going well, she should insist we head to the seafront. A bit of sea air works wonders.

Jonathan: It’s not always easy to pull myself away from something that isn’t going well. I feel like I have to keep going to fix it. But often, stepping away is the best thing to do.

Lucy: I get the sense you’re a bit of a workaholic!

Jonathan: I think you’re right. I’m trying, though. More and more, I’m working on finding balance.

Lucy: Could you tell everyone where they can find out more about you and your work?

Jonathan: Of course! My website is jonathanhately.com. You can also find me on Instagram at @jonathansculpts and on Facebook at Jonathan Hately Sculpture.

Lucy: Do you have any exhibitions coming up next year where people can see your work?

Jonathan: Yes, likely at the Affordable Art Fair with Linda Blackstone Gallery. They’re held at Hampstead Heath and Battersea. Keep an eye on my website—everything will be updated there.

Lucy: It’s great that your website is so up-to-date. Thank you so much for chatting with me today, Jonathan.

Jonathan: Thank you, Lucy. I’ve really enjoyed it.

What struck me most about Jonathan Hately was his honesty about the creative process. His serene, meditative sculptures contrast sharply with his candid admission of the artistic angst that he still wrestles with. It’s beautifully human—this contradiction between the man and his work—and it’s something many creatives can relate to.

I loved his description of attempting guided meditation and getting stuck on the shade of yellow he was supposed to imagine. It was such a comforting insight into the artist’s mind—fascinating, detailed, and delightfully human.

His story about the dark, windowless barn where he began his career struck a chord. It’s a stark example of how our environments shape us. Many of us are just grateful to have any workspace at all, let alone one with luxuries like windows. But that space didn’t bring out the best in him, and it took a change of scene to help him truly grow.

What I admired most about Jonathan is his refusal to let creative barriers define him. He actively sought out the tools and people who could help him break through them, even though it was uncomfortable. His group sessions and his mentor were pivotal in helping him see the value of investing in his first studio and taking steps toward a career in art.

Jonathan also credited the incredible women in his life for much of his success—his wife Serena, his mentor Leslie, and his studio assistant. It’s a beautiful reminder that even the most talented creators need a strong support system to thrive. We can’t all excel at every aspect of life, and sharing the load allows for greater growth and creativity.

Lastly, Jonathan’s sculptures speak to a longing for serenity and connection with nature. While he admits he hasn’t found the peace he portrays in his work, his art continues to inspire and transport viewers to a world of quiet reflection and beauty.

If you’d like to support the show, consider picking up one of my books. For example, Wax On Wax Off is perfect for anyone who owns a bronze sculpture and wants to learn how to care for it. It’s full of practical tips and advice, and the FAQ section has been particularly popular.

If buying a book isn’t in your budget, you can still help the show by spreading the word. Our listener numbers have grown significantly this year, but I’d love to see even more Sculpture Vultures join the tribe. Please rate, review, and share the podcast to help others discover it.

I’ll see you again for a special Christmas episode in a couple of weeks. Until then, happy December and happy creating!

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