Amongst his own classic influences are the Victorian artists John Atkinson Grimshaw (1836 – 1893) – also self-taught - who had a similar, almost obsessive eye for detail, as did the much less known Hedley Fitton (1858 – 1929) whose etchings of street scenes would go on to inform Doig’s own practice as a printmaker. ‘They were brilliant draftsmen,’ he says, ‘before they could paint, they could draw. First and foremost.’ So too was James McNeill Whistler (1834 –1905) whose book of etchings was a familiar references tool which he kept in his studio as a young artist. Either in Fitton’s quotidian street scenes, Grimshaw’s moon-lit landscapes, or Whistler’s dramatic Nocturnes, atmosphere and an intense enthusiasm for illustrating life and its surface texture in detail, are key to how we relate to them.

Doig is well known for his own ambient representations of buildings, boats and ruins, which often reflect his concerns about mankind’s relationship with the landscape, and the dynamic effects of time that are amplified when a building loses its purpose. This feeling is experienced in pictures like Moorland House in Winter (2) which reflects a sort of northern gothic drama that augments itself through the contrast of the natural landscape and the characteristics of Doig’s subjects, whether a building, boat or otherwise. These are romantic images inspired by common subjects which makes them disarmingly familiar to the viewer. Like pages torn from the book of life.

There is a quasi-surrealism which inhabits his pictures, that slowly reveals itself once the initial seduction has passed, and you find yourself in a state of somnambulism, journeying backwards through your own memories and traces of days out in the country, summer holidays on the coast, or showery Saturday afternoons visiting distant relatives.  This feeling of fragmentation is created by the unusual framing devices Doig often employs in his pictures.  In this sense he is very Whistlerian in the structuring his paintings and prints. Like Whistler, he is not afraid to bisect the picture plane with strong verticals and horizontal elements (Fal Oyster Boat, Mylor Harbour (4)), exaggerate the play of light and shadow (Lighthouse with Morning Shadows, Flamborough Head II (9)) or close crop his subjects (Southwold Rooftops II (29). Much like a photograph will capture elements of objects that extend outside the lens’ reach, these components provide us with a sense of what lies beyond the canvas. He has the ability to express a complete image in only a few dissonant notes, much like a fragmented memory, hence the feeling of distant familiarity in his work.

His own understanding of his subjects comes from close observation, from studying them in person, by water or by land, often camping out with them and coexisting in their own terrain. For his most recent collection of works he has turned his attention to the Cornish and Devon coast, to Newton Ferrers and Fowey and where the Percuil River meets the sea at St Mawes. He was directed there by David Messum who suggested that his particular painting style could liberate the Cornish light in a way that had previously been adapted to elucidating his Northern, post-industrial landscapes. It was new territory for Doig in more ways than one. Barring a brief trip as a child, the encounter with his Cornish subjects last summer was a new one.  ‘It isn’t Northern at all!’ he reflected, comparing it to his home county. ‘Yorkshire is much danker and darker in tone.’ He had known full well of the artistic tradition of plein air painting associated with Cornwall but had not yet been quite ready to make the pilgrimage.