Villa Mexicana: Q+A with Matt Sinclair

We’re delighted to welcome Matt Sinclair to the gallery, a self-taught painter whose work sits at the intersection of narrative, memory, and imagination. Based on the windswept shores of Muriwai Beach, Matt creates paintings that feel both intimate and mythic, layered with traces of stories half-remembered and half-dreamed.

Blending expressive figuration with a tactile approach to paint, his works are imbued with a raw emotional honesty, humorous, haunted, and deeply human. Each piece offers an invitation to linger, to look closer, and to discover something unexpected beneath the surface.

Below, we speak with Matt about the evolution of his practice, the balance between painting and medicine, and the sense of story and escape that runs through his latest body of work.

You’re self-taught, yet your work carries such confidence. Where did your passion for painting begin, and how have you developed your practice along the way?

I honestly can’t pinpoint the exact moment that made me pick up a paintbrush, it just sort of happened about 15 years ago. At the start, my relationship with painting was very hot and cold. I was drawn to creating beautiful oil portraits, but as a self taught artist, I had no real understanding of technique and often found myself frustrated with my progress. That frustration eventually pushed me to explore much more abstract work, which turned out to be a really valuable period of growth. It taught me to embrace layering, to paint freely, and not to cling too tightly to any one idea if something didn’t work, I’d paint over it or let fragments peek through.

Over time, I felt the need to evolve from pure abstraction into what has become my current style, I feel my work now still holds on to some of that wildness and spontaneity but now carries more of a story.

Being self taught, there’s still a lot of trial and error in my process, but I’ve come to love that. It keeps the work alive and always moving forward.

This recent body of work draws inspiration from Mexico, what draws you to that imagery and atmosphere? And how does it sit alongside your life on the New Zealand coast?

What I love most about this body of work is that it doesn’t really feel like New Zealand at all, it transports you somewhere entirely different. That sense of escape is something I try to make a key feature of all my work. I’m drawn to paintings that leave space for the imagination, where the viewer can project their own memories and emotions. The imagery inspired by Villa Mexicana captures that perfectly - it’s vibrant, a little wild, and full of stories that feel both familiar and distant.

I think the contrast between my surroundings and the world I paint is what makes it exciting. I want people to look at these works and feel as though they’ve caught a fleeting glimpse of another place, as if they’ve travelled there themselves, even just for a moment.

There’s a real sense of storytelling in your paintings, as if each work holds a moment from a larger narrative. Do you tend to start with a story in mind, or do these worlds reveal themselves as you paint?

There’s always a story in mind when I begin, a loose thread that guides the work. Of course, not every moment of that story can make it onto the canvas, so I start by layering in all the elements that feel connected, then gradually pare things back. The process feels a bit like piecing together a memory, some fragments remain vivid, while others fade or transform into something unexpected.

What matters most is that the story feels alive. I try not to hold on too tightly; if a part no longer fits, I cover it and begin again.

That act of painting over, often leads to something more truthful, but i will often acknowledge them by leaving parts slightly visible. That process of building, editing, and rediscovering often leads to the most interesting outcomes.

Your paintings have a certain earnestness and even humour to them, they feel deeply human. Is that something you consciously aim for, or does it emerge naturally through your process?

I think it’s something I aim for, but it also happens quite naturally through the process. I tend to like a painting best when certain details are left unresolved and when there’s space for the imagination to wander. That sense of incompleteness invites people in, allowing them to find their own meaning or humour in the work.

It’s important to me that the paintings feel both light-hearted and quietly reflective. I love the idea of someone sitting at their dinner table and enjoying themselves being drawn into it, maybe puzzling over it a little. If a painting can hold that balance between playfulness and depth, then it feels alive to me.

Outside of painting, you’re also studying medicine; two worlds that seem quite different. Do you find any crossover between the two, or do they offer a kind of balance for you?

While the day-to-day practice of medicine and painting couldn’t be more different, I’ve come to love them both for a similar reason - the work is never truly finished. There’s always more to learn, new ways to grow, and endless opportunities to refine what you do.

I was a painter first, and medicine came later, almost by accident.

Now that I’ve finished studying, painting has become something deeply restorative for me, a way to balance the structure and intensity of my medical work. My passion for painting has only grown stronger through this balance, and who knows, maybe one day the roles will reverse again.

Congratulations on your recent Aotearoa Music Award for Best Album Artwork with Tami Neilson. How did that collaboration come about, and what was it like translating your visual language into a music context?

Thank you! Tami’s a friend of mine, and she already had one of my paintings, so she was familiar with my work and how I approach storytelling through imagery. I’ve been a fan of her music for a long time, so when she asked me to collaborate, it was an easy yes.

Tami only had a couple of specific requests, being her and Willie riding horseback, and his famous guitar. From there, the painting came together quite naturally, thankfully she trusted me so much with the process.

Finally, what do you hope people feel or take away when they encounter your work for the first time?

More than anything, I want people to enjoy themselves. I hope there’s a moment of connection or curiosity, something that lingers with them after they’ve walked away. If a painting can spark a feeling that’s both personal and a little mysterious, then that’s enough for me, even if they can't quite put their fingers on why.