Having an art exhibition seems to be one of the celebrity tick-list items, along with writing a children’s book and…
“I wouldn’t say I was a celebrity,” interjects Jim Moir. Those who know him as anarchic, surrealist comedian Vic Reeves, darling of 1990s TV, might disagree, but Moir, 67, is adamant.
“When I was young, people never even referred to us as celebrities,” he says in the echoing David Hockney Gallery at the baroque edifice of Cartwright Hall in Bradford, West Yorkshire. “It seems a bit like, ‘Oh, look at me, check me out.’ But no, I’m just a painter.”
The proof of Moir’s words is all around. Moir’s eclectic exhibition of paintings and drawings, Neo Fauna, launched there at the end of March and runs until 31st August.
Later that day, at the launch evening, he will tell the attendees, “I’ve been painting since I was born.” Indeed, he looks every inch the artist, in a three-button pinstripe suit and fedora.
But the Vic Reeves persona can’t help but force his way out of Moir, who, when delivering his welcome address, starts off by pulling a Bruce Forsyth pose with the mic stand, then quips about being the only artist other than Hockney to exhibit in the room: “His residue lingers on the walls. Until I came in and spoilt it.”
Earlier, he tells me: “When I started doing The Big Night Out, in theatres, that was just an extension of the art. I’m just an artist, full stop. And all the stuff that was on TV was me attempting to do art on TV.”
“All that stuff on TV” includes Big Night Out, which debuted on Channel 4 in 1990 and introduced Moir and long-time associate Bob Mortimer to a wider audience after his comedy club gigs and stage shows, where he cultivated an alter ego that was part big band singer, part Eric Morecambe and part Pythonesque madness. A move to the BBC brought The Smell of Reeves and Mortimer and chaotic panel show Shooting Stars.
Moir’s art is equally eclectic. On display at Cartwright Hall are jazzy canvases of his beloved birds, in watercolour and oils, and the grotesquery that is American Couples—family portraits he has found online and painted over to disturbing effect.
The conventional wisdom is that an artist should stick to one style to be successful. Moir declines. “It’s not deliberate. I don’t really think about it, but I know that I’ve got different styles, and I don’t really care,” he says. “I know I should probably stick with one, but it’s like I say, there’s only one go at life. I want to do lots of different things in tandem.”
Moir was born in Leeds, moving with his parents and younger sister to Darlington, County Durham, when he was five. He came from a working-class background, but the family was arty—Thursday evenings, he recalls, they would go to the library or art gallery for entertainment. But when he said he wanted to go to art school, his dad put his foot down and told him to go and get a trade in a factory making railway parts.
Moir says, “It was diabolical. I hated every minute.” He did eventually get to art school in London, and, years later, his dad confessed he wished he’d let him go sooner. Moir recalls, “I said, well, maybe if you had, I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing now.”
What he would like to see is more encouragement for young people to follow art as a career, something that never seemed an option for Moir when he was young. “Especially in government, they think it’s a bit of a frou-frou. They think art is just a bit of fluff that you do of an evening, when you’ve been to work in the shop or in the office. The government really needs to pull their finger out when it comes to art.”
And what would that young man in the North East working diabolical shifts in the factory think to see this exhibition today? “Oh, just gobsmacked. Thrilled. If I’d known at 15 that I’d be doing this, I’d be very excited. I’d be like, ‘I can’t wait to get old.’”
Neo Fauna by Jim Moir is at the Cartwright Hall Gallery, Bradford, until 31st August 2026
