'I’m the product of a smashed-up family': How Sean Scully became the greatest abstract painter alive Portrait of the artist on the occasion of his exhibition in Paris

By Jonathan Jones 

He has survived loss, breakdown and schooling by ‘scary nuns’, but the anguish is still there in his art. As his new show thrills Paris, the US-based, Irish-born artist talks about the pain that drives him

When I ask Sean Scully what an abstract painting has over a figurative one it’s music he reaches for. 'You might ask, what’s Miles Davis got over the Beatles? And the answer is: doesn’t have any words in it. And then you could say, what have the Beatles got over John Coltrane? Well, they’ve got words.'

It’s clear which choice he has made. Scully, who paints rectangles and squares and strips of colour abutting and sliding into each other, is an instrumentalist in paint rather than a pop artist. The meaning of his art is something you feel, not something you can easily describe. He has more in common with Davis and Coltrane than with the Beatles. In addition to improvisational brilliance, his new paintings even colour-match with Coltrane’s classic album Blue Train and Davis’s Kind of Blue. For Scully, the greatest living abstract painter, is playing the blues in Paris. In his current exhibition at the city’s Thaddaeus Ropac Gallery, long, textured blue notes as smoky as a sax at midnight alternate and mingle with black and red and brown in a slow, sad, beautiful music that doesn’t need words, art that doesn’t require images. [...]

'When you listen to Nessun Dorma,' he says, again reaching for music as an analogy, 'it makes you cry – but you don’t know what the words are. That’s what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to break people’s hearts. I want to make abstraction popular without lowering the bar.'