Eoghan O’Driscoll is inspecting a small blank canvas in his Kilkenny studio.

“The work is what it is,” he says. “It’s not always darkness into light, but includes both aspects of the universal condition. As a society, we’re in denial of that. We’re told to be happy or to become IFSC accountants. That’s what you’re meant to aspire towards, but it’s not on the cards for me, I don’t think.”

Born in Kilkenny, Eoghan is a nephew of the poet Dennis O’Driscoll. In recent years Eoghan himself has attracted attention as an artist, most notably after he was featured on the Late Late Show, as part of Brent Pope’s 2015 art expo Beyond: Outsider Art. His work encompasses his personal struggles with schizophrenia, addiction and homelessness. But while he is clear that painting will not solve these problems, he does believe that art can be a way to own, understand and control them. DARK AND DEMONIC

We meet is his studio space. It was once part of an auxiliary hospital; now, under the ownership of TASK Art Group (Training and Support Kilkenny), it houses a rehabilitative training programme, which is part of Kilkenny’s mental health services.

He leads me from the corner where he paints, into a corridor: along the way, he stops to points out a small doctor’s office.

“This is the place I’ve my eyes set on, because I need to be able to work alone. We’re experimenting with other artists, people in different phases of recovery. It’s six female artists and me, which can do my head in. I mean, it’s great too. You get to learn from their art and stories. You can feel very alone with depression, like nobody understands your pain. Places like these are great, because you realise that other people in the world are suffering too.”

We reach a second room. He has propped different works of his against each of the walls. One is a frail face on a dark blue background, which he is donating to the Peter McVerry Trust; there’s a work depicting currachs on the Aran Islands; and a 14-metre-tall homage to Dante Alighieri.

“It’s this idea of flying into more enlightened territory,” he explains of the Dante image. “It’s dark too, but it’s leaving that darkness behind.

“I have these William Blake moments where I feel art is an expression of my spirituality,” he adds. “I would have been very existential for a long time, very inspired by Irishmen like Francis Bacon and Beckett. Their reality, though, is this godless, bleak world where there’s only shit on the ground.”

“I’ve learned from them. I’ve read them and believed they were right. But I’ve come to my own conclusions on life. Four or five years ago when I started painting it was so fucking dark, it was demonic. Genuinely. I was in the grips of addiction, out of hospital and homeless for a while. That was real fucking hard. The pavements were hard. I reflect upon that now: my reality.”

MORE COMPASSIONATE

The recurring motif in his work is faces – typically warped, gaunt and isolated. Reminiscent of the primitive styles of Willem de Kooning or Jean Michel Basquiat, the visages remain relatively similar, while the background, framing and colour scheme change drastically.

“There hasn’t always been a progression,” he says matter-of-factly. “Maybe moreso now. There’s more of a technique to my work, but is a naïve, brute art. These are my visual diaries”.

The vagaries of the weather, he stresses have an enormous impact on the palate.

“In the summer, the colours can be glorious. Then winter comes and it is dark, greys and blacks. Weather for me is huge. My schizophrenia is extremely weather-dependent. So if I look at old paintings, I can remember immediately what I am trying to say, how I felt and when it was done.”

In his more recent work though, he notes that the faces have begun to blur with the surroundings. “It’s the idea of being one with the land and environment. The lines between me and the world no longer exist, after years of being institutionalised and hospitalised.

“I feel like I have to explore this darker side of life, because I don’t have the choice to breeze through it and avoid depression. It’s no joke to end up in an institution and have people saying to me, ‘You’re going to spend the rest of your life here’. I don’t get to avoid this pain or pretend it doesn’t exist for me and many, many other people. That’s made me who I am. I’m more compassionate now.”