In July Doig was awarded Japan’s Praemium Imperiale Prize for Painting: it fits, because the Edinburgh-born painter has had an imperial year, even outside of rocketing auction prices (an estimate doubling £14m for 1994’s Ski Jacket at Christie’s last August) that he’s denounced as ‘crazy’. Doig’s show at London’s Serpentine Galleries, House of Music, spanned 2002–25 and explored music’s influence on his art; it also reconfirmed that his koanlike and jewel-toned canvases, which build on a slate of influences from Edvard Munch to metaphysical painting, have hugely imprinted the decade-long revival of painterly figuration. In October Doig, with his partner, curator Parinaz Mogadassi, launched a temporary project space in London, reportedly with plans to open a gallery, too. The Serpentine show also found Doig formally innovating, building a world of analogue experience that pushes against digitality, by combining his paintings with century-old loudspeakers and DJ sessions by artists including Arthur Jafa and Ed Ruscha, plus furniture in case, the artist suggested, people want to take a nap. At this point, though, nobody’s sleeping on Doig.