June 19, 2014
How little visual information do we need to recognise a person? From a surprisingly great distance all we need is the shape, the shapes a body makes as it moves in its own particular fashion.
Laying watercolor onto paper is like feeling the skin, as a liquid membrane. Steadfast in it’s role as protector, skin is what separates us physically from almost everything else. It contains the unique shape and form of each of us.
February 8, 2013
Well it’s been a while but it’s time to begin this story again. The stumbling block was a silly mistake of mine – I accidentally deleted most of the images off this blog, and realising the enormity of the task of reposting them, I ignored the whole thing for as long as I could. Over the next little while all or most will be restored.
May 8, 2011
Today a cloud was blown around me by a small breeze as I sat on top of Mount McKay. It covered the sun and arched above my head and filled my view in a half dome. A chill came with it and a feeling of expectancy.
For much of the past two days up there in the alps the clouds skipped across a blue sky and threw shadows on yellow ochre plains. Silver skeletons of burnt bleached snow gums looked like fur from a distance and like cast metal close up.
While I sat there painting, my son Tom rang to wish me a happy mothers day. I was very happy, and here is the painting.
I have always loved the sea, but living here near the mountains I’m discovering a different peacefulness that comes from emersing myself in a wild place. It’s the quiet and the coolness.
I know it can be the opposite to that, but not this time.
May 3, 2011
A few days ago we heard on the news that a young man and his three children were killed in an air raid. His father, a megalomaniac, was the intended target.
Last night we heard that a man who is responsible for many acts of violence around the world was killed in a surprise attack. ‘He used his wife as a human shield’ they said.
Both reports made me feel sick. It was the smiles on people’s faces that did it. Of course the world can do without such men. And I reckon I would feel like avenging a murdered loved one, and it all makes me feel sick.
I feel compelled to post a quote I saw in my friend’s studio recently.
“I object to violence because when it appears to do good, the good is only temporary; the evil it does is permanent.” Mahatma Gandhi.
April 19, 2011
A flock, a gaggling squawking bunch of birds,
the sound coming closer across the sea of sky ahead.
They come towards me sitting there at Mum’s back door
eating toast drinking coffee on this quiet Sunday morning.
They flash and flutter, wheeling in unison
then disperse then gather again.
Is this Hitchcock’s dream?
Arguing at high volume
checking positions or deciding where to land
or maybe exclaiming delight for the view
they dance over me and around and away.
The noise fades and I see at last
they are flashing jewels, confetti, a celebration.