"The Old Man And Buddha" (114.5 x 76.5cm)

There's a place in Paris, that takes my breath away. Nestled behind large, ornate, black wrought iron gates is a door that leads into a little romantic escapism.

The Buddha-bar is in rue Boissy d’Anglas. It is a half lit fantasy world inhabited by an electric blue dragon, enamel red chandeliers and a gilded two story buddha that oversees this setting, where French and Asian seamlessly fuse in style, mood and food.

But above all, it is home to a sound that I have learnt to love and create with in my studio. Music from the world is melded here, a rich stir fry that infuses my spirit with a melancholy that transports me to the other side when I am in the depths of making art. 

There’s a fashionable trend in the west to pursue some essence of Buddhism, without a desire to commit to all the rigours the discipline requires. In our material world it sits awkwardly, for at its heart is a simple life. A commitment to a set of straight forward fundamentals that allow us to embrace life with little. 

As I looked out my hotel window in Paris, I realised the old man I had watched across the road, sitting on his street corner day after day, in a quiet and dignified  manner, had it.

"A Life Of Cube" (114.5 x 76.5cm) Charcoal, pastel and graphite on paper.

The artist lives a life of observation and questions. 

They respond with visual commentaries.

The cube appeared after my first trip overseas. My initial concerns of not being able to survive in countries with strange languages, signs, timetables, currencies and customs soon gave way to the excitement of these differences. I realized I could adapt, and that in fact I was a very self contained, self sufficient and adaptable package. A box of capabilities. Place me anywhere in the world, and I could survive. 

I place myself in my art as a cube. And onto the faces are tattooed the icons that are pictorial representations of my journey so far.

"Difficult Pleasures" 114.5cm x 76.5cm, Graphite, charcoal and pastel on paper.

I place all artists on a pedestal. Even those I don’t understand. Unique beings that walk amongst us. Questioners, seekers, provokers, illuminators. I like this idea.

They are often misunderstood, gentle, passive and eloquent. I like this idea also.

They are singular. They march to the beat of their own drum, and from the outside, are believed to have received a “gift”, but maybe the universe has  just chosen them to speak through.

Few realise the endless hours of practice and self discipline that allows these talents to be realised, and mostly for little reward. I love the artist, but they are under valued.

Brett Whitely spoke of the need for every artist to acknowledge their “gift” and use it. It is not an option, but an imperative of being born with it, to realise it. You have no choice in the matter.

I am often weighed down by this “most difficult pleasure”. On occasions, I hide behind my talent in fear.

"Ladders" (114.5 x 76.5 cm)

Ladders appear often in my work. They are intended for ascending only. I aspire to loftier heights in life and art. 

I first recognized the significance of ladders as I listened to the Waterboys song, “Whole of the Moon”. The chorus has become my mission statement in life, to try to see the big picture. I hope to quietly leave this place, with that beautiful song playing all around me. 

“A torch in your pocket and the wind at your heels,

You climbed on a ladder and you know how it feels

to get to high, 

too far,

too soon,

I saw the crescent, you saw the whole of the moon

"To Search In Shifting Sands" (114.5 x 76.5 cm)

I often feel removed from my surroundings (or do I remove myself?) 

I watch and listen. I have formed strong opinions on all sorts of topics, but am able to consider and appreciate many other points of view as well. I consider all sides of an argument. 

We mindlessly follow the popular opinion of the majority, believing collectively they must be right. How could so many be wrong? For thousands of years popular opinion considered the world to be flat, until just one man had the courage to question this “truth”. 

Society panders to the “truths” of an ignorant majority. 

Like some of the lofty statues I saw overseas, I feel removed from it all. I look down and silently consider the shifting sands around me. So often, my truth doesn’t seem to fit the majority. Sometimes I feel like I don’t fit anywhere any more. I’m looking for a door.

I've let this site slip for a while, not due to apathy, but due to a furious need to create artwork.

Months spent in my studio. Standing at my easel from early morning, until late in the afternoon. Many CDs later, and with numerous sticks of incense lying in ash, I create. I am unaware of the world, I am lost. At a certain point I cease to exist in the work, and the work takes over. These are the most joyous of moments.

Timeless happiness born out of the simplest of elements. Paper, charcoal, pastel.

 

The Struggle for Something New

I was sitting in a small seaside village on the west coast of France last year (Granville), trying to extract some inspiration and direction for a new body of Art. In previous years I had painted oil on canvases and enjoyed it enormously. But each morning when I woke up and studied the pieces, I felt they missed the point.

In the days prior to Granville, I had gone back to the Musee D'Orsay in Paris, with a view of studying the works on the top floor from purely an analytical and technical point of view, and not that of an ogling tourist. The names didn't matter. At the end of 5 absorbing hours and a journal full of notes and studies, I caught the train west.

I sat in my hotel room for 4 days, analysing what I had written and what is was about certain works that  appealed beyond the norm. Patterns emerged. Techniques were revealed. Themes unfolded. A new body of ideas was born.

A week later I was back in my studio on the Sunshine Coast and raring to explore these yet to be realised images. Ideas had yet to be given form. I had expected to continue working in paint, but thought initially, I could capture the necessary spontaneity and energy of my ideas rapidly, with charcoal and white pastel on brown Kraft paper, a handful of erasers to eradicate and cut back in with, and a clutch of 7B's for quick-fire mark making. Nothing fussy. Nothing precious.

The energy and fun that was lacking in those morning paintings, was to reveal itself.