SWV

2009 will be a terrific year as the studio is more studioier.
The resolution will be not to whinge, brag, or defensively justify my existence.

The above pic is where I'd love to catch up some time.

May your art be artistic and your surf surfable.
& (To Chris & Ian, with no apologies for alliteration)
May your dishes be dilectable and your discussions dialectical.

A Little Trumpeting

The redgum carving had a solid week and the last surf was interrupted by the leggy-plug ripping out along with half the tail.

A comment left by Ian on the last blog mentions (besides the compliments & enjoyable anecdote of shared experience) the exploitation of art by the 'free market'.
As tempted as I am to rant on this subject, I'd prefer to refer anyone interested to a book by Peter Timms, 'What's Wrong With Contemporary Art?' (UNSW Press, 2004), who argues the case rather eloquently.
In defence of the gallery owners who tend to choose artists they can bank on, I suppose it really comes down to a case of 'supply and demand'.

I've been inadvertently recalcitrant by indulging in: prolonged and penetrating studies, relentless observation and surveying, intuitive lateral research and seeking/googling obscure readings, and generally experimenting with media and techniques.
Always done out of curiousity. The aim is to arrive at an informed position with work that demonstrates supreme skill (no less!).
The status I suppose I wish to achieve is that of a person who knows himself, his society, and his landscape with minimal compromise. A maverick geographer perhaps! The artwork that results should therefore have an inherent power and integrity.

Sometimes this is not the case, however, it most often is and usually gets forgotten under a pile or shelved, moving on to the next 'thing'. The drive comes from a pride in a vocation, despite lack of recognition, let alone remuneration.

The art is not trendy or cool. It does not superficially regurgitate. Perhaps it is boring to most, but it is a reflection of the me that you otherwise cannot see, and also, most awkwardly, of society.

The Mutton Bird

While I'm back in 2005 (a prodigious year) I'd like to share the background to this seemingly boring seascape drawing.

It's October and I'm living in Port Fairy. I was drawing daily, one in the morn and another in the arvo. Its getting late and I'm racing the light. I'm perched upon one of the 'Mounds of Joy', entertained by a coupla toe-in surfers tearing-up 'Green Island', when suddenly there arrived a handful of Mutton Birds or Shearwaters from nowhere all whorling about me. Steadily their numbers increased. It was the arrival of their annual migration. Now I'm surrounded by thousands with many zipping only inches away from my nose. I didn't know if they were happy/cheeky or aggressive/threatened, but i just kept drawing anyway in a rather rapturous state. My camera was broken at the time and the only way to capture the experience in a non-abstract manner was to piece together a single bird as night fell (I had this thing about only drawing realistically from life at the time).

At a later date I was showing my drawings to a gallery owner who ridiculed my art suggesting that there wasn't much to them. That bloody wanker devoed me saying, "what's this? who cares about a stupid bird". But I suppose I did really need to have gone into a studio and executed a large abstract oil to express the wow factor (had no room or money to do so anyway). Otherwise you really just had to be there.

Life Distillation

The above pic was executed in Feb 2005.
It was a breakthrough of sorts.
A coupla dozen had preceded it, and this one started to contain some magic, or serendipity, which came from an intuitive approach, or process.

It has elements of the coast, but more importantly, it is an emotional portrait of sorts, capturing in essence the circumstances of an important relationship at that moment.

It wasn't 'new-media', or 'innovative', or a 'social-commentary', or 'shocking'.
Of course it was ignored when exibited, leaving me to believe it was simply neurotic and self-absorbed.
It was honest, personal, cathartic and deeply reflective, and I think, great art.