Output and input

When I came to write today, I had to face the awful truth that I didn’t really have anything to say.

One might see this as an output problem – no ideas, no grand thoughts, no insights. I actually think it’s an input problem.

After a period of not much reading, of saving articles and interesting bits on the computer but not going back to digest the information, and a generally intellectually lazy time, I haven’t exposed myself to anything new. I’ve ground to a bit of a halt, mentally, and now it’s showing!

So it seems my task is to keep this post brief, find something bright and shiny to read and actually be inspired to think.

Until later,


Being friends

I decided recently, or perhaps I just finally realised, that having an art practice is having a friend.

Mine’s not too demanding – one might even say forgiving. It accepts times of inattention and superficial contact. It is patient. It remains constant during periods of my frustration and confusion, my indecision and fumbling.

An art practice is a long-term companion. It hangs around, present and comforting. It flourishes when we interact, as I do; retains its potential during all sorts of experimentation and failures; is stoic in the face of doubt. It celebrates with me and grows a little with each success.

It boosts me, inspires me to be better, draws out positivity and hope. It sits by me during long days and facilitates exciting opportunities.

My art practice is less something I do and more something I exist with. We walk together, often silently, sometimes joyously but always closely.

Until later,


There is a tension

For my family, Christmas is an important time – not in much of a commercial sense but as a perfect excuse to gather at our favourite place.

But although it is all a delightfully relaxed affair, I do harbour certain little rituals in the lead-up – the major one being that the fun of the Christmas preparations should (for me) be a December event (except the making of the cake ….. the earlier the better! Thank you, Mum xx). I do despair at the post-Hallowe’en Christmas influx in stores. Even the streets have already been decorated as the festive season becomes the fifth measurable period in the calendar.

But, I am a highly organised person and I have time on my hands. Therein lies the tension. It’s not even mid-November and I’m ready, set to roll, and already excited, notwithstanding the fact that celebrations this year, thanks to COVID, will look a little different. I hold the small selection of gifts, food, a box packed with essentials and a comforting collection of lists.

So, I’m laughing at my wanton disregard for my previous self-imposed discipline! So much for willpower. Haha! There is definite tension, an agonising betrayal of self.

But if that’s my biggest challenge for this month then I am, of course, the most fortunate of people!

Until later,

With a smile,


Crossing over

I ventured into Victoria yesterday. I was delivering a load of paintings to the owner of Koopman’s Gallery in Dunkeld. I could only travel seventy kilometres into the state so she met me at a little town called Coleraine where we exchanged the goods.

It was quite a procedure to get there: an early-morning application and subsequent approval from SA Police and a COVID test before departing with a requirement to repeat weekly. Once I’d surreptitiously handed over the art work (maskless – oops) I felt like I’d been involved in some clandestine drug deal.

It is certainly a bizarre time when Australian state borders are closed or have limited penetrability. We are so accustomed to freedom of movement in our country that the flashing ROAD CLOSED sign coming into South Australia was slightly disturbing. It was a reminder, in this state where the Coronavirus is partially disappearing into memory and social distancing seems a product of mere politeness, that the world is still in turmoil. Increasingly so.

I am yet to see today whether Victoria has had a third consecutive count of zero new cases. From afar, this seems like an extraordinary achievement. I have no doubt it has also been arduous. And long. And destructive. But, perhaps, successful. I am overwhelmed, can barely understand, the rates of infection in other parts of the world. May our isolation protect us a little.

And so, as I head to the studio to paint trees in crazy colours, I wonder whether I should be creating some sort of artistic response to this phenomenon that is, hopefully, a once-in-a-lifetime event. On the other hand, there are others better equipped to do that and trees are a little bit alive and hopeful. I’ll probably stick to the usual modus operandi, now that I think about it.

Until later,


Shining through

I made a mess of a painting the other day. That is not uncommon and, while frustrating, not a cause for undue alarm. Because canvasses are reasonably valuable, I need to try to re-use them if I can. Not surprisingly, the design on this particular canvas was bold so I needed to cover it up adequately before being able to begin something new.

My first step was to paint over it with black gesso. Gesso is a primer used to give a good painting surface to canvas. The black is effective at blotting out previous images and, although it takes several coats of white to reinstate a clean canvas, it is still my preferred option.

The black seemed to work as well as can be expected (no over-layer completely removes the textural remains of the first work. Visible shapes and raised lines hang around – ‘shadows’, if you like, of a work now lost). So, onto the white gesso – the first coat of three.

What I discovered, though, was colour bleeding through from underneath into the new layer. The more gesso I laid on and the more I brushed, the more colour was drawn to the surface. At first it was a hint, and then an undeniable hue. Eventually, I had a fully-blown abstract painting! Two things became obvious; firstly, one of the brands of ink I had been using was not sufficiently permanent and, secondly, gesso was not effective as a fixing medium.

So I began to wonder about us, human and ever-changing. How many layers do we need to apply, and will there ever be enough anyway, to hide our true colours? Will what we deeply are, what we are really feeling, escape the confines of over-painting and, eventually, rise to the outside – joyously or reluctantly, well-received or otherwise? Or, on the other hand, can we take a piece that is perhaps flawed and create something new without traces of what once was?

Food for thought.

And I won’t use those inks again.

Until later,


I’m sorry. I drifted off.

After years of unintentional, involuntary and, probably, inevitable practice, I have developed a disappointingly short attention span. They say that is the fairly universal truth of the modern world but I would have hoped to hold out longer than I have. I read headlines without delving further, can take in only a few pages of a book before getting distracted and rarely watch anything on the television that requires more than a cursory investment.

I received an email (I skimmed the majority of it) from a workplace guru that I follow called Chris Brogan who spoke of people’s desire, or need perhaps, for ‘just the facts’. Stories and elaboration lose people. The current mode in articles, blogs, seminars and the like, is to cut straight to the chase, hit the guts right from the off . Newspapers have been doing it for years with their clipped paragraphs and carefully structured format of material of descending importance. The rest of the world is simply catching up.

When it is necessary, I can still focus but it does require a discipline that perhaps it shouldn’t. I tend to ‘psych up’ before and rest afterwards. Remember, this is activity that used to come naturally and now requires intellectual wrangling to get into that space.

I imagine that if twenty-first century habits have been cemented by repetition then it could be possible, through concerted effort, to reverse the rot. A deliberate program of gradual extension of involvement in each activity will probably do the trick. I could get lost in a book again, watch a movie or paint all day.

But maybe tomorrow. I seem to have lost my enthusiasm!

Until later,


Taking a break

We’ve had a break. We’ve had a rest, taken a spell, stepped away. We’ve not done the things we normally do and, instead, done different stuff. We’ve packed up and headed away. We’ve also spent time at home but out of the usual routine. We’ve had a recess, experienced a hiatus, had a change of scenery and lived a life of different expectations.

A break. It can be a short cup of tea during a study session or a six-month haul of long-service leave. It can consist of sleep or travel or talk. It might mean eating different food or catching up in the garden. A break may be a physical relocation or a mental reduction of demand. A break may involve exercise, no exercise, hobbies, pleasurable pastimes or simply an alteration of activities. You can take a break from something and do nothing. You can also take a break from nothing and do something. You can take a break from work, from laundry, from stress and from boredom.

A break needs to end, I suppose. Otherwise, it becomes a change (which some say is as good as a holiday but that is yet to be quantified). We come back with different ways of looking and seeing. We may be energised and revitalised. We may have new perspective. We may have found clarity around decisions. We may feel restored (or we may feel exhausted from our unaccustomed activities). We may have fresh eyes, a new approach, bolstered enthusiasm or greater resilience.

It seems that taking a break is a powerful pursuit. Whether it is a short break during an hour or a day, or a longer recess during a year or two, a break seems to be essential for keeping us focussed and enjoying what we do.

But, you know, it’s now time for coffee.

Until later,

Bucket lists

The other day I was looking at a box that once contained beer. Printed on the outside was an invocation to enjoy your ‘Corona Bucket List’ which probably involved drinking the Mexican brew somewhere exotic. I’m unlikely to do that but it did get me thinking about the phenomenon of bucket lists.

The jury is out on when the term was coined but the general consensus is that it was, indeed, first used and popularised by the 2007 film of the same name. A list of things you want to do before you ‘kick the bucket’ is the premise. But what does the presence, or not, of a bucket list mean?

So, what are bucket lists for? Do they keep us moving forward? Perhaps they give structure to our planning. Do they guide decisions or provide topics for conversation? Are they a list of things to look forward to, something to hope for, or chronicles of exciting dreams? Are they a focus for financial saving or a great source of birthday present ideas? Are they inspiration for joyfully using up the inheritance money, a final, delightful fling? Do they serve to keep us young? And can a strongly-held and un-completed bucket list lead to disappointment in the world, oneself, resources available?

Are goals and bucket list items the same thing? I’m not convinced they are. Goals, perhaps, grow out of existing pursuits. Bucket list items, perhaps, are more discrete – certainly the image of a catalogue of one-off experience is the classic version.

I don’t think I have a bucket list. I used to have things I wanted to do – run a marathon (definitely missed my moment of enthusiasm there), walk the Camino de Santiago (not quite so keen now), go back to New Zealand or the UK (not, much to my very good fortune, new experiences). I haven’t got a hankering to jump out of a plane or try rock-climbing – although I don’t want to suggest that a bucket list needs to be a litany of adventure activities. Far from it. Maybe my bucket list consists of reaching a ripe, old age before I die!

A bucket list. What’s on yours? What are the steps you need to take to cross some of those off? Or maybe your direction and progress comes from other drivers. Interesting thinking.

Until later,


Face the world

I have been playing with portraits – firstly as part of a drawing project focussed on self-portraits and now in paint to get my brain/brush back in tune.

It’s given me time to think about portraiture in general. As an inveterate visitor to the Archibald Prize in Sydney each year (sadly, not in 2020), I have enjoyed the art form for some time. Having now dabbled – not even stepped on to the ladder; more like located it in the garage – I have been thinking about what a portrait should depict – indeed, what a portrait COULD depict.

The most obvious answer is a likeness; of the face and possibly extending to indication of the physicality of the subject. But is a face necessary? Several years ago, to some degree of consternation, Tim Storrier won the Archibald with a self-portrait without a face. On careful inspection, you could possibly see a face flying away in the wind with a sheaf of papers but it was not placed in the conventional setting by ANY stretch of the imagination. So, you could ask, is the physicality equally as important as the visage? Does it tell as much, or more, about the subject?

And even if we take the facial likeness as vital, what else can it show? I saw, in recent years, a portrait of Paul Little, former Chairman of the Essendon Football Club, who battled through the accusations of and investigations into the drugs scandal. This portrait depicted a broken man. Although the painting was utterly conventional, there was, emanating from it, the desperation and exhaustion of defeat.

So, while my new foray into painting is still struggling for a basic likeness, my drawn portraits are heading towards broader goals. What can we see? What is the emotional quality? What is the history? What is that instant secret that is given away – captured by the artist in a moment of connection? That’s certainly something to aspire to.

I’d better drag that ladder into the studio.

Until later,


The cafe lifestyle

There is a long history of creative people gathering in cafés. In Italy, at the end of the 17th and into the early 18th century, cafés became popular places for intellectuals, the middle class, aristocrats and the penniless to mingle. By the 19th century, in France particularly, a more modest cafe could see a collection of thinkers and artists, or ‘Bohemians’, exchanging ideas and inspiration. Even my friend and artist, Angus Nivison, speaks of art students in 1970s Sydney gathering in establishments to discuss their art and the ways of the world.

So, as I sit here over my (second!) coffee, I feel the history warming me and, although I drink alone, I do find inspiration and a chance to quietly muse over life and art. There is a gentleman sitting near me (not TOO near in this time of COVID) enjoying his toast with bacon. A mum behind is feeding her tiny baby as her coffee goes a bit cold. The staff, in true old-school hospitality style, make me feel welcome and don’t seem to mind me whiling away a few hours in a little corner.

So, although Matisse, Manet, Nivison, Hugo, Balzac and many, many other artists and writers aren’t joining me over coffee today, they are here in spirit. We are encouraging each other, turning over ideas and recognising the challenges and rewards of the creative life. Actually, they are quite good company!

Until later,



Among this current trend of minimising and de-cluttering, I am particularly aware of how much stuff I have. I don’t expect for a moment that I will slim down my possessions to anything like Marie Kondo’s ideal but I am conscious that I could probably get rid of some gear.

And so, I’m not sure where I stand having brought home from Adelaide twelve large paintings which are currently stacked in the front hall. Obviously I will not be getting rid of them, except to a loving home, but it does beg the question of what I am going to do with them and where I am going to store them! Furthermore, in six weeks I am likely to have another dozen equally large works to pick up and add to the collection. Ah, such a volume of space!

I think the main bedroom and the kitchen are the only rooms in the house free of art- related materials, and even the kitchen is often commandeered on a single-task basis. Renowned Australian artist Margaret Olley was well known for having a home crammed full of paintings, both finished and in progress, wilting flowers from past still-life arrangements and, of course, the utensils of the painting process. While I’m not there yet, without a bit of care I could be heading in that direction!

So, I have a renewed vigour to cut back on the other stuff so that the net tonnage of my possessions is not entirely shameful. The first place will be the wardrobe! That’s well overdue and, who knows, I may be able to store a stack of paintings in the newly created space. But, then there will be paintings in the bedroom too! Haha!

Until later,


The end of July

Twenty-ninth of July. We’ve made it this far despite all the challenges of 2020, but still there seems to be more ahead. My thoughts are with all my family and friends in the more easterly states who are still struggling with difficult times. I am not convinced that we here in South Australia are immune, so we may join you at some stage.

The sense of isolation is growing here for some of us but the behavior of people in our little corner of the state is gradually and subtly creeping towards pre-covid style. I, myself, am guilty of hugging close friends, which I know is bad. I think, as we have been so distant from confirmed cases in this region, it’s easy for people (me) to conveniently forget that it could actually be brought across the border as we’re so close. We have been described by incident management bodies as being in a vulnerable position, despite the ‘slamming shut’ of the crossings. Certainly, some close to me are significantly concerned.

Goodness knows what Christmas will bring. It could look very different this year for those who depend on travel or gatherings to spend it with family. Still, I am trying to think of it all as a bit of an adventure and like most adventures there are inconvenient and uncomfortable times. Of course, for those who have been directly affected by the illness, mine is a very trite description and I acknowledge that and apologise.

I sincerely hope that COVID-19 is a 2020 experience and doesn’t carry on for too much longer than that. Perhaps I am being hopeful. That’s probably best, as the thought of dodging the virus and negotiating the restrictions for years ahead is too daunting for everyday processing.

I am grateful for the technology that allows us to remain in contact. It is a reminder that there are people out there, there are things to learn and things to look at. I certainly look forward to looking at all of you in person once this is over.

Until then, or until next time,


Invest, gamble, leap

When I get a painting framed, it is an investment.

It feels like a gamble.

It is actually a leap of faith.

In most cases, my work is not a saleable item until the final investment has been made. Choosing what is framed, and how, is a clear business decision. There is no point investing in second-rate works or cheap framing. There needs to be a calculated choice made regarding what may sell, what is going to be exhibited, what will attract a positive response.

On the other hand, for my sanity, there needs to be some sense of light-headed, ‘hell, why not? Let’s give it a go’. When I do this, I am gambling on it paying off. There has to be some logic behind the punt though – perhaps like placing money on a well-researched horse race rather than in a poker machine. It’s not as calculated as an investment decision, but it’s not ridiculous either.

It all actually boils down to an enormous leap of faith—a leap embedded in the hope, the optimism, the enthusiasm that it will all work out and, eventually, you might recoup those funds and a little bit more. The leap is exciting, adrenaline-filled and keeps you coming back.

And so, my mantra develops:

Invest wisely, gamble responsibly, leap joyously.

… for the moment, anyway!

Until later,



I am an inveterate (some might say obsessive) list-maker. Writing this blog post was on my list for today and it is hard to say whether it would have happened had it not been written down. Because my listing is extensive, it does take away the need to remember things in the heat of the moment. Thus, it is possible that, should ‘blog post’ have been omitted from my daily plan, it may have slipped through the cracks for a day or so.

Not only do lists stop me forgetting things; they also contribute to my self-directed lifestyle. I must remain self-motivated to keep moving forward and crossing things off a list helps to keep the wheels turning. My lists also contribute to a life largely lacking stress over those little things. Tasks are rarely forgotten, or late. I don’t have to think about what to have for dinner each night or what to buy in the supermarket. I can’t imagine doing it any other way.

There are, of course, amazing people who function without a list; people who remember things, plan things, achieve things without having to write everything down. I do admire that. I’m not sure I aspire to it, though. My system suits me.

There are, no doubt, degrees of list-making behaviour—a continuum if you like. I am, without a doubt, holding up one end. Friends of mine recline comfortably as the opposite. What about you? Where do you find your place along that list-making line?

Until later,



When back in Adelaide for the week it’s important to reconnect with the café-slash-blog lifestyle. I am in Mile End in a funky little place with a lovely coffee and a banana smoothie on the way (I never suggested I was sophisticated! Haha)

I am in Adelaide for my exhibition, of course; a fact of which many of you will be all too aware! I was looking, out of interest, at the Oxford definition of exhibitionist – ‘a person who behaves in an extravagant way in order to attract attention’. That gave me a giggle. It is, presumably, not synonymous with exhibitor – ‘a person who displays works of art or other items of interest in an exhibition’. I think I prefer the former! It sounds like more fun.

I’ve written before about writing as performance. Exhibiting is performance as well although, like writing, there is sometimes a distance between the exhibitor and the audience. The exhibitor is often not present which can give a sense of safety! I need to spend some time at the gallery this afternoon actually being present to chat so that will take some energy. You need to maintain your faith in your work in the face of the walk-straight-past-it people or, worse, those that express some sort of active disapproval. I know my paintings are not everyone’s cup of tea, but I like them and, really, that’s the largest part of the battle. I am actually looking forward to my time of being present, tiring though it will be. There are worse things than being surrounded by your extra children, all in one place, like some sort of matriarch with the entire family in attendance.

So, as a team, we’ll perform for the month, singing and dancing—silent and motionless, present or not—but hopefully speaking in clear (and appealing) voices. I feel enormously privileged to have such an opportunity to get those voices out into the world. Let’s begin! Let’s become a bunch of exhibitionists!

Until later,