The Boat

"The Boat" 2014 Acrylic and enamel on board 98 x 138 cm

“The Boat” 2014 Acrylic and enamel on board 98 x 138 cm

The image of the boat has been a recurring theme in my painting for two years. Imagining the claustrophobic hull – the hell of uncertainty. I worked night shift earlier in the year with a young man who made such a journey in 2001. Although only 8 years old at the time, he vividly described three nights jammed in with asylum seekers from a variety of countries, sharing the same goal and the same fear in the wilderness of hours huddled together clutching make shift weapons. They had no idea where they were headed, but for Jamil, fleeing recruitment by the Taliban in Afghanistan, anywhere was a better option than the home he had known. For his parents returning to the motherland remains desirable if not attainable as yet, but not for Jamil, having grown up in Australia, he is now an Aussie, studying medical science at uni, contemplating a gap year, and working shifts to top up the coffers. The idea of returning to Afghanistan now seems foreign, although he wears his ‘boat person’ badge with honor and a wry smile.

"Boat" 201440 x 60 cm enamel on paper

“Boat” 201440 x 60 cm enamel on paper

"Boat" Acrylic on board 60 x 80 cm 2014

“Boat” Acrylic on board 60 x 80 cm 2014

"Voyage" 2013 spray enamel and gouache on paper 100 x 192cm

“Voyage” 2013 spray enamel and gouache on paper 100 x 192cm

"Seeking Asylum"  (bus stop paste-up) Stencil August 2013

“Seeking Asylum” (bus stop paste-up) Stencil August 2013

"Boat" 2013

“Boat” 2013 100 x 192 cm

'Voyage No.2" 2013 spray enamel & gouache on paper 50 x 64 cm

‘Voyage No.2″ 2013 spray enamel & gouache on paper 50 x 64 cm



Variations on a theme


The transformation comes and goes, sometimes gradually, sometimes at more regular intervals, like the sun falling on wing tips and then it is all consuming. Those beams of light exposing uncertainty, blue fading to leave the shape of a new painting, gleaming, full of promise but not yet real, just an idea. Outlined against the sky, brilliant like metal but in equal part, already a failure. Work consumes me – my day job takes almost as much as I can give. Then with the promise of a shiny playground, I flounder and stall. The new remains unformed, just a list on a page, and my lack of courage or energy to start the new series torments me. I replace uncertainty by diving for pearls, those last illusive images that resonate with an accumulated honesty.

Behind the wire

Behind the wire

 Pictures can become like a dialogue that has been over rehearsed. The transition from subject to subject then becomes a device to avoid endless repetition. Knowing the right time to change direction is an art within the art. Whose eye is upon you? Whose attention do you seek? It’s the same old argument – paint for your self, or paint for others? The madness is still strong 27 years on and the ever watchful bird hovers expecting change, demanding success, something that can be measured. Then everything before is relegated, no longer living for me, yet still raw and painful. Angst is like over salting the cook pot, too much will spoil the sincerity. I guess I’m looking for that one image that sums up the whole body of work. A picture that once achieved makes the necessity to continue the subject redundant. Unless I could sell the stuff in which case I would be motivated by commercial concerns, I suppose.

Crow Cries


"Crow Cries" paste-up 22/07/2014 acrylic and pastel on paper Mount St Lyneham

“Crow Cries” paste-up 22/07/2014 acrylic and pastel on paper Mount St Lyneham

Blank walls. They are everywhere. Hospital green, tomb stone grey, white wash smooth, clinical duck egg blue. I’ve always noticed them, or at least imagined how to subvert their silence. The blank page, the blank canvas and the blank wall are not at all dissimilar, they beg for creative interference. 

A tag in silver over painted my last bird. A rough job possibly interrupted half way, or by the hand of a beginner. My paste-up was still visible in a textural manner – would have a made a nice shot, but the wall was over painted again, this time with no colour grey, ready for its next makeover. 


I’ve been waiting for the right night to begin again. But 5 minutes down the road I was engulfed in an ominous fog that reduced visibility to 5 metres. That feeling of really just wanting to curl up under a doona began to eat at my resolve, but I persisted, and the expedition was as smooth as alabaster. A mask for when I go beyond myself.