I think I should talk only of my influences. Every other part of my life is of little significance to my art.
In relation to drawing it is of course Brett Whiteley and Van Gogh. I also like the drawings of Picasso and Edvard Munch.
If I can add anything to my art beyond aspiring to their unattainable greatness it is imbue my art with a little more atmosphere.
In Rembrandt's etching of three trees on a hill there is atmosphere. This single work well outside his genre captures atmosphere as well as any of his portraits.
Here in Australia where nature does random so effortlessly our landscapes could almost be a personal postcard from Van Gogh. But stepping back (as artists should do) from the intricacies of Australia's Botanica we see an additional visual element in the expanse of the horizon, the sky ,the clouds the shadows over mountains etc . If one can engage and juggle both elements a drawing may just capture the elusive atmosphere.
Small ranty essay
Has modern art jumped the shark
One series too long for an audience that’s moved on
It began with as an Australian might say, someone taking the piss. It began with Marcel Duchamp: a porcelain urinal signed "R. Mutt". We all know the work and we all know how it altered the art world from then on. It was almost like a freak break in the genetic code of art opening up one branch of art whilst another branch withered on the tree.
Along with Duchamp’s work came the obligatory long esoteric title “the bride stripped bare by bachelors, Even ….”. This is now a staple linguistic ritual of every aspiring artist. You spend the greater intellectual energy on creating a title than the art piece itself. This is the culinary equivalent of six inches of icing to hide a sliver of fruit cake. Or two prize fighters verbally sparing at the weigh in but never stepping into the arena. In other orders the main event is always a bit of a letdown. In retrospect Duchamp’s title would seem a bit “rapey” and wouldn’t pass today’s curatorial standards.
The long title is also a pitch to the neurotic intelligentsia of the art world. The torch bearing ushers of an alternative universe where good can be bad or more importantly shallow can be deep whatever the end of the pool you dive into. These ushers, as creatures of the word, savour the narrative over the image. The word is something they can respond to, can keep in play, hit back and if the rally is long enough take the game. See I have duelled with artist and won. I am as Promethean as the artist because my words have prevailed.
Let’s face it the ushers do control the art world. But in some places the masses find their own feet make their own journeys and congregate around their chosen works.
I’ve seen this in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. On the top floor where Vincent’s starry night pulls all races all ages from school girls tradies to bearded Hipsters.
In the Museum as you descend floors you descend decades you get to the art of the seventies and eighties where the can trace a direct line of descent from Duchamp i.e. there’s lots of words scrawled across lesser works. The rooms are empty almost echoey. Here you can see the Hipsters looking intently at the writing and its symbiotic twin low talent art. I try to read their faces. If I had to guess (I confess I am committing a crime against Hipsters here “generalising”). I can hear them thinking “I should like this - but I don’t”. This will never be said out loud neither in their internal thoughts and absolutely never amongst their peers. This thought is more of a conjuring of the amygdala. A reptilian instinctive response, a primordial, absolute, monolithic truth that cannot be circumnavigated even by the “word”.
Back to Duchamp. He got bored with modern art and went off to play chess. He played so much chess that his wife glued his pieces to the board. If he signed the board and came up with a catchy title this could have been a seminal 20th century artwork.
Who would get the attribution he who wrote the words or his wife who made the artwork.
Last word goes to Picasso in his long career he never named a single piece of art.