I was a boat person. One of the originals. So was my father and mother and two brothers and sisters. All boat people. We landed in Australia without the warnings or the threat to be sent back. That was our decision. I have no memories of that time. I was far too young. All my memories were placed in me by my mother. Anecdotes administered over the years so that they became memories. Real.
I grew up in Perth. Hot, barren, windy and hot. Did I say hot? Bare footed and lean. I remember the Dugites and the Bobtailed lizards. The burning sand and the burnt sky. A faded blue. Even the shadows were hot. The air was dry and would burn your nostrils. And all there was was land and sky. Nothing man made visible. Houses were low and flat and buildings were short. Space was infinite, vertical and horizontal. It was this expanse that stretched potential so thin it was hard to see. A distance that was repeated in the family. My home was a pool of ambiguity that left me uncertain. Unsure of my place and my self. Nothing reflected back because there was too much space. Ideas, like beams of light, would emit and shoot out into the vast expanse and not return.
Bertrand Russell once said; One of the painful things about our time is that those who feel certainty are stupid, and those with any imagination and understanding are filled with doubt and indecision. I don’t claim any imagination or understanding but I certainly am filled with doubt and indecision. And so it is with my work. It is really quite simple. I’m trying to find certainty. I am interested in ordinary subject matter. I like colour. I am not trained or skilled and so my work is inaccurate but recognisable.