my textile career from 1975
March 6, 2018Posted by on
BLOND YOUTH WITH RAINBOW LORIKEETS (HOMAGE TO FRIDA KAHLO),
75 cms H X 60 cms W.
All art, my art, strives for a logical development. Using materials consistently in my recent piece, Youth with Two Rainbow Lorikeets (Homage to Frida Kahlo), for instance, I repeated the use of shell buttons for skin tones from my work Matthew Mitcham, also the use of metal buttons, consistent with baroque gilded frames.
Originally, I wanted to compact as many identity symbols as possible of the Lavender Menace, that visual from the video of the Rolling Stones song Gimme Shelter, in my case personal images and memories of my membership of Sydney Gay Liberation in the 1970’s. Accordingly, I began with a macrame headband showing at the centre of the forehead a pink triangle. I also wanted to imbue the work with an overwhelming visual of the rainbow coalition. However, this merged into the image of two rainbow lorikeets, since I rejected the still formless image of the rainbow in my work, not to mention the problem of amassing sufficient buttons of each colour of the spectrum. The two bird images were like attributes in an icon, also the companions of Frida Kahlo in one of her self portraits.
The gold buttons echoing the yellow and blond of the hair; the blue of the shell buttons both amplified and reflected the blond tints of hair; they also expressed the blue of a summer sky: “sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines”, all that blond hair!! usually surrounded on either side with worshipping donors or attributes or the like. By making use of the image of the rainbow lorikeet I was able to combine my original use of the rainbow to represent my LGBTIQ communities. Admitting the work resembled an homage to Frida Kahlo’s self-portrait with monkeys was not to say that I had her painting consciously in mind; however, artists as they work depend upon the history of images that have gone before. For instance, before Kahlo one might note Rousseau or Gauguin, at least.
I further developed the use of metal buttons from my earlier portrait of Matthew Mitcham. I long resisted using buttons that had to be attached unseen from underneath; my OC, superstitious logic was that visible stitching of the buttons was intrinsic to the development of the work. However, buttons whose stitched attachment is unseen were in the metal border and in the surrounds of the lorikeets, which suggested by their different coloured centres flowers in the bush. In this work, the stitching draws the eye, not just to black threads at the centre of the lorikeet’s eye, representing the depth of the pupil, but to a couple of stitches nearby that evoke the curve of its upper over lower beak. This was a first for me whereby the stitching travels outside the confines of a button, and performs a task other than merely attaching button to background. For me, it ventures into the territory of embroidery, which requires a certain confidence even audacity, not to mention the tensioned consistency of a tambour.
I can see a logical trilogy created in the Matthew Mitcham portrait, the Blond Youth and Ramana. All show faces larger than life. The Blond Youth began when I found stored in a box of notes, catalogues and small stored works a piece of black embroidery canvas on which I’d traced with white out the larger than life face projected onto it years ago by my trusty old overhead projector.
My use of the shell buttons is a habit I have developed, firstly for the elusive and multi coloured surface the button adds to any work. However in Blond Youth I was able to use the shell buttons as mirrors to amplify the yellow transparent smaller buttons. On the face, as\ in the Mitcham work, I constructed a speckled effect by sewing near each shell button a smaller one with flecks of brown, to resemble skin tone.
A friend recently admired the reverse of one of my tapestries, now in his collection; for him I have included a photo of the reverse of BYWRL (HTFK). I hope it adds richness to his appreciation.
There were several comments on my Fb page appreciative of the reverse as an innovative type of embroidery. What springs to mind is a US artist who uses a loom with nails protruding along the four sides of the perimeter. With a black thread he crosses the space until the threads accumulate and form an engraving like effect. Here are the incidental strokes of going from hole to hole or from one form to another; for me only the upper surface is important; although I manage to gauge the second hole of a button from where the thread has penetrated the underside.
February 23, 2018Posted by on
February 9, 2018Posted by on
This is the third part of a series. 22 cms H X 23 cms W. 8 cotton warps per in; cotton, wool, linen, synthetic wefts.
The sonata form consists of three main sections: an exposition, a development, and a recapitulation. Previously I wove two other works. They vary in mood. The first is lighter, stylised, yet challenging.
The second is slower, larger, adagio; it constitutes a mesh of meditation, combined with the impingements of an earthly reality. In Ramana’s life this involved crucial aspects of Hindu religious practice: whether or not to include women or untouchables or non-Hindus in his ashram. Contrary to many such teachers, Ramana made himself accessible to all. Clearly, as he sat on his couch, surrounded by his followers, he was in a deep state of samadhi or universal awareness. Words are a weak vehicle to attempt to describe his truth. In fact, he instructed his followers to meditate by gently following insistent words to their roots, and by challenging their repeated return to negate their strength and dissolve the ties that the mind form in identifying with verbal concepts. He told his followers to ask: “Who Am I?”
February 1, 2018Posted by on
Called The Infanta, 30 cms H X W, sparkling metal buttons on stretched cloth, it might well be a Jungian image of the anima with chakras; Lucy in the garden with diamonds. That was last week.
We Sell Weapons Now. Button collage, 22 cms H X 27 cms W, buttons sewn with upholsterer’s thread onto embroidery canvas. My stimulus was the announcement this week that Australia will soon be manufacturing weapons for the international market. Two things happened soon after: in copying photos of weapons factories in World War Two I fell in love with the shape of a revolver, slim and lithe, made for a hand grip. As a teenager in central Qld my brothers and I hunted wild pigs using 303 rifles; I was also issued with one as a cadet in boarding school. The second news item was about US police who went out carrying toy guns to plant on unarmed citizens they had shot while on duty. My love of the revolver was something Oscar Wilde might have described in The Picture of Dorian Gray: slinky evil.
January 22, 2018Posted by on
Just completed; Om Namo Bhavagate Sri Ramanai, 43 cms H X 38 cms W. Warp, 6 ply cotton, 8 per in; wefts of linen, cotton, wool and synthetic threads.
The shapes on each side, literally checks and balances, torrents, cascades, “un blond wasserfall” (Rimbaud) began with the idea of a guru with garlands, mostly yellow and orange. In the 1960’s I saw this on Beatles’ album covers, after the Fab Four had gone to India to study with the Maharishi Mahesh. The image became more universal, of things cosmically interacting and transcending.
Apart from Ramana’s central message, “Who Am I?” which is gnana yoga, the path of knowledge, what subsequently attracted me to Ramana’s teachings was his universality, practised down to the last detail, on a daily basis. He walked around the holy mountain of Arunachala, dedicated to Shiva, twice a day; he made himself accessible to all; he refused to observe the caste system, allowing men and women, and untouchables among his followers.
He accepted food from nearby villagers but demanded that no one person was called on too often for a contribution. He made sure that all his followers were given food before he accepted any.
I especially like the story of his making the effort to obtain expensive banana fruit for his favourite cow Lakshmi, that refused to leave his presence, and along with his followers participated in darshan or meditation. In the wild countryside of the mountain, snakes and tigers approached him meditating without any mutual panic or fear. Cows, peacocks wandered constantly around the entrance to the cave where he lived.
I at first failed to understand the significance of a Hindu priest insisting that Ramana be initiated as a Hindu priest; Ramana put him off for a day and accidentally found a text that stated a person living/meditating in the vicinity of the holy mountain was automatically initiated. The meaning of this was perhaps that, had he submitted to the Hindu initiation, he would have been bound to follow a series of proscriptions, probably involving excluding untouchables from his presence and so forth. While wishing to offend nobody and break no existing rules of his culture, he managed to construct an individual system of self inquiry that he quietly insisted would lead to enlightenment.
He was visited by an extraordinary range of people, including the psychiatrist Carl Gustav Yung. (This is not a Big Bang Theory joke.)
The flow of shapes and colours represent for me the universality of things, people, events, their interconnectedness. As often as possible, without the calculation of a cartoon I tried to form shapes that flowed in several directions simultaneously; thus along each vertical edge, shapes form columns but also radiate out, horizontally.
Each new unit of colour is applied with a set length of thread that suggests its shape or “closure”; deliberately, the lengths of thread were halved towards the top of the work, to suggest a kind of efflorescence, a treetop effect. As my style of weaving employs an “interlock” method adjacent colour areas are shaped together. My continuing influence from recent art history is the Nabis (Matisse and Derain), Jawlensky and Kandinsky, the German Expressionists to finally Karl Appel of the Kobra movement.
In a time of insouciant global violence we need to nourish our inner peace and mutual harmony, what Buddhism teaches is the aim of meditation.The photo I worked from shows an infinitely compassionate teacher; my work shows him in a stricter slightly reproving mode, of which he was occasionally capable. Om shanti. This work would not have been completed without the encouragement of my friend Kashi (a name that means city of light); he is a superbly happy seeker after inner truth.
January 1, 2018Posted by on
A saint from southern India achieved samadi at the age of seventeen, and spent the rest of his life meditating in caves below Shiva’s mountain, Arunachala. I was a Beatle fan at seventeen, living in central Qld countryside, inland of Mackay. I tried to borrow a book on the Beatles’ guru, Maharishi Mahesh, but instead I was sent a book on Ramana Maharshi. I found his face so serene and encompassing, so understanding of our foibles. My woven tapestry does him little justice, nor does my approximation of his southern Indian facial colouring. To the left of his face is a column of floral wreaths, clustered in ceremonial reverence.
Ramana, woven tapestry, 2017, 16 cms H X W, cotton warps, 8 pr in,; cotton, linen, synthetic wefts.
January 1, 2018Posted by on
I used a pile of crochet squares my friend’s mum made with a crochet technique. Not sure what the verb for crochet is. I must admit, the idea is not original; years ago a lineup of sexy young male models donned shorts made of crochet squares. This is decidedly a case of deconstructing the original or traditional identity of crochet squares. My favourite movie with James Stewart and Kim Novak, Bell, Book and Candle, has a scene where Stewart needs to have a spell removed. He goes, in Novak’s words, to the Brooklyn harpy, who places around his shoulders a crochet shawl. In my case, a friend decided I was being a BOGAN, the words Australians use for doing/being things that are tasteless and pretentious.I like the unpretentious repetitions of pattern and colour.
November 8, 2017Posted by on
Recently, off the coast of Palestine, a fisherman threw his net into the water and hauled in a bronze sculpture of Apollo, his hand extended in a gesture of bestowing blessings and gifts, fit for a temple. In 2015 I created a large button work of the image framed with small woven tapestry images of smurfs. On the quilt of smurfs was where the fisherman had placed the wonderful work prior to its disappearance through the tunnels that honeycomb the West Bank, presumably to fund Hamas and its struggle for independence from Israeli control. My button work hung with several other button embroideries, alongside the work of twelve other artists, in a show called More Love Hours curated by the wonderful Suzette Wearne of the Ian Potter Museum, in the University of Melbourne. Suze is now the proud mother of a baby girl Sylvia: “Who is Sylvia, who is she, that all the swains commend her?”
Apollo Emerged, just completed, is woven tapestry, 13 cms H X W, 8 cotton warps per in. Its wefts are wool, cotton, linen and synthetic.
I have been a follower of the ancient deity since my visit, decades ago, to the National Archaeological Museum in Athens. There, I stood spellbound in front of a bronze Apollo, that, like the above work, had been submerged off Piraeus harbour, just outside the city of Athens. This work is a convincing argument against that commandment that museum curators follow, that works must be displayed at eye level. The Apollo had obviously lived on a temple plinth, bestowing munificence to his followers. Here, he looked down, seemingly, inappropriately downcast. But when I crouched on the floor and looked into his face it wore a most awe-inspiring expression.
Apollo is of course a god for gay men; his lovers were numerous. My only problem is his seeming carelessness with their mortality. Perhaps he wanted them close to him at a higher level of immortality? He had women lovers too. In the ancient world I went in search of gay role models; it’s never too late. Apart from David and Jonathan of the old testament, there was Jesus with John, his favourite follower, who leant against his torso during the last supper. Alexander the Great plus all the famous couples of legend and antiquity.
When Sydney was celebrating its Olympic games Athens’ Benaki museum, home of some exquisitely sophisticated mauve ikons, sent us an exhibition of Greek artefacts, including a bas relief of an Athenian citizen together with his underage lover; the two were clearly enamoured of each other, though what was shocking was the sculptor’s very accurate, practically prurient depiction of his extreme youth.
In the National Archaeological but un-air-conditioned museum of Bangkok were several sculptures of Krishna. Hare Krishna, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare hare. They, like the Apollo works, also exuded a benign sexuality. Not for nothing is Krishna called the flute player by India’s gay under class; go figure.
Apollo emerged from water at last, seemingly not his chosen element, nor, surely, would be the basement of a billionaire’s palace where he currently, secretly resides. A small consolation is that Apollo has an amazing resilience and will survive even obscurity. For instance, even in ancient times he had a special relationship with Dionysus, described as his opposite by nineteenth century literary commentators. Recent archaeologists have determined that one of the deities would go on walkabout, and his opposite number would take up residence in the other’s shadowed inner chamber, performing the appropriate functions. Apollo Emerged.
October 31, 2017Posted by on
The Leopold Museum, devoted to turn of last century’s art, had on the ground floor an exhibition of Anton Kolig’s work. Not just a painter and teacher of great talent, he was a designer and worked with various organisations in much the same way that Australian painters design works for the Australian Tapestry Workshop to weave. When St Stephen’s Dom, the famous cathedral in the heart of Vienna, was extensively damaged by bombing during WW2 he offered to re-design the enormous stained glass windows. Sadly nothing came of the proposal and today the cathedral walls feature windows of the most bland colours. In the exhibition was a curious piece titled “painted gobelin” for a Salzburg Music Festival; the base fabric was clearly of woven tapestry on which the artist painted his design of Adam and Eve. An interesting image, but how much more effective it would have been if an atelier actually wove it, image and all.
The Hundertwasser House in Vienna is a most interesting experience: visitors are warned to negotiate the undulating paved floors. Many paintings and water colours hung on the walls; but, among them were half a dozen tapestries. One, my favourite, was called Boy Pissing with Skyscrapers; the figure occupies the entire left hand side: his head is turned awkwardly, the golden arc dissects the landscape in front of the city buildings. However, there were several others, none identified by the workshop where they were created. Must we infer from this curatorial neglect that weaving is not considered seriously in a fine arts environment? Another work was woven so that weft ends hung from the image, an interesting effect.
I travelled to Slovenia where traditional lace making, commissioned by the Church, was featured in museum; woven tapestry was nowhere to be seen. The only other textile was in the Skofje Loka Ethnographic Museum: it consisted of prisoner of war uniforms from WW2 concentration camps.
I visited Lake Bled, a beautiful place whose beauty seems to resist any amount of tourist invasion. walking the circumference of the lake, a necessary pilgrimage, was six kilometres and exhausting. On the shore, below my hotel, a gallery was advertising its show of works by Salvadore Dali, not necessarily my artist of choice. However, I checked it out as woven tapestries were supposed to be on display. Indeed there were three, again without an atelier specified, part of a series of twelve, celebrating the Twelve Tribes of Israel. They were interesting, finely woven, designed in the artist’s well known spidery style.
Only a three week trip but it felt packed with visual experiences. Bled had two villas named Julia and Alice, the two sisters. There were many such quaint and fascinating details. I surprised myself with how competent I was speaking German, always a help in a non-English speaking country.
October 31, 2017Posted by on