1.7.25

G L I M M E R ... I - IX














 "Maman used to say that you can always find something to be happy about.  

In my prison, when the sky turned red and a new day slipped into my cell, 
I found out that she was right..."

[Albert Camus The Stranger]




 
G L I M M E R  I - IX  is a return to a series created over years where the regular confines of hospital inspired a translation of Camus’ words into images. This series explores the act of creating as catharsis. Finding a pathway through sleepless nights bedside, within the limited means available - the abstract dance of coloured lights from hospital devices refracted as my fingers moved across the lens of my iPhone. 

The resolve to find light in the darkest of moments. 

 


G L I M M E R  I - IX   is on exhibition throughout June 2025  as a part of the group show:
12 x 12 at Artview Gallery, Cairns 

11.5.25

A mother's lament




Käthe Kollwitz (1867-1945): Brot! 1924, lithograph




Mothers’ lament

I

In the kitchen after dinner

I cut the watermelon 

open. Placing 

segments of sweet flesh 

into young eager hands


I am looking at the juice-streaked smiles 

of my children

who screech 

and laugh 

and leap with life


Thinking, as a mother, that to feed, 

to clothe, to shelter; how 

these simple acts

bring deep, fundamental joy 

II

The watermelon’s skin is mottled

green, flesh

red, rind 

bone-white, and seeds 

bitter, 

black.


I am thinking, as a mother, of hollow-eyed 

children, grasping, 

who shriek 

with hunger

and worse, 

      of children,  still.           


who make no sound


  


Writing these words over the last two days in my kitchen, with Mother's Day approaching. Thinking of the plight of mothers where the suffering and loss of children is happening in plain sight; witnessed via smartphones held in our hands. 

How is the fundamental right to feed, clothe and to keep ones children safe /alive denied? 

How is it that this is known and witnessed globally, yet continues, unabated? 


Käthe Kollwitz (1867-1945): "Woman with a dead child", 1903, line etching, drypoint


The artwork above 'Woman with a dead child' is a print created in1903 by the much lauded artist Käthe Kollwitz. She herself lost a son to war, and throughout her lifetime witnessed many other children succumb to starvation and illness through famine, poverty, war and disease. Her oeuvre was dedicated to depicting the futility of conflict, the universality of loss, of grief, and in particular, the desperate plight of mothers striving to protect precious young lives.

Many years ago now I had the privilege of assisting in hanging an exhibition of Kollwitz's prints and drawings when working at the Bendigo Art Gallery. During the course of the exhibition I made countless visits to view the works in person and each time found myself deeply moved by the raw emotion they conveyed. 

In graphically depicting human suffering Kollwitz is without peer.

In another harrowing work 'Brot!' (Bread), Kollwitz again depicts the tactic of withholding food from civilians with a mother caught between two children, who are each desperate with hunger. 

The Käthe Kollwitz Museum Köln has curated collections of Kollwitz's works online. I highly encourage looking further into her art and her life.

We know so much, we bear witness daily, yet today I am reminded that Kollwitz's works over a century on,  are as relevant now as ever. 

#ceasefire


10.4.25

your continuation (it is impossible for a cloud to die)




Today marks 77 years since your birth, and the first time I don’t get to sing you happy birthday. One of (too) many firsts. 

I came out to my studio/shed at dawn and have been pottering about in one of your much loved shirts, with the sleeves rolled up as you left them. It’s the closest thing to hugging you today.

Thay (Thich Nhat Hanh) taught how when someone passes from this life that rebirth/resurrection/eternal life - can be a continuation. That those who have passed live on in those who remain. 

I take great comfort in this teaching because it does not require the patience of reuniting in an afterlife. To remember someone is to continue them, to mindfully take what they have taught you and put it to use in your day, continues them. To smile, to sigh, to draw, to listen to the music they loved because you love it too.  The physical self may no longer be, but their presence, through thoughts and actions, continues. 

So today I am out in my shed, listening to Johnny Cash, tinkering, smiling at the clutter and number of boxes of items that may ‘one day come in handy’, and delighting, as you did, in the birds carrying on their day in the trees nearby.

I dearly miss the physical presence of you in our lives, and I honour this through mindfully enacting your continuation.




The images are from an exhibition last November, ‘Life Sounds Like’ with @regularrick . I was asked to create an artwork in response to a short film where people reflected on their favourite Australian song. Bec's reflections on Nick Cave's The Carny provided a much needed opportunity to create a work to honour Dad.



Exhibition Statement: Nov 2024

And no one saw (The Carny) go…

Responding to Bec for Life Sounds Like at Tanks Arts Centre with Regular Rick 

I grew up in Violet Town, NE Victoria, and I went to senior high school in Wangaratta, Nick Cave’s hometown. Like Bec, I am a huge fan of Nick Cave, Wim Wenders and Wings of Desire. The first three images were taken as I wandered around my father's shed on one of many visits home with the kids. Dad’s shed was his circus tent. He was the magician, performing amazing tricks that endlessly fascinated me as a child, fixing and repairing broken objects to working order, welding, building, restoring rusted wrecks of cars dragged from far-flung paddocks and boxes of muddied parts. 

Dad passed just a few months ago and the grief is still sharp on my breath. Like The Carny, he slipped suddenly and quietly from this world. The final two images, colour, in reference to Wings Of Desire, were taken this year after his passing. We stood to watch the sun set, amongst the giant river reds and yellow box. The farm is someone else’s now - the grief ebbs and flows - the carnival moves on… 




Thay’s Dharma talk on continuation and how 'it is impossible for a cloud to die'.  

Our continuation is ever present - our karma - both while we are living and when we have passed. Our  thoughts and actions become our continuation.