Eye Candy

Pictured top: a recent studio view. The newly completed painting, Eye Candy, is on the worktable, and looming over it is a poster of the work that was its primary influence, Portrait of the Journalist Sylvia von Harden, 1926, by Otto Dix, one of my favourite paintings in the entire world. 

In 1993, I was awarded a three-month Australia Council studio residency at the Cité internationale des arts in Paris. I still recall the thrill of coming upon Dix’s original on my first visit to Centre Pompidou. Until then, I’d only ever seen it in reproduction.

Subsequently I purchased the poster from the gallery shop. Ordinarily I’m not one for souvenirs, but wanted to memorialise that indelible moment of discovery. When I unrolled the poster back in my studio at the Cité, however, I discovered a serious fault in the colour reproduction and had to return it the following day. I felt ridiculously proud that I was able to explain the situation in my less than basic Council of Adult Education French - although I guess the flaw was fairly self-explanatory. The poster was cheerfully exchanged for the one shown here and it has been with me ever since. 

The hairstyle in a vintage photographic portrait that I’d had on file for ages was the basis for my protagonist’s bobbed hair. Serendipitously, the woman in the photograph is Otto Dix’s wife, Martha Dix. It has been cropped from the original image, a double portrait of Martha and Otto Dix, 1925, by August Sander. You can see it HERE. 

The Dadaesque eyepiece in Eye Candy takes its cue from Sylvia von Harden’s iconic monocle.

Directly below: an earlier studio view with Eye Candy still a work in progress. 

Eye Candy, 2024, acrylic on canvas board, 30.5 x 30.5 cm will be part of WAYS OF BEING, my solo exhibition at Stephen McLaughlan Gallery, Melbourne, running from December 4-24.

For further information on WAYS OF BEING, scroll down to my previous post. 

Insects in art

Pictured above: progress views of my current work, Apiary, snapped in my Ballarat studio shortly before its move to the residency studio at Geelong Grammar School. 

Directly below is the work that inspired it. Portrait of a Woman of the Hofer Family, c. 1470, by an unidentified Swabian artist, is a painting that has intrigued me ever since I happened upon it in the National Gallery, London, in 1993. 

At the time the work was made, Swabia included parts of Southern Germany, Switzerland and France. The artist is unknown, as is the identity of the sitter, although we can still discern something of her background. Her jewellery and opulent costume indicate wealth and the text in the top left hand corner, "Geborne Hoferin," translates as "born a Hofer." 

The fly that has apparently landed on the sitter’s otherwise immaculate headdress is a striking  example of trompe-l'œil (French for “deceives the eye”). It lends a decidedly unsettling element to what would otherwise have been a charming, but conventional portrait. In art, flies have long served as symbols of mortality. Nevertheless, the painted insect could be regarded as nothing more than a visual joke, intended solely to trick us into believing a fly has actually landed on the painting. When viewed in combination with the sprig of Forget-Me-Nots held by the sitter, however, the work seems more likely to be a posthumous portrait, commissioned by wealthy patrons in remembrance of the sitter.

Shortly after first discovering the work, I began an Australia Council residency at the Cite International des Arts in Paris. During my three month stay, I made two works in homage to Portrait of a Woman of the Hofer Family, a small linocut, followed by a more detailed oil pastel drawing. From memory, it was fairly close in scale to the painting on which it was based. I included most of the original compositional elements, with one notable exception. In order to personalise the work, I replaced the fly with a bee, a symbol of more personal significance. Deborah is elicited from D'vorah, a Hebrew a word meaning "bee", the symbol of prophecy in Ancient Greece. When combined with the sprig of Forget-Me-Nots, the print and drawing became personal expressions of homesickness. 

Apiary recalls this painting, evoking a similar era and reinstating the bee emblem. It’s a particularly personal work, albeit in an entirely different context, and I was at pains to paint the bee as convincingly as possible. Only after I’d finished, did I realise the bee is slightly too large in scale.

Lately I’ve had some lively conversations with staff and students during my residency at Geelong Grammar School, where I’ve been making the finishing touches to the work. Chris, a staff member who is also a bee keeper, admired my bee, which was somewhat heartening. When I expressed my concerns that the bee was a little oversized, he replied, “Well, it’s your bee!’ And so it is - so it shall stay just as it is. Thank you, Chris!

On the following day, I was discussing Apiary and its influences, including Portrait of a Woman of the Hofer Family, with a group of students. In an uncanny instance of life imitating art, a fly landed on the subject’s painted headdress, right next to my bee. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to whip out my camera quickly enough before the fly moved on to explore other areas of the canvas. You can just spot it nestled in the darker folds of the painted fabric.