Lost and found

 

This painting was missing, presumed lost, for a couple of years. In the months following last year’s move, I discovered it in a storage box we had believed to contain packaging materials. (It did, but the individual components of the painting were safely packed underneath). 

The work was a finalist in the Geelong Painting Prize in 2002 and toured in the curated group show, ‘The enchanted forest - new gothic storytellers,’ in 2008-2009. 

I even wrote a fairy tale based on it. An early draft of the story was published in my first blog post. You can read it HERE. The final version of the tale was subsequently included in my book, There was once... the collected fairy tales (2009).

I’d more or less resigned myself to never seeing the painting again, so much so, that I still find it hard to believe it’s back in my possession.

Pictured top: Swarm, 2002, acrylic on 32 oval canvases, paired. Large: 25 x 20 cm each; small: 15 x 20 cm each. Overall dimensions approx. 172 x 194 cm.

Declaration of Independence (Manifesto #1)

Idepopsis gaura (Dainty paperwing) Woman is another step closer to liberation from the lino block - and so am I. 

In future it is my intention to establish some distance between printmaking and myself. This work in progress is intended for a curated group show, admittedly a terrific project, that I was invited into to last year - and make no mistake, I'm giving it my all. It’s the first linocut I’ve undertaken in 2015, however, and with it has come the surprising, but better-late-than-never realisation that I haven't for one minute missed making prints.  

There are still a number of printmaking commitments to fulfil before I can confidently cry 'freedom'. At the same time, I’m a firm believer in the truism ‘never say never’. For starters, I still have some of my own print-based projects to complete - but in my own good time. I also look forward to exhibiting a selection of the 2007 Moth Masks linocuts in Queenscliff Gallery and Workshop's inaugural group show later this year.

So although this signals an end of sorts, it is more a new beginning, of only taking on outside projects - of any kind - not just print-based - that will also serve my work and, as much as possible, of operating within a framework that ensures a smooth, continuous workflow and encourages, rather than interrupts, delays or in any other way hinders its development.

Printmaking actually began taking a secondary role in my practice some time ago. I don’t remember feeling happier or more fulfilled than I have in the past 12 or so months, working predominantly on the Homo-insecta watercolours and paintings. Conversely, there are aspects of printmaking I don't enjoy - in particular, the frequently unpredictable, maddeningly inconsistent, dogsbody process of printing and editioning. Moreover, I have never felt entirely at home in the printmaking world. A mentor of mine once remarked - a trifle cynically - that there are no loyalties in the art world. I believe he is wrong about this, but, based upon my experiences, not enough for me to continue pledging undying allegiance to the World of Print - except from the outside, as a longtime admirer of so many of its gifted practitioners and their works.

Nevertheless, for a very long time printmaking was central to my own creative endeavours; I have accumulated a storehouse of priceless memories from those years and met some marvellous people. Late last night I began work on a PowerPoint presentation for an artist talk I’ve been invited to give at the Art Gallery of Ballarat in October. Compiling images for the talk brought about the recognition that some of the prints aren't so bad either.

Swarm 2002

Pictured above: Swarm, 2002, synthetic polymer paint on 32 oval canvases, paired. Large: 25 x 20 cm each; small: 15 x 20 cm each. Overall dimensions approximately 172 x 194 cm. Installation view from the exhibition the enchanted forest - new gothic storytellers. A Geelong Gallery and NETS Victoria touring exibition. 

Guest curated by Jazmina Cininas, the exhibition also includes works by James Morrison, Milan Milojevic, Louise Weaver, Louisann Zahra-King and Jazmina Cininas. Launch venue: Geelong Gallery, then touring to Bendigo Art Gallery, Shepparton Art Gallery, Latrobe Regional Gallery, Swan Hill Regional Art Gallery, Dubbo Regional Gallery and Tweed River Art Gallery during 2008-2009.

SWARM  

A fairy tale by Deborah Klein

Once in another time not so very long ago there were 16 sisters. They lived with their widowed father and younger brother in a fine, respectable townhouse in a fine respectable street in a fine respectable suburb in a fine respectable town. But none of them could honestly say that they were happy or content. You see, while their father and brother were able to venture into the great world outside to study, work for a living and even have wonderful and exciting adventures, they were confined to their home, aside from an occasional shopping trip downtown under the watchful eye of their governess. Until such time as they were able to marry they were expected to oversee the running of the house and always be well presented and polite, especially if called upon to assist their father when he entertained his friends and colleagues. Certainly they had lessons, but their governess was under strict orders that they perfect their cooking and sewing skills (which were frankly appalling) rather than advance their learning in the arts or sciences.

Their father and brother were respected entomologists whose butterfly collection was famous worldwide. The daughters begged their father to let them help with the collection. They longed to venture out and join in the hunt and maybe discover and name some new species, even though they knew the credit would ultimately be given to their father and brother. That’s the way it was in the olden days, you see. 

He finally relented and let them come along on a butterfly hunting expedition in the forest not far from their house. They had always longed to go there as they had heard that it was enchanted. When they arrived they had to admit there was indeed something magical and mysterious about it and longed to explore its hidden depths. But they knew they were there for a very specific reason and very soon they were completely engrossed in the task at hand. Their father was grudgingly impressed at their success. Well before the day’s end they had managed to capture a great many butterflies, every one of them a truly magnificent specimen. His daughters were thrilled, as it seemed that he might take them seriously at last.

They carried their prey home in jars with holes drilled in the lids. Late that afternoon, before hurrying off to the monthly meeting of the Entomological Society, their father and brother took the sisters upstairs to their laboratory and explained how to kill and mount their captives. Thousands of specimens already collected by their father and brother were fastidiously pinned and arranged in a series of glass cases lining a huge room that, along with the laboratory, occupied the entire second storey of their house. With a sudden pang, the sisters had to admit that they felt a certain affinity with them. 

Their eyes then turned to the butterflies still fluttering gamely in their glass prisons and they knew at once that they couldn’t bear to kill them. As one they moved to free them, knowing full well that their father would be furious and that in giving these beautiful creatures their freedom, they may have lost the chance to gain their own. 

The oldest girl opened the window to their father’s study, and one by one they unscrewed the lids of the jars. Instead of flying away, however, the butterflies flew madly around the room as if they had completely lost their bearings in the excitement of escape. But soon they gathered together to form a huge fluttering cloud of kaleidoscope colours. It was a marvellous sight. Over the gentle but determined sound of their beating wings, the girls could hear what sounded like a faint voice. They could not believe their ears. Ordinarily it would not have been audible to humans, but spoken collectively its sound was unmistakeable. ‘Join us’ they said. ‘Fly away with us and be free forever.’ 

The girls exchanged glances and in less time than the single beat of a butterfly’s wings their decision was made. One by one they followed the butterflies through the open window. But instead of plummeting downwards to almost certain death, they were wondrously, miraculously airborne, up, up, up into the orange coloured sky, a fantastical swarm, heading for freedom and happiness in the Enchanted Forest.