Narek and Ivy Hill galleries

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embroidery, Ivy Hill gallery, Julie Ryder, Narek Gallery, Peter Tucker, Tim Morehead

Last week, I took inordinate pleasure in a solitary drive down the coast from Bermagui, through rain spatters into bright sunshine, savouring silence in a way new to me since my birthday retreat. Part of the delight was the fact that nobody knew where I was. I felt relaxed and still, as I headed towards two galleries which exactly match my attention span. I can enjoy about thirty pieces at a time: any more and my gallery stamina is severely challenged.

 

 

 

At Narek Galleries, the artist was Julie Ryder, whose textiles and works on paper were tied to two places, Piallago and Black Mountain, the sources of all her dyes for fabric and thread. As always at Narek, the notes were detailed and provided a satisfying framework for viewing the pieces, explaining how they reflect the way maps and paddocks have been superimposed on the natural landscape. I was taken by the incorporation of embroidery into the textile works, tiny stitches reminding one of the skills of grandmothers and hinting at the artist's autobiography.

This was particularly so in the table installation (Molonglo: domestic blueprint). The tablecloth was one containing memories of many family dinners, and the damask was embroidered with the contours of an early map by Charles Scrivener, the embroidery frame still in place. The edges were deliberately muddied by immersion in Lake Burleigh Griffin and the wonderful naturalistic photo with the surreal presence of the table was taken in Yarramundi Reach.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Four large panels (Seasonal variations: summer, autumn, winter, spring) were a patchwork of silk, wool and cotton fabrics in the colours of the landscape, overlaid with the lines from a contour map, expressing the artist's preoccupation with the takeover of the country from its indigenous inhabitants.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Smaller pieces, the Variations series, acquired some of their beauty from simple needlework: seed stitch, running sitch and horizontal cross-stitch, in thread coloured with natural dyes. The artist's notes say “Stitching is meditative, for me much like walking in the bush, and serves to remind us of the passing of time.” I was reminded of the calming effect of patchwork for me when I was waiting for the birth of my fourth child. The spool of embroidered material (No man's land) challenges the idea of terra nullius, the embroidery echoing the patterning of Victorian fabric, over the natural materials coloured by the land.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The patterns of the six works on paper (the Terrain series) were inspired by plant and wood cells seen through the microscope, moving from the historical to the botanical and still anchored firmly to place.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At Ivy Hill, I found two artists, very different from each other and from Julie Ryder. Tim Morehead's work was vivid and geometrical. He mixes his own pigment, making a kind of crayon and then building up layers, interleaving fixative, especially with unstable yellow. The result had the bright texture of tapestry. The subject matter was domestic, with hints of Van Gogh and Grace Cossington-Smith.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Peter Tucker uses a very different medium, one familiar to me from my childhood. I didn't deserve to own a set of Derwent pencils: they were wasted on my puny scribblings. In Tucker's hands they performed miracles of depth and detail, and served his fantasy imagination well. I was too preoccupied with my awe at what a coloured pencil can do to take photos. You can see what he achieves in the catalogue of his paintings at

 

After spending time with three very different artists, I drove back up the coast feeling visually replete.

 

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On the road to Potato Point

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inventiveness, Secret Fairy Garden

I've been charmed for the last few weeks by the blossoming of creativity in the Secret Fairy Garden near the old tip on the road into my village. Each time I look something new has been added. Today I finally stopped to photograph in the grey light of a blessedly cool damp day. The blue curtains fluttered, the fairy surfer caught a wave and the freshly planted petunias surrounded the bole of the splendid spotted gum hosting this artistry. It reminds me of the year of the trolls, when the bridge over the creek was renamed Troll Bridge, and troll dolls took up residence along its side-boards.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Jessie Traill etchings

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etchings, Jessie Traill, National Gallery of Australia

Evening Mallacoota West 1924

 

On Wednesday I left the rock pools of Potato Point to visit the exhibition of Jessie Traill etchings at the National Gallery of Australia. I'd never heard of Jessie Traill, and I know nothing about etchings, but I was enticed by the tranquil etching of Mallacoota, a place familiar and close to home, in “Artonview”. I loved the muted colours, the curves, the sense of light, the balance and the long narrow shape.

It's the first time I've visited the NGA for something other than a blockbuster and the gallery seemed deserted. All the better to stand and contemplate, peering up close with that juggling of bifocals that is my typical gallery manoeuvring. The labels offered a new verbal poetry and a whole array of new ignorances: plate tone with wiped highlight; foul biting; intaglio; soft ground etching; aquatint; mezzotint; dry point; warm black ink.

However, knowledge wasn't necessary for pleasure in the etchings. I was interested in Traill's fascination with the beauty of industrial architecture, something I've experienced, almost against my will, with structures like the brick chimneys at Newtown, the railway viaduct at Manilla and the huge round silos at Binnaway. Her series about the construction of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and her etchings of the Clyde in Scotland used the complex technology of etching to represent other complex technologies, where the aesthetics of form was at one with function.

The great arch, 1932

 

However, her etchings of landscape were what held my attention. I loved her weavings of ti-tree trunks and branches: what at first glance looked dark and sombre revealed an intricacy and delicacy under closer scrutiny. But what really amazed me was her capacity with light: light through gaps in the trees, light reflecting back from the water, late afternoon light.

My only complaint was the reflective glass. I didn't really want to see a lineup of the frames on the opposite wall superimposed on Melbourne from Richmond paddock.

Ti-tree frieze, centre panel 1910

 

Good night in the gully where the white gums grow, 1922

 

Evening Emerald

 

The drinking man, 1914

 

Melbourne from Richmond paddock

 

 

I left Canberra about 2. The afternoon was rainy and by the time I passed through Braidwood the landscape was grey, misty and atmospheric, a real-world match to the feel of Jessie Traill's etchings.

 

 

 

For a brief biography and a short video, have a look at http://nga.gov.au/traill/

 

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Rockface 2

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Potato Point beach (north end)

My interest in photographing rockface is an old one. In the past, I've been eager for close up: one memorable afternoon I filled my camera card (the only time this ever happened in one shoot) peering at 5 sq cm portions of the South Jemison cliffs. My new camera has inveigled me into the wider view – after all, with 21 megapixels, if I want a close up I can just crop to billyo.

Rock hopping has given me access to new patterns and arrangements of rock. When the pools gather too many reflections, shadows and ripples for photography, there is no lack of beyond-the-splash subject matter: subtle, figurative, layered, dramatic.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The charcoal artist

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Potato Point, sea patterns

The sea practises its artistry in many ways. When it comes thundering in, day after day, especially after rain that floods the rivers, it leaves delicacy in its wake, sometimes simple and sometimes intricate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Travelling south

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Bournda NP, Handkerchief Beach, Janet DeBoos, Narek Gallery

In my bizarre search for the free photo print, I drove south to Merimbula. As always, I made a picnic of it and enjoyed introducing a friend to some of my bush and cultural pleasures along the coast road between Bermagui and Tathra.

We began with coffee at Bermagui, sitting on the deck in the morning sun at the fish and chip shop my friend knew as a child. We looked down into clear water squirming with fish, and out to the presence of Gulaga, looming in clear sky without its cloud cloak.

 

 

Grand plans for a grand tour into all the segments of Mimosa Rock NP and Bournda NP shrank under the pressure of time. We only managed a walk through ti tree and kunzea from North Tura to Bournda Island, along the edge of the lazy-waved turquoise ocean. The bush creaked and groaned and squeaked above us, reminding me of the imaginary hahas my children invented to terrify their friends – the creatures who made those eerie tree-noises.

 

 

 

 

 

 

After a picnic in Bournda on the other side of Bournda Lagoon, we visited the exhibition of Janet de Boos porcelain at Narek Galleries in Tanja, an oddly pleasing mix of simple and highly decorative styles on the same vessel: rough-textured earth colours and high gloss vividness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The camellia at the door ushered us back to the natural world and the drive home up the coast.

 

There was time for a quick detour into Handkerchief Beach, just south of Narooma. I've only just started visiting it. Thirty years ago a friend was threatened there by a madman with a bit of 4 x 4, shouting “Get off my beach!” My imagination has always peopled it with that man and that threat, and my timidity has avoided it. Recently (yes! It took me thirty years!) I realised how silly that was, and found a place of tranquillity where Nangudga Lake merges with the sea and where we ended our day of sun, friendship, bush, aesthetics and south coast tourism.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Nowra art

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Margaret Dredge, Shoalhaven City Arts Centre

Emboldened by my experience in art galleries in Warsaw and Częstochowa, I strode into the Shoalhaven City Arts Centre, camera at the ready.

I was greeted by a sign unequalled in my many gallery prowlings. The first demand was that I agree not to “harass, threaten or intimidate facility staff”. The sign also said “no photography”, but the man on the desk looked condescendingly at my camera and said “You won't be taking any photos worth selling with that. I cowered, and skulked into the exhibition, feeling harassed and intimidated by the facility staff.

The paintings were by Margaret Dredge. I didn't much like them – heavy, dense, lacking a focal point. However, the brush work was fascinating, so I busily appropriated small segments of the paintings and took pleasure in this act of dismemberment.

As I moved through the gallery, the paintings became lighter in both touch and tone, and more to my taste.

And a bright collage called “Kevin” completed my growing pleasure. I think I need a figurative component in paintings that I like.

I finished my visit to the gallery by poking my nose into a very pleasant courtyard.

Coda: As I left the gallery precinct, I was restored to the natural world by this magnificent street tree.

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Narek weaving

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Jennifer Robertson, Narek Gallery, Tanja, weaving

The Narek Gallery in Tanja near Bega has regular exhibitions that are always worth a visit, not least because of the building that houses them.

 

The current exhibition is called Creating depth: woven space, and showcases the work of Jennifer Robertson. It is one of the many privileges of living on the south coast to be able to enjoy the work of an artist with an international reputation, who exhibits internationally and whose work is in many international (and Australian) collections. I spent half an hour alone with the weaving, with permission to photograph: this always helps me to see, and enables me to savour later.

Displaying such pieces is a challenge: many of them are different back and front. Hanging them as banners allows both sides to be seen and also emphasizes their lightness.

 

The catalogue explained different processes: jacquard, double cloth, triple cloth, quadruple cloth. It also listed materials: wool, silk, linen and cotton. I welcomed this information, since my knowledge of weaving is minimal, my only experience on a simple loom when I was eight.

I was drawn first to the weavings taking inspiration from nature, especially tree ferns, palms and anthills.

 

But there were textural, colour and design pleasures in every piece.

 

 

http://www.narekgalleries.com/

 

 

 

 

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Sculpture on the edge

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Bermagui, sculpture

For once I seized exactly the right moment. On a peerless sunny day – the only one for at least two weeks – I whizzed down to Bermagui to ramble round the annual drama of sculptures on the edge. Gulaga under its possum cloak provided a perfect background.  There were only three couples rambling at the same time as me so there was plenty of room for photography, unlike Sydney’s Sculpture by the Sea, where you are on a moving walkway composed of crowd. The only distraction was the orange tape making the territory of sculpture, which intruded its utilitarian ugliness.

Here’s some of what I saw, beginning with the superb setting

Frugality and impulse in mortal combat

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buying a painting, buying two paintings, Carlos Barrios, daring, frugality and impulse, Gallery Bodalla

 Frugality and impulse. Two of my abstract goals for 2012. As soon as I surfaced from the holidays that make most of January disappear, I went out one night in pursuit of another abstract goal – daring. It wasn’t very daring. Just an exhibition opening at the Gallery Bodalla. But I hate openings, because you have to hover amidst a pile of strangers and either feel self-conscious in your silence or inane in your utterance. The paintings are low on the list of everyone’s priorities.

However, I thought I’d give openings another go, tempted partly by the promise of Latin American guitar music.  I arrived late and found that I could in fact prowl the paintings uninterrupted, provided I executed small dance steps to keep out of other people’s sight line and keep them out of mine. I found I was enjoying the atmosphere, and snickering privately at inane attempts to talk to the artist: “I really love your art” is a line I won’t emulate. I enjoyed watching Valerie thumb red dots on the wall with surprising frequency, and a thread of a thought took up residence in my brain: “Mmm. I’d like to cause a red dot.”

And then I saw the painting. It was called Arribo (Up). The head and shoulders of a figure in profile (yes. I’m sure that’s what it is) emerged from wonderful delicate black and white hashwork. It drew me back and back and back. The price helped it to settle more solidly in my brain. It was within my reach.

However, I’ve read Peter Singer on the ethics of consumption: I’ve listened to a friend who decided to buy nothing new this year.  For goodness sake, I’ve decided myself to be frugal! And how much of this urge to buy is the hysteria of the event and the moment?

So I don’t buy.

But I’m back in the gallery at the weekend for another look and Arribo still pulls me. Still I don’t dare, hoping in my cowardly way that it will be sold to someone else and I’ll be relieved of the responsibility of deciding.

No-one else buys it. Eight days after I see it, I pull out the mastercard and dress up in gear suitable for an art-buyer. I say “I’ll have that one” and watch the red dot leave Valerie’s finger and attach itself to the wall near my purchase.

But I feel none of the elation I expected. I feel flat. I look at another piece (Spirits at Bristol Point) and wish I’d bought it, with its crowd of bare bottoms and breasts, in a grey wash with a greeny-mauvy tinge and a splash of orange. There’s even a shape that could be a dog in the corner. I contemplate changing my mind, but I can’t bring myself to look completely indecisive. As I step out the door, the second impulse strikes. I’ll buy it too!

And suddenly I feel jubilant.

The artist