As a twelve-year-old girl, I met a young artist named Brett Whiteley without knowing who he was. More than fifty years later, I can still see him crossing the room, and only now do I understand why that brief encounter never left me.
An exhibition opening, a glass of champagne, and one very unfortunate decision to wander into an alcove with only one exit. What followed was a masterclass in art theory, liminality, juxtaposition, and my increasingly desperate attempts to escape politely. Along the way I discovered that while some people discuss art, I spend my time planning skies.
One afternoon I was sitting in the studio contemplating my navel, which is another way of saying I was obviously hard at work, when the phone rang.
These days, when the phone rings unexpectedly, I’m generally expecting one of two things. Either Border Force has discovered something alarming about my passport, or an indecipherable recorded voice is about to warn me of dire events that will befall me unless I immediately press 1.
So when I heard a gentleman introduce himself as Adam from Charleston’s Fine Art Auctions, my first thought was that he must have the wrong artist…
Most paintings find a wall. A couple of mine found Netflix. The story of how two artworks from a small Gold Coast studio unexpectedly ended up in the film True Spirit.
The Flying Nun and the Large Canvas For those too young to remember, The Flying Nun was a television series from the late 1960s in
How Long Did it Take? When I returned to painting, I went through what I often think of as my second art school education. I
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