IN THE OPEN AIR

Plein air painting is none of these things: comfortable, relaxing, pleasant. It's a bloody slog carrying boards and bags of supplies up and down steep bluffs and over the rocks, trying to balance the required materials on uneven surfaces, keeping flying debris out of wet paint, entertaining passing tourists AND dealing with the fluids: sea spray, solvent, sweat and blood. Ok there was no blood... not this time. But, God, the activity is deeply satisfying.

Yesterday I ventured to the rocks at the south end of Turimetta Beach. The place is stunning. The rocks themselves are beautifully carved by the sea... and by artists. I didn't notice at first but gradually around me carvings began to emerge: a bird, an old key, a face.

At the base of the headland, clusters of rocks form channels through which the waves crash. The tide was coming in which seemed to give warlike purpose to the waves... aggressively gaining ground as I respectfully retreated. 

I took some photos which I will post but they don't capture the scene. I realised that being there amidst the spray and the overwhelming noise and the perpetual movement gave me a different impression to the camera. The waves were bigger and more turbulent, they dominated the scene... the rocks lay down in submission and the sky hung back, relieved to be a distant observer. I couldn't capture this with the camera - though I know some that could. I will try to paint what my minds eye saw.

The sketches that I made will become the basis of my work for the Manly Arts Festival POP Art Gallery. It's to be held in a venue called Hemingways and I have been thinking a lot about The Old Man and the Sea. Compared to his hardships, my little adventure yesterday was a walk in the park.

IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME COMING

www.susiedureau.com 

I've www'd myself - on monitors near you!

This message is so wonderfully absurd in that my blog has now been imported into the website – so this post will be site within site. The Real Inspector Hound eat your heart out.

A QUARTET AT DAMIEN MINTON GALLERY

I will never grow tired of the transformative process of ‘The Hang’. Moving paintings from the studio and into the gallery – where they take on new life, new light and new perspective is unsettling and thrilling in the way that all new experiences are.

When I delivered the paintings, Damien and I laid them out and we talked about the general feeling of the works and how they related to each other but we did not discuss the hang… and in fact I hadn’t really thought about it. In the studio I had often situated the individual works in a particular relationship to each other and adjusted their positions along with their development… moves dictated by colour or subject or mood. It was therefore, a curious (and happy) moment to walk into the gallery on opening night and see how Damien had interpreted the relationships between the paintings and how he hung the show. 

The show was a wonderful success – not least due to the energy of the other three painters in the room. It really was very fine to show with Emma De Clario, Emma Walker and Becky Gibson – all such strong and sensitive and energetic painters. It sounds like a contradiction to put those three traits together but I am sure they would know what I mean.

Opening night was a blast – thanks so much to Damien, and my fellow artists, and my wonderful art loving friends who came along. Our little post show celebration at The Eathouse Diner was pretty spesh too.

Emma de Clario http://emmadeclario.blogspot.com.au/2008/11/biography.html

Emma Walker http://www.emmawalker.com.au/

Becky Gibson http://www.beckygibson.net/

PURITY SLASHED

A little over a year ago I posted a picture of my studio filled with prepared canvases waiting for their pure white surfaces to be taken to hell and back. Well, we're back, and exhibiting tonight at the Damien Minton Gallery in Redfern. That's all I can manage to write today... I'll return to report before long.

HOW THE LIGHT GETS IN

A few weeks ago I attended the St Kilda Film festival and more specifically, the premiere of a short film called How the Light Gets In, directed by Siobhan Costigan. It was a wonderful moment as the film, which started out as a small student project, flickered on to the big screen, with a grace and sensitivity that foretells Siobhan’s future success as a filmmaker.

The film is about a mother and a painter: me. It’s about how family and my work as a painter weave together. Naomi and Marlow were very excited to be a part of the film and astounded me with their co-operation (if only we could conduct a school morning with the same success) and Tim’s patience proved, once again, to be boundless. It feels a little strange to say that we might be the subject of a film. Being part of this process has certainly been a very enriching experience, taking me (in the gentlest way possible) worlds away from my comfort zone. I spoke to Siobhan of thoughts and feelings that I have not expressed in conversation before and suddenly there they are – on the screen.

If the film reveals parts of myself that have remained hidden until now, it is largely due to Siobhan’s astute questions, patient listening, gentle coaxing and genuine compassion. There were a few times in our interview together that I noticed tears in her eyes and while I don’t like to make anyone cry – I appreciate her empathy. These unique qualities together with Siobhan’s creative vision and stamina (does she sleep or eat?) will serve her well as a documentary filmmaker and I am certain that we will see and hear many more stories through her eyes.

The film title, How the Light Gets In, was taken from a Leonard Cohen song that I had scribbled on my studio wall. I had heard it some time before we filmed and was so moved by the beautiful lyrics, I wrote them down. I will include the first two stanzas here.
 
"Anthem"

The birds they sang at the break of day
Start again I heard them say
Don't dwell on what has passed away
or what is yet to be.
Ah the wars: they will be fought again
The holy dove: she will be caught again
bought and sold and bought again
the dove is never free.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

I had the easiest role in this whole process and it has been inspiring to see some very talented people at work. Michael Steel is the cinematographer: patient and thorough and committed to a beautiful aesthetic. Danielle Boesenberg and David Bardwell worked on editing and post-production respectively, and while I understand less of this part of production, I do understand their talent is exceptional.

How the Light Gets In was nominated in the category of Best Documentary at the festival and is dedicated to the memory of my first daughter, Eva Serena, who would have been 10 this year.

I hope the film will be available to watch in full, online, at some point – if so I will post here. 
Until then here is a link to the trailer https://vimeo.com/65141851
and the Facebook page. Siobhan has posted a selection of my paintings there too https://www.facebook.com/howthelightgetsinfilm

ADOLESCENT GHOST

Last week the body of an adolescent humpback whale washed into the ocean pool at Newport beach. It was an amazing event to see such a creature up close. I went down to the beach in the evening as the sun was setting and a full moon rising and the sky was putting on a brilliant but melancholy display to mourn the whale.

I know he was dead but you could feel this mighty presence there. It was almost as though the passage between the two worlds was so diaphanous that you hardly noticed that this massive corpse represented an end and not just a continuation of something.

It was a strange atmosphere and while 'celebration' is not quite the word... nor is 'grief'... and definitely not 'apathy'.

With my children in a Catholic school I am regularly pressed to define my idea of God and mostly I find that difficult... but I think God was there, that night, last week.

The next day, the whale had to be cut up and buried as the currents were not favourable enough to take his body out to sea. As the workers performed this grisly task, a whale appeared off the beach,  breaching and making him/ herself visible to all present. I can only imagine that the whale was there to farewell a friend, or son, or brother and I wonder what grief does to a whale.

I have been given a commission to do a painting with ocean and sky... It is a portrait layout which is not natural to me with landscapes so I have procrastinated for some time now. This morning I worked together some of the photos I took at the beach on the night of the whale and this is what I came up with... I now have my reference for the new painting.... Thanks to my encounter with an adolescent ghost.

DOG

Today its Bukowski... It was tempting to post something about drinking and fucking but I couldn't go past this little gem.

dog
a single dog
walking alone on a hot sidewalk of summer
appears to have the power
of ten thousand gods.
why is this?

I said to Tim yesterday that I couldn't wait for winter to be over ... and he reminded me that it had not yet begun. It has begun today.