Eastern Suburbs Art Group

Man-o-war, octopus, slippery things with no scientific name that live in rockpools, such are the subjects of Dee Smart’s ‘Suspended embrace’ exhibition in Chippendale, which was well received. Almost all of the pieces had red stickers on them, but more importantly the room was full of people, many of whom are supporters of the artist. I was there with group participant Bronwen (see pic) and we discussed the sinuous lines, intricate fills, and careful drips and splashes of the watercolours. Smart has conjured up a world evocative with memories of childhood – exploring on the beach, finding unexpected things washed up on the shore, “look it’s a shark’s egg!” – by reaching back in time to parts of her own life that otherwise would’ve disappeared. It was not raining but rain threatened to arrive, and Bronwen and I both managed to catch our buses at precisely the same time on the way home. I carried with me feelings brought up by my own childhood, the beachcombing, the rare finds of glass a

For our sins the trains weren’t running when we left Don Bank Museum at the end of the night’s entertainment so we had to get on a bus which took us in a figure-eight to get to the bridge and back to the city. It was a memorable evening with Louise Wakeling (see photo) headlining a selection of poets and songwriters each of whom had a unique approach to their art. When I arrived with poems in my pocket to read I didn’t forcefully enough approach the convenor, so when the open section ended I still hadn’t delivered any of them. Later, after the main act, I got up to read ‘Expression’, a sonnet written mainly in December 2013. For me it’d been almost 15 years since I’d read anything in public like this and I felt tentative and like something just emerged from a chrysalis. I met Devina by surprise when I arrived at the old 19th century cottage Poets was held at, and we talked with Simon who’d come with a poem of his own to read, which was funny and wise. A good night.

Yesterday was busy in the afternoon as I had an appointment in North Sydney but then made my way on the entertaining (it’s like a Disney Land ride) light rail to Waterloo and Damien Minton’s new space on Botany Road. I spoke with Virginia (who I met for the first time on the day) and Bernadette Smith, the artist, popped in to join us in praising the sweet little paintings. This is me in front of ‘Flamingo cottage and truck’, which was my favourite as I like paintings of cars and have several in my own collection to enjoy. The room was very full even for Damien’s first show in the space, I didn’t have any trouble finding it though I’d never visited his new address before. People milled around and looked at Harnett’s fascinating studies made after a trip to Tasmania’s Bruny Island. The pictures are made in layers using paint on transparent vinyl or acrylic, at least some sort of sheet of see-through material, in all on them the brushstrokes visible and in many (those with flowers) daubs

The car comes straight at us, exhaust blowing behind like puffed up clouds from Maxfield Parrish. The clouds burst like dandelions. The road opens.  Soon, the car slows and turns smoothly into a driveway, parks next to a familiar tree.  The driver steps out and stretches to the sky. She walks in the front door, puts her keys in a bowl, pets the dog.  She kicks off her shoes, drops her feet on the ottoman after the day she's had. She’s so tired she forgets the toil of clouds, The freedom of the open road, her loneliness.  She sleeps in her chair she’s so weary from the drive. -------------------- Works combined here have been used with permission. Photo by Matthew da Silva. Poem is by Robert Allen (Twitter: @RobertAllenPoet). If you’d like to submit a picture or a poem for use in this way, please feel free to get in touch.

All three panelists at the talk have a Chinese origin (Dadang Christanto was born in Indonesia) and the general consensus was that Australia is still the lucky country. Shen Jiawei said it’s Marx’s workingman’s ideal. L to r: Dadang Christanto, Xiao Luin, Shen Jiawei, Linda Jaivin Linda Jaivin led the conversation, having also Mandarin to call on (as she did when Xiao asked about some words for translation). Xiao said that art is about expressing herself, though she admitted that sometimes that means talking about politics. Her history with art goes back to events of 1989. Formative for Christanto and Shen were the events in Indonesia in the 1960s when Communists and people of Chinese ancestry were set upon and massacred in a killing spree for which there seems to be no accurate total. In the background the Aboriginal paintings of Emily Kame Kngwarreye – which I had become accustomed to on an earlier visit to the Art Gallery of New South Wales, having sat in a nearby seat admiring thei

It was a busy day with Simon and I meeting a potential collaborator in Botany then scampering off to Surry Hills where at Tap Gallery we saw the bright, colourful paintings of Sharla La. Sharla La, 'She and her familiar' The show was titled ‘THE RAW. THE NAKID. THE TRUE’ and for sure it offered all of these things but in loud greens, reds, oranges, yellows. The artist herself is nomadic and lives on a bus, she told me, and I promised myself to catch her next show when she’s down in Sydney .. in the Never Never. Sharla La, 'Come sister, if you have the courage' The artist read out one of her stories about a hermit. There was something raw and true about the narrative, like a road trip and meeting a stranger in a highway town. I left feeling elated, stomping through the streets around Central Station to head back to my place.

he hides behind the shadows of his original sin not his betrayal of her love & trust but of his own heart for living a lifetime behind the lie -------------------- Works combined here have been used with permission. Photo by Harvey (Twitter: @JapanNewbie). Poem is by George Mercado (Twitter: @BklynMercado). If you’d like to submit a picture or a poem for use in this way, please feel free to get in touch.

It was a full house upstairs at Australian Galleries in Paddington despite the rain, with people from across the city coming together to celebrate putting on sale a collection of bronzes. From fauns to demons to Ducatis, a range of objects was on show. Cathy Weiszmann, 'Frolic faun' Bronwen came to meet with me and an old school friend named Anthony and we chatted until well past the event close time of 8pm. Weizsmann was friendly as always and I got to talk with a number of people I wouldn’t have met if it hadn’t been for the gallery’s schedule. Esag is planning to go on Saturday afternoon to Tap Gallery in Surry Hills to hear a talk by Sharla La for her show of paintings, ‘THE RAW. THE NAKID. THE TRUE’ which promises glimpses of modern Bohemia. In doing so I expect it’ll link back thematically with the Art Gallery of NSW talk I saw earlier in the week (see yesterday’s post).  Cathy Weiszmann, 'Ducati' The inner east of Sydney offers multiple opportunities to experien

Wanting to miss busy commuting times I got to the Art Gallery of New South Wales early and had a look around the exhibits, eventually finding myself in front of two Emily Kame Kngwarreye paintings that had been put up to accompany the Sol LeWitt wall. The paintings were even better than what had been installed as the centrepiece of the gallery’s display. ‘Untitled’ 1995 is done in a reed nutty red with yellow patterns underneath, it’s mesmerising as the yellow and the red argue and compete for attention (see below). Next to it, ‘Untitled (Alhalker)’ 1996 seems to contain the figures of humans dancing or else it’s spirits in bodies somehow wrenched from another world. See below. Elsewhere, Kazuko Miyamoto’s ‘Untitled II’ 1971 (below) uses shadows and thread to make analogous plays, the eye trying to pinpoint a central point and running up and down, the brain following. This photo doesn’t do the work justice and I urge you to go and have a look for yourself if you have time. I sat downst

  He smiles at me, Holds me tight. “Daddy I love you …” He whispers. “I love you, love you …” Is my reply. And his fingers Reach into my soul, Press against my heart. “I love you … love you …” Echoes in my heart. I remember holding him When he was born. His hair was so curly, His skin was so much darker Than mine. I knew then the secret, I should have been angry, So many words I did not say. He was so innocent, He was so small. He needed someone, He needed me. “I love you … Love you …” Echoes in my mind. I kiss him goodnight, He closes his eyes But not his smile. I remember my own life, Circles within circles, Lifetimes return to haunt me. I was born into a family But not into a home. I was abandoned to the faiths, I was alone … “I love you … love you …” Words I never heard. I never knew my father, I never knew my mom, Only the pretension of family, No ties of the blood To remind me of my past … “Daddy Hold me I’m scared.” He knows me as father, I know him as son, The secret is never t

We took the bus to get to Zetland and Sullivan+Strumpf where Yvette Coppersmith’s decorative and colourful canvases were on display (see below). This is ‘Untitled Movement (Venetian Red)’ and it was auspiciously unsold (most works in the show had already been taken) but I restrained myself. Downstairs at the same gallery were works by Singaporean artist Dawn Ng, and I admired some of her larger works on paper, such as ‘I Will Follow You into The Dark’, which was made using acrylic paint, dye, and ink. The green and the pink sort of coalesced and gravitated toward a mesmerising grey blending opposites into a new colour that is usually disparaged, and I think of a talk I went to recently on press freedom and how it’s the grey areas of society that allow all the useful discussion to happen. Simon and I asked for directions to get to Newtown, where we’d arranged to meet with Annie of Laerk Space, which is on Wilson Street up the north end of Newtown. She said her mum used to run a general

We’ll get there by bus from Botany where we’ll first do some administrative work. Then we’ll visit Lark Space in Newtown where we might in future be able to hold classes. While out that way we’ll maybe hand out some flyers at the Sydney Contemporary that’s on at Carriageworks, then we’ll troop down to south Newtown to check out whether we can hire a costume at Costume-Party. It'll be a day trip with art as the focus as always. This week I’ve spent days driving around Sydney collecting magazines that people were giving away via Facebook Marketplace, this photo taken after a couple of days’ driving. The thing is that lessons cost money as we need to engage a teacher, and it’s usual for people to give their time and expertise for functions for a fee. Alternatively, it’s possible that we can get a different rate for collage sessions, but all these plans are still evolving, check back later to find out how we’re doing with our major life project revolving around art. On Wednesday I rear

Alone, eternity echoes... I scream. Alone, an awesome solitude laughs... I cry. Alone, yesterday's a burden, I fall. Alone, I think of you... I move. You, who means love to me, I kneel. Love, that means hope to me, I rise. Hope, which means understanding, I stand. Understanding which is a reflection of all your love, I live, I live! -------------------- Works combined here have been used with permission. Untitled photo by Matthew da Silva. Poem is by George Mercado (Twitter: @bklynmercado). If you’d like to submit a picture or a poem for use in this way, please feel free to get in touch.

Hilarity ensued on the way home from the National Art School where Simon and I had gone to distribute flyers for the first Sydney Sketch Soiree we’ve got planned for the Randwick Ritz. An intrepid pair slunk around like burglars but found it impossible in an art school to give away information that would encourage people to practice their art.  Imagine! We ended up being entirely critical of institutions in what we were saying to each other as Simon drove back to the eastern suburbs from the city.  After a break and some lunch I headed off on my own to pick up the lapel pins we’d had made (if you want one just send an email – see “Contacts” page for email address) and while in Chippendale saw Jun Chen’s show at Nanda/Hobbs. Chen has been in Australia for over 30 years and did his initial art training in China to learn traditional ink painting. When he came here he did a masters in Queensland in oil painting. Reportedly he limbers up each morning with some calligraphy. “You have to cont

I jumped on the bus yesterday and made my way into town accidentally meeting Devina (who’d come to a get-together at my place on one occasion) on the 309 on Botany Road. We made it to St James Station and headed down to Westfield where a marquee and tables had been set up for classes in watercolours. Pamela Woods instructed visitors ably in how to mix colours, how to keep water clean, how to use the brush to make leaf-shaped marks, and even what to sketch. Most of the seats were taken and time sped by amiably with everyone chatting and getting into the activity with good humour and panache. We made three sketches, starting with one fuchsia, then a rose, and finally a plant with brown leaves (see below). The different types of paper and the novelty of using brushes (it’s been 40 years since I held a brush) didn’t keep people from having a go.

in the prison of silence  she writes letters & throws them through the bars of her own mistakes  still hoping  not for an answer but for understanding & peace  though her weeds grew taller than roses  she never meant any harm  late sorrys bloom in her garden -------------------- Works combined here have been used with permission. Photo by Rob Schackne. Poem is by Dandelion Girl (Twitter: @moscowdandelion). If you’d like to submit a picture or a poem for use in this way, please feel free to get in touch.