Small intimate paintings fill the space. Possibly some of the most beautiful paintings I have ever had the pleasure to send time with.They are roughly rendered, the paint is applied thinly, with often only one layer, sometimes revealing the substrate underneath. Occasionally the paint is smudged, or blurred, like feathering gone wild, other-times it is hurriedly gestural, the action of the artists hand is apparent in these quick momentary movements. Their power is great, they evoke the nature of the thing they portray but only in essence, removed from context they have an abstract gestural quality, these quickly rendered snippets of Melbourne life, evoke the grey and often lonely lives of the city.
Up close you lose the spender of the painting, wanting to examine how paint if applied is one of my pastimes but when you get too close to these works they fall apart, losing their intention, they insist on being viewed from afar, closeness is all to dull. Perhaps this is reflective of how the artist lived? Perhaps not.
The gallery has chosen the hang some of the works on painted walls, and some not, I find this a little perturbing. why not go all out?
A sense of otherness and eeriness is deeply embedded in these works, they successfully evoke atmosphere and environment. You can feel the wet cold Melbourne evening, it is uncomfortable yet romantic with lights and early twentieth century neon. reflected on the wet road.
Some are more successful than others, it greatly saddens me that most of her works were destroyed. it also saddens me that in her lifetime she appeared not have sold anything much, but maybe she didn’t paint for sale, maybe she painted for the thrill of it, I imagine that to many the word thrill and painting don’t really go together but for me they do, painting gives me the most joy in life, I feel alive when it works I feel a bit broken when it doesn’t.
Detail
Detail
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