Reminding me of the pallate of Jeffrey Smart, many paintings immediately ellicted memories of brisbane and the sunshine coast. Besserblock walls. External pipework. heat. light. rain. wind. pavement.
Blown head gasket immediately reminded me of the time I blew the head of my parents' old mitsubishi nimbus at Dickies Beach.
One work immediately reminded me of the work of Pieter Brughel:
In another, the yellow light was so accurate that I could feel the humid afternoon heat on my neck:
And this last one took me immediately back to the front verandah in the January rains:
Beautiful memories resound instantly from these and the many other paintings like it.
When i find this pleasure again in my memories of Brisbane, I wonder afresh what it is that defines this place. It's not a gateway to everywhere else - a 'non-place'... it does have a magnretism, an attraction, a pace, a place for me...
.. but is ever so elusive and difficult to define for some strange reason. Is it the sound of cicadas that greet you at the airport in summer, or the crisp breeze in winter? or the ghostly raggedy gum trees irregularly formed and placed, each with their own face and story to tell?
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