Upcoming Changes....

2020 brought the unexpected and it continues to transform our lives as we head into 2021…

May Space Gallery, where I have had two solo shows in 2019 and 2020, is closing its doors. May Space Gallery will continue in an on-line platform commencing in 2021 and I will continue to show with them and exhibit on-line. They close their doors on 19 December 2020. My work, in their stockroom, can be viewed in the flesh through next week, the 12 December 2020. The stockroom is full of work from all their artists and there is plenty to see. The current exhibition features Carolyn Craig, Waratah Lahy and Ruth Ju-Shih Li and runs through 19 December 2020. Do go in to the gallery to have a look if you can!

Second Show at May Space Gallery - Where Architecture Meets the Land

The paintings are finished (by the skin of my teeth!), the photography completed and now the works are at the gallery! It is an honour to be exhibiting with May Space Gallery in Sydney, Australia for a second year. It is profoundly supportive to have a gallery working with me to exhibit, promote and sell my work. Brenda May and her team, Eleanor and Amy are knowledgeable, skilful, honest, straightforward, understanding, compassionate and unfailingly helpful! I make the paintings and then I pass the baton over to them! What a blessing and privilege!!!

This year’s work is a change for me. These works are painted on stretched linen. This is the first body of work where I have painted on linen; I have previously used paint and collage on board. When I studied at the National Art School in Sydney, I used to joke that one day I would learn how to paint without the use of collage. My tutors dismissed my comments but in my heart I knew I longed to do just that.

It wasn’t that I did not know how to paint. It wasn’t that I thought painting with collage was problematic. However I was keenly aware that the use of collage in my paintings was not simply an aesthetic choice. Something about the physical act of cutting paper or canvas and looking for concrete shapes helped me to see and organise visual input. I did not understand why or how this worked but I was keenly aware it had to do with how my brain processed visual information.

I have always wanted to construct rather than depict paintings. For me constructing a painting means using shapes of paint and arranging them to build an image very much the way we construct a building or take lego pieces and build something. In order to do this, I needed to learn to see the world differently. By collaging, I taught myself to break down form and three dimensional reality into shapes.

In this body of work, ‘Where Architecture Meets the Land,’ I used only paint. While I find the shapes with increasing ease in architecture, I found it particularly challenging when I looked at a mass of vegetation where I could not see the structure and form within it. I found myself repeatedly lost. It took time and continual looking and fumbling with the paint until I found some form, shape or structure.

This brings me to painting the landscape. It is not a subject I have engaged with very often despite its popularity in Australian art. I have never felt drawn to visually examine landscape. I stumbled into these paintings rather than planned them during a three month house sit in Wootton, NSW in 2016. I began ‘Wootton Bliss’ at the end of this period. My intent was to see if I could paint without collage. Then two years later I had a residency at Bundanon Trust where I began three paintings - ‘The Joy of Working at Bundanon Trust,’ ‘Winter Mornings at Bundanon Trust’ and ‘Passing Clouds’ - that looked at the land through architecture. I continued to paint without collage. These paintings were difficult to resolve. I found myself painting and leaving them out of frustration over long periods of time until they were finally completed. In 2020, after having finished the first four paintings, I started the remaining paintings from Vaucluse House in Sydney - ‘Morning Sun,’ ‘Leaves of Joy’ and ‘Listening to Silence.’ I began to understand why landscape posed such a challenge. When looking at the natural environment in all its majesty, the multitude of visual complexity and information was simply overwhelming. It took a mammoth effort to sift through all the stimulus to find the relevant information.

The topic of this show, the relationship between architecture and the land seems particularly relevant today as we have recently witnessed the fires that ravaged so much of Australia. The devastation was beyond comprehension and how we are living begs thoughtful reflection. It seemed important to ponder the space where architecture and the land touch, intermingle and relate. While making these paintings, I experienced how the land holds, surrounds, protects, invades, shades, covers and engages with the architecture. They are integral to one another.

Are we who design, build, inhabit and maintain architectural structures aware of the partnership we have with the land our buildings inhabit and dance with? Do we care for and nurture this partnership?

Agnes Tyson - Where Architecture Meets the Land 22 July - 8 August 2020

May Space Gallery 409b George Street Waterloo, NSW 2017 Tuesday - Saturday, 10am - 5 pm

'The Interior of Home' showing at May Space Gallery in Sydney

The paintings are finished and photographed. The work is making its way to the gallery. My show, ‘The Interior of Home’ opens next week on Wednesday, 7 August 2019 at May Space Gallery in Sydney, Australia. It hangs alongside Alex Karaconji’s drawings and videos. Opening drinks are Saturday, 10 August 2019 from 3-5pm. All are welcome!!

As one body of work vanishes and other work begs for my attention, there is time to reflect over the last five months. Like our homes, the three paintings I completed over the past five months were deeply personal. They touched both the present and my distant, childhood past. It astounds me how present and powerful the past felt while I painted my family’s childhood summer cottage (Painting Titles: ‘The House That Never Stopped Giving’ and ‘Good-bye Cushings Island’). It was as if I were there, experiencing the sensations, reliving the memories and feeling the emotions. At the same time, grief engulfed me as the house I painted was sold in 2018. Every memory was tainted with sadness, regret and a physical discomfort. Sensations brought up tears. It was painful. At the same time, there was a bittersweet joy in painting a place I loved so deeply. There is no time in my life I feel more grateful for than the summers I spent in our house on an island in Maine. Painting the home where I currently live (Painting Title: Turning the Corner) also proved more challenging than I anticipated. It required a distance and detachment that I developed rather than started out with. After choosing a particular composition, the painting guided and directed me. It had a life of its own and I seemed to have to find that life rather than create it.

These paintings join five older paintings of past home interiors from my adult life and childhood. While I am aware that new is often considered best, I am most excited to see the relationship of these paintings that were made over the past fourteen years.

In a world where we often never stop, if you reflect over the first half of this year, what comes up for you?

Working towards a show at May Space Gallery

There is nothing better as a painter to make paintings that upon completion are scheduled to be exhibited.  Happily I am working on several new interiors; these, in addition to several older interiors will come together for the upcoming show, ‘The Interior of Home’ at May Space Gallery in Sydney opening on 7 August 2019.

For some reason it seems important to take a little time out of painting to reflect upon what I am doing.  There is so much more to painting than applying paint on to a canvas or board.  That may seem obvious but I find myself surprised at how much time it takes to do all that needs to be done.  Sourcing and buying my materials.   Buying, transporting and cutting the wood for my boards.  Making, plaining and preparing my boards.  Packing my work for transport.  Taking my work to be photographed.  Transporting work to the gallery.  Writing artists statements.  Applying for art prizes.  Keeping my website up to date and running.  And then there is all the time spent rectifying mistakes and doing things a second, third or fourth time because they simply do not work.  Despite the scattered nature of these seemingly disconnected tasks, there is something mysteriously grounding in attending to all the stages of the work from start to exhibition.  In a world that seems obsessed with efficiency and productivity, as a painter I deeply value working to my own rhythm and pace.  While it is certainly not the most efficient way to proceed, it allows me to work intuitively and reflectively.

The paintings in my upcoming show are all of my homes, past and present.  Home is a theme I return to.  Starting with my current home, I am now working on paintings of a family home that my siblings recently sold.  This home was a place I loved deeply and it was a house that reminds me of ‘The Giving Tree’ by Shel Siverstein.  ‘The Giving Tree’ is a children’s book about a tree and a little boy.  The story tells the tale of the tree giving to the boy throughout his life - initially a place to play, then apples to eat and sell for money, branches to build his house, its trunk to build a boat and finally its stump, as a place for the boy who has become an old man, to rest.  The book depicts the relationship of the tree as the giver and the boy as the taker.  True to the nature of a giver, the tree was always happiest in giving to the boy.  Our family house was like the giving tree.  

These paintings span fourteen years and include interiors that resonate with a feeling of security, familiarity, knowing, comfort, safety and connection.  The structures we call home literally support and protect us.  At home we relax and allow ourselves to be who we are.  Home is our most intimate, private space.   As I make these paintings, I realise we carry our homes inside us long after we leave.   The gifts our homes give us expand with time  and experience rather than diminish.  

What significance does ‘home’ have for you?

The Value of an Artist Residency

I am over half way through my residency at Bundanon Trust.  I have three paintings and a drawing underway.   I take long, daily walks through the bush, cook soups and roasted vegetables and sleep well.  I have had lots of time to reflect, appreciate the beauty around me and be totally absorbed in solving the visual problems I have set myself.

One of the questions I find myself asking is "What makes an artist residency at Bundanon Trust so precious?"  Here is my best answer at the present time.  When I come to Bundanon Trust, I put my life on hold.  I tell people I am away and I do not schedule anything during this time.  Besides looking at my emails daily and checking the news and weather a bit, I do not spend much time on the internet.  I do this so that I will have no distractions or interuptions and it allows me total freedom during my residency to do whatever feels right.  When I have a whole day free, I follow my own, innate rhythm.  I have a balanced day that includes optimal sleep, exercise, good food and time to paint and/or draw; I am relaxed, fully absorbed and the time whizzes by.  

In addition to having time and freedom, solitude offers many gifts.  The first is quiet.  The silence allows my nervous system to deeply relax and I hear, smell and see what is around me.  My mind starts to listen rather than to babble away endlessly.  My body relaxes.  The second is I get answers to my questions.  They come while I am bush walking, sitting on the top of the ridge or working in my studio.  They come at their own will in their own time when I am least expecting them.  The third is self-connection.  I welcome my feelings, sensations and needs with curiosity.  I see what is important to me and how to make changes in my life that reflect these priorities.  And lastly is joy.  In this spaciousness, I have found pure delight while listening to the silence in the middle of the night, looking at the glistening sunlight reflected on the bark of trees, devouring a bowl of homemade, hot vegetable soup in the morning sunshine or successfully working out a painting composition.

It may seem odd that I have not writing exclusively about making art.  The quiet, freedom and joy are all connected to painting and drawing.  I see clearly in my paintings and drawings,  I make spaces to inhabit, explore and wander through.  I keep coming back to this motif because these spaces I create are precious to me.  They convey my deep feeling of connection to life.

The value of an artist residency at Bundanon Trust is the spaciousness and nurturing it offers; it is an environment in which creativity thrives. 

So my question to you is "what nurtures your creative life?"

On retreat at Bundanon Trust

I have the privilege of being an artist in residence at the Bundanon Trust for three weeks!  Gifted by the late artist Arthur Boyd and his wife Yvonne, Bundanon Trust consists of three properties along the Shoalhaven River just north of Nowra.  The trust includes the Boyd homestead, Arthur Boyd's studio, the artist in residence complex, the education centre designed by Glen Murcott, administrative buildings and extensive land with some walking trails.  The homestead and Arthur Boyd's studio is open on Sundays with tours available.  If you have never been here, it is well worth a visit.  There is always something wonderful happening here.  Check it out at https://www.bundanon.com.au

I am settling in to life here which is delightfully quiet with a spacious, light filled studio and comfortable living arrangements.  I have decided to work on painting, drawing and some works on paper at the same time.  The blessing of being here is multifaceted.  Because of its isolation and setting in the bush, I am able to work all day and at night without interruption.  This allows for momentum to grow.  I also walk in the bush looking, listening and allowing my mind to wander aimlessly.  There are up to six artists on site so at times there are opportunities to see what other artists are doing.  Last night the dancers Emily Bowman and Josef Lehrer invited friends and residents to a performance of contact improvisation.  Dancers, writers, musicians and all sorts of artists are in residence so there is an opportunity to see and discuss ideas across disciplines.

I find myself working from life and enjoying the formal concerns of drawing and painting - line, shape, colour and tone.  Last night at the dance performance Emily and Josef commented afterwards that their primary concern while dancing was formal rather than emotional or conceptual.  However,  at the conclusion of the piece the audience saw story lines and had emotional responses. 

As an artist I wonder, if we are present and sensitive to the formal concerns of our craft, will the emotional, conceptual and spiritual aspects of our work be intact despite us rather than because of us?  What do you think?

What lies beneath the surface...

Last week I went to the Art Gallery of New South Wales to see the exhibit "The Lady and the Unicorn."  

I wanted to see this exhibit because when I was ten years old, I loved the unicorn tapestries I saw  at the Cloisters in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  I particularly remember seeing the tapestry entitled 'The Unicorn in Captivity' on a school day trip. Unicorns and the tapestries' ornate designs and colours captivated me.

The current exhibition at AGNSW (Art Gallery of New South Wales) consists of six large scale tapestries from the Musee de Cluny in Paris.  While I read the descriptions, interpretations and stories of the tapestries, I was more interested in simply looking and seeing what I experienced.  It seems that every exhibition takes great pains to educate the viewer about the content, historical context and meaning of the art work and while this is valuable, the act of looking seems to be left out.  Visual art is meant to be seen and its most powerful impact is through our sense of sight, not through our mental understanding and analysis.  Upon sitting down to look at the work, I was immediately struck by my emotional response to it.  I remembered my awe as a child when I first saw unicorn tapestries.  I also recalled my mother who recognised and encouraged my enthusiasm. Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought about the bond we shared. 

I sat down to look and enjoy the details and let the tapestries work on me.  Initially there was a feeling of peace in the Lady and her relationship with her surroundings.  I found myself smiling as I discovered the different animals scattered throughout the intricate foliage surrounding the Lady, unicorn and lion in the same way I enjoy looking at the pictures in a children's book.  

I started with the first tapestry to the left of the entrance and moved clockwise.  In the second tapestry I noticed one of the monkeys was chained and the second monkey had a harness of some sort around its waist.  These details were jarring and seemingly out of character.  As I moved to the next tapestry, I suddenly felt an underlying violence that surprised me.  It was subtle but undeniable. As I examined the imagery, the order, tightly controlled composition, repeating elements and stationary position of the animals all contributed to the covert tension.  The control of the image which contributed to its finesse, delicacy and apparent tranquility was simultaneously creating a feeling quite the opposite.  The tapestries became complex and  mysterious as I contemplated how excessive control in life often has an edge of violence behind it.

Art that surprises me and makes me see life with new understanding is a treat.  'Lady and the Unicorn' is an exhibition worth seeing.  It runs until 24 June 2018 at the Art Gallery of New South Wales in Sydney.   

Is there something you have seen recently that has surprised you and given you a new insight?

Welcome to my blog, Reframing the Ordinary!

Welcome to my blog, 'Reframing the ordinary.'

This blog is an attempt to start a conversation.  A conversation between myself, my work and you, my audience.  

The Importance of You

Every painting needs a viewer.  No art is complete without being received.  A painting is a view into the artist's way of seeing something.  When the viewer's gaze connects with a painting, a conversation of seeing begins.  The painting works upon the viewer as they see the painter's vision.  The viewer brings to the painting their own experience, knowledge and emotions as they situate themselves in the painting.  Consequently, an intimate exchange of "seeing" takes place.

What to Expect

I will write on a topic that is  alive for me in regards to painting - the process of making a painting, looking at paintings and/or what feeds and hinders my creative process.  

At the conclusion of each entry, I will pose a question as an invitation to you to join the conversation.  

Who knows where we will travel together ...