thoughts on 'bullshit' (cont.).

Andy's preoccupation with versions of abstract expressionist work made from about 2005 until the painting of bullshit in 2006 evidence the impact the European war sites and his disdain for the hypocritical terrain of that other cross laden site - Christianity - had on his painting in this period.

The large canvas he begun bullshit on was probably intimidating, especially as it may well have been intended as the culmination of this preoccupation and previous work. Even the amount of paint needed for such a large canvas was a constraint, though less so than the pressure to do it justice.

It's hard to tell but it looks as though there was minimal priming, then a pretty general wash over the entire canvas with an industrial yellow/green lime wash Melony had left over from house painting. Then tape was used to stencil and paint in a few large white crosses, then red and blue, in oil paint. With drying time this would probably have been over some days. Some of the tape remains on the canvas in areas indicating deliberate or technical 'mistakes'. Perhaps this is when the shift began, days of meticulous labour undone simply removing a line of tape, or the increasing doubt of successfully achieving such a large work, even doubt about the whole subject and approach. Perhaps Andy started to wonder if the idea was just a bland repetition of ubiquitous icons/symbols rather than the haunted shock he had envisaged and hoped the painting might evoke.

At some stage the whole thing changed. Andy's rebellious doppelgänger refused to allow the charade to continue. He hurled everything at it from then on. There was enough space for multiple narratives, an entire ecosystem of symbols, shapes, line, colours, textures and emotions. Here we have the quintessential Andrew.

The ways he layered and laid paint down is seductive, revelling in whatever materials and tools are employed, even gravity. There is a cacophony of composition and intent running riot from edge to edge of the canvas. The work is alive with visions and revisions. Crosses, vertical and horizontal lines and rectangles, skeletons, skulls, a swastika, an upside down American flag, and a multitude of details all compete for visibility as the viewer is drawn into trying to make sense of chaos... is that a dead snake or goanna draped over the central red cross, a yellow tulip just above and behind it? The small tall white rectangles either side of centre at the bottom of the frame with their aqua and pink inserts hold such grace and poetry, gestural and featherlike amongst the wider chaos and dismemberment of the symbolic above and around them. 

The work is simultaneously playful and sinister. By the time it was completed I don't think it was meant to 'make sense', by then it had become much more. It is certainly 'about' the Western military/industrial complex and a reaction to the horrors of war and dogma, but also 'taking the piss' at the commercial art world and taking life too seriously.

I'm sure it was weeks, probably months in the making, through many iterations and changes becoming a metanarrative and manifestation of experiences, beliefs, thoughts and feelings. It spoke of Andrew probably more than any other work in the exhibition.

Thoughts on some work from' the sacred and the profane'.

the bullshit painting - quintessentially Andy

Undoubtedly a centrepiece of Andy's retrospective, by far the largest painting in the show, the untitled work family refer to as the bullshit painting stands amongst surviving paintings as most quintessentially Andrew. It more fully articulates his artistic and philosophical concerns and experiences than any other piece as singular work. It is poignant, angry, ironic and humorous, complex, forthright and contains fragments of grace that relieve its relentless truth.

My theory - and this is one of the things I love about Andy's paintings, whether dense, chaotic, or minimalist and atmospheric, his work is open to infinite readings and indeed nurtures their creation. My theory on the bullshit painting is that it was originally intended to become a simple, austere work responding to the Arnhem war cemetery in Holland visited as a child, perhaps something like this...

or this...

white crosses in an expanse receding endlessly, into a vague distance. My brother Stephen told me a story about Andrew as a child in Holland and his reactions to visiting the war cemeteries there at 11or 12 years of age, especially at Arnhem. Stephen says he was a real little Dutch kid, top of his class in Dutch and mad about everything Dutch, he was also deeply affected by the wargraves. Sketches, notes and paintings Andrew made reflect this.

Thanks Andy - all ways

Opening night @ The Cannery, Esperance - 'the sacred and the profane'.

'The bullshit painting' from the exhibition: 180 x 120cm, oil, acrylic, lime wash and pencil on canvas, untitled 2006.

Biography of Andy for the retrospective 'the sacred and the profane'

“My love of painting was initially sparked by visiting museums in the Netherlands as a child. The relentless passion of Van Gogh in particular. I dabbled with my own painting in my twenties but it was not until after I moved to Esperance that I began to work regularly.

The forms and light here are of continuous fascination to me. Space, the hum of atmosphere, the affirmation and negation of shoreline and horizon pose questions that prod the artist towards investigation and meditation.” 

(Andrew Hyde, from Artist’s Statement for group ex’n Bush to Beach Bohemians with Dewi Hyde and Larry Youngson, Esperance, January 2008.)

“wake up, the rest will settle, the day will be the poem” (Andrew Hyde, 30 April, 2008.)

Visual artist, intellectual, writer,  philosopher, poet and fisherman - Andy was a brilliant, highly original thinker whose insight and imagination transcended dogma and limitations.

It is easy to understand his great love for children, sharing the curiosity and playful creativity typical of the emerging child, less straightforward to understand his complicated life and death. These are inextricably linked to being the youngest in a family of nine children and himself ‘losing’ a daughter when he was just 18 years old and still at school. It was a rarely mentioned trauma that affected him deeply for the rest of his life.

Andrew was always a very funny person, hilarious when in good form, and this was obvious in much of his writing and visual expression as well as social relations. He wrote a poem for a close Melbourne friend when he heard he had died that illustrates the persistence of this humour, even in such sadness.

there’s some doubt as to the truth of this

but the rumour is a piano fell right on top of his head

what a melbourne tram‘s rail and steel

couldn’t manage a needle could. and so he’s dead.

is he gone he was always playing these tricks?

This is a little how I felt first arriving at Andy’s house in response to a message that he was dead on the morning after. This poem was in his old typewriter on his desk in ‘the blue room’, his study. Was he gone? His humour remains in many works, especially sketches and cartoons he enjoyed making with and for children, notably the Charlie’s Alphabet series and many of his short stories.

His was a restless spirit that blazed like a meteor through the many passions and experiences he lived, mostly marginalised for various reasons yet enduring with breathtaking intensity, integrity and acuity.

His restlessness fuelled his curiosity and although well schooled in Australia and Holland Andrew never seriously pursued tertiary education. He was an autodidact who preferred to read, research, develop and practise his skills as interest directed and alongside chosen peers. He was a prolific and perspicacious reader both for pleasure and learning and this was foundational in his remarkable critical thinking, perceptions, and self expression.

These shone brightly in his paintings and poems. Poetry and visual art were lifelong obsessions and Andrew developed unique languages in these forms. Diverse in style, media, technique and subject matter, his oeuvre taken as a whole is an incredibly articulate, powerful and elegant expression, a valuable life’s work. Only in gathering the material for this exhibition am I fully able to appreciate this, until now much of it was scattered work and incomplete memories. 

 The complicated nexus of addiction and self doubt also prevented Andrew from realising this and ‘success’ as a writer and artist - the kind of success that may have allowed him a more comfortable life and unrestricted access to tools and materials to produce work. His outsider status did however suit his identity and allowed him to maintain his fierce independence of thought and expression. Towards the end of his life anxiety, poverty and self doubt tormented him but not even these extinguished his creative and intellectual spirit. An accidental overdose early in the evening of February 14, 2010 did.

“One thought recurs: death has brought Andrew the dignity that was his due in life too - a dignity he sometimes denied himself, other times radiated.” (Stephen Hyde, delivered at Andrew’s funeral service, Esperance, 2010.)

His work however persists, his gift to us. A poem Andrew wrote on January 18, 2001 could be about this gift, about Andy, although entitled “D.H. (for 3 brothers)”.

he accesses beauty

with the compass of his passions;

the sharp blue sky

might irradiate the (his) day,

deflecting some disappointments,

& anointing plans,

that in the fading light

become dreams.

like silence a sound slowly revealed

like the murmur of a distant ship

or the voices in a photograph

these dreams outline

precise maps of possibility.

  

Poster for Andy's show, thanks Susi and Lizzie

Graphic Design - Lizzie Hyde

the sacred and the profane and the power of art

 

memento mori, 2020

Have just recovered from the coordination and installation of a very special retrospective exhibition of my brother Andrew's work to remember the 10th anniversary of his death.

Titled the sacred and the profane, the collection of paintings, writing and sketches simply blew away most of us who were privileged to see it.

I will write further about this at another time. Personally it has reignited a smouldering asleep for 7 years, a creative spark. I assembled this installation/photo collage in and on a baroque looking Larry Youngson renovated dresser  and drawer lined with sheet music - test proofs of portraits of people I have known and loved, now all deceased, and digital snaps of 'symbols of grief'. 

Unsure just now whether the work is sentimental gimmickry or meaningful. I do keep looking at it and playing with it. It is obviously compelling me somehow towards something. I will probably play for another day or two, different arrangements different photos of the work.

Something about this, Ainnee and Morgwn at Brett Whitely's Surrey Hills studio, November 2014. Thanks you 2.

In the picture: a relationship with place

The label 'landscape photography' is both misleading and revealing, generally referring to photographs of natural, industrial and urban landscapes. However the notion of landscape itself is anthropocentric, landscape only brought into being by the agency and through the perspective of the human subject. As such it reflects the culturally constructed separation of humans from the rest of the natural world. Landscape photography should challenge this dichotomy creating photographs made in rather than of places, being in these places physically ruptures the conceptual boundaries between us and nature.

A relationship with place provides meaning and subjectivity to the making of photographs in that place as opposed to the ubiquitous objectifying tourist gaze which is more an act of exploitation and consumption than creative expression. Developing a relationship with place demands more than simply making photographs there, and ideally will first occur without the technical distractions of cameras.

I recently read a collection of essays and stories by the author and journalist Nicolas Rothwell who I consider to be an enlightened, sensitive observer of country and culture in many of the more remote areas of Australia. He has worked often with the photographer Peter Eve and chose some of his photographs of Central and Northern Australia 'because we felt they answered, or amplified, some themes within the essays,and memory fragments that make up much of the text" (Rothwell from 'Another Country', p. 301).

Both the text and the images talk about and illustrate profound relationships with country only revealed through extended experience 'in and with' country, and informed by the depth and richness of indigenous relationships with country. I highly recommend the book.

Talking about Eve's philosophy and approach to photography Rothwell says "Much like the well-known street photographers of Paris in the 1920's, or New York in the 1960's, who would never have dreamed of raising their cameras until they had walked a city with obsessive thoroughness, so he believed that the bush needed to be understood before it could be seen. One needed to have a grasp - not just scientific but emotional - of how it worked as space.' ( Rothwell, p. 302)

This is not a romantic notion but one grounded in experience "plunging for hours on end into the stringybark forests of Arnhem Land or camping over days and weeks in the furnace of the remote East Kimberley during buildup months." Think of how Ansel Adams or Peter Drombovskis worked, hiking for days and weeks on end in the High Sierra or Tasmanian high country - extreme environments - or more recently Murray Frederickson's work over many years alone on remote Lake Eyre culminating in 'Salt'. 

Great work made out of intimate experience and understanding of country. Rothwell relates how Eve's approach "in his bid to find the code of the country called to mind a detective's repeated, advancing investigations. He was aiming to find out nothing less than how the system hung together: how, in each frame, the light moves." A 'good' landscape photographer needs the spirit of an explorer, the perceptions of a child and a forensic eye.

Before sight is site, place and experiences in and of that place. Time in that place over different times of the day and the year in different conditions - different experiences. These inform and develop sight, only one of many sensory responses to site. So an exchange, interaction, relationship develops. Place becomes what a philosopher brother of mine, Dominic, calls 'storied'. A beautiful concept hinting at the connections to country which are so refined and expanded in many indigenous peoples relationships to country.

Then perhaps the photographer may begin to see, to find images in a place, informed by relationship with that place, photographs with depth and integrity.

These stones gathered down the southern bank of the river beside the Story Pool remind me of the life force in all things, energy seeming to pulsate from the rocks themselves and a purpose in their gathering. I only begin to feel and see these things in places I know well. These things are given not taken... 

Riverbend below the falls

I had neglected my work for so long that serious work with a view camera surprised me with its complexities and technical demands. In many ways this recent trip is something of a watershed. Most of all with the end of a partnership, the most constant and enduring in my adult life. Two days back from the river my Fella was dead.

Early into radical life changes leaving Perth and academia to pursue photography 15 years ago, I took Fella home as a 6 week old puppy to where I had moved just out of Manjimup. Fella, like Andy, was larger than life: wicked, wonderful and loving. I was lucky but the end of such relationships is lifechanging - and there's been plenty of them the last 5 years... Andy, Mum, Dad...

Revisiting and working on the river also reminded me of my relationship with photography. In the few years prior to going East I had been very involved with arts organisations, beaurocracies and the business, the business of 'art'. It had it's pros and cons... you need a map and business sensibility to thrive in that world. I'm not sure I want to from what I've seen. I lost what I consider to be my only ability as an 'artist', lost my voice. The Story Pool gives it back.

But this comes with obligations. Take it seriously, learn and know your craft and don't blow images like the one here with inadequacy. Looks fine in digital repro from an 8 x 10 print scan but focus right hand side is shot to bits etc. There begins another discussion - you can get away with murder as a photographer in the digital world. But who wants to ?

The Story Pool

I had, as mentioned in a previous post, finally got away for some time with cameras to a significant and special place on one of my favourite rivers - the Deep River in the southern forests near Walpole. I hadn't spent time there for over 10 years. I lived in the southern forest region at the time and 'found' this stretch of river in 2004. It blew me away. It is a very powerful place as well as beautiful. Although not a remote site, I have rarely seen anyone there, access is challenging at times.

I feel the presence of many generations of people and life from the past when on this valley floor though. The open granite expanse down which the river runs has pools, falls, rocks and rivulets that eminate power and life force. The beauty and topography of this area would have made it culturally significant and practical for gatherings and ceremony as well as providing much food in certain seasons. It has become significant in many ways to me since first visit.

Especially the Story Pool. Like dunefields it is ever changing depending on light, season and, above all, river levels. Water only flows into it for the winter months and spring most years. I can't resist photographing it every time I am there. Compare the pool in the photo above to that posted a few years ago on the invite to the exhibition breath taken in 2004.

The Story Pool always tells me things although I often don't understand their significance for many years. Just to be there in fading evening light is profound.

Fella at Linfarne, 2003.

Two days home from Deep River, though in the darkroom all day processing film from the trip, I noticed my old dog Fella was not well. He'd been ageing gradually for some years and I hadn't expected him to still be alive when I returned from Canberra. 

He reminded me a lot of Dad during his last months over the year since we'd been back together - sleeping a lot, occasionally laid low for a day or two exhausted by life, a little senile. But he was still comfortable and a huge presence. 

The third day back Fella was haggard and hunched, and increasingly restless and uncomfortable throughout the day. From experience I knew the only vets in town would be little help and vets were a last resort with Fella.

 (He ran under a 4WD when we first came to Esperance 10 years ago and wasn't expected to survive but did. The experience taught him little about roads but left him with a lifelong fear and loathing of vets. A visit to them them required sedation and muzzling and physical restraint once we got there. It was so traumatic for both of us that it was, as mentioned, a last resort.)

So I kept working in the darkroom all day to distract my concerns. By evening Fella was in pain. We would have to see the vet when they opened next day. It was a difficult night, and in the morning vets were reluctant to come out here so the trip to town and appointment were organised. We were at the vet just before lunch and Fella died close to 2.30 that afternoon. A great shock.

He was my constant companion from 6 weeks of age, a great friend. We miss him too much. 

Since returning to my home I have been unable to just pick up where I left off... so much has changed. Reuniting with my two dogs was very special but, as experienced before, grief made most things meaningless. It takes conscious effort to become enthusiastic even about that which used to thrill and sustain me - photography. This is quite frightening.

Fella and Shep                                                

I finally managed to get away for a serious photography trip a month ago to a significant place made even more so by an event which followed. 

Last photograph of my father.

Since my last post here a few years ago my life has been very different to my existence then and has changed profoundly. In the first half of 2013 I was immersed in art and photography personally and professionally as I had been for some years. Priorities changed   after my last exhibition 'breath' at Mountford's in Pemberton when I moved to Canberra to help care for my elderly father.

The next 8 months was both difficult and richly rewarding as we did the best we could to keep Dad comfortable in the family home accompanying him to his graceful death. Then there was the long task of emptying the house, distributing and disposing of the material evidence of our parents' lives and wading through the beaurocratic demands of probate, wills and property sale. 

The months we had with Dad and each other were intense, at times distressing, but priceless. I had little time and even less motivation to involve myself in art and photography which had dominated my life for many, many years. 

I returned home just over a year ago and everything has changed...

breath - landscape work from the last decade or so opening at Mountford's Winery/Gallery Sunday, July 28

Many thanks to DADAA for the Freight show

http://www.dadaa.org.au/blog/latest-news/dewi-hyde-selected-works-from-/