Still life

This is Queensland beef (overstocking, overgrazing and soil erosion onto the reef, would you like some flies with that)

2019

Sue George

mixed media (tissue, graphite, linoprint and pastel) on paper
65 x 80 cm

Nothing comes from nothing

Nothing ever could.

Standing on the shoulders of Isaac Newton and Julie Andrews.

I love a good burn off. For the last few days I have been throwing canvases on the fire. The ashes this morning were full of fragile wafers, canvas fragments or the shells of them, so ephemeral they disintegrated on touch.

The contrast between the visual (canvas imprint) and the physical (empty carbon) was irresistible. I managed to float some onto an old canvas and secure them with spray fixative and lacquer.

Exquisite.

Approaching nothing

I want to capture nothing. Empty time and space. Continuing in the spirit of memento mori, trying to capture the explosive fertility of time spent anticipating nothing.

Can a something ever capture nothing? Be nothing? I'm not sure.

I've been working on a series of prints, Approaching nothing.

study, mixed media on paper, c. 20x30cm

The texture of bone II

Study of bone structure, from the fire pit.

graphite on paper, c. 20x35cm

The texture of bone I

Print on paper, using liquid graphite and hand made canvas board print.

The archivist

Inside the submerged bathysphere.

Submerged bathyspheres

I think of the art of painting as another way of seeing. Another approach to reality. Another porthole, as it were, in the submerged bathysphere of our consciousness.
Louis de Brocquy

The happy accident in Boonah. I stumbled across a monograph of works by Louis le Brocquy. His head series from the 1980s. 

Portholes in the submerged bathysphere of our consciousness. I'm down there, tapping on the glass, looking in.

Louis le Brocquy, 'The Human Head: Notes on Painting & Awareness', 18th Distinguished International Department Lecture, Royal College of Surgeons in Ireland (Dublin, 14 November 2005) Edited from Actes du Colloque 'Corps-Poésie-Peinture', Faculté des Lettres de Nice Métaphores, No. 5 (Nice, February 8, 1979) 

The transience of power

The memento mori series provides such potent reminders.

Memento mori in print

Experimenting with linocut and texture.

Blending

Playing with oil pastels and blending backgrounds, inspired by a walk over the bridge in fog (photo from 2016) and, Turner's cattle.

I like the impact of the same image in monochrome (below), and I might try something similar in charcoal or graphite.

Turner and change

Working this morning with oil pastels, over old drawings.

from the visual diary, thinking about Turner's train
oil pastel on paper

I was browsing through a book on Turner and captivated again by Rain, steam and speed (1844) responding to the dramatic social changes of his time. We think of our own times as uniquely revolutionary, but the change from walking, riding and sailing can hardly have been less dramatic.
The more things change, the more they stay the same. I'm beginning to feel a little ambivalent about it all, myself. All this change forging ahead without me these days. There's something about Turner's painting which captures the feeling.

Memento mori

Memento mori (latin, "remember you too will die").

A memento mori is a work of art designed to remind the viewer of their mortality and of the shortness and fragility of human life (TATE, 2019). After so many experiences of death, I rarely need reminding, but I like to share the joy of it.

In 2019, my own memento mori series will evolve from work over the last twelve months documenting the dead.

memento mori
2018
still life with cow skull, digital photograph