Cave Painting of Kakadu, Arnheim Land

                                                       Kakadu from the air.

Birth of Djangkawn's children.

Kakadu Rock Painting,

Art is central to Aboriginal Culture, in political, social and utilitarian ways, and Kakdu  National  Park in Arnheim Land and the surrounding districts offer some of the best and richest examples in which to view it. Not everyone is able to the long drive  to the Kimberley in Western Australia to see the wonderful l Bradshaw paintings, but Kakadu fortunately is only a few  hours’  drive  from Darwin within  reach of most of us .

After entering the park at  Ubirr, you are able to stop and view a wide range of different artistic styles. These caves were often were often repainted, new  paintings  superimposed over the old. On a recent trip to Northern Australia, I had the opportunity to fly over Western Arnheim Land and view the full extent of this rocky landscape, a mixture of rock, floodplain, and rivers.  An outsider often has great in difficulty in understanding  this mix of past and present,  ancestor spirits, and the changing  meaning of the icons used in  rock paintings. I shall try to explain as best I can in a condensed form, the broadest  central issues of cultural identity presented.

The acquisition of knowledge, rather  than  material possessions enable a person to acquire status in Aboriginal culture. Art is an expression of this past knowledge and bestows authority on the elder who interprets the work. However the same icon does not always have the same meaning, as this depends on the circumstances at the time. This is why Aborigines are reluctant to explain  their  work, claiming it is either women’s or men’s business, and has  sacred content.  Work in western Arnhem Land tends to be figurative making understanding of the painting more straight forward .Most of the examples, I have photo’d here bear this out.

Kakadu was declared a native reserve in 1931, preserving this unique collection of rock painting for future generations. This painting tradition is still very much alive, and has spawned a collection of artists’ co-operatives enabling the local artists to create some economic independence for their clan. The earliest images in the caves are hand imprints and archaeological evidence suggests many are several thousand years old. Other later works portray the spiritual presence of animals, and human forms, and explains why they are repainted from time to time in order to renew their presence.

                                                 Creation myth.

Over time figures developed into what is called the “X-ray” style, these images present the internal anatomical details for the viewer .You may see the ritual ornaments and bags hanging from necks and elbows of  ancestors. Colours are mainly ochres, yellow and red, white is made from kaolin, and black from charcoal. These colours  have symbolic  meaning, white stands for mourning, work in white suggest a deceased person. Red is the blood of the ancestors, who now reside in the earth, and is there for accessible to the living. The pigments are bound together with wax, birds’ egg yolk and various resins and saps. As permanence is not considered important in Aboriginal art, each painting is created for a particular purpose, the painting of the work being more important than the finished product.

                                                                 Longneck turtle

This connection with the past creates the human bond Aborigines have with their supernatural world. The Cave painting of Kakadu fulfils a traditional cultural need and in varying degrees was created and viewed only by those initiated to the correct level of awareness. The interpretation of these icons depended on circumstances at the time the art work was carried out.

                                               Fish trap and hunters.

                                                           Hand print and fish traps, game

Dreamtime is the core of religious belief and describes the spiritual nature and moral order of the world. Many of these paintings focus on the activities and epic deeds of the supernatural  beings,  and connects the artist with their ancestor. This relationship to some extent is similar to the world of the Olympian gods of Ancient Greece. The Rainbow Serpent, Lightning Man, Wagilag Sisters and company travelled across the world creating everything, laying down the laws for future generations. So ,it is not restricted  to the past, but provides a framework for modern Aborigines to live in harmony with nature. It is was not my intent to write a long discourse on Kaladu painting, but rather to provide a sketchy outline as to what the work is all about.

Kakadu from the air

Aligator

                                                   Hunting party.

Robert Hughes, art critic extraordinary.

ROBERT HUGHES. 1938-2012

Robert Hughes death early this week, has robbed Australia and the World of one of its finest art commentators and critics. Hughes was nothing,” if not critical,” to borrow the title of his selected collection of essays on art. He had the ability to compress and reduce the most complex concepts to a powerful clutch of words, words that all could understand. His presence and writing will  surely be missed by all who take an interest in cultural matters.

I first became aware of Hughes, as a young artist during those heady days of The Sydney Push in the 1950s and 60s. A time of energetic thinking among Sydney’s post war creative circles.  The  Bohemian element of the city, often met in old fashion coffee shops in lower George Street, the ones with high backed wooden cubicles for private conservation. These coffee shops were the closest Sydney had to aspire to the café life of Paris. The city was only just emerging from what was called the Six O’clock Swill, when the male population would line up as many beers as possible on the bar, in order to beat the legal closing time for hotels 6pm. I believe these shortened trading hours were a legacy of war time blackout requirements.

Many European artists had fled to Australia during the 1930s and post war, brought with them new ideas about art. Several had opened their studios to students, or established schools such as Desiderius Orban at Circular Quay, much to the delight of young painters anxious to gain experience in this “new art” first hand. Germaine Greer often held court in these coffee establishments, all of which was the Sydney of Robert Hughes’ youth. Lively exploration of existentialism was fashionable, with the writing of Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir laying the foundations of modern world thinking.

How much of this influenced Hughes future thinking I have no idea, but he was part of this world. He excelled in his ability to display in the most subtle way the depth of his knowledge about art, history, culture and the human condition. His analytical contribution to these subjects will be greatly missed. I must extend my sympathies to his family and friends

A German War Prize.

Ex. German U-Boat Supply Ship M.V. "Kamo"

M.V.” Kamo a” German War Prize?

It is doubtful whether the “Kamo” was considered much of a prize, particularly by the crew who sailed her. The 705 tons of steel, built especially as a mother ship for the North Atlantic U-boat fleet, had been constructed to withstand the hazards of the northern winter. Ice breaker bow, thick plating, twin propellers and electronic rudder control, all added to her unfriendly disposition. It was easy to visualise this sinister ship in her grey wartime attire silently setting out from her Baltic lair on another night of murderous intent. Her brood of hungry U-boats anxiously waiting for mother's call. Acquired by the Union Steam Company at the end of the 2^nd World War,their prize for wartime efforts. the Kamo had undergone considerable modification to make her more economical for civilian use to run as a general cargo vessel. The large propellers that allowed her to nip around the North Atlantic among icebergs and Allied convey protectors, refuelling and supplying submarines in the middle of the night, had been  replaced by much smaller ones to save fuel. This dramatic reduction in speed caused her to pitch and roll simultaneously,like a paper boat sailing in a child's bath, resulting in considerable seasickness.

Then there was her advanced steering system, were the twin rudders were controlled by two push buttons, which the helmsman had to depress to move the rudder to starboard or port. The major problem being that unlike a normal steering wheel the rudders did not return to midships on pressure release, but required pushing the opposite button to regain a neutral position. These two factors made the vessel difficult to steer a straight course, resulting in the unstable nature of the vessel, particularly in heavy seas. The Kamo made a regular weekly run down to Hobart carry general cargo, back loading apples and potatoes in the main. On the only voyage I made on the Kamo, we ran into the tail end of a cyclone around Disaster Bay on the southern NSW coast, resulting in cargo shifting, with a number of 44 gallon drums breaking free of their lashings. The  well decks underwater, waves towered above the masts when viewed from the bridge as we ran up and down the mountainous swell, it was not a pleasant trip. The force of the storm required any seaman walking along the deck to hold on to rope railing for dear life. This had been set up to allow the crew to move forward from their living quarters to the midships section of the vessel. Half under water most of the time when even non believers feel this could be the end.

 My cabin mate at the time recalled ironically his sinking in the North Atlantic while on convey duty during the war. He somehow survived twenty minutes in the frozen ocean. He claimed that you were lucky to last fifteen minutes in the freezing water, but he had been quite young only fifteen at the time and felt this had saved his life. Many merchant seaman had little time to vacate their cabins in the event of being torpedoed, often no more than a minute or so depending on the nature of the cargo, and where they had been hit. Ships loaded with dead weight such as iron or heavy bulk cargo would disappear in a matter of minutes or less. Sadly the loss of merchant seaman’s lives during the Second World War has never been fully appreciated, as civilians they were not classified as returned servicemen, and therefor were not entitled to any government assistance or pension.

Like many fellow crew members, I only made the one trip on the Kamo, she seemed to have bad vibes about her. Whether this was due to our knowledge of her past, the untold number of deaths her dirty work had inflicted, I don’t know. But most of us were pleased to make port and felt that the Union Steamship Company should have left M.V.Kamo with the Germans.One positive however, was my discovery of Hobart and Tasmania in general.
 

Fragments of Portuguese Culture, Fado.

"Joy of Fado" watercolour sketch.

Fragments of Portuguese Culture

Fado, the spirit of Portugal, more than the country’s port epitomize what it means to be Portuguese. This music with its sense of passion and pathos somehow tears at your very soul. I first heard Fado on ABC Classic FM one morning, an Australian radio station specializing in “serious” music. The singer was Misia, her voice full of pathos, had that soul wrenching quality that all great Fado should have. Her voice became the sound of Lisbon during the city’s year as Europe’s Cultural Capital in 1993. This first experience occurred without warning making the impact all the more dramatic. I had no knowledge of Fado, but the passion and magic of Misia’s singing aroused a desire  for more, and indirectly knowledge about  Portugal.

I decided to spend a few months there painting and attempting to come to some understanding of Portuguese culture. As I travelled around, I heard Fado drifting across the cities from street vans, apartments, to formal rending in cafes, and a very controlled form of Fado in Coimbra, were this music seemed to be more confined to male voices, rather than the female Queens of Lisbon. Personally I found the female version more passionate and personal. Though at times, their singing can descend  into pop music without the haunting quality of true Fado. The performance I attended in Coimbra was rather stiff, and according to the compare this was the proper Fado, not that female Lisbon version. The Coimbra version was widely sung by male University students dressed in academic gowns, on street corners, where they gave voice to protestsongs during the Salazar years.

Fado has been around for a long time, singer like Amalia Rodrigues, a cultural icon popularised this unique music world wide during her fifty year career. No one seems to know where it originated, it has been suggested the music was left behind by the moors, others that it came to Portugal via the African slaves in Brazil. There is another school of thought that Fado grew out of the waterfront dives of Lisbon, in the same way tango was born in the seedy districts of Buenos Aires, but no matter where this music originated, it has a presence all of its own. A music that invades the senses.

Portugal has many contradictions, a very Catholic country that saw fit to dissolve all the monasteries in the 19^th cent. Whether this was due to  lack of leadership by the Church after the Lisbon earthquake I don’t know, but the minister Pombal expelled the Jesuits after the devastation in the 18^th cent. I found this closure of convents rather strange for a fairly religious country, There seemed to be many shrines and pilgrim steps ever where in Portugal, particularly in the north around  Braga where pilgrimes climb steps on their knees as penance for past sins. Many of these monasteries, now museums, are very Spartan. One I visited just outside Sintra, The Convent of the Holy Cross built in 1560 had been cut into the hillside, its stone walls wet with seepage, narrow passageways and low ceilings all added to a sense of austerity. How the young monks survived I have no idea. Parts of the ceiling were covered in cork panels, but these areas were for the more senior monks. the Order of  Friers were noted for the extreme simplicity of their lives. The day I visited a T.V. crew was making a documentry, so many rooms were crowded. It reminded me of a visit I made to the Basilica of St. John in Selcui, Turkey were a film crew were making a film and forgot to tell their "Roman Guards" to take their wrist watches off. 

                                                     Pilgrim Steps.

Another contradiction were the Portuguese driver, as a people they are charming, very helpful, and kind, but once behind the wheel of a car a personality change takes place. They seem to revert to the sort of behaviour of a teenage boy driving his first car. Refusal to give way, make rude gestures, and their general reckless driving has to be seen to be believed, I have no idea what the road morality is like, but it must be high Maybe the new EU road network has encouraged them to try out for Formula One raceing. But not to end on a sour note, I really enjoyed my stay, I achieved a lot returning with a lot of work to develop, and am looking forward to a return visit.

Abstract painting titled "Fado"

This will give you some idea how I developed the titles, music and general spirt of Portugal.

Toys are Memory

Museum of Bringuedo
Sintra, Portugal

  TOYS ARE FOREVER.

Toys are fairly central to most childhoods, whether a simple piece of wood, a rag doll or some sophisticated western what not. No matter what your childhood economic circumstances, we treasure those moments of pure imagination, when we could create our own world and people it accordingly. Years ago I had visited a Money Box Museum in Amsterdam, all very Dutch, but still I was surprised to find a Toy Museum in Sintra, Portugal, so people establish museums for all sorts of things.

The Museum of Bringuedo in the centre of Sintra, possesses a very fine collection of some 40,000 toys ranging from 1930’s Hornby train sets, lead soldiers, dolls, and every other kind of toy imaginable. Collections of any sort must reflect to a great extent the interests of the collector, and when I cast back into my own memory and recall the World War II battles I played out under the dining table, because an uncle of mine had lent me his collection of 1930’s German lead soldiers.

The owner and founder of this museum turned out to be an elderly gentleman, now unfortunately confined to a wheelchair due to a recent stroke. This however, did not stop him from doing the rounds of “his museum”. Luckily he was very talkative and only too anxious to talk about his passion. He had been collecting  all his life, and had set up a repair and restoration workshop in the museum where children of all ages could bring their treasures for renewal. Many toys are discarded, and he felt it was his duty to give them new life. Everything in this world has memory that has witnessed different time frames. I am sure if this establishment had been around during Hans Christian Andersen stay in Sintra, he would have felt a great affinity. The owner had built a special playroom with puppets and story tellers, so each child could relive their own make-believe worlds.

Apart from this great collection of lead soldiers from every corner of the globe, he had acquired a few ancient bronze toys from Syria some 3000 years old. There were also a few carved marble toys, also from the Middle East. I believe simple moulded clay toy animals have been found in Anatolia dated 6000BC. It is a great pity that as adults, we tend to forget the joys of childhood when time is always the present. When anything is possible, and we endow our toys with a life of their own, and the only restriction is imagination. I often wonder whether in this contemporary world of  were children are fed a diet of preprogramed toys, and technological wonders whether children are the real losers in their inability to entertain themselves, were everything is in the fast lane, and there is no time to think and dream.

Sintra Portuguese Sketches

PALACE OF PENA, SINTRA

            

Clinging to the northern slopes of the Serra, some forty-five minutes by train from Lisbon sits Sintra.  This former summer capital of the Portuguese Kings, offers the early morning  raiser a sight not to be missed.  Covered in early morning  mountain mist, castle turrets, conical chimneys, and segments of peaks piece the clouds offering the most jaded traveller a fairy tale vista. It is little wonder that the town has attracted writers, musicians, and artists over the centuries. Hans Christen Andersen spent a year here writing fairy tales, while Richard Strauss on visiting Palacio da Pena, believed he had found the home of the Holy Grail. Strauss recorded in his diary, “This is the happiest day of my life, I have travelled in Italy, Sicily, Greece and Egypt, but have never seen anything to equal Pena. It is the most beautiful sight I have ever witnessed. This is the true Klingsor garden and up there above  in the Towers  the Castle the Holy Grail.”

                                                               

Rua Marechal, Sintra. 

A typcial Sintra street, old walls, cobble stoned road.

There is more to Sintra than the Castle of Pena, the town is rich in Royal Palaces, Castles, Museums and parks, not to mention the numerous mansions built by the mega rich from South America and the Royal families of Europe. I had decided to spend the next month here gathering material for a painting exhibition. The difficult part was going to be what to ignore, every where I looked picturesque scenes presented themselves. After spending the first week walking along cobblestone lanes, visiting churches, and viewing Moorish fountains, I decided to attempt to covey the many layers of Portuguese history through the tile decoration, so much loved in this country. Nearly every building in Portugal appears to be covered in ceramic tiles; the use of this form of decorative motif often is included in the original architectural design. Many architects design the tiles themselves, while the many ceramic tile workshops employ several artists to create and carry out the design and painting. No building is considered complete without some form of artwork, Portugal must be an artists’ paradise. I visited several of these workshop during my stay.

One of my paintings based on the walls and old Moorish tiles.

     100x70 cm. on board textured, acrylic paint. $1500.

                               

 I carried out many on the spot sketches and reworked them into abstract designs. Fragmented tile patterns surrounded by textured walls, I broke the complete tiles up to create a sense of history as they are in their own way fragments of past memory. I was quite pleased with the way the watercolour washes on the walls took on a cork like appearance, this allowed me to develop three very important elements of Portugal, the legacy of Moorish tiles, textured stonewalls, and the cork trees.

Watercolour sketch

                                                      Further development of tile sketchs

Sintra is full of surprise, it houses one of the best private modern art collections of the 20^th cent. The Berardo Collection, includes many major artists of this century, Magritte, Pollock, Bacon and Warhol to name just a few. Joe Berardo’s collection is so large, that it seemed as though half the works in the Museum of Modern Art in Lisbon are on loan from his museum. Then there is the eccentric Brazilian millionaire’s contribution, Antonio Monteriro’s Quinta da Regaleira built in 1890. This feast of the absurd is filled with every kind of folly imaginable, secret grottoes, forts, castles, underground lakes, this would have to be one of the great examples of exoteric. There is even an underground staircase taking you down some 27m into the earth to what is called the Guardians Gate. This several acres of park of follies have been built around classical mythology, were Monteriro has tried to recreate the worlds Virgil, Dante, and Milton , with a touch of the Knights Templars thrown in, a world to delight any child.

One of the follys at Antonio Monteriro's Quinta da Regalira

The Palace of Pena set on a mountain top creates a presence all of its own. Set within a large park like woodland, the visitor wanders along numerous paths and tracks, until you suddenly come across the palace. Built at a time of great Portuguese wealth were no cost has been spared. The range of architectural detail and décor is hard to describe, but the range  runs from The Arab Room, to an over the top 16^th cent alabaster Chapel filled with every kinf of oddities from every corner of the globe. Then there is the King’s oval shaped bedchamber,  a ballroom lit by German stained glass windows complete with four life-sized turbaned torchbearers holding a giant candelabra. I need say no more,

 One afternoon Heather and I were taken by our host to a little summer house rebuilt by a Professor of Architecture at Lisbon University. This little building consisted of two floors, one room to each floor with a narrow staircase joining them, with a tiny bathroom halfway down the stairs. The great delight in this building was theunusal use of eye patterns and reliefs on the walls and around windows, even the patio chairs had eyes cut into their backs. The whole house was a delight and very imaginative, although I don’t know how two people could live there at the same time!

Walking the track to the National Park I came across this scene near the church of Santa Maria. Every day I would climb the mountain roads, forever going up and down, so we discovered many little treasures tucked away in the hilly landscape such as the church below Santa Maria.

Santa Maria.

The church of Santa Maria first conceived in the 12th centit took many centries to complete. The church is one of the few remaing examples of medieval architecture. The building has a Gothic Romantic feel, in this sense it encompass the spirit of Sintra. The church face the little square above.

99th Tour de France

Few events arouse as much enthusiasm world wide as the Tour de France, an event unparalleled on the sporting calender. A road race requiring both physical commitment, and physical punishment unknown in most sports. A commitment of some 22 days of concentration and stamina if a rider is to avoid injury, let alone finish. This is one of the world's most watched events by an audience who for the most part, have not ridden a bicycle since childhood.

This year's Tour has a special interest for many Australians, not only has the country  it's first tour winner taking part, but the country has it's first National Team in the form of Greenedge. It remains to be seen whether Cadel Evans, as the oldest Tour winner since World War Two, is able the defend his title. A race of some 3630 kms takes on the dimensions of a modern day pilgrimage.  All this suffering and heroism would not be out of place in a pilgrimage to the Holyland during the Middle Ages.

Overlaying the event, we have a high priest in the form of Phil Ligget who guides the viewer with both a rich dialogue and evaluation of tactics, as the riders wind their way up and down mountains, around and through villages, while he casts a historic eye on passing chateaus and sights of interest. These riders are travelling at some 40 to 50 plus kms per hour, and anything can happen. Hardly a day passes without a pile up, broken bones, not to mention many bloody grazes and dislocated bones.

The Tour also has a somewhat voyeur aspect, many female friends have expressed their pleasure at viewing the shaved, bronze legs and arms of the contestants. then there are participants articulating their dreams, while they resign themselves to reality. A Greek Drama could not present more. In the background the possibility of a raid by the drug squad or some other internal intrigue. I would love to have watched the early Tours, when riders refreshed themselves at local bars and cafes on route.

The Tour is the ultimate reality show, played out on that vast stage called rural France, where only the strongest will survive. What I enjoy most is the modern coverage of the race,  the viewer is effortlessly moved back and forth from breakaway group to peloton, set in a background of mountain and, ruined castles, where these young, lean riders strut their stuff. The event brings out the best and worst of human nature,  riders at one level have great concern for each other, while commiting themsleves totally to try and win for their team. Personally, I don't understand much about the rules, but there is obviously a considerable amount of tactics envolved. Your team rider has total loyality.

Then there are the crowd who line the route, on top of mountains, many trying the catch their moment of glory in the sun. How the riders find their way through this throng is hard to imagine, but they do. These fans often wait for hours in the wind and rain, waiting for their heros to appear, but they are all heros in different ways. So, as the peloton, packed like sardines in a tin, speed down the road, the voices of Liggett and Sherwin draw everything together, such is the Tour de France.