The ubiquitous eucalypt surrounds my home studio, a constantly changing myriad of seasonal colour, texture and form. The bush. A brittle wall of bleached summer sentinels and winter shroud of subtle greys. A single entity. The next day, the next walk, the next moment of contemplation and unique personalities emerge. Whites that are full of colour. Wounds that ooze life. Tortured angles and unlikely symmetry. Perfect imperfections. Intimate details of exquisite beauty. Scars of growth and decay. Remnants of those long gone and the promise of those to come. A community of individuals to be treasured.

A metaphor for life.

The three black on white canvases are inspired directly by the blackened, dead trunks of juvenile golden wattle. Often growing for no more than ten years, the trees take on a brittle, flaking texture and in the competition for sustenance from the dry forest floor, die in large numbers. The wood of these trees is very hard and remains for many years after death, which leaves large numbers of the trees standing in small groups and individually, resilient to the decay which accounts for the falling and decomposition of other species. This painting has sought to capture some of the starkness of these trunks, their simultaneous strength and frailty, their individuality and communality, with the emphasis on two dominant trunks.

With the introduction of selected colours other than black and white, the character of the Australian bush is introduced more literally. There exists a particular quality during the dry, hot summer months when walking through these eucalyptus dominated forests. Underfoot is a constant crack of twigs and old leaves and oozing gum (sap) blistering on the trunks of wattles. This painting suggests something of the density of these places, their distance and close proximity all at once while walking. What are essentially perpendicular compositions on the vertical and horizontal, speak of the upward thrust these trunks make in their search for light, straight, tall and punctuated with wildly organic secondary growth in all directions. Within the dark shadows are suggestions of a distant horizon, a place beyond, both beautiful and faintly menacing. The arbitrary numbers in uniform placement reference the human incursion onto this landscape and the unconfirmed numbers of victims in the European colonisation.

This painting provides a link between the two less complex black on white images and the emergence of the more complete chapters of the story. There is in a sense, a cycle, moving from white as depicted in the blank canvas, through progressively more laden paintings to the entirely black canvas. This is the nexus: the point where the simplicity of the black lines begins to give way to subtle movements of form. The dominance of the vertical is challenged by areas of textural grey and suggestions of depth. What may have been interpreted in the other black on white images as stark and without compromise, begins to break into a questioning entity. All is perhaps not entirely as it first seems. The initial blunt and confronting experience of walking into the bush begins to provide something else. Subtleties emerge. Preconceptions are challenged.

The black canvas is open to a variety of interpretations. It may be an end or a beginning. It is certainly far more than simply black. Its texture and variation through shades of dark grey, coupled with positive and negative transitions of linear division also speak of there being far more to know than what we perceive in a cursory first glance. The number ‘9’ is definitive. The only canvas with a single digit, making reference to the number of Mistake Creek Massacre victims as recounted by Gija elder, Gordon Barney, with whom David Kelly painted and exhibited in 2012. This constitutes a definitive number as contrasted against the myriad unconfirmed numbers and reports in various sources. Of course all numbers now remain contested, but the statement of ‘9’ is that there is, somewhere, a truth. These events did take place and should be acknowledged as part of contemporary Australia’s history.

The most minimal of the series, this work is the symbolic first mark on the canvas. While still maintaining a dominance of negative space, the lines are stark, bold and pure. The suggestion is of harmonious coexistence. In each of the three black on white images the intention is to establish strong contrast. There is a metaphoric suggestion of things being ‘black and white’, clearly defined, but with soft, shadowy greys already suggesting that this is not the case. There is more to be known.

As with the other multi-colour images, this painting seeks to show the complexity of these stories through metaphoric reference to the Australian natural environment. The layering of dark on light and light on dark provides an introduction to the depth of the later paintings, drawing together line, colour and texture in balance. There remain areas of pristine white. This is the case in all the works of the series, providing a level of contrast against black lines and shapes which allows the subtlety of earthen colours to be seen in all their richness. The dominant vertical black lines in this work also makes reference to the human form, integrated in the environment, tall, strong and part of a harmonious community.

Of the paintings that combine all colours used in the series, this is the most simple and fundamentally balanced. There is a limit to the fine linear sections and layered depth, being the first introduction of colour beyond the black on white. It points towards the complexity of later images but is still dominated by large, bold shapes and a limited palette. Though the numbers make their appearance, they are not yet overt and it contains the greatest concentration of what is essentially unmarked black paint.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers.  On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The former Khmer Rouge prison stands as a memorial to the indescribably tragic events that took place on this site, and throughout Cambodia, in the late 1970’s. After thirty years, the walls are crumbling. Flaking layers of plaster and paint give way to encroaching damp and oppressive heat. Surfaces seep with the beauty and inexorable touch of natural elements, fading the stencilled numerals and text, healing the symbolic scars of human brutality. In the haunting black and white photographs, names are replaced with numbers. On the walls that bore witness, the numbers grow faint and the voices fall silent. The paintings of this series attempt to capture something of the contrast between the injustice and brutality of the Khmer Rouge rule and the inevitable regeneration of nature. Each number represents a lost name, each line of text a rule demanding mute compliance. The images are the distillation of a complex experience which seeks not to find any particular answer or pose any particular question, but rather to provide an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement of Tuol Sleng as a place. An acknowledgement of prisoner 55 and all the nameless numbers whose identities and lives were stolen in the dark shadows of Tuol Sleng’s walls.

The Warmun series of paintings were undertaken initially whilst in residence with artists of the Warmun Art Centre. Flying from Darwin to Kununurra, views of the serpentine Ord River cutting through the vast North-West left a lasting impression and integrated with the experiences of the month to follow. At ground level, the landscape of the East Kimberley was no less spectacular than from the air. Through extremes of weather, the meeting of earth, sky and water in a fusion of colour and texture provided visual stimuli of great potency. There are references to these initial aerial impressions with their cartographic perspective in the Bush Track works. Amongst the organic unions in these paintings, there appear linear symbols of emerging and disappearing bush tracks as they cross and follow the life giving creeks and water holes.

The Warmun series of paintings were undertaken initially whilst in residence with artists of the Warmun Art Centre. Flying from Darwin to Kununurra, views of the serpentine Ord River cutting through the vast North-West left a lasting impression and integrated with the experiences of the month to follow. At ground level, the landscape of the East Kimberley was no less spectacular than from the air. Through extremes of weather, the meeting of earth, sky and water in a fusion of colour and texture provided visual stimuli of great potency. There are references to these initial aerial impressions with their cartographic perspective in the Bush Track works. Amongst the organic unions in these paintings, there appear linear symbols of emerging and disappearing bush tracks as they cross and follow the life giving creeks and water holes.

The Warmun series of paintings were undertaken initially whilst in residence with artists of the Warmun Art Centre. Flying from Darwin to Kununurra, views of the serpentine Ord River cutting through the vast North-West left a lasting impression and integrated with the experiences of the month to follow. At ground level, the landscape of the East Kimberley was no less spectacular than from the air. Through extremes of weather, the meeting of earth, sky and water in a fusion of colour and texture provided visual stimuli of great potency. The Turkey Creek paintings merge aerial and ground level perceptions of the skies and creeks that bring brooding clouds and flooding waters.

The Warmun series of paintings were undertaken initially whilst in residence with artists of the Warmun Art Centre. Flying from Darwin to Kununurra, views of the serpentine Ord River cutting through the vast North-West left a lasting impression and integrated with the experiences of the month to follow. At ground level, the landscape of the East Kimberley was no less spectacular than from the air. Through extremes of weather, the meeting of earth, sky and water in a fusion of colour and texture provided visual stimuli of great potency. The Turkey Creek paintings merge aerial and ground level perceptions of the skies and creeks that bring brooding clouds and flooding waters.