THE EXHIBITION THAT WAS

Opening Day – The A.Fox Collective – Amelia, Joy, and Ant.

You know, it takes a lot less time to take down an art exhibition than it does to hang one.

The Slow Hanging


We sold a few pieces, more than enough to cover our direct expenses.
But was there an overall profit?
No, nothing like it.
Of course the experience could be classed as a “profit” even though no money changed hands.
The knowledge that I have sold more paintings in my lifetime than Van Gogh managed has to be priceless!

Gone

We took our time over the deconstruction.
We could have driven there in the morning, taken it down, and driven back that evening, but somehow the overnight stay seemed the better option.

Really Gone

Mind you, it was a fairly expensive option.
The hotel room was comfortable and fairly well appointed, but the price was a bit steep for a room in a small country town.
Yes, the room tariff was less than we paid on our last stay in Sydney, but not all that much less.
In Sydney we stayed on the top floor of a tall hotel in the centre of the city, where we had stunning views of high-rises, sunsets, and the road heading to the harbour.
In our small country town hotel, we were up one flight of stairs with a walkway balcony outside our window and a view of the drive through bottle department.
Still, the bed was comfortable, the food in the dining room was OK (if not wonderful), and the wine was great.

The start-of-winter journey there and back was picturesque, through country we love, tinged the faintest of greens by the breaking of the drought.
The wrapped paintings in the back of the wagon muted road noise and any rattles, and the roads were quiet.

The Skies of Winter
Way Home Tree

It was a good exhibition we are told.
It was fun to set up.
It was a buzz to listen to the praise at the opening.

5 paintings – 3 (centre ones) sold

But … I think I have come to the conclusion that my paintings might be a bit – well … boring.
I’ll work on a new direction for inspiration … perhaps I’ll look back to the 1980s when it almost (almost) felt like I had something.

Me and Two of My Works


But for now now, two months after the hanging,
the A.Fox Collective “Abstracted Landscapes” has left the building. 

The Exhibition That Was

Morning on the Highway

The Road

A January Dawn.

The sun is up and the air is hot already.
We are 160 kilometres from home – time to change drivers.
Yumali sits quiet and warm by the highway.
I have often travelled this Adelaide – Melbourne road and, thinking back over the last half century or so, I don’t remember Yumali being anything but quiet … but not always this quiet.

The air is beautiful.
The quiet is beautiful.
The light is beautiful.

The traffic is very light at this hour of the morning, but this stillness serves to make the noise of passing trucks all the more intrusive.
Distant magpies carol, singing honeyeaters make the songs singing honeyeaters make, and a very stroppy Willie Wagtail scolds this bald, bearded intruder.

Mrs and Mr Wagtail have claimed the old Yumali hall as their territory. They have a nest secreted away from the world in its dusty eaves.

The hall isn’t really “old” so far as “old” goes. It was built of concrete block work in 1960.
Even though this building is nine years younger than I am, it has an older, perhaps “timeless” authority than I could ever manage sitting there by the Sherlock Road intersection with the highway.
It looks old with an old kind of charm.
It is plain but lovely.

Yumali Hall Morning.

The weathered doors and woodwork make the building look a little bit unloved, but I am sure it is loved.
Its silence holds quiet echoes of the life and love it once held and felt.
I am sure that life and love lives in the hearts and memories of people living not far from these doors.

And peeking through the gap in the wooden doors, holding my phone camera to the hole, I can see an echo of that life.
I can take the photo and keep a wee trace of that lovely echo for myself.

Peeking Through the Gap

Something in me wants to stay.
Part of me wants to keep the silence for my own.
Part of me longs to be wrapped in the quiet.
Part of me wants to stop in Yumali and love this hall.
But we have roads to drive, journeys to make, promises to keep.

Yumali Hall is safe under the gaze of the Willie Wagtails.