Folly Wood Land

When I fly to visit my mother in south Canterbury, I look out of the aeroplane window as much as possible.

From above we see so much more of the reality of this land; the mountains and backcountry rivers, the farmland, forestry blocks, roads, houses, sheds, even the white gold glow of a distant dairy factory; all in all a visual feast. It illustrates text book human takeover behaviour that reeks of folly.

I have been complicit in this folly. When aged 14, I carried bags of Pinus Radiata seedlings up steep ridges to my father and his mates for them to plant. It was the back country of Mt Thomas, in North Canterbury and we were in the tussock, in the snow, scrambling over the shards of rock. The next year, I too was planting. The straight rows which are so unnatural in the natural world of trees, shrubs and smaller plants.

Today, near where I live, developers take over worn out farms.
They scrape the topsoil into heaps and sell the soil, or spread it thinly back into the tiny gardens and berms.
But they have built new villages, happy hamlets with good motorway access..

I know we humans love to nibble away at this planet, we want to survive, it is in our nature,
but Man, we humans are so good at entropic endeavours.

So how do you paint landscapes today? It feels like a dilemma of ethics, do you romanticise change or illustrate destruction?
I chose to let the paintings develop and change, for them to go where they want, with a sprinkle of imagination.

The paintings are like bruises on skin. I put down paint, pigment and binder. I rub these elements into the canvas and then partially rub them away; it is a process of mixing and messing, building and reducing, in a performative way.
The paintings are landscapes we might be familiar with, but then they have alien qualities too, with imposters inserting themselves within, or upon, a bruised land.

I have also included some small sculptural elements into the exhibition, they are like protest objects; I call them the ‘Objectors’ ! Small painted spheres with one word poems, or embroideries (thank you Sarah) that are illustrators; a cultural pastime that takes us back in time.

Then there are the Welded plastic words that grow out of plinths, the op shop found brushes… alien ships with messages to our leaders. I have a written message for them… I love this land, but I love the untouched parts the most.

Amen