The Palm-Wine Drinkard, 5/8/02, 19/2/03, oil on linen, 119.5 x 80cm

Whisson leads a non-conformist life, evidenced in his art. Stylistically, his paintings disregard formulaic techniques and traditional conventions of composition. He succeeds in being simultaneously abstract and figurative, even within a single painting. Combining tight and loose line work within both solid and fluid spatial dimensions, his paintings portray experience or memory rather than direct representation. His relaxed and expressive line work leads viewers through multiple perspectives of time and space, quite differently to other painters of his time.

These contradictions are unified by themes and subject matter that persist through Whisson’s practice. Portraying an honest view of his visible world, his paintings render industrial, suburban and natural landscape, figures and personalities and mechanics of travel and transport of his immediate surroundings. Cars, planes and boats are recurring motifs and express an uncertainty in between familiar grounds.

The paintings incorporate an atypical notion of time passing. Scenes are expressed as though a mapping of time or memory. In some cases different perspectives are drawn over one another; in others, he assembles separate images in the one canvas, indicating a narrative or sequence of events. These disjointed perspectives blend into one and conjure a sense of experience, allowing the viewer to fleetingly encounter his experienced relationships to people and places, both physically and psychologically.

Traveller’s Tale, 1982, oil on canvas, 79.7 x 119.5cm

Commonly depicted ‘faceshapes’, as in Boat and Faceshapes (1974), are one of Whisson’s transformative motifs. In more abstract pieces, such as Near the Reservior or Turin and Gdansk (10/10/80, 4/3/81), these shapes change from faces to objects to symbols, and consequentially the paintings, too, change meaning over time. In some cases, this duration of time is reflected in their creation – with months or years passing between working on the piece.

Abstract symbols appear again with concern to political agendas. Using both visual elements and the words of his titles, Whisson incorporates a broader view of global, political events through his own perspective. In the From the Newspapers series, made between 1998 and 2006, although generally opposed to mass media, he refers to it in a way which portrays evolving technology and its cultural and personal ramifications, by giving us only enough detail to fill the rest of the narrative with our own beliefs.

‘As If’, curated by Glenn Barkley and Lesley Harding and shown at both Heidi Museum and the MCA, is an important exhibition showcasing the art and life of one of Australia’s most significant and prolific painters. Whisson bridges the gap between abstraction and the figurative and in doing so, manages to capture the space between what is thought and what is seen, and express this in a way that we translate in our own terms – an incredible feat for an artist.

Ken Whisson: As If at MCA, September 28 to November 25, 2012.

Review published in the October 2012 issue of Art Almanac, online here.

Images courtesy the artist, Watters Gallery, Sydney; 
James and Jacqui Erskine Collection, Sydney; 
Newcastle Art Gallery, NSW; and Robin Greer Collection, Brisbane.

I still can’t make up my mind if it’s the hippy mentality of “It all has to mean somethin’ man” or there is a quantifiable reason behind it.

Today Anthony Bond, curator of International Art talked about the upcoming Francis Bacon exhibition. Once again a link pops up – this time by the way of Frederica Lorca poetry.

Less than a week ago I was flicking through a book of Lorca’s poetry laid on a table in the Ken Whisson AS IF show.

So here it is, an elegy for a Spanish Bullfighter.

At Five in the Afternoon

At five in the afternoon.
It was exactly five in the afternoon.
A boy brought the white sheet
at five in the afternoon.
A frail of lime ready prepared
at five in the afternoon.
The rest was death, and death alone
at five in the afternoon.

And so the path continues, it was Whiteley led me to Bacon, Bacon led me to Muybridge and no doubt that path will cross others and meander back to the start.

Entering through a scaly doorway led to an open sea of fish. Fish in design, fish in indigenous art and fish in painting, photography and illustration. I can’t even pinpoint my favourite work – paintings by Margaret Olley, Arthur Boyd, Ken Whisson and John Olsen were tempting enough but then you see marvellous colourful illustrations in one of the world’s rarest books dated 1754. It was just the absolute variety within this exhibition that had me enthralled. I felt I could stay, sketch, research. It felt like a beginning towards my end in works about the boat shed.

One small unassuming work was an illustration of Condon’s Creek in the Illawarra area and the use of the dog tree by the aboriginal people to stupefy fish. It involved preparing the bark of a tree, stripping it and putting it into the fire to get hot. It was then plunged into the creek where the fumes would stupefy the fish and they would rise to the surface. I knew this was a great link – not only was it a local connection to place, it was a fishing method that leant itself to story telling.  A story that leant itself to painting.

I had once thought my memory of flying fish was imagined but I know that fish are as extraordinary as an invented world and this display so wonderfully curated by Penny Cuthbert and Stephen Scheding has provided the excitement I needed to re-visit the subject again.

The exhibition involved tales of fishing, whaling and scientific collection. All of this within a museum that sits right on Sydney Harbour, where during the week a whale was hurt inside the harbour by a ferry.

There is no other ideal place for this exhibition. It is sad that it has been cut short and is only on for another couple of weeks.

Unfortunately it is giving way to a repeated pirate exhibition but if it draws a larger audience and little aquatic gems like this exhibition are held from time to time I won’t jump off the plank in a hurry.

As it turned out, my day turned out perfectly. Some things you can’t do alone. Like play tennis for instance, unless it’s totem tennis. Which I love. Drinking’s much better surrounded by friends. Drinking alone is the first sign of alcoholism [so they say]. So is eating. And there’s always someone willing to do the washing up later. Which suits me down to the ground because I hate doing the washing up. I think my abhoration of dishwashing stems from my early childhood when I was forced to do the washing up. Ok, I wasn’t exactly forced, but you know what I mean. I don’t mind it that much really. But if you gave me a choice I’d ask you to do it please.

I saw everything there was to see in a little under four hours. I circled everything on my map so I didn’t miss a thing. It made me feel like a bit of a tourist, but not as much as it made me feel like I was on some sort of expansive treasure hunt [which it was]. I stopped when I wanted to stop. I sat when I wanted to sit. I took photos and notes. I didn’t even stop to eat at Cafe Vue. That’s how engrossed I was with the place. Although next time I’d leave my make-up bag at home. I never reapply anyway. Plus it weighed an absolute tonne. I’d also wear proper shoes in the unlucky circumstance I stepped on one of the snakes seen from time to time as evidenced by the signs that said “Snakes Seen Here.” Last seen when I wondered. Oh, it doesn’t really matter. At that point, something my Dad said kicked in. “Don’t disturb them and they won’t disturb you.” Good advice. He’s a smart man my Dad. He grew up in a village where he probably encountered a snake on the odd occasion as if growing up in a village somehow qualifies him as a snake expert. So I walked on with a small[er] degree of trepidation, in the belief that his village story had merit in that unlucky and most unholy of circumstances. Plus, it was safe to assume that the kids over by Neil Taylor’s “Theoretical matter” sculpture were more likely to disturb a snake than me.

My favourite painting was one by John Olsen called “Wildflowers On a Pond.” I also loved a photograph of John Percival and Mary Boyd circa 1944. And “The Futile City” by Albert Tucker based on a T.S. Eliot poem called “The Wasteland.” I was so envious of the Reed’s library in the main house that I momentarily turned green [on the inside].

The Ken Whisson: As If Respective in the main building had some interesting paintings and drawings, but Expressionist art isn’t really my thing. Although I did like the title for the Retrospective which was derived from Immanuel Kant’s dictum “may you live your life as if the maxim of your actions were to be universal law” along with the Paris surrealists declaration “let us live as if the world really exists.” Also on display were books from Ken Whissons personal reading list since the 1940′s. I wrote down the names and titles of every one to add to my own reading list. Some I’d already read, like “Heart of Darkness” by Joseph Conrad.

I had the urge to go home and create. I love that we have this place. Places like this place. It was the Reed’s home and an artists enclave since the 1940′s. I also love the fact that when you create something, no matter what that thing is, it becomes timeless.

In 1941, Sidney Nolan painted a large version of his famous artwork “Moon Boy” on the roof of Heide I. The Air Force ordered that it be removed because of its resemblance to the Japanese flag. Fuck I had a great day.

Ken Whisson’s painting used to be tucked around a corner near the lifts at the National Gallery in Canberra. I felt like grabbing it and giving it centre stage. Shaking it in front of people and saying “Look, look!” instead the NGA underwent massive reconstruction and in the jumble of works -it moved! Yes. Heide Gallery in Melbourne is having a whole Whisson show and unfortunately I can’t make it but I have the next best thing -the catalogue (no surprise Glenn Barkley has contributed to this wonderful book).

His paint is fresh and lively, I’m wishin’ I could smell it.

Too many exhibitions, too big a world.

Ian Gentle’s wonderful stick sculptures, Ken Whisson’s City of Salt and Yvonne Audette’s gentle abstraction, tucked around the corner. I climbed the last set of stairs that led to the viewing balcony that once perched over the mayoral meeting rooms.  The elder respected statesmen Lloyd Rees hovered above in delicate pencil -keeping watch over these precious works.  I was alone up there, it felt reverential. It was secretive, they were letting me in on the secret of line.