About six years ago, my mother and I were lunching in a restaurant in London’s Primrose Hill when an unbelievably beautiful funeral procession came past. Two dappled grey horses with black feathery plumes on their heads pulled a shiny black carriage with glass windows, through which we could see a white coffin covered in flowers. The attendants atop the carriage were in full mourning attire, with top hats and grey striped cravats, the effect like something out of a Dickens novel. It was an odd sight in the middle of 21st century London, and had mum not been there too I’d … Continue reading Beautiful Mourning

​In one of life’s more curious turns, I ended up owning a cocktail bar about six years ago. Me, the chick with no hospitality experience, who’d never waited tables, never pulled a beer and didn’t know the difference between an ale and a lager, was suddenly having to work out how to change a beer keg and what the hell people meant when they asked for a “CC and dry.” To say it was a steep learning curve is an understatement. It was a world away from my previous life in writing and interior design. But the patrons and I survived the rocky … Continue reading Julian Meagher, sensitive masculinity.    

“I can only say that I am captivated by the rich contrasts, beautiful skies, trees and clear light of this great land, and I am happy to say that I find countless people who respond in a similar way; and consequently derive great enjoyment from the never ending beauty of the Australian country side.”  William Bustard, 1955 You need only have driven any of the roads winding through the Sunshine Coast hinterland or Northern NSW to recognise the effect of sunlight on the landscapes in William Bustard’s paintings. Dappled leaves, shimmering rivers, a fishing line glistening as it moves with … Continue reading William Bustard: Painting With Light

It’s a funny sort of self portraiture that keeps the face hidden. I’ve never fully understood why an artist does it. Is it because they don’t want the work pegged solely as self-portraiture? Or they’re rubbish at painting faces? Maybe seeing their face before them is a bit like when I hear my voice on a recording and recoil in horror. That’s not me.  Perhaps it’s that faceless self-portraiture protects the artist from explicit recognition and having to explain. Whatever events and emotions may be covered in a work, without the inclusion of the face, the identity of the protagonist … Continue reading Monica Rohan’s Fall to Grace