Dead Pigeon In A White Circle

The photo of the dead pigeon in my phone was the perfect subject of my first painting using oil. When I see dead birds on the ground I want to paint them – they are as important and beautiful as flying birds – and then I think, “Not another dead bird.” I also think the same when I see trees, “Don’t paint another tree. At least not this week.”

Below are previous illustrations of dead birds.

Balls Head, Waverton, N.S.W.

These are my paintings of Balls Head and the Coal Loader site in Waverton, Sydney since August 2021 (out of lockdown). I entered ‘Above the Coal Loader’ for the North Sydney Art Prize 2022, but was inspired by my visit to the site prior to painting or entering the prize that I painted more.

All are in oil and on varying canvas types.

Fade, October 2021

I feel my heartbeat hard in my chest. There’s 

heat in my skin as I hear the waves crash in the 

distance. I know its place. I know the relation of 

the horizon to where we are, where we have been, 

where I am surrounded by lined wallpaper and 

pages and paints and frames. I could burn any 

second. I prayed for gratitude, and I stated what I 

wanted so bad. I knew the end of the sentence – 

period. I’d never heard that from myself before. As 

the clock chimes in another room – another kind of 

distance – and as much colour as we’ve put into this 

year, when colour has been drained out of us, too, I 

see one scene fade into another. The fading of life, 

back there – not so far away – to fade into life here 

that brisks into action there – not too far ahead – 

because life dances, seems to move in circles; “I 

know this place,” “I’ve been here before,” “We’ve 

met,” “What’s your name?” “Who are you?” 

“Where do you come from?” “I know you.” “Déjà vu.” 

My heart beats hard in my chest, and my skin burns, 

while my eyes feel the weight of a room with shells 

on top of the wallpaper. And now we are at a blank, 

even the waves have faded.