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Copyright © 2009: Robert H. Berry. All rights reserved. |
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Beginnings Since childhood I have always loved the natural environment. Although our home was in the suburbs of Melbourne, we had a ‘fibro shack’ my father built in the tea trees at Sorrento, on the Mornington Peninsula. This was our weekender and holiday house; no power, just the hissing of kerosene lamps at night, and the distant roar of surf if the tide was in, but otherwise total silence, except for the occasional hoot from an owl. To me it was a wilderness to explore; waves crashing onto the rocky beaches at the foot of the cliffs nearby, and the wondrous rock pools at low tide. They were happy times, for it was a creatively inspiring environment, and drawing and painting seemed to come naturally. It followed then that art was my best subject at school, and some years later (the early seventies), despite being discouraged in taking up a career as a visual artist – the typical ‘go and get a real job, my boy’ – I enrolled at an art school in Melbourne.
At this time art movements such as Abstract Expressionism, Colorfield and Hard Edge were being simultaneously embraced alongside contemporary figurative painting, which was my choice due to purist feelings for the natural environment. Art school, although very hard work, was for me a revelation and a continuous source of enjoyment, and I graduated four years later with an eclectic assembly of ideas and many hopes for an artistic future. After teaching tertiary art for a few years, I began to work as a ‘full time’ artist, and have continued to extend and develop those ideas to the present day.
My Work Today Today my work is still figurative but more contemporary. It tends to be visually confrontational and life-size where possible, for my intention is to involve the viewer in the landscape by bringing the subject forward as much as the design permits, towards the front of the picture plain.
Assisting this aspect is the Cubist emphasis on fluid and fluctuating space which promotes a different pictorial experience, using both flat and oblique picture plains instead of the normal foreground, middle-ground and background perspectives of traditional landscape painting. With an oblique picture plain, for instance, we are visually pulled into the distance, but at the same time find ourselves looking down at the ground, which appears to be flowing out of the picture and underneath our feet. Very often we look through the subject to the receding space of the background.
Subject Matter The subjects for my last two solo exhibitions, On the Edge and On the Edge II, as well as my current work, were taken from within the southeast Queensland area, which includes Fraser Island – the largest sand island in the world – and the Great Sandy Strait, encompassing smaller islands and coastal fringes of particular interest. If there are special places in the world that have a strong spirituality about them, then this is one. I can also feel the presence of the indigenous people, who were here for thousands of years, as I wander over the area looking for painting subjects. This place is inspirational. As Patrick White once wrote, ‘Any kind of artist who has been to that (Fraser) island will remain affected by it forever.’
The Illusion of Space & Drawn Movement For me, the wonder of the objects which make up this world can be grasped only by the most diligent and loving study, and to express the true inner nature of an object, a concern for defining notional reality is a necessity. Notional reality, or notional space, is the illusion of a three dimensional image, achieved not simply through mimicry or mere imitation, but through the use of sound drawing structure. This structure accentuates and projects the aesthetic essence of an object, for, as notional reality is reduced, so is the definition between positive and negative space, and the subject becomes progressively flatter and more subjective, as we head towards total abstraction. There is a partnership between the illusion of notional space and drawing structure that is often overlooked.
As in drawing (plains, volumes, etc.) drawn movement in paint pronounces structure within a painting and emphasises the subject. The works of Rembrandt, Titian, and today’s Lucien Freud for that matter, are fine examples of drawn movement, which is associated with great painting theories and practices, such as the Renaissance technique of ‘relating bodies in space’ – the balancing and juxtaposing of forms and shapes, colour weight and directional gamut – which enhanced so very well the notional space of Renaissance painting subjects.
The Format As in the theory of ‘relating bodies in space’, I believe that canvas format shape is crucial to the design and subject of a painting, and for me, it is always within the confines of Euclid’s ‘Dynamic Symmetry’. These shapes – which, incidentally, are related to fractal theory - have the most pleasing, aesthetic proportions for painting formats. Examples of dynamic symmetry are the Golden or Whirling Square Rectangle – the geometric figure upon which the Parthenon is based – and the √2, √4, and √5 rectangles, and their many combinations, varying in size with verticals, horizontals, and squares to suit the subject, taking into account the ratio of 1:1.618 – the ‘Golden Mean’ or ‘Cut’ value – and positioning suitable shapes within its parameters. (The spiral of a shell, for instance, ends at a point corresponding to the ‘pole’ of a whirling square rectangle.)
Abstract Values I feel a reverence for the infinite variety of shapes and forms, with their apparent fractal order which is almost Zen-like in its poetry and suspended movement. I visualize their structure in combination with the balance of masses and abstract shapes; a combination which often involves deliberate simplifications in order to emphasise compositional patterns – grids of diagonals and verticals and repeating rhythms with shadows and reflections assuming independence as geometric shapes. Consideration is also given to the many varying degrees of colour and colour relationships, and their visual weight distribution, including layers of actual and visual textures.
But Oh! That Space! The positive and negative space that mediates and juxtaposes this fractal order – the very fabric of the design … I find myself drawn to subjects that have a particular spatial tension. They can be simplistic or complex. Some examples are as follows:
Pieces of dead reeds washed up as flotsam on the sandy edge of a lake, displaying a natural but aesthetic order, juxtaposing their directions with the surface of the environment, forming a play between positive and negative shapes …
The branches and leaves of a mangrove, with a background of water, also creating a grid of positive and negative shapes …
The diagonally opposed growth directions endemic to the trunks and branches and roots of the pandanus; its dead leaves appearing to have an order as they have fallen, building up at random around its base ...
Some branches of a she-oak (casuarina) and their myriad of tiny twiggy tips after the needles have been discarded, have an incredibly spatial order and rhythm, especially noticeable with a light contrasting background …
Reflections on a smooth surface mirroring form and colour shivered by slight movement into a complex network of directions, with deep colours underneath. Shadows assuming form, playing over primary shapes … perhaps the makings of another composition.
Transparencies are wonderful also. Looking at rocks or sand under water, the composition already showing … in many instances the rudiments of a painting subject. Rays of light playing on shapes, the colours and textures affected and distorted with the movement from a current or breeze.
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THE WORK
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