It began with a tropical storm …

March 29, 2026

I was about to get on the plane when the ominous announcement came through: this plane has been re-routed to Sydney, not Melbourne. There was a storm in Brisbane and all flight schedules on the east coast were in chaos.

Three hours later I ate a bowl of cold noodles, sitting on a rickety stool at the air terminal. Three hours after that, the airline gave me a meal voucher. As I could not face the prospect of more cold noodles, I bought a tin of travel sweets with my voucher. Spent an hour watching the tired cleaners mop the terminal floor. Four hours later I was home.

I was stuck for a still life subject … and the fruits (well, wild berries) of my loooong dark night of the airport came in handy at last.

I paint whatever I can (or, rather, tin). The drops were delicious and recommended, by the way.

Berry good.

Grapes and fig after Manet

March 22, 2026

There is, I think, no better way to look – really look – at a painting than to make a copy of it. That way you appreciate all the little choices the artist made along the way and how they solved the problems that inevitably crop up when doing a picture.

This is a copy of a still life by Manet. A far cry from a Dutch Golden Age “breakfast piece”: nothing more grand here than a couple of small bunches of grapes and a fig.

On torsos and vulnerability

March 14, 2026

News stories by their nature focus on immediate events. Viewed individually they do not always (or even often) identify or explain longer term trends. But when the stories are viewed en masse, over time, trends may become apparent.

The trend I have detected over the last little bit is a growing indifference to the sanctity of human life and the sacredness of every human body.

It does us no harm to look at our naked, vulnerable, bodies, and remind ourselves that our well-being and existence are utterly dependent on the goodwill and help of those around us. And that, without a single exception, we all came from a body more or less like the one in this quick sketch.

Lightning sketch of Torso by Jean Broome-Norton (Art Gallery of South Australia)

The cat expiring on a hot day

March 1, 2026

‘Tis not a cat, ’tis a solar panel.

In the early morning, the cat’s favourite spot is the sunny spot next to her shed door. In summer, by midday she has had her fill of the sun and her favourite spot is this one: in the shade of the tree with the curly leaves, looking like she has been poleaxed.

Rebellion in four mandarins

February 22, 2026

I am told by those who count such things that still-life paintings form as much as a fifth of Manet’s output. As with so many of his works, they appear deceptively simple and elegant. But look closer and you can see his irrepressible rebellious streak at work: paint half of a pair of secateurs and have the rest sitting outside the frame; paint the horizon line precisely in the middle of the picture (see below), etc. etc. It is why, I think, so many of his pictures still seem so fresh: he simply, but often subtly, bent or broke conventions. The naked central character in The Luncheon on the Grass is just one of his more obvious provocations.

My version of his still life with four mandarins. He was a genius and I am learning a lot from him. Note to the supermarket: it is OK to have a few spots on a mandarin.

Peonies after Manet

February 15, 2026

Even a branch with a couple of flowers presented Manet with an opportunity to show how differently he thought to everyone else. Why, for example, show the branch upright the same way everyone else does? Why not dash it head-first on the ground?

My version of Branch of white peonies and secateurs. Oil on board, in a second hand frame.

Le poteau d’incendie

February 8, 2026

I have lived in a city with above-ground fire hydrants, and others with underground fire hydrants. I have noticed that dogs infinitely prefer above-ground hydrants. So do I, but for a different reason.

Friends thoughtfully sent me a photo of some French fire hydrants, thinking I would like the shape. I did! Thank you very much, Kerry and Vivianne. For the curious, they look like this … a sort of hybrid robot/Venus of Willendorf.

Aphrodite in concrete

February 1, 2026

This is a concrete Aphrodite who lives at the bottom of the garden, and who suffered through blisteringly hot days this week, dry and cloudless.

This particular Aphrodite came from a garden centre, but I guess she is a facsimile of a Roman copy of a lost Greek bronze. Given her intermediate Roman provenance, I suppose I should refer to her as Venus, but I have always found Aphrodite to be rather more euphonious, no?

Apparently when classical sculptors turned their hands to the Gods, they pursued ideal forms rather than objective, realistic impressions of actual people. Fair enough: you do not want a God to look like someone from the garden centre, I suppose. But to my eye it creates a slightly bloodless effect. Yes, the form is graceful, beautiful and undeniably elegant, however it lacks the spark, the grit, the sheer quirkiness that makes an individual face so much more engaging.

I have seen a similar problem when an AI machine is asked to create a picture of an attractive human being. The product is elegant etc., but a bland average rather than presenting me with a surprising and arresting face. Give me a funny nose, an outsized chin, a full but lopsided lip, the ‘anagram of a good face’ any day. Those are the things that really launch a thousand ships and burn the topless towers of Ilium.

Harrumph.