Looking for rabbits is an exhibition at Sophie Gannon Gallery in Richmond, an exhibition of paintings inspired the the creek surrounding the studio on unceded Wurrundjeri Woi-Wurrung country.
Images courtesy of Christian Capurro.
We leave the studio. Past the factories. Sounds crash in and out as trucks go by. We run across the road in a gap between the traffic, past a curtain of dusty trunks and leaves, into open space.
Green and blue all around now. City and the sky in the background. The world feels huge again. Cloud patterns and long grass. Birds and trees. Shapes gently changing. Still hearing the trucks clamber and clang, Kai is hooning down the hill, tail going in circles, magpies warbling, ibis overhead.
The sounds are changing. In the outside world, and in my head, it’s becoming more quiet, more still, which is nice, I’m breathing in cold air, nose is dribbling, ears are feeling the bite. Trucks into trickling water, bangs into birds, clickety clack. I never really noticed the she-oaks before, they make a nice swish sound when the wind goes through them. Some grasses are doing their best to see the sun despite the long strong tendrils of a blackberry bush. Spikey mace-like shapes are taking over the hill, electric purple in this otherwise grey yellow green landscape, like they came from outer space, aggressive looking, strangers in this place. Strangers like me. I can hear water below. Below the wattles, prickly moses, grasses, rubbish and rats, down where the carp swim and the dogs drink. We wander here and there, around, Kai chasing the scent of rabbits in the hills, and following tracks along the banks. It’s nice to see her move with purpose, instinct.
The sound of the trucks has gone, their fabric sides only in my head now, like moving monochrome paintings. The scratched skip bins gone too, now I just see green and grey shapes, snippets of red and brown, morphing as I move around. Spots of sky coming through. I bend low to get beneath some foliage, Kai’s gone off the path, we wiggle down through some shrubs, and find ourselves at the edge of the creek, water falls below. I sit here a while, close my eyes to the sun. I see colours, dancing side by side, bright like a spark, energetic, pulsing. If only I could make my paintings dance like this.
Kai wants to go. The water moves slowly out to sea. my butt is numb. She wants to move. Zipping and zagging. Tail wagging. I’m keen too, luminance, I want the paintings to glow, like this place, like the colours behind my closed eyes, bright pinks and yellows, moving in a slow circle. Water, thin layers, light. Kai picks up a stick and runs like she’s found buried treasure, it is buried treasure. What colours are here? it’s quite grey from a distance, muted, camouflaged, but up close, zoomed in, I see all sorts of other pigments, greens and purples, bright and transparent, tannins, I see grit and texture, lurid yellow, I could mix it with a red oxide to get that nice betadine-like orange. Maybe I’ll start another one when I get back in there. Maybe this. Maybe that.
If going for a walk was going to the studio, then chasing rabbits would be when it feels good, feels worth it. When the painting starts to take a journey of its own, leading the way. Making paintings feels like it has a strange element of luck to it, I might not see any rabbits when I get back in there, I might be riddled with doubt, but hopefully something jumps out at me from behind a bush.
I feel energised by this place. This little sliver of bush that buffers industry and domesticity from the stagnant and flowing water of the Merri Merri.
The works made for this exhibition are made on unceded Warrundjeri Woi Wurrung country. The beauty of this place is owed to its own inherent magic, but also to the people who loved and nurtured this land for thousands of years before us and continue to do so. Big thanks to the countless volunteers who spend time weeding, planting, picking up trash, advocating, regenerating, this place is free, peaceful and magnetic.