Do All Roads Lead Back To Home? New Year & Here Again

...Come, let us go; though withal a voice whisper, 'The world that we live in,
Whithersoever we turn, still is the same narrow crib;..

WA School of Art, Design and Media: 2003 Graduation Show

My Artist's Statement

I consider words to be an abbreviation of what reality could be.

Visual art is my tool to subvert the presupposed meanings of language so then the imagination can propagate new ideas.

2003 artists statement.png

  1. "Celling, selling... souled!"
    53.9 x 150cm
    ochre, coffee and chicory essence
  2. "Elucidation v1.02"
    dimensions variable
    mixed media


The First Day of 2023

On a whim, it flickers. More lark with obfuscating of risks, than flame-igniting creative spark. Yet entirely spurned by coming home to using visual (and surely other formats) of art as tools for subverting presupposed meanings of language - catalyzing a cumulative cascade for my imagination to ride - propagating new ideas for all!

So I wrote emails to express interest in the following;

  1. https://amorc.org.au/
  2. https://www.tsperth.com/membership
  3. https://www.johnmcdonald.net.au/2013/windows-to-the-sacred/

Brief online researching resulted in several uncanny coincidences. A local art gallery owner Robert Buratti had successfully toured and curated an exhibition titled 'Windows to the Sacred' in 2013.
While my whims nudged me onwards to apply for esoteric Orders, the initial motivation was to seek company and engagement from other people. I did intend to flex and expand upon what I knew already of Occult, Spiritualism and Symbolism.

Each of my expression of interest emails referred to the first day of 2023 as an opportunity to really enliven thine self anew. At the time of writing down my reverence for 2023, intent wasn't solidified but once (twice, thrice) I smoked a cigarette under the kitchen ventilator - intend got solid.

I'm an artist / writer / archiver / investigator: not an insurance jerk.

My paintings hanging on the walls spoke to me in voices from 2000-2003, imploring my my 2023 self. I turned a full circle, gaze settling on a photocopied verse of poetry which I had been sticking onto the front door of each home i lived in for a decade.. Dawning of a fully fledged smile, a beaming mirth.
Inside: 'Yep, I'm coming home. And yep, it's now revealed that spiritually I had not left.'

Amours de Voyage, Canto I

Arthur Hugh Clough

Over the great windy waters, and over the clear-crested summits,
Unto the sun and the sky, and unto the perfecter earth,
Come, let us go,--to a land wherein gods of the old time wandered,
Where every breath even now changes to ether divine.
Come, let us go; though withal a voice whisper, 'The world that we live in,
Whithersoever we turn, still is the same narrow crib;
'Tis but to prove limitation, and measure a cord, that we travel;
Let who would 'scape and be free go to his chamber and think;
'Tis but to change idle fancies for memories wilfully falser;
'Tis but to go and have been.' -- Come, little bark! let us go.

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