Two: ‘Cadmium Accordion’
Oli meticulously mixed his colours at St. Luke, where he practices his craft. The 'Accordion' series initially came to my attention through young Chizu's hallway wanderings. On one occasion, he found himself comfortably situated in the space between two apartment entrances - Oli & Kashi’s place on one side and Libby and Freddy’s (another cat, more polite than Chi) on the other.
As I guided him back, Oli ascended the stairs, and we found ourselves in conversation. He was contemplating renting out his place and casually inquired if I knew anyone interested and if I'd like to look inside.
Well… certainly. Of course. I hold affection for Oli and his partner, both artists immersed in various jobs and studies. Our hallway chats were commonplace, and our last conversation revolved around the play that Scott, the eccentric academic and playwright down the hall, had staged at La Mama. Our building is a haven of brains, heart, talent, and, notably, many cats (guess what Scott's play was about?).
Upon entering, the cozy beauty of the space, adorned with vintage wood furniture and art throughout, captivated me. A poignant sketch of worn ballet shoes, an exuberant study of the large wattle tree at the back of our building, and two sizable pieces above the couch, oil on canvas incorporating a series of vertical pleats, facing each other like quiet sentinels.
These two pieces were compelling, their moody, ink-earth depth suggesting peacefulness, rest, and acceptance. Whilst they were manufactured creations, they somehow felt of the earth, not man.
I made the usual appreciative noises, prompting Oli to mention, “I’ve got a third one, but it’s in red. A bright red.”
“Red, you say?” I responded.
“Yeah, I’ll show you a picture. It’s a cadmium red and pretty bold, not like these two,” he replied calmly, somewhat sheepishly.
He pulled out his phone, and there she was.
An unexpected text arrived a fortnight later. He was moving it from his Dad’s shed, and would I like to see the piece in my office?
Naturally, I said yes. And, as expected, it was perfect. We devised an instalment plan (do I have the dollarbucks to drop on a proper, grown-up, gallery-shown piece right now? Er… no.)
Oli also graciously hung it up for me where it is presently mounted - on the far wall of my office, furthest from my desk. The dully bright afternoon sun glints off its ever-changing textures. In some lights, parts of her canvas look coated in smooth latex; in others, supple leather.
At certain times of day, her pleats cleave into a deep oxblood shade, the crevasses hidden in partial shadow. She is a nuanced study in reflectiveness; in some cases, this is what a helping practitioner is called to be. However, simple in her oils, canvas, and cloth materials, much skill and care has gone into her making so she may still hold the centre of herself while in constant interplay with what surrounds her. She is simplicity and lushness, serenity and living flame.
I had been searching for her for some time - as an office without art is… dull. It is also kind to provide a focal point for those silent, awkward moments between client and practitioner that one must inevitably embrace in this line of work. The space must sometimes hold us.