You came in search of a way to see
to create a new narrative
for this land already crisscrossed with stories
ones you could not read
but, perhaps, felt
in the silent welcome
from stone gully creek
it took you a long time
to find the quiet palette.

Your head was full of myth making
the power of the shearing shed
like Jason and his Argonauts
a comaraderie born out of sweat and labour
seeking a Golden Fleece
but we all know how that tale ended
families divided and bodies chopped up.

The icons of Australia’s past
found purpose under your brush and Fred’s
the Prof had a lot to say about the bush
peopled by dead pioneers and lost children
but haunted by the absence
of those placed in the shadows
while you spent two years
commemorating wealthy faces
in your ‘Big Picture’
to the advancement of your pocketbook
and the detriment of your eyesight.

When did you realise
that monumental canvases
was not your destiny?

I can almost forgive your myth making
that we have spent generations negating
for the gentle painting of washing on the line
at Talisman in Kallista
the crisp morning air
a breeze moving the clothes
the sound of the kettle boiling off in the distance
and Fred’s ‘tender visions of light and air’
illuminating the gumtrees
and the hillside rising up