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For me, Instagram is a land of the midnight sun, a wide-open place that's always lit up, bristling with visions, pictures, strangers, shooting stars, screwballs, and well-known artists posting images from everywhere, together creating this immense abstract missive or amazing rebus that seems to speak just to me, the curious curator of my own lit-up Instagramland. Strangest in this strange land is that 123,000 people now follow me. Or are following their idea of me: New York Magazine's art critic acting out in pictures online.
Stephen Ormandy's spatial and tonal sensibilities play out in a series of paintings and small digitally generated acrylic sculptures which are a three-dimensional expression of his works on canvas. Pictured is Unsquare Dance
Bold colour, intuitive composition and playful design are the hallmark elements of Stephen Ormandy's work. A collection of his new paintings, including Look Both Ways (2014), right, shows at Olsen Irwin gallery in Sydney from 18 November - 7 December. olsenirwin.com
As a descriptive term, abstract painting is a bit vague. After all, both Joan Miro and Jackson Pollock were abstractionists. But Miro expresses an exuberant joie de vivre, while Pollock seems driven by a seething inner angst. If you had to place Australian artist Stephen Ormandy on Team Miro or Team Pollock, the choice would be clear. Ormandy’s abstraction is uplifting. His colourful canvasses are full to bursting with an almost irrepressible cheer.
You’ve recently made the move to Los Angeles. How is it treating you?
I moved to West Hollywood in February this year with my wife Sarah and am represented by the Heather James Fine Art Gallery. The Gallery deals with new and secondary work from Andy Warhol, Picasso, Yves Klein and Damien Hirst. It has spaces in Palm Desert and Jackson Hole here in the States and I have a solo exhibition at the Palm Desert gallery in January 2015.
Suburban domestic architecture fascinates Australian artists. Jenny Watson documented street views of five Melbourne houses in which she had lived, titling them by suburb, for example 'Mont Albert' (1975 - 77). Howard Arkley titled his depictions of suburban houseing ironically, including 'A Splendid Superior Home' (1989). In his first solo exhibition in London, held at the Fine Art Society Contemporary gallery, Paul Davies ups the architectural ante, depicting exteriors of archetypal modernist houses.
15 July 2014
27 June 2014
Art District XIII, in Delhi's Lado Sarai, may jostle for space with other galleries, but is different in its attitude. While number '13' challenges the conventional unlucky paradigm, the front road leads into canvases adorning the walls.
"Art must be accessible to you," says Kapil Chopra, president of the Oberoi Group and mentor, Art District XIII.
Interpreted by painters in many different ways, Modernism continues to be a compelling subject matter and muse that encourages artists to go beyond notions of simple representation and instead seek to evoke something more profound.
May 3-4 2014
It began, like many artistic endeavours, in Paris. The city where Samuel Beckett wrote En Attendant Godot in 1948, which he translated into Waiting for Godot and later premiered at the Theatre de Babylone in 1953, would draw artist Nicholas Harding into that absurdist drama six decades later.
Australian artist Paul Davies first caught my eye earlier this year, with his atmospheric series of paintings which seductively draw you into a utopia that precariously balances between an unforgiving natural space and a built urban environment.
26 January 2014
Artist Paul Davies has a fascination with houses and architecture which he explores using stencils and painting. He's dressed down and paint-splattered when working in his Surry Hills studio, but come an exhibition opening, Davies is always one of the best dressed artists. Currently based in Sydney, where he is represented by Olsen Irwin gallery, Davies is moving to Los Angeles next month, where his signature casual and understated style will fit right in.
'Scuse me, but I've got a head of Christ here'. 'Right ho- just drop it outside,' says a cheerful Nic Fiddian-Green to the white-van man delivering an enormous sculpture. We are standing in his freezing- cold, rickety Surrey studio. "It's a converted sheep-shearing shed,' he tells me. "When I first moved in, there were rotting carcasses everywhere.' The face of God incarnate being delivered isn't the oddest thing that happens during our meeting. Gale-force winds are shaking the studio like the tornado in The Wizard of Oz; 25-foot-tall horses's heads are dotted around; and, at one point, the proceedings are interrupted by a vicar coming in to bless the space.