Houses tell stories.  They stir memories of days long-forgotten.  They serve as functional monuments, solitary observers of the passing of time.  I’m intrigued by the lives of houses.  Old Queenslanders, Post-war homes, Fibros; each have their own distinct personalities, tales and ghosts.

Every now and then I come across a house that resonates with me.  I’m not entirely sure why.  It might be because of some peculiar quirk that makes it stand out or the way the light hits it at a certain angle.  But I think it could also be more than that.  They may be reminding me of places hidden in my memory.  Dad was in town when I had completed the first piece for this exhibition.  When he looked at the painting he asked me if it was of our old house in Malaysia.  I had no idea what he was talking about (we left Malaysia when I was about two years old).  I have no conscious recollection of ever living in a house like the one in the painting, yet when I saw the house on a Paddington street I somehow felt a connection.  An attachment that always remains distant and out of reach.

As more and more dwellings get demolished to make way for new developments the houses that remain gain all the more significance, becoming haunting reminders of the transience of life. The works in this exhibition explore the lives of these houses, shrines of the lost suburban.