Thursday 13th February, 2025

I’m fascinated by the way objects are perceived and how their meaning shifts across time and distance. I often reflect on ancient artifacts and the sense of transcendence they embody. With the passage of time, ordinary objects take on a mystical significance, transforming into something beyond their original purpose.

I was in Malaysia last year. While there, I visited the abandoned mining town of Pekan Papan, outside of Ipoh. This ghost town has a rich and fascinating history; from lumber mills, tin mining, assassinations, secret societies, colonialism, war, radioactive waste and guerilla radio. Beyond this intriguing past, many physical elements of this village also captivated me, remaining vividly etched in my memory. The weathered materials, the eerie silence, and the way nature has slowly reclaimed the buildings all combined to create a scene both haunting and beautiful.

But what was equally captivating were the everyday objects left behind in the homes — bottles, cutlery, furniture, pottery, stair stringers, and even the very walls themselves. These objects didn’t reside in these places as functional items or as garbage. They stand as silent witnesses to the lives that once lived within these spaces. And what is all the more interesting, is that these objects are really not that old. These are not the tools of an ancient civilisation or the holy relics of bygone empires. These are items that we find in our present. But now, no longer holding any daily use, they have grown in importance and beauty.

So as I see it, when everyday objects of the past are stripped of their practical purpose by time, their spiritual significance becomes more apparent. If that is true, can we view modern objects with the same ethereal reverence as ancient relics? If we separate them from their contemporary use, do they transform before our eyes? If this were an alien world, would explorers find beauty in the routines we so easily overlook?

I like to move through life seeking everyday objects that quietly reveal their divinity, untethered from time and distance. When I paint, that is what I want to share with you.

Many of my works capture unassuming urban streets — lampposts, street signs, factories, and handrails — the monuments of a modern world that fade into the background of daily life. Yet, when their ghosts emerge, we can behold them with a renewed sense of awe, as haunting reminders of impermanence.

Give me a sign, currently on exhibition at Lethbridge Gallery, depicts a fragment of a rooftop sign in Brisbane, where only the letters “G” and “E” remain visible — its original meaning obscured, its purpose adrift. Steal my kisses and A change of scene, also on display at Lethbridge Gallery, portray sections of Brisbane’s Riverside Expressway, eerily empty yet inhabited by unseen presences.

These familiar scenes become detached, transformed into alien landscapes. The objects within them exist outside of time, lingering between presence and memory.

Until next time, J.