Disturbance in the Gallery - The Painting of Rudolf Boelee Part 3

DISTURBANCE

IN THE

GALLERY

The Painting of Rudolf Boelee

Part 3

Part 3 2010 -

DISTURBANCE IN THE GALLERY

The painting of Rudolf Boelee

Article & Excerpts: Greg McGee - A. P. Gaskell – Andrew Paul Wood –Sharon Murphy

Design & Commentaries: Rudolf Boelee

Publisher: Crown Lynn New Zealand Limited

© Rudolf Boelee 2013

International Exhibition 2010

Surrealism Now

Bissayo Barreto Foundation, Sant'Anna

Convent,

Coimbra, Portugal

In stark contrast, Cox's first book, Defence of Madrid, was written

immediately after he returned to England from covering the 'Battle

for Madrid' in Spain in late 1936. Still relatively new to journalism,

Cox was given the opportunity after the London News Chronicle's

correspondent in Madrid, Denis Weaver, was captured by Franco's

forces. Cox ably covered the conflict from late October to mid-

December 1936, but on his return to England found that more

senior journalists were now clambering for the opportunity.

Realising that he would not be sent back in the short term, Cox

prepared a manuscript covering the period he was in Madrid. His

eyewitness report, first published in early 1937, has become one of

the classic accounts of the Spanish Civil War. It was recently

republished in a new edition by Otago University Press on the 70th

anniversary of the battle.

Geoffrey Cox

When artist Santiago Ribeira first got in touch with me to be part of

this show, I could not really see why he would choose me. He liked

the intensity of the Exiles portraits and Geoffrey Cox having been a

correspondent in Spain during the Spanish Civil War at the height of

classic surrealism made that fit.

Persona No.9 (Jean-Louis Trintignant)

curated by Finn Fair

338 Hackney Road London E2 7 AX

2011 Christchurch

Earthquake

22 February

12:51pm

I started working on material for "Whaddarya?" during 2011.

Robyne and I were displaced from our house in Christchurch, due

to the February 22nd earthquake, and my only way to make any

work at all was with a little old Dell laptop. New Zealand was in the

midst of Rugby World Cup media hysteria, with the 'weight of

history' hanging heavily over the team and their coaches. This

made me think of all these players who came before and how they

would have reacted to this situation (in the professional era). In first

instance "Whaddarya?" was a Facebook project, because we were

continuously travelling and the only way I could gauge if there was

any interest in what I was trying to do, was through regular posts

from virtually every public library in the South Island. I like to thank

Andrew Paul Wood, Tony Carr, Eugene Huston, Johnny Lardner,

Jeffrey Paparoa Holman, Jim Wilson, David Boyce for their useful

comments, Tony Carr for giving me the script of Greg McGee's

"Foreskin's Lament" and most of all Michael Williams who gave me

the idea for this project in the first place

For a whole generation god was only twice as high as the

posts. We who know our history by itineraries – the cold

war of the ‘50s you say? Oh yes, we remember it well,

those front-row problems, Skinner and Bekker. ’59? A

mélange of O’Reilly’s creamy thighs, Jackson’s jinks, DB’s

size 13s, and a sheep-dog retrieving the ball in a cow-

paddock in Morrinsville. Froggies in ’61, Poms again in

’66 –bloody awful! – those artistes of ’68, Villepreux and

Jo Maso, a Pinetree bestriding the ‘60s with a sheep

under each arm, the Bokkies in ’73 – the ones that didn’t

come, that nevermore will come . . . there was one thing

we knew with certainty: come winter, we’d be there, on

the terrace, answering the only call that mattered –

c’mon black! . . . While the nectar flowed till you could

almost see the reflection of your youth in its dregs . .

passing . . . passing. I know the lore, I know the catechism.

- Greg McGee, Foreskin’s Lament, 1981

The whistle blew, there was a glare of

sunlight, and we were outside going out onto

the field, right out in the open. A roar from the

crowd rolled around us enveloping us. A cold

easterly breeze blew through our jerseys as

we lined up for the photographers, squinting

into the low sun. The Southern players looked

broad and compact in their black and white

jerseys. We gave three cheers and trotted out

in the middle. The turf felt fine and springy. We

spaced ourselves out. I took some deep

breaths to get charged out up with oxygen for

the first ten minutes. A Southern player dug a

hole with his heel and placed the ball. 'All right

Southern? All right Varsity?' called the referee.

Both captains nodded. He blew the whistle.

The Southern man ran up to kick. 'Thank

Christ,' I thought. 'The game at last.'

A. P. Gaskell, “The Big Game”, 1947

Rudolf Boelee’s

"Whaddarya?" (the title taken from the Greg McGee’s seminal 1981

play Foreskin’s Lament) is a series of prints celebrating that

glorious age of rugby when All Blacks played for pride, glory, and

camaraderie, and counterpoints it with the modern equivalents that

don’t quite fit the spokes model or biological tank moulds. They

were roughest of gentlemen, or the most genteel of ruffians. At

Eden Park in 1956, Peter Jones scored an extraordinary try in the

pivotal fourth test against the Springboks, the All Blacks’ first series

win over the Springboks. When asked for comment, he responded

“Ladies and gentlemen, I hope I never have to play another game

like that in my life. I’m absolutely buggered”. The New Zealand

Herald refused to print it and the recording spent the next 30 years

buried in the radio archives. In a style ultimately deriving from Andy

Warhol’s stereographic treatment of the mass image, many a

legendary moustache or cauliflower ear is immortalised in mud

brown, dried blood puce, grass green, half-time orange, lager

amber, nicotine yellow, and a palette of other assorted colours that

would not be out of place in any pub up until the gentrification of the

1980s. The effect is rather like Byzantine saints against the gold

ground of icons. Each photograph has that classic look, those tell-

tale aesthetics and semiotics familiar from many a Rugby Annual. It

is slightly unexpected to see All Blacks depicted in art this

colourfully – black, after all, is nearly synonymous with New

Zealand art through the auspices of Colin McCahon and Ralph

Hotere. How nice to see All Blacks depicted in art which is not a

grotesque pseudo-fascist/pseudo-Socialist Realist Weta Studio-

regurgitation, or the Volkswagen-like buttocks of a nude and

callipygian Anton Oliver as immortalised in oils by Simon

Richardson.

This letter is to advise of my interest and financial commitment, via

Germinal Press (part of Golden Arm Productions Pty Limited), to

produce in traditional paperback or hardcopy format the title

Whaddarya? by Rudolf Boelee. As testament of my commitment, I

have already posted Whaddarya? on my website as an e-

publication and provided to my distributors in Australia for posting

on various international e-platforms such as Amazon, Barnes &

Noble and iTunes. I believe the subject matter and the unique

treatment contained in Whaddarya? makes for a compelling

financial proposition, especially given the love for the game of rugby

in New Zealand.

Germinal Press is an independent publishing house based in

Sydney, Australia. We produce an eclectic suite of titles

ranging from rugby and Mixed Martial Arts to parenting and

horror fiction.

Regards Steve Townshend Publisher Germinal Press

Back in our house in November 2011…while

unpacking my books decided to make the

‘best book’ collages, as an ongoing poster

project for the Pug Design Store site

24 portraits

all painted

during the

second half

of

2012;

acrylic

on

hessian

on board

The idea for this project came after reading of former

Christchurch Art Gallery curator Neil Roberts predicament of

living in a perfectly good but red zoned house, was the

beginning for these works. The house is significant from a

New Zealand art historical perspective; it was designed by

sculptor designer Tom Taylor for renowned painter Bill Sutton,

who lived there from 1963 until his death in 2000. It seems

insane that this great place might just be demolished for no

good reason. The new plan for the rebuild will change

Christchurch even further, so my work is a type of mapping of

what we still have here now. Most of the artists approached, I

had known for a very long time and the majority of them have

been living and working in this neighborhood as long as I

have. Some are still in their houses/studios but others have

not been that fortunate, everyone carrying on though in their

new circumstances in one way or another. The eastside of

Christchurch has always had a proportionately larger

population of artists, including: Colin McCahon, Bill Sutton,

Rudolf Gopas, Doris Lusk, Tony Fomison, Rita Angus, Leo

Benseman. The geographical area for "EASTSIDE" is roughly

between Montreal Street / Bealey Avenue / Linwood Avenue /

Ferry Road, The project, as an exhibition, is of 24 artist

portraits, each a same size painting, 60 x 60 cm: acrylic on

hessian on board. The video footage shown with the

exhibition is from the Christchurch CBD just after the 6.3

earthquake of February 22, 2011 by Frank Film, makers of

"When a City Falls

Templar Street

Neil Roberts

Hills Road

David Mackenzie

Gloucester Street

Robyne Voyce

Woodhouse

Street

Alan McLean

Olliviers Road

Jane Zusters

Kilmore Street

Gerard Smyth

Cambridge

Terrace

Helm Ruifrok

Slater Street

Adrienne Rewi

Fleete Street

Grant Takle

Jamell Place

Kristin Hollis

North Avon Road

Keith Morant

England Street

Jonathan Smart

Bealey Avenue

Marian Maguire

Abberley

Crescent

Martin Whitworth

Edward Avenue

Marilyn Rae-

Menzies

England Street

Neil Dawson

Otley Street

Nigel Buxton

Linwood Ave

Renata Przynoga

Peterborough

Street

Philip Trusttum

Beveridge Street

Robin Neate

Main Road

Roger Hickin

Gloucester Street

Rudolf Boelee

Cashel Street

Sandra Thomson

Brittan Street

Wayne Seyb

Introduction

I go down Manchester Street: it's all there. Early sun on the Drawing

Room, John Darby Men's Wear, the bike shop on the corner of

Tuam below the old sauna parlour, the doorway to my first love's

studio, Smith's Bookshop, the Brooke Gifford Gallery over the road,

back across the collectibles shops to the barber's – the sign is out,

down past the Excelsior pub, looking over to Java for coffee and the

red dot moving sculpture. It's where I have been much of my life;

Christchurch as was. I turned half a hundred on September 3, 2010,

looking forward to the next half-century, and I now find myself

saying over and over “there was”, looking back to make sense of

the present and future. I take that walk on Google maps street view.

It's the only way, because my prim hometown has become a

disaster zone perched on the edge of the Pacific. Ironic when Greg

and I chose to stay here to bring up our late-life babes in the

sometimes-cloying safety of family and the familiar. These old street

pictures look “righter” than the new pioneer town with its

unexpected views of the Port Hills, vacant sections and containers.

My subconscious is waiting for the long-known to return, even

though I have been here for all the more than 13,000 shakes. The

hold-on-to-the-floor horrors, the leaping-away-from-the-dodgy-

chimney shimmies, the was-that-a-train-or-a-big-one-coming

rumbles, standing in St Martins almost on top of the fault on

February 22 while the earth bellowed. I know the geology, the soil

profiles, the twice-the force-of-gravity heaving of the land, the red-

dotted faultlines' slashes; but it is taking time to absorb all the

changes. I carry so many griefs for people, for places, for the

comfortable daily routines, and for the security of solid ground.

Everything -- the physical and the emotional, the intellectual and the

spiritual – has been thrown up in the air and is slowly floating down

to earth in new patterns.We all try to make sense of our new reality

every day, creating new lives, new paths. The artists - the fragile

creatives - are helping shaping the narrative of this time, living in a

buckled part of town they tell the tales past and present that will

endure for our children.The artists, the writers, the film-makers, the

photographers have real resilience: keeping the spark to make

sense of the inexplicable, the huge, and the life-changing. Our

villages remain, communities in which to live and create.

“No loss of place is trivial – in our ways, for our own loved places,

we grieve.”- Keri Hulme 2013

Why does anyone stay living in a disaster zone? I asked that

question when I read of flattened cities, war zones, natural

disasters. Now I know. This place and people are in my bones and

in my garden. Otautahi/Christchurch is where my family has the

web of blood connections that stretch across the city, from my

father's childhood home in Madras Street to my great-grandparents'

property in Allandale. From the Gladstone where I misspent my

youth to two blocks away at the hospital where I bore my children.

From The Press building in the Square where I met my beloved,

Greg Jackson, to the house in the Botanic Gardens where I played

as a child in the wild garden by the river and my close family lived

for near 30 years. From the Port Hills where my father's ashes

watch over the city to the sea where I body-boarded when carrying

my twins and out to the plains. I like the big machinery time we live

in; the way great wide spaces are being created. I am amazed by

the vastness of what had seemed like a smallish city block when it

had buildings rather than one building: another blank canvas for

creatives – property owners this time. The best, the worst, the

beautiful and the ugly are all hanging out. Possibilities and potential

that this buttoned-down city had locked away. Creating seems easy

now, though the journeys back in my head surprise, delight and

frustrate me.

Feeling the beat, Greg and I danced again at Mollett Street, at

11am in an autumn glow on the gravel replacing the old punk

warehouse. No brick-lined midnight lane to enter any more, but

warmth on our faces and thirty minutes of pure pleasure. I see

wildflowers in the wreckage, seedlings of natives trees, ducks

making their ponds in the foundations of demolished buildings. At

iconic-to-me sites the dirt underfoot set me wondering how long it

had been since that soil had seen daylight; what had happened in

that place before it was built over; what the city looked like when it

was Otautahi Pa and surrounds; what trees and vegetation were

there, what birds sang. Lots of both! says Keri. The presence of ka

manu iwi katoa was overwhelmingly loud, so much so that gathered

human voices couldn't out-sing the birds. “One of the reasons Kai

Tahu kai-karaka call so loudly is – we were attempting to out-call

the birds … the late great Irihapeti Ramsden told that one to me -

and also mentioned that Kai Tahu women would call, in relays, for

over an hour when approaching the great southern pa …. loud and

long, that's us!”

I have so many connections in the web of life here – surprisingly to

me also with the artists Rudolf has portrayed: some whose houses I

know, some I know, some I know their grandchildren and children,

some I drink tea with, some my beloved works with. Tony

Fomison’s mother Mrs Fomison lived across the road from my old

Avonside house. She grew a wonderful lemon tree that went up one

of the front verandah posts and trailed across the verandah just

below the guttering, covered in bright yellow lemons; beautiful!

Tony, who was Greg's friend as a young man, grew up in that

house and was one of the founding class at Linwood High. I now

live in the house belonging to the school's founding deputy

principal. When Greg wrote the mayor’s speech for the opening of

the Christchurch Art Gallery, he “took” Tony and Phil Clairmont to

the opening: they were the only artists mentioned by name in all the

speeches and pomp and circumstance. I admired Jane Zusters'

work in Wellington thirty years ago; Robyne Voyce and Rudolf

Boelee were the almost the first people I met when I returned to live

in Christchurch 23 years ago; I lived two doors from Doris Lusk and

saw the rooftop views she saw from her window. I love the way

Rudolf's portraits strip the subjects down to their emotional bare

bones: the strained and set faces with the creative and quake

chaos of the workrooms. They help make sense of life here

At my bedside I have a huge wood bowl, carved from “the first tree

planted on Banks Peninsula by the first missionary “. Hanging from

the kitchen door is a shillelagh; a club of knotty wood that my Great-

Uncle Huia collected from the Botanic Gardens and hung inside the

back door of the curator's residence at Rolleston Avenue for late

nights in the gardens. My children gather seaweed for our garden

from the beach where their great-great-grandparents gathered

seaweed. Their future is our shared past which we revisit, over and

again, as they and we create the new. After all, my grandmother

lived in Chester Street East for over 70 years, saying:“I still haven't

got the garden finished.”

Sharon Murphy

Previous pages; all images from the opening and closing of

“EASTSIDE” at Eastside Gallery, Linwood Community Arts Centre.

The closing of the exhibition featured the virtuoso playing of viola

player Anatoliy Zelinskyy. At present a selection of 12 0f the

EASTSIDE portraits is at the South Library, Christchurch

Following pages has images of Crown Lynn Galleries with selected

works by Robyne and me…

DISTURBANCE

IN THE

GALLERY

The End