Author Archives: Robin

About Robin

Occasional painter. Golfer. Fascinated by humanity. Passionate about beautiful stuff, the people who create it and its narrative.

The Hills Sculpture Park… and Golf Course, NZ

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I have the privilege of playing a round of golf where the New Zealand Open is played; at the exclusive Hills Golf Course near Queenstown in New Zealand’s South Island. It is not going to be an ordinary day. This stupendous course doubles as a sculpture park of dizzying imagination. The whole is inspired by Sir Michael Hill: jeweller, golfer and believer that the seeing-touching physicality of big metallic art can change society.

The Hills Sculpture Park 1

Wolves are Coming, Liu Ruowang, 2011, Warrior figure 3m high, 110 wolves 2m long, Cast iron

The dominant work, next to the 18th fairway and visible from the discrete clubhouse, is a sculpture like no other. A massive oriental warrior wielding a two-handed sword fends off 110 howling-hungry wolves. This is Liu Ruowangs “Wolves are Coming.” (We get up close and personal with the wolves coming down the 18th fairway.)

On every hole, there is a heart-stopping distraction. Golf takes second place.

The Hills Sculpture Park 2

The Calici Scythe, Paul Dibble, 2001, 2.3m high, Cast bronze

Near the second fairway, a prominent and intriguing but rather absurd rabbitoid figure stands atop a pair of smiling lips atop a sphere atop a cube. I wander around it amused and confused. Only later do I understand that this is a reference to the smiling farmers of the area who, by introducing the calici virus to the rabbit population, believed their vermin woes were over. The rabbits – thanks to their resilient immune systems – have since come back with a vengeance… and have the last smile!

The Hills Sculpture Park 3

Dragonflies, Mark Hill, 2006, Welded stainless steel and industrial ceramic (electrical pylon insulators)

The course-cum-sculpture park is a dream. I love it. The challenging sixth hole has a water hazard in front of the green. Giant shiny dragonflies scoot over the surface. Their bodies are made of those big ceramic insulator things from electricity pylons. Large trout swim by.

The Hills Sculpture Park 4

Solace in the Wind, Max Patte, 2012, 1.9m high, Cast iron

On the tenth hole, I walk over a stone bridge. On the parapet a naked iron man leans into a strong wind. He lifts his face up welcoming the powerful fresh gusts. He exudes peace of mind in solitude. I look closely at his hands and the strained muscles of his legs and abdomen. The anatomist in me sings.

The Hills Sculpture Park 5

Untitled, Grant Williams, 2009, 7m high, Fibreglass and steel moving wind sculpture

Set against the rugged South Island lanscape, this smooth seedling-like giant tree-flower oversees the 15th fairway. It is totally mesmerizing. The “trunk” and the three individual “branches” all rotate silently around their axes. Everything is perfectly balanced. The mechanics of this classy kinetic work are invisible. It generates a calm mindset for a shot to the large green.

The Hills Sculpture Park 6

Detail of “Wolves are Coming”

My drive on the eighteenth heads right. I encounter the wolves. They really want to sink their teeth into that warrior! They leave me a little breathless. It is impossible not to feel a primal fear. What would it be like to be set upon by a pack of these predators? At a more cerebral level, I try – but fail – to imagine the work involved in Liu’s masterpiece.

The Hills Sculpture Park 7

Artist and year as yet unknown, Rhino head in riveted iron

After scrambling a rather undignified bogey on the eighteenth hole (I blame the wolves,) the  club house beckons. At the steps, I am captivated by a false rhinoceros head trophy made, surprisingly and expertly, from bits of galvanised iron riveted together. But it is just so rhino! I adore it. I suspect its presence is a little kiwi dig at the colonial nature of the traditional old British golf clubs? There is no information about who made it or when.

A day at The Hills is quite simply a wonderful experience. I mentally doff my hat to the man behind it all.

The expressions and emotions of Alyaa Kamel

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Alyaa Kamel 1

I get a message from Facebook: the 13th November is Alyaa Kamel’s birthday. Another message tells me it is the first day of her new exhibition. Galerie Cimaise has risen to the challenge of showing her “Expressions and Emotions.” Go to this exhibition. Do not expect to see representations of people’s expressions and emotions. You will find Alyaa Kamel’s people but the expressions and emotions are all hers. This is, after all, #alyaakamel: emoting on-line and “out there.”

Alyaa Kamel 2

A large canvas reveals her fascination for tagging. It is a crush of hopeless, expressionless people: her main theme. I remain convinced that her inspiration is driven by the all-too-frequent images from daily news: thousands of poor middle-eastern souls in crisis. I try to nail down her thoughts. She cleverly responds in a meaningful abstractness. With a gush of words, she throws ideas at me such as humanity, inheritance, memories and genes. I push…. “We all have our secrets, Robin!”

Alyaa Kamel 3

Another large canvas moves the theme to the individual. The face is grotesque and haunting. One eye is closed. The nose is broken. The lips are mashed. In describing what was in her mind when covering it with glue and kitchen film she loses me. I see only an attempt to obliterate one of those poor middle-eastern souls in crisis; only this time the crisis has been meted out at a personal level. By my interpretation, this is the battered and bruised face of the final interrogation.

This exhibition carries 36 pieces. Alyaa’s expressions and emotions may be elusive but she has a lot to say and she says it better with her drawings and paintings than with her words. The ensemble of the person and her work is contemporary, enigmatic and intriguing. A visit to Galerie Cimaise will not disappoint.

Aboriginal rock paintings in Brisbane

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Aboriginal rock 1

It is hot and humid. I am in a natural reserve near the heart of Brisbane, Queensland. I walk up to the J.C. Slaughter waterfalls. There are only rocks. The river is dry. A sign indicates “Aboriginal Art”. A small plaque tells me that these rock paintings from 1993 celebrate the International Year of the World’s Indigenous People and that the aboriginal artists are Laurie Nilsen, Marshall Bell, Laurie Graham and Mark Garlett.

Aboriginal rock 2

Blow-painting – with dyes spat from the mouth – was a prominent feature of aboriginal painting. Hands and hunting boomerangs were frequently used as stencils. Here, the paintings include, in white, macropod (e.g. kangaroo) tracks. The works have an instant and earthy appeal. I find them beautiful. They take me closer to an ancient culture born of a harsh environment.

Aboriginal rock 3

A fabulous serpentine form uncoils itself from under the over-hanging rock. I guess snakes feature so prominently in aboriginal folklore because, even today, they represent the greatest danger for anyone who goes walkabout.

Aboriginal rock 4

A few metres away is a human figure. It is as though the painters wanted to represent the future observer of their beautiful stuff. Is it therefore me?!! Maybe it is J.C. Slaughter himself, the civic-minded administrator who expanded the public amenities of 1960s Brisbane? (I can find no link between him and the falls; he certainly wasn’t their European “discoverer”!)

Despite the fact that these paintings are only twenty-two years old, I accept that they are “aboriginal.” They represent creative impulses of people who were the owners and custodians of this parched land for thousands of years before Captain Cook sailed into Botany Bay and the painters are, I assume, descended from these people. As I walk back down the dusty track, a young woman jogs past; she wears Nike shoes, a pink lycra top and an iPhone strapped to her left upper arm. I reflect on the dual and incomparable stories of humanity’s existence on this huge dry continent. A kookaburra cackles its laugh at me. I have a feeling that the bird is ridiculing my attempt to understand what these paintings really mean for aborigine people. But then, maybe it is just telling me to go away.