Russell Drysdale And The Blank Canvas

I have a once-upon-a-time story for you.

Many years ago during an Australia Day long weekend, the ABC screened a series of excellent Aussie art shows.  Hard to believe these days given the tripe that passes for art programs, but it did happen.  It’s a sad story in some respects as this happened just before I got a VCR – I was still finding my feet after a divorce.

One of those programs featured the formidable Russell Drysdale and dated from the mid 1960’s.  An old pal of his, the journalist George Johnston, came up from Sydney to have his portrait painted.  Drysdale was living at Hardy’s Bay near the entrance to the Hawksbury at the time.

Drysdale has being described as the artist who ran away from the canvas, and this program made it abundantly clear that he had a hell of a job getting started.  Having the same problem myself at the time, this caught my attention.  Drysdale would get Johnston into position, then faff about in front of the canvas for a while before suggesting they both visit an old friend at a nearby pub.  So off they went and the camera would focus on the canvas – blank.

The next day the same routine would be repeated only this time Drysdale suggested they go fishing (I think – I’m digging up nearly 30 years of memory here).  But I remember the camera focusing on the canvas again – blank again.

He eventually made some progress and I distinctly remember Johnston saying that it seemed as if Drysdale was going into a trance in front of the canvas.  But after 2 weeks Johnston had to return to Sydney, resigning himself to the idea that the painting will never happen.  A few weeks later he gets the call, “I’ve finished”. 

Drysdale's portrait of George Johnston 1966

Drysdale’s gift as a portrait painter was that he could capture the character of the person.  Both he and Johnston were in fairly poor health by that time.  Drysdale was also an incredible portrayer of loneliness and my two favourite paintings of his are…

'Soldier' (1942) oil on composition board, 59.5 x 40 cm

And…

'War Memorial' (1950) oil on composition board, 66 x101.6 cm

“The subject is of no particular township but rather is representative of a small bush community with its cheap, cast figure (there must be hundreds of them) looking completely unreal and out of key.”  Letter from Drysdale to the Tate Gallery in 1956.

This painting became the first acquisition of an Australian painting by London’s Tate Gallery.

As for the availability of the program, simply titled “Russell Drysdale”, I suggest you contact ACMI, the Australian Centre for the Moving Image.

These days a blank canvas presents no issues for me, it’s just a matter of getting something happening ASAP.  The problems usually start later on. 

The White Canvas

There was a time when the white canvas totally intimidated me.   I’m pleased to report those days are gone.  But I felt rather better about my initial hesitancy after seeing a program on Russell Drysdale.  Shortly before I acquired my first VCR (if only…) the ABC screened a program dating back to 1966 when Drysdale received a visit from an old pal George Johnston, a writer and journalist who wanted his portrait painted.

I once heard Drysdale described as the artist who ran away from the canvas.  Did he what!!  He would get Johnston into position in a chair and then faff about looking for distractions.  They would go fishing one day, then visit an old mate at the local boozer the next.  I can recall the camera focusing on the near blank canvas regularly. 

After about 2 weeks, Johnston gave up and returned to Sydney convinced his portrait would never be completed.  Drysdale must have made some progress during Johnston's stay because I can remember him saying it was as if Drysdale gone into a trance in front of the canvas.  Some 6 weeks later, Johnston gets the call, “I’ve finished”.

These days the white canvas represents possibilities and I focus on just getting something happening as quickly as possible.  So the next time I walk into the studio I can see I’ve made at least some progress – there is so much psychology involved.  To a point, I let the painting develop a life of its own although I do have a final image in the back of my mind.