Dear Lizzie (10 Sept ‘26),
Apples on French Plate for As Essential as Housework at Boom Gallery
Oh gosh it’s been a huge month, and we are only a week in! I came home from Sydney Contemporary and marched out to my studio and scraped off my Art Prize entry like a spoilt brat, or a tired toddler, either, it was an irrational compulsive reaction to the art fair. I love love love going to sparkly Sydney for the Art Fair, catching up with so many lovely art friends, seeing so much incredible art not just at the fair but there is always so many shows to see around Sydney. However, my plane landed, I turned on my phone knowing that the catalogue for my show had been sent out in the hour I was in the air and spent the next few hours refreshing that catalogue like a woman possessed (except for that lovely hour we spent at the Dinosaur Designs outlet of course.) Back in my hotel I messaged my husband and said I just wanted to come home and cry into my pillow. Seriously. Eye roll.
What happened? To be honest I’m still not entirely sure. Instead of feeling inspired by everything I was seeing, I felt wobbly and unsure of myself as a painter. I mean, more than usual. I visited my dear friend’s studio and saw her work in progress, and it was outstanding, her paintings took me back to our Paris apartment where we had done a residency together, but seeing her incredible work also filled me with doubt about my own. Maybe I was coming down with something? But on the Friday morning I sat in a café alone, with my knitting and my journal and I started writing about my work, about what I am trying to capture and writing always helps. As does knitting a few rows. I pulled myself together and Friday was a lovely day of art and friendships. Comparison is always the thief of joy.
As Essential as Housework at Boom Gallery
So, my show officially opened today, I have popped into the gallery, the hang looks so lovely, I’m proud of the work, last Thursday was like a fever dream (A phrase I’ve coined from my 19-year-old, it really seems apt), and really, it was just Thursday, my catalogue/the art fair, a clash I might avoid in future. I’m so grateful to collectors already, it’s going to be ok. Moving in close to the paintings I’m reminded of the many moments and brush marks and mixing of pigment on my palette. I see whispers of the time I spent in the UK this year, little nods to Ben Nicholson and Mary Fedden and William Scott.
Do you think though, and I know we have spoken about this, the huge wobbly moments often result in the next development in our work, we don’t know it’s about to happen but something is shifting and it’s a good thing to face it and think about it and lean into. I’m excited to get the sketchbook out. And of course, let’s not forget that slump that happens after a body of work is finished. It’s such a real thing. I only want to keep painting when the deadline is met. Then there are daughters moving out. Daughters spending time at boyfriend’s houses, I’m in a time of my life where things are really changing. When our girls were younger, we moved to California, each year for five years for a term, in the spring. We lived in the foothills of Santa Barbara; the girls went to a Steiner School (baby H still in a sling). It was heaven. Spring is a sentimental time. Yep, I think last weekend was the perfect storm.
I keep meaning to ask you about the book we are both coincidentally reading? Theo of Golden. I’m reading through tears.
Love,
Stacey
Jenny Watson at Sydney Contemporary
Works for the show
Joan Ross at Sydney Contemporary
Painting detail
