I'm No Van Gogh

My Art Is A Bit Sketchy

Photographs copyright: DAVID McMAHON

Quite honestly, I think it was my love of painting that in turn kindled my interest in photography. I don't remember when I began painting, but I clearly remember painting a series of scenes from the Apollo 11 landing and the famous photographs of the lunar mission that were published in Life magazine.

I was always fascinated by the way in which the simple act of moving a brush over a blank piece of paper would completely change its surface, transforming it forever. Like every child, I began with watercolours and I can clearly remember the way each sheet of paper would develop bumps or indentations after each brush stroke had carried water across its surface.

When I was about ten years old, a family member brought me a gift from overseas that forever changed the way I would paint - and in the interim, also dictated the manner in which I would use colour, form and shape in my photography. The gift was a simple one, but oh, so memorable. It was a paint-by-numbers set. For the first time, I painted on thick, fibrous paper and also for the first time, I painted with something more substantial than watercolours.

I remember how intricate those numbered pieces were and I can still re-live the joy of working on what I thought were real canvases. In turn, I have carried that joy through to the growth of my own children. When they painted, I painted. When they sketched, I sketched. Art of any description has always been a joint venture in our home.


It's a bit different from the other painting I learnt when I was little. I must have been about eight years old when one of my older brothers, who was eighteen at the time and had already travelled around the world, was re-painting some furniture at home. I wanted to help. He told me firmly that I was too little. I appealed to our mother, who decreed that I was to be encouraged to participate.

It was not a huge success. I remember watching my brother mixing a can of green paint with a can of white paint to form a beautiful light green of custardy consistency. I was elated when I was finally allowed the supreme responsibility of taking on the role of Assistant Paint Mixer. That went well for about ten minutes.

Then I moved, forgot the can of paint was on the floor - and knocked it over. Yes, a full can.

I was sacked as Assistant Paint Mixer. And while my brother cleaned up my mess with a large, thick cloth soaked in turpentine, I sought the chance to make amends.

After several minutes spent pleading my case, I was finally allowed to help in the clean-up process. But it all came to disaster when (you guessed it) I moved, forgot the bottle of turpentine was there - and knocked it over too.


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