In a sense both images are anonymous. No names attach themselves.
The first image appears with a heaviness of rock interspersed with flecks of green (foliage) together, taking up two thirds of the canvas space, they dwarf the figures strung along the bottom third of the canvas.
If the viewer gazes to the centre of that final third of the canvas, a figure in turquoise framed by the darkness of a cave, can be seen resting on a wooden fence. She gazes out to the viewer, separated from all that is behind her, separated from the other human figures sharing the space of that final third.
We, the intended audience, are captured by this woman’s gaze. It is as if her separation speaks to our separation from the canvas. We can only guess who she is and the reason for her gaze. We can, of course, layer our own interpretations onto that gaze, but we can never be sure of our correctness.
The second image, appearing framed, is more ethereal than the first. It is a wisp, a glimpse or memory half there, half residing inside the mind of both the painter and his audience. It is another cave painting, but lighter, non-threatening. There is no broodiness, but an airiness as if an Impressionists hand has reached out from another time to tell subtle stories of the East. This painting has the story telling ability, and elegance, of an illustration, perhaps discussing the group on the bottom right as we face the painting.
Where the astute observer might connect the former painting with a predominately Western way of painting, the latter painting, though connected still to the West, echoes with intimations of an Easternness found in Indian paintings of the early twentieth century. The overall effect engages the viewer more by what isn’t there, than what is. The painter and the audience must work together to complete the hint suggested there.
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