"Vale Diana"

“Vale Diana”

Kerry Wright, 1997

Oils on Canvas

120cm x 90cm (4ft x 3ft)

My tribute to Diana, Princess of Wales, painted shortly after her death.

"Tehuti Transcendent"

“Tehuti Transcendent”

Kerry Wright, 1997

Oils on Canvas

210cm x 120cm (7ft x 4ft)

To be gay back in the 1980s and 1990s was to live in constant terror of falling victim to a disease that would lead to an agonizing, disfiguring and premature death. We all became familiar with such exotic and bizarre expressions as “seroconvert”, a euphemism for “your death warrant has been signed and your execution imminent”. And we came to know all about “T-cells” and how many one should possess in order to survive. It was a time of considerable anxiety and of great sorrow. Many bright and beautiful young lives, filled to overflowing with exuberance and hope and promise and love, were snuffed out prematurely throughout that sad time.

In 1994 an excellent, albeit distressing and tragically poignant exhibition was held at the National Gallery of Australia. It was titled “Don’t Leave Me This Way – Art in the Age of AIDS”. After visiting the exhibition, I was inspired to create artwork of my own featuring the issue of living in a time when plague had descended upon the land.

In this large work, “Tehuti Transcendent”,  I have drawn upon my background in calligraphy to create a swirling vortex of gyrating calligraphic lines surrounding a central crucible within the painting’s composition, in which a portal has opened. From within that portal, a feather has emerged. Attached to the feather is a standard parcel label onto which is inscribed the letter “T” in calligraphic script. The “T” stands for “T-cells”. The more T-cells you have, the more likely it is that you will survive. The tag is tied to the feather with a red AIDS ribbon. The feather floats arbitrarily upon the thermals within the vortex, signifying randomly whether its victims will live when it rises or perish when it descends.

The title of the painting, “Tehuti Transcendent”, relates to the ibis-headed, ancient Egyptian god, Tehuti (aka Thoth). Tehuti is significantly a lunar deity with a highly complex cult. He has many titles, attributes and functions. For the purpose of this painting, however, he is specifically referred to as the god who gave the gift of hieroglyphs (calligraphy) to the ancient Egyptians. It also relates to his capacity to act as intermediary between life and death, good and evil, this world and the next, and thus transcending each.

“Tehuti Transcendent” was entered in the Sulman Prize in 1998, but not chosen for hanging.

"Gloria in excelsis David" (Detail)

"Gloria in excelsis David" (Detail)

Kerry Wright, 1996

Oils on Canvas

120cm x 90cm (4ft x 3ft)

Scroll down to see complete painting.

"Gloria in excelsis David"

"Gloria in excelsis David"

Kerry Wright, 1996

Oils on Canvas

120cm x 90cm (4ft x 3ft)

This large abstract was commissioned by my friends, David and Craig. They had moved to a smart city apartment here in Sydney and were keen to establish their own contemporary art collection. I had previously painted David’s portrait and they were looking to acquire a bright, exuberant abstract, which portrayed aspects of their individual personalities and also their life together as a couple. That was my brief. I have been interested in calligraphy from an early age. During the 1980s-1990s, I ran my own calligraphy business as a sideline. I counted several academic institutions and hospitals amongst my clientele, primarily engraving graduands'  names onto academic certificates and diplomas. The advent of the computer with its many and varied font types put an end to that. I approached David and Craig’s commission by way of my background in calligraphy. The bold, swirling black lines, which dominate the composition, spell out their intertwined names, albeit cryptically. As for the title, “Gloria in excelsis David”, it is a play on the words of the Gloria, from the Tridentine Mass of the Roman Catholic Church. A tribute to David’s Irish ancestry, as well as to his cheeky, impious sense of humour.

 

"Portrait of Jim"

"Portrait of Jim"

Kerry Wright, 1995

Oils on Canvas

61cm x 46cm (24in x 18in)

"Ave Atque Vale" (Hail & Farewell)

“Ave Atque Vale” 

(Hail & Farewell)

Kerry Wright, 1995

Oils on Canvas

120cm x 90cm (4ft x 3ft)

I painted “Ave Atque Vale” (Hail and Farewell) shortly after the death of my dear friend, Andy. Andy was a fun-loving, active, out-there kinda guy, with a stereotypically Italian exuberance and love of life. We met not long after he relocated to Australia from his home town of Vicenza in Italy’s Veneto region, not far from Venice. We soon became firm friends. It was the 1970s and we were both in our 20s. In a gay scene not then known for its macho role models, Andy really did stand out from the crowd with his handsome, smouldering Italian good looks and genuinely unaffected masculine demeanour. Heads would literally turn when he entered a room and he had no trouble in winning hearts all over town. Whilst studying to become a registered nurse at Sydney’s Mater Misericordiae Hospital, he took on part-time work at the Midnight Shift bar located within Sydney’s gay ghetto. I can still so vividly picture him behind the bar, surrounded by a clutch of effete, giggling admirers, all fluttering their eyelashes in his direction, in an endeavour to capture his attention. It was probably during this period of Andy’s life, in the early 1980s, that he seroconverted. Following graduation, he worked as a registered nurse at various health facilities throughout Australia, before ultimately succumbing to the virus in November 1993. His ashes were subsequently returned to his family in Italy.  I wanted to paint a picture dedicated to Andy and this image emerged as I set about that task. The figure depicted is intended to represent Andy’s spiritual essence at the time of his death and does not bear any physical resemblance to him as he appeared in life. In the execution of this work, I was inspired significantly by Kahlil Gibran’s beautiful words:

“For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?” 

"Ave Atque Vale" (Detail)

“Ave Atque Vale” (Detail)

Kerry Wright, 1995

Oils on Canvas

Original 120cm x 90cm (4ft x 3ft)

See original above.

"Mother M. Fabian LoSchiavo, OPI"

"Mother M. Fabian LoSchiavo, OPI"

Kerry Wright, 1994

Oils on Canvas

210cm x 120cm (7ft x 4ft)

Mother Inferior. Mother Abyss. Sister Venus de Lilo. Sister Volupta. They are all one and the same person, for they are all aliases of the one and only, singularly unique, notoriously flamboyant, stigmatically joyous male nun, Fabian LoSchiavo. A founding member of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence in Sydney, Fabian was for many years a larger than life, instantly recognizable presence on the Sydney gay scene. He has since withdrawn from public life. When I painted his portrait in 1994, however, he was at the height of his fame and notoriety. I was looking for a celebrity personality to paint, for entry into Sydney’s Archibald Prize portraiture competition. The terms of the Archibald bequest stipulate that participating artists should paint the portrait of someone who has distinguished him/herself in public life. Fabian fitted the bill perfectly! The Archibald Prize is Australia’s most prestigious art prize. It is awarded annually by a panel of trustees appointed under the terms of the Archibald bequest. They are notoriously ruthless in their selections, eliminating the vast majority of entrants each year and only choosing a select number of portraits they consider suitable for hanging. Their choices are often contentious (“My five-year-old kid paints better than that!”) and invariably hit the headlines in Australia. Disgruntled applicants have been known to bring legal action against the trustees in the past (“That’s not a portrait, it’s a caricature!”). Alas, Fabian’s portrait did not impress the stuffy trustees, who deemed it to be not worthy of inclusion in the exhibition. I can’t imagine why!  All was not lost, however, for the painting was included in the Out Art Exhibition that year, as part of the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras Cultural Festival. The opening night was a glittering occasion with the resplendently attired Fabian in attendance, where he held court at the foot of his portrait for the duration of the evening.

"Mother M. Fabian LoSchiavo, OPI" (Detail)

"Mother M. Fabian LoSchiavo, OPI" (Detail)

Kerry Wright, 1994

Oils on Canvas

Original 210cm x 120cm (7ft x 4ft)

Mother Inferior. Mother Abyss. Sister Venus de Lilo. Sister Volupta. They are all one and the same person, for they are all aliases of the one and only, singularly unique, notoriously flamboyant, stigmatically joyous male nun, Fabian LoSchiavo. A founding member of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence in Sydney, Fabian was for many years a larger than life, instantly recognizable presence on the Sydney gay scene. He has since withdrawn from public life. When I painted his portrait in 1994, however, he was at the height of his fame and notoriety. I was looking for a celebrity personality to paint, for entry into Sydney’s Archibald Prize portraiture competition. The terms of the Archibald bequest stipulate that participating artists should paint the portrait of someone who has distinguished him/herself in public life. Fabian fitted the bill perfectly! The Archibald Prize is Australia’s most prestigious art prize. It is awarded annually by a panel of trustees appointed under the terms of the Archibald bequest. They are notoriously ruthless in their selections, eliminating the vast majority of entrants each year and only choosing a select number of portraits they consider suitable for hanging. Their choices are often contentious (“My five-year-old kid paints better than that!”) and invariably hit the headlines in Australia. Disgruntled applicants have been known to bring legal action against the trustees in the past (“That’s not a portrait, it’s a caricature!”). Alas, Fabian’s portrait did not impress the stuffy trustees, who deemed it to be not worthy of inclusion in the exhibition. I can’t imagine why!  All was not lost, however, for the painting was included in the Out Art Exhibition that year, as part of the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras Cultural Festival. The opening night was a glittering occasion with the resplendently attired Fabian in attendance, where he held court at the foot of his portrait for the duration of the evening.

"Mother M. Fabian LoSchiavo, OPI" (Detail)

"Mother M. Fabian LoSchiavo, OPI" (Detail)

Kerry Wright, 1994

Oils on Canvas

Original 210cm x 120cm (7ft x 4ft)

Detail taken from the portrait of Mother M. Fabian LoSchiavo, of the Sydney Chapter of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, highlighting fabric, rosary and thurible, with incense smoke in the form of fairy dust.

"Mother M. Fabian LoSchiavo, OPI"

"Mother M. Fabian LoSchiavo, OPI"

Preliminary Study

Full Face

by Kerry Wright, 1994

Indian ink and charcoal on cartridge paper

Preliminary drawing executed prior to completion of the final work in oils on canvas.

"Mother M. Fabian LoSchiavo, OPI"

"Mother M. Fabian LoSchiavo, OPI"

Preliminary Study

Three-quarter Face

by Kerry Wright, 1994

Indian ink and charcoal on cartridge paper

Preliminary drawing executed prior to completion of the final work in oils on canvas.

"Mother M. Fabian LoSchiavo, OPI"

"Mother M. Fabian LoSchiavo, OPI"

Preliminary Study

Left Profile

by Kerry Wright, 1994

Indian ink and charcoal on cartridge paper

Preliminary drawing executed prior to completion of the final work in oils on canvas.

"The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa"

"The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa"

Kerry Wright, 1992

Oils on Canvas

120cm x 90cm (4ft x 3ft)

It was in 1992 that I painted this image of Saint Teresa in ecstasy, the year following my mother's death. The subject matter of the painting continues my obsession with Saint Teresa and her mystical tryst with the amorous, arrow-wielding angel. The heavily layered impasto paint is applied within a strict structure, reminiscent of ecclesiastical stained glass. Saint Teresa was a cloistered Carmelite nun of the Spanish Middle Ages. The Carmelites are a contemplative Marian order of the Catholic Church, their primary object of devotion being the Blessed Virgin Mary. For this reason, I incorporated two mother and child images within the composition of the painting. One is a traditional, devotional image of the Regina Caeli (Queen of Heaven) and the other is an image of my mother and I, taken from a family photograph. I was in a state of deep anguish and mourning for my recently deceased mother when this picture was painted. It was no accident that the two mother and child images directly associate my own beloved mother with the Blessed Virgin Triumphant in Majesty. In fact, I did so deliberately. 

"The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa" (Detail)

"The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa" (Detail)

Kerry Wright, 1992

Oils on Canvas

Original 120cm x 90cm (4ft x 3ft)

"The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa" (Detail)

"The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa" (Detail)

Kerry Wright, 1992

Oils on Canvas

Original 120cm x 90cm (4ft x 3ft)

Detail from my 1992 painting, "The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa", revealing an image of my mother and I in the form of a devotional holy card of the Madonna & Child, secreted within the composition of the painting. The original photograph, from which this image comes, was taken in 1954 and can be viewed here:

 http://kerryoz.blogspot.com/2011/05/mum-me-1954.html

"The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa" (Detail)

"The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa" (Detail)

Kerry Wright, 1992

Oils on Canvas

Original 120cm x 90cm (4ft x 3ft)

Detail from my 1992 painting, "The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa", revealing an image of the Regina Caeli (Queen of Heaven) in the form of a devotional holy card, secreted within the composition of the painting. 

"Portrait of David" (Detail)

“Portrait of David” (Detail)

Kerry Wright, 1992

Oils on Canvas

60cm x 50cm (24in x 20in)

Scroll down for original.

"Portrait of David"

“Portrait of David”

Kerry Wright, 1992

Oils on Canvas

60cm x 50cm (24in x 20in)

This portrait of my friend, David, was painted during a particularly turbulent period of my life. My mother had died the previous November and an all-enveloping cloud of deepest mourning and grief had descended upon me. I had been very close to my mother and I felt her loss acutely. Incomprehensibly, into my disconsolate state at that time swaggered David’s immutably laconic presence. We first met through a mutual friend in early 1991, not long after Mum had been diagnosed with inoperable, terminal cancer. I was in a deep state of despair, though I managed to function cheerfully when in my mother’s company and we had many happy times together in the final months of her life. David was everything that I was not. He worked as a tradesman and was from Sydney’s outer western suburbs. He was nine years my junior. He was confident in a cocky sort of way, with a decidedly contagious joie de vivre about him. He was a tonic. But there was also a dark side to his personality. On the night I painted his portrait, he gave me a small piece of blotting paper with a little printed image of a robot on it. I didn’t know what it was, but he assured me it would lift my spirits. “Put it on your tongue and let it dissolve,” David told me. I knew nothing of drugs. For a man in his forties, I was decidedly naïve about them. So when the LSD began to seize me, I had no idea what was happening. Initially I slunk into a corner and stared into space. But then, for no conceivable reason, I rushed to my easel, grabbed some paints and brushes, and started to paint David’s portrait. David soon grew tired of such esoteric pursuits and departed, leaving me to finish the portrait alone, working on into the wee small hours of the night with a manic intensity. I never really have fully recovered from my beloved mother’s death. I was sitting by her bed, holding her hand, at the moment of her death. And I know that she will be sitting by my bed, holding my hand, when my turn comes. David’s portrait presently hangs in his home in Sydney, Australia.

"The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa"

"The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa"

Kerry Wright, 1990

Oils and Conte Pastels on Canvas

90cm x 60cm (3ft x 2ft)

This painting utilizes a similar style to that of the previously posted "Portrait of Geri", albeit minus any pronounced Modigliani manifestations. Certainly, however, the influence of ecclesiastical stained-glass is most prominently present. Which is probably appropriate, given the subject matter. In contrast to my previous depiction of Saint Teresa's tryst with the arrow-wielding angel, this rendering of the same incident is executed in a lollypop palette of manic intensity. The saint's demeanour, with her panting mouth and head slumped sensuously backwards, again focuses on the carnal aspect of the encounter. The angel has been metamorphosed into a bent, blood-red beam of light.

This is the first painting I sold. I was working in a particularly gay-friendly environment at the time and, confronted with a starkly empty wall above my desk, thought it entirely appropriate to fill it with a painting of larger-than-life, high-camp imagery such as this. It appeared to be appreciated favourably by my predominantly female colleagues. When one of those same colleagues was given a promotion, meaning she would be leaving our office, she asked me if she could purchase the painting from me. As I have since lost contact with her, I am unable to reproduce a clearer image at this time. What appears here is a scan of a hardcopy photograph of the painting, taken for my records before it went to its new home.

"Portrait of Geri"

"Portrait of Geri"

Kerry Wright, 1987

Oils & Conte Pastels on Canvas 

90cm x 60cm (3ft x 2ft)

In the mid-1980s, I felt the urge to return to my roots in traditional studio portrait painting. However, because I was just then emerging from an intense abstract expressionist period, I was reluctant to return entirely to the strict discipline of the regimental studio portrait. Exploring new and exciting ways in which to do so was my challenge. I had always loved the sublime portraits of the tragic Italian painter, Amedeo Modigliani, so I guess it's not entirely surprising that my new technique was somewhat reminiscent of his contemplative, idiosyncratically introspective style. It must have been a subliminal influence, however, because I was most certainly not aware of it when I painted this portrait. It wasn't until when the painting was exhibited, shortly following its completion, that I started to get comments about how Modiglianiesque it was. Not that I would ever put myself in a class with such a towering genius as Modigliani, but certainly his influence is present here. The other blatantly obvious influence is that of stained glass. Institutionalised religion's insidious presence was never far from my psyche in those days.

"Self Portrait in C Minor"

"Self Portrait in C Minor"

Kerry Wright, 1984

Oils on Canvas

90cm x 60cm (3ft x 2ft)

In the 1980s, when I was in my 30s, I completed several  paintings incorporating an abstract style characterized by heavily applied impasto paint, utilizing a palette of strident primary colours. It was a style of painting with which one could enjoy oneself. In fact, I'd not had so much fun with my painting since the days of finger-painting in kindergarten. Certainly, it provided a welcome respite from the meticulously rendered portraits I had primarily been painting up until that time. The abstracts of the 1980s came as a liberating breath of fresh air for me. I was enamored of the music of Sergei Rachmaninoff at the time, particularly his Piano Concerto No.2 in C minor, Op.18. The "C minor" of this self portrait's title is dedicated to that exquisite piece of music. I hope I have captured something of the full richness of its deeply lachrymose intensity in my painting. I'll leave you to decide how that equates to myself, as I was, at that time in my life.

"The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa of Avila"

"The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa of Avila"

Kerry Wright, 1984

Oils on canvas

120cm x 90cm (4ft x 3ft)

Bernini’s sculpture, “The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa”, first came to my attention when I was studying art history many years ago. It inspired this painting. Saint Teresa of Avila was a mother abbess of the esoteric, cloistered, Carmelite Order of the Roman Catholic Church in mediaeval Spain. Not to be confused with the sweetly angelic French Carmelite nun, Saint Therese of Lisieux, widely venerated as “The Little Flower”. Saint Teresa of Avila was most certainly nobody’s little flower. She was a doctor of the Church and a great reformer. A most formidable woman, indeed. The story goes that Saint Teresa was praying in chapel one day when an angel of the Lord appeared before her, bearing a heavenly arrow. The angel thrust the arrow into her breast, which she experienced as an ecstatic, overpoweringly euphoric sensation of divine love. Bernini graphically captured the moment of Teresa’s rapturous penetration in his sculpture. I found the concept of a celibate nun being penetrated to be quite quizzical, be it by a divine arrow or otherwise. It all appeared just a tiny tad less than spiritual to me. And I wondered about the expression Bernini had chosen to portray on Saint Teresa’s face. Is it soaring religious ecstasy we see or simply base carnal release? Being unsure, I decided to paint my own version, in order to allow the creative process to take me where it would. In my painting, the angel has been transmogrified into a contorted, gyrating beam of light, which embraces the saint and holds her close. Her protruding, reptilian tongue and disturbingly confronting nudity emerge from the canvas as abject manifestations of her submission before the Divinity. Bernini depicted Teresa panting, her mouth gaping wide and head lolling sensuously backwards. I took that one step further and portrayed her shrieking and salivating. 

"Paranoid Self Portrait"

"Paranoid Self Portrait"

Kerry Wright, 1983

Oils on canvas
60cm x 50cm (24in x 20in)

In case the image itself fails to convey an adequately definitive indication of what this disturbingly tormented self-portrait is attempting to portray, the title should provide the appropriate indisputable clarification.

"Objects on a Table" (Detail)

"Objects on a Table" (Detail)

Kerry Wright, 1981

Oils on canvas
Original 90cm x 90cm (3ft x 3ft)

This is all that remains; or more correctly, all that I am prepared to reveal; of the third and final portrait I painted of Daniel. In it, Daniel is depicted as sitting at a round table with a brown tablecloth against a dusky pink background. He is wearing a turquoise-coloured shirt, with the sleeves rolled-up to the elbows. Daniel's left elbow can be seen resting on the table. Laid before him on the table are three objects representing different aspects of Daniel's lifestyle at that time: a crumpled, discarded, red serviette; a dogeared photograph of an anonymous man; and a black pantomime mask. Can you guess what each of the objects signifies?   

"Portrait of Daniel"

"Portrait of Daniel" 
 Kerry Wright, 1980 
Oils on canvas
90cm x 60cm (3ft x 2ft)

I'm not exactly sure why Daniel agreed to sit for this second portrait. At the time, I understood he liked the first portrait and was pleased to sit for another. As it turned out, he didn't like either. What's even more quizzical is that he agreed to sit for a third portrait! I appreciate that it is sometimes somewhat of a confrontational experience to have one's portrait painted. We only ever see ourselves in reverse image, in the mirror, which is not how we appear in reality, to others. It is why people often don't like photographs of themselves. For the same reason, portraits often go unappreciated by the sitter. Certainly, that was the case with Daniel. It would appear that sitting proved to be nothing more than an abjectly enervating experience for Daniel. And it brought out the art critic in him. In fact, he became my most scathing critic. You can't please everyone, I guess. Not even when you're in the process of immortalizing them!

"Portrait of George" (Detail)

"Portrait of George" (Detail) 
 Kerry Wright, 1980 
Oils on canvas
60cm x 50cm (24in x 20in)

Scroll down for original.

"Portrait of George"

"Portrait of George" 
 Kerry Wright, 1980 
Oils on canvas
60cm x 50cm (24in x 20in)

The question is sometimes hypothetically posed, "In the event of a fire, with what precious belongings would you flee the burning building?" I have no hesitation in responding that I would choose to take this portrait of my dear friend, George, along with the portrait of my mother in the blue dress (scroll down). They are my two most precious belongings in all the world, primarily because they represent the two most precious people in my life. George was 30 when I painted his portrait in 1980. He was a portrait painter's dream subject, with his broodingly dark good looks and startlingly attractive blue-grey eyes under a knotted brow. So very Alexandrian! He is painted in a favourite red shirt of the time, resulting in a friend once christening the portrait "Velvet George", even though the shirt was of cotton, not velvet. It was through a mutual friend that George and I first met, at Long Reef in Sydney in February 1973, not long after he left the Royal Australian Navy. He has been an integral part of my life ever since. I can't imagine what my life would be like without George in it. 

"The Embrace" (After Jim French)

"The Embrace" 
(After Jim French)
 Kerry Wright, 1979 
Graphite on cartridge paper

I have always admired the beautiful drawings of American homoerotic artist, Jim French, who produced the most sumptuously exquisite images under the name of Rip Colt. Even though the musculature and anatomy in the drawings is impeccably rendered, it was the strikingly handsome faces that initially appealed to me the most. And the eyes. The eyes seemed to bore into one's soul with an amazingly penetrating intensity. I thought that, as a young artist, if I could train my eye/hand coordination to such a highly refined extent that I could reproduce the work of Jim French, then I was on my way to becoming an artist of some repute. So I copied several of his drawings. This is my favourite. When the film "Brokeback Mountain" was released many years later, I became aware that the iconic, and now famous, dozy embrace scene from that film was very reminiscent of this original Jim French image, so I renamed my drawing "The Embrace".

"Study for Portrait of Daniel"

"Study for Portrait of Daniel" 
 Kerry Wright, 1979 

Graphite on cartridge paper

Preliminary profile study completed at the time Daniel's portrait was painted in 1979. 

Scroll down for original.

"Portrait of Daniel" (Detail)

"Portrait of Daniel" (Detail) 
 Kerry Wright, 1979 
Oils on canvas
60cm x 50cm (24in x 20in) 

Scroll down for original.

"Portrait of Daniel"

"Portrait of Daniel" 
 Kerry Wright, 1979 
Oils on canvas
60cm x 50cm (24in x 20in)

Daniel and I have been friends for 40 years. He kindly agreed to sit for this portrait in 1979, when he was 30. Daniel's Slavic heritage, courtesy of his father, is clearly evident here in the  prominent aquiline features, heavily hooded eyes and luxuriant leonine hair, all of which contributes to his sombrely melancholic demeanour and expression of  bemused cynicism. 

"Emily Flora Wright"

"Emily Flora Wright" 
 Kerry Wright, 1979 
Oils on canvas
60cm x 50cm (24in x 20in)

This is not a happy portrait of my beloved mother. In reality, Mum had a bright, cheery laugh and a lovely sense of humour. She laughed often and had a wonderfully warm, giving personality. This portrait, however, captures my  mother during a particularly sad period of her life, not long after the death of my father. They had been inseparable and my mother was in deep pain and mourning when I painted this portrait of her. And it wasn't just spiritual and emotional pain that she was experiencing. She was also physically unwell and was hospitalised for surgery at that time. Mum never fully recovered from Dad's death. She always became quite down during May each year, the month when Dad died. Come June, she seemed to brighten, but May was never a good month for her. It's not only Mum's sad expression and hunched demeanour that conveys the impression of loss and mourning here. It is extenuated by the sombre, cool palette of blue and grey, and by the solitary string of beads Mum is wearing around her neck, above that decidedly melancholy, drooping blue bow. I love my mother dearly and will always have this portrait hanging in my home, wherever I should live, for the remainder of my days.

"Study for Self Portrait"

"Study for Self Portrait" 
 Kerry Wright, 1971 
Sepia ink on cartridge paper

The resultant original oil has long since vanished and only this preliminary self-portrait sketch survives. I had leaped over the monastery wall and was in the process of setting out upon my exciting new life. In this image, I gaze fixedly at the reflection looking back at me from the mirror before me. Analytical self-examination has always been an ongoing theme in my life. 

"Study for Self Portrait in Carmelite Habit"

"Study for Self Portrait in Carmelite Habit" 
 Kerry Wright, 1970 

Indian ink on cartridge paper

 I drew this image of myself wearing the Carmelite religious habit when I was studying for the priesthood within the Carmelite cloister of Mount Carmel Monastery in Sydney. I ultimately decided against this somewhat dramatically confrontational image for the final product (scroll down); however, this drawing probably says a lot about my anguished mental state at the time it was executed.

"Self Portrait in Carmelite Habit"

"Self Portrait in Carmelite Habit" 
 Kerry Wright, 1970 
Oils on canvas
60cm x 50cm (24in x 20in)

I have been sketching and painting my own image since early childhood and the above self portrait is one of my first serious attempts at capturing my likeness in oils on canvas. In the painting, I am gazing intensely, sans spectacles, at my own reflection in the mirror above the sink of my cell at Mount Carmel Carmelite Monastery in Sydney. I had entered the cloister in order to study for the priesthood. Alas, however, over a period of time, I came to realize that I did not possess the religious vocation I had so fervently hoped and prayed would be mine during my adolescence. So I leaped over the monastery wall and got on with my life in the secular world. It was a memorable experience and I met some wonderful people while I was in the monastery. Certainly, I harbour no regrets about my time spent within the Carmelite cloister. In fact, I'm glad I went in, because if I had not done so, I would always wonder if I was meant to be a priest. It was a time of intense self-reflection in my life, which is evident in this self portrait. George and I recently made a pilgrimage back to the site of the monastery and were very saddened by the overdevelopment of what had once been such an idyllic, sylvan setting. The monastery grounds had once occupied an entire vast hilltop in outer Sydney and comprised a small working farm as well as the monastic building complex itself. Everything has long since fallen victim to the city’s ever increasing suburban sprawl. The grounds have been subdivided into new streets of gaudy, ostentatious McMansions. The beautiful monastery building itself, with its pretty little chapel, laid waste by the bulldozer’s might. There’s not even a plaque to signify a monastery once stood there.