Many years ago I fell in love with the humble moth when reading A.S. Byatt’s novella “Morpho Eugenia”. In this story a naturalist falls in love with the daughter of his patron. He delights her by creating a room filled with butterflies during the day. Eager to please he invites her back that evening to experience the wonders of the moth and instead of delight and wonder, she is frightened and revolted.

This scene has always played on my imagination. Why does the butterfly get all the glory and the moth none? Is it the showy colours of the butterfly that attracts people to her? Or is it the shadowy nature of her evening sister that creates fear and loathing?

Either way, I love the moth. I find her subtle colours alluring and reminiscent of pearls and opals. She is not just white or grey, she is green, turquoise, terracotta, cream, chocolate brown, silver and gold.  She is a reflection of the moonlight she is guide by.

The paintings included for exhibition attempt to pay tribute to the moth, her flight patterns (natural and artificial), her colours, her patterns and her stateliness.

I am fascinated with the Japanese concept of “mono no aware”: the impermanence of things. This is epitomised in cherry blossoms that emerge and then drift away, a moment experienced and gone. Australia is not a cherry blossom country, but a wild and ravaged land of extremes, yet its flora is equally transitory.

“The Impermanence of Things” captures the impermanence of blossom-shaped forms adrift on a breeze. The ephemeral nature of moving blossoms, an abstracted and blurry moment.