The old man at noon. Watercolour on paper stretched on a thorn branch.

I met this man in 1991 in the Pilbara. He was legally blind but continued to produce detailed images dealing with how the world came into being and what is required in order for the cycle of life to continue.

When he told his stories it was in the tone and intensity of a sports commentator. Graphic and immediate as if it was happening right now.

I helped him fix his car to go on a long awaited trip. He and another old man died when a drunk mining worker collided with them on a remote section of dirt road.

The loss of the knowledge transcended the loss of the individual. I felt that it was an echo of the burning of the libary of Alexandria.

I sought to capture the fragility of a knowledge system that depends on an oral tradition as well as the jagged and brutal hand of fate by stretching tissue paper across a circle of thorns and using ink and wash.

I made this in 1992 and gave it to a friend that I believe understands this story for christmas this year.