Between Land and Sky
Brent Wong and Mark Cross
06:12:2016 - 31:01:2017
Between Land and Sky
In this ever-changing, rapid paced society, it is necessary to pause, and to contemplate the stillness that is always there… between land and sky.
An in-between place, where peace resides, this is a breathing space where artists, Brent Wong and Mark Cross have both found inspiration for their contemplative practice. The horizon line lies between the contoured earth and the heavenly skies. It is still an unknown place, a place that we cannot visit or hold onto except for in our imaginations and our meditations.
Mark Cross has revisited a period from the mid nineties when he spent two years focussed on painting South Island landscapes. For this exhibition he has painted four new landscapes this year from around the Hawkes Bay area. With iconic New Zealand rolling sun-kissed hills, this looks like the end of summer or the beginning? Cross wanted a break from his mastered subject matter of painting seascapes, but there is still an environmental underpinning here as in all his work.
These new paintings by Mark Cross are in symbiosis with the paintings of Brent Wong. In this exhibition we have several of Wong’s land, seascapes and cloud paintings dated from 1979 to 2004. In this exhibition Wong depicts the hills, sandy golden toned mounds and the icy cobalt blue lake nestled in the midst. The simple act of storytelling through the changes in the weather – the landscape with the heaviness of the dark cloud hovering above, about to burst… but look to the space between, where the light is shining through. CU
In My Sky At Twilight
In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.
The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,
the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song,
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!
You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.
You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.