There’s a lot more wall art around these days: a lot that is created and a lot that disappears. When a painting doesn’t it could be said that it’s something of a miracle. It also gives me time to see if I really like it or not. I am, after all, a sucker for wall art, partly because of the grand scale of it, and partly because of its accessibility.

Machine Tiger (the name I’ve assigned this piece) has been on a wall behind Acland Street in St Kilda, Victoria, Australia, for years. It’s a bit faded, maybe even a bit dated. And no doubt there is other wall art that’s far more intricate, far better executed, and even, far grander in scale. No matter. In this way, wall art (like all art) doesn’t discriminate when it finds a target. I love this piece.

The reasons: I think it’s because of the juxtaposition of forces: the turbulent sea on which the small boat sits perilously; the tiger with its machine head which shines a light onto the little ship somewhat benevolently; the in-clawed paws of the animal, out for balance more than for aggression, its teeth bared but in-threatening. I love the idea of strength and protection swirled into one. I love the idea of nature and machinery being inextricably linked. I love the patterned churning sea against the great flat moon. The bricks uncovered, playing their part.



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