In this piece some might see a basic portrait, but not me. What I see is a work of art in human form. A life well lived. A walking, talking encyclopaedia of knowledge. A face that holds in it Australia’s heart wrenching past. Pain and sorrow, hidden behind a tough yet gentle exterior. When I look at Joyce I see kindness. I see compassion. I see an elders endless wisdom.
For a portrait is not just a pretty picture or just a face. A portrait is more than that. It allows their story to be told. Their wounds to be exposed. For human connection to take place. With each stroke of the paintbrush its like words on a page.
For, sometimes the art isn’t the paint on the canvas. The art is the sitter themselves.