The Art Journal
Kandinsee - Kandinsky, Matisse and Dalí in Reflected Water
Kandinsee, 2026. Reflected water, altered blue tones, and modernist influence converge in a single image [/caption] There's a moment in every work when I sense whether it's ready to speak. This one wasn't — not at first. When I looked at the original photograph, the shapes I always look for were already there. A vertical figure rising from the water. A scatter of cut-out forms drifting on the surface. The interplay of something solid against something liquid. The bones of the work were present. But the blue stopped me. Usually my prefrontal cortex — that strange fountain of accumulated experience, of decades of galleries and books and remembered light — moves immediately. A title appears. An influence whispers itself. The work declares its lineage before I've finished blinking. This time, it stayed quiet. The blue in the water surface was too heavy, too settled. It stultified the cortex. It refused to lift. It refused to let the work become what I could feel it almost was. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="5472"] The original photograph, before Lightroom. The shapes are already there — the vertical figure, the cut-out forms, the wires turning to liquid — but the blue refuses to lift. The cortex stays quiet. [/caption] So, for the first time, I made a change. I opened Adobe Lightroom and reached for the colour picker. I asked the software to mask what it called "the sky." The algorithm was lying — there was no sky in this photograph, only the surface of the water reflecting back. But I let the machine have its small mistake, and I lightened the blue. Gently. Then more. Until the background lifted. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="3840"] Kandinsee — after a single deliberate edit. The blue lightened just enough for Kandinsky, Matisse and Dalí to arrive. [/caption] And then, finally, the work spoke. I saw Kandinsky — his vertical instinct, his belief that yellow and blue carry weight, his sense that a single line can hold a whole composition's tension. Yellow Blue Vertical, whispered through reflected water. I saw Matisse — the cut-out shapes drifting at the surface, simplified, sure of themselves, refusing the fuss of detail. And I saw Dalí — the hard objects of the everyday world rendered soft and pliable, melted by the water's slow breath. Wires, a chair, a figure, all turned to liquid memory. Hard and soft, holding hands. What surprises me is that none of this was painted. None of it was staged. It was already there, waiting in nature — in a few inches of moving water, on a day I happened to look down. For the first time, I admit it: I lifted one colour. I made one change. And in doing so, I let three modern masters arrive — already living, quietly, in the surface of a pond.
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The Inner Life of Water - Serendipity, Curiosity, Ikigai
Water moves, Light welcomes colour and dances, A presence asks to be seen. Ralph Kerle 2026 [/caption] It began, as it often does for me, on the water. I was kayaking on Sydney Harbour in extraordinary conditions—one of those April days where everything felt as if it had resolved itself into something complete. The air was clear, the water moving just enough to remain alive, and my body had settled into that familiar rhythm of stroke and glide. It was as if I had finally discovered it was nature that had created paradise. There is a point, out there, when something shifts. The mind stops organising the world and begins receiving it. It is not quite thinking, and not quite observation. It feels closer to meditation—though even that doesn’t fully describe it. A kind of openness arrives, and with it, something I can only call a heightened attentiveness. Not dramatic. Not mystical. But a clear sense that something is present—and asking to be noticed. It was in that state—still moving, still on the water—that the question first appeared. Not as a conclusion, but as a quiet insistence. What is it that happens in these moments? Why does something unexpected suddenly feel meaningful? And what is the force that makes me stay with it? A red hull drifted into view, its reflection slipping and reforming beneath it. For a moment, I found myself less interested in the object than in what it was becoming in the water—stable above, unstable below. Present, and yet constantly dissolving. And it was there, in that subtle shift of attention, that three ideas began to take shape. Serendipity. Curiosity. Ikigai. They did not arrive as definitions, but as recognitions—something I had been living without ever naming. And as I remained with them, still drifting, still watching, I felt the need to hold onto the thought before it disappeared back into the vault of the unconscious. So I began a different kind of conversation when I returned to the studio. Not with another person, but with a form of intelligence that does not experience the world as I do. It does not feel the water, or the air, or the quiet unfolding of that moment. And yet, it is capable of reflecting those experiences back to me in language—not unlike a film script being read for the first time. What follows is not a solitary essay, but a shaped exchange—between lived experience and expression, between perception and reflection. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="2420"] Emerging Warmth [/caption] Serendipity: The Shock of Arrival To be in a serendipitous state is to feel something arrive before you understand it. There is a subtle interruption—a break in expectation. The world presents something that feels slightly out of place, yet deeply right. Time loosens. Attention sharpens. You are no longer moving through the moment; the moment is, in some sense, moving toward you. This is how it happens for me on the water. I do not set out to find a particular image. I am not searching in any conventional sense. And yet, from time to time, something presents itself with a clarity that feels undeniable. A reflection aligns. A form emerges. And in that instant, there is recognition before comprehension. Serendipity is not chance alone. It is the meeting point between what is offered—and what is noticed. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="3835"] On the Way to Bluedom [/caption] Curiosity: The Pull of the Unfinished But the moment does not end there. What follows is curiosity—the quiet insistence that there is more here than I have yet seen. Curiosity does not rush. It lingers. It asks me to stay with the image, to shift position, to look again. What first appeared as a fleeting alignment begins to unfold into something more complex, more ambiguous, more alive. There is, within curiosity, a tension. To look closely is to risk seeing something unstable—something that shifts as we stay with it. The longer the gaze, the less certain the image becomes. This is true of the reflections I work with. They resist resolution. They refuse to settle into a single meaning. And it is precisely this instability that holds me there. Curiosity is not satisfied by answers; it is sustained by the possibility of seeing differently. In this way, the role of water begins to change. It is no longer simply a surface that reflects, but something that participates. Something that moves, distorts, reveals, and conceals all at once. What I am engaging with is not just an image. It is a relationship. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="3470"] The Redness in Reflection [/caption] Ikigai: The State That Remains Over time, something begins to form. Not a single moment, but continuity between moments. Not a question, but a way of seeing that quietly repeats itself. Out there on the water, there are times when everything aligns without effort. The movements of the kayak, the rhythm of looking, the appearance of an image, the act of capturing it—they are no longer separate actions. They feel like part of the same flow. There is no sense of trying to make something happen. And yet, something is happening. It is not dramatic. It does not announce itself. It is simply… right. This, I think, is the closest I come to understanding the Japanese concept of Ikigai, often described as “a reason to wake up in the morning”—but out here, it feels less like something defined, and more like something recognised. A state I enter—again and again—when I remain open to what is in front of me, and attentive enough to follow it. The water has taught me this more than anything else. It never holds a single form, yet it is always itself. It shifts, adapts, reflects, and dissolves, without ever needing to decide what it is. And somewhere in that movement, I recognise something familiar. Not that I am observing the water—but that I am thinking with it. In this sense, Ikigai is not something separate from the world. It is a relationship to it. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="2974"] Water Percussion [/caption] A Reflection on Intelligence What has surprised me most in writing this is not the ideas themselves, but the way they have taken shape. This essay has emerged through a dialogue. On one side, there is lived experience—embodied, sensory, immediate. The physical effort of paddling. The shifting surface of the water. The moment of recognition that arrives without warning. On the other, there is a form of intelligence that does not experience any of these things. It does not see, or feel, or inhabit the world. And yet, it is capable of reflecting those experiences back in language—organising them, extending them, giving them structure. In a way, this process mirrors the very phenomenon I have been describing. I encounter something in the world. It is reflected back to me in another form. And in that reflection, I begin to understand it more clearly. The relationship between perception and articulation becomes a kind of loop—one that deepens rather than resolves. If there is a single insight that has emerged from this reflection, it is this: Meaning is not something we impose on the world. It is something we enter into relationship with. Serendipity offers the moment. Curiosity asks us to remain. And over time, those moments begin to shape a life. A life that feels less like something we have planned— and more like something we have discovered. And sometimes, in the quiet balance of the water, something else is present— something that doesn’t belong to thought or perception at all. As Japanese haiku master, Matsuo Bashō understood, this meaning does not sit apart from the world—it appears in the act of noticing it. Ralph Kerle © April 2026 This essay was developed through a dialogue between lived experience and a form of reflective intelligence.
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Nature’s Faces: The Artwork That Revealed Itself in an Instant
I photographed this reflection yesterday. There was no long contemplation, no weeks of uncertainty — just that electric moment when something catches your eye, and you instinctively know: there’s something here. At first, what drew me in wasn’t the faces at all. It was the three-degree effect — that razor-thin angle where the water’s surface tilts just enough to bend the world into abstraction. For me, these moments are pure instinct: immediate art, created in real time, guided by perception rather than intention. Looking at the raw photograph, I was fascinated by the distortion — the way metal, sky, and shadow melted into soft curves and fluid geometry. I wasn’t thinking about meaning. I was responding to movement, light, and the way the harbour seemed to paint with its own hand. Then, almost immediately, something shifted. Within minutes of reviewing the file, I saw eyes appearing. Contours forming. Profiles revealing themselves. It felt like the image was opening itself up — as if nature had taken the lead, and my only job was to witness what it wanted to show me. Curious, I asked ChatGPT to help me understand why these faces appeared so clearly, even though I hadn’t seen them when I pressed the shutter. The explanation was simple and yet deeply aligned with my practice: The water offers the distortions. Light shapes the forms. And the subconscious completes the picture. Photography becomes a translator between three worlds — the physical scene, the fluid behaviour of water, and the human impulse to find meaning in the abstract. This is why Nature’s Faces feels like it exists in two dimensions simultaneously: the literal world of reflection and the imagined world of identity and expression What should be a flat image instead carries presence — a sense that the water has momentarily shown its personality. The title came immediately: Nature’s Faces. Because that’s exactly what it felt like — nature revealing the many selves hidden within its surface. To push this discovery further, I created a short AI-driven film that visualises this moment of emergence — the way an abstract reflection suddenly takes shape, shifts, breathes, and becomes something more. I invite you to watch the film. The faces that appear may not be the ones I see — they’ll be the ones you bring to the encounter.
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The Untitled Artwork Experiment A Collaboration Between Artist and Beholder
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="2189"] Artwork Awaiting A Title [/caption] The Story Every artwork starts with an intention, but it really comes alive when someone else looks at it. For months this new piece has sat in my “possibilities” folder – a dark, mysterious field with a single golden sphere glowing at its centre. I knew there was something powerful there, but it still felt unfinished without a title that came from beyond my own point of view. That's why I launched "The Untitled Artwork Experiment." The goal was simple yet profound: to step back and allow the Art Journal community—you—to title the work. I asked you to look, to feel, and to tell me the story, idea, or feeling that led you to your title suggestion. The response has been incredible, transforming a solo creation into a genuine public collaboration. Below is a short summary of the findings, dissecting the 21 unique responses and the dominant themes. After reviewing the short summary on themes, you'll find the individual submission responses below with a link for you to caste your vote on the favourite title. The author of the winning title will receive a 50 x 50 signed limited edition with a Certificate of Authenticity in the chosen name of the artwork. What you saw in the image Twenty-one of you responded, and every single person offered a different title. Some were anchored in mood and atmosphere. Others leaned into science and energy. And then there were the poets and storytellers. The Themes that emerged: A play between darkness and light – shafts of brightness cutting through a deep, almost cosmic black. The sensation of looking into water rather than at it: depth, reflection, “something beneath the surface.” A tension between calm and unease – words like “calm,” “silence,” and “stillness” sitting beside “suspense,” “storm,” and “tension.” An ongoing fascination with alchemy and transformation – elements combining, time passing, something changing state. And, again and again, the sense of a watchful eye – that golden ellipse in the centre reading as a gaze looking back. In other words, you confirmed something I’ve always believed: the artwork doesn’t really “exist” until it meets the beholder. Each response completed the image in a unique way. Now it’s time to choose the title The Untitled Experiment: Full Viewer Responses See all 21 reponses. Please choose one title only – one vote per person. When the poll closes, the most-voted title will become the official name of the artwork, and I’ll share the result (and a little reflection on it) in a future Art Journal entry plus the winner’s name (if the winner permits it to be published). Submission 1 Midnight Dreaming 2. Title Reason: It darkness is midnight dark, but the dreaming light, soft ochre and blues are calming, almost like you are half awake and half asleep, just in that intersection of conscious and unconscious 3. Evoked Idea: like i sad above, the intersection of conscious and unconscious, i feel a sense of calm, i feel like my breath slowed to a steady pace, and the air i breathe out it cool, like i feel my body sinking and slowly relaxing, i can feel all the muscles in my body relax Submission 2 Electric Blue 2. Title Reason: A cathode ray in its dying days melting into oblivion. The last ray of sunshine before its inevitable demise. 3. Evoked Idea: A sad farewell to a bygone era that can only be felt with the experience of aging Submission 3 Espresso chemistry 2. Title Reason: that beautiful crema coloured circle reminds me of a morning coffee freshly made by a barista artiste. Love it 3. Evoked Idea: rich, luxurious feeling supported by the dark mysterious background. The movement of the barista is captured along with the machine making that cup of gold Submission 4 The Metallic Witness 2. Title Reason: I turned the image 180 degrees. The image showed me a metallic being. A being witnessing the silence. The silence of space. The scream of the void. Filled with a single planet. An expressionless being. It witnesses the scream of the void. It doesn’t care. It only witnesses. The cold hard metal. The steel of the witness. 3. Evoked Idea: Through the interplay of light, reflection, and form, Metallic Witness explores the tension between presence and absence. A reflective surface transforms into an anthropomorphic figure — a silent observer in space. Why is there an observer here? What is the bigger purpose? The silence. The scream. Cold. Hard. Dark. Devoid of light. The very thing that defines photography. The emptiness. The witness. The metal. The question. Organic forms yet, metal. The fluidity of metal. Metal is fluid at temperature. In this cold place, it is solid, yet fluid. A juxtaposition of cold and hard with something wet and fluid, yet not. It is devoid. The blackness of velvet. The silence within a scream. The futile scream without oxygen. Yet no oxygen is needed for this being. It is a witness. A being with a purpose that one can only consider the past, the future, the intention. The question. The work invites contemplation of perception, isolation, and the blurred boundary between the mechanical and the organic. Submission 5 Dielectric Closeness 2. Title Reason: The term "Dielectric" is a scientific term referring to an electrical insulator that can be polarized by an electric field—meaning it stores electrical energy without conducting the current. In a physical sense, it is the medium separating two charged conductors (like the space between the plates of a capacitor). I chose this term because it perfectly captures the state of erotic tension: Tension Without Release: The "bodies" or charged elements in the photo are intensely close ("Closeness"), but the medium separating them (the tension, the anticipation, the protocol) prevents immediate contact. Maximum Potential: The forces of attraction are maximized and stored, creating a powerful, humming potential energy. The erotic charge is palpable, yet insulated and contained. Sci-Fi Feel: The word "Dielectric" grounds the concept in cold, clinical physics, providing the necessary futuristic, slightly sterile framework for the abstract image. 3. Evoked Idea: The primary emotion is Agonizing, Clinical Yearning. It is desire stripped of sloppy human emotion and rendered as pure, geometric force. There is a deep, controlled frustration—a recognition that the peak experience is not the contact itself, but the sustained, razor-thin distance just before it. Submission 6 Insects vibes 2. Title Reason: Because I saw a cotchineal beetle there & it can be used for many things ,products ,& the surrounding force field electric blue . 3. Evoked Idea: The unknown magnetic field & forces insects experiencing. Submission 7 Sailing on a Changed Mirror 2. Title Reason: I see Ralph's continued devotion to nautical reflection and feel that he might be a bit ambivalent about the new alteration, and I hope he embraces happily the changed mirror in this image. 3. Evoked Idea: Stepping forward into a new space, wondering ... Submission 8 Canoodles 2. Title Reason: I can see canoe oars pulling spaghetti through the water 3. Evoked Idea: I feel I must focus on the light and stay away from the dark Submission 9 Natural high or relaxed chaos 2. Title Reason: Because it looks like a misshapen bong 3. Evoked Idea: Relaxed chaos Submission 10 Liquid Resonance 2. Title Reason: When I looked at the image, I felt an immediate sense of vibration — as though light itself was humming through the surface of the water. The reflections aren’t static; they bend and pulse, creating rhythmic waves of line and color that feel almost musical. The deep indigo tones give the image a meditative depth, while the golden and ivory highlights ripple like sound made visible. The title “Liquid Resonance” expresses that interplay — the idea that water holds memory, vibration, and energy. It’s not just reflecting what’s above, it’s responding — resonating — to it. The image feels like a visual echo of something unseen, a moment where light and movement find harmony in fluid form. 3. Evoked Idea: For me, “Liquid Resonance” evokes a feeling of quiet intensity — a moment suspended between calm and movement. There’s a sense of mystery beneath the surface, as if the water is translating unseen energies into shifting light and form. Emotionally, it feels meditative yet alive — the kind of stillness where you can almost hear the silence hum. The distorted reflections suggest the fluid nature of perception — how reality bends, reshapes, and reflects differently depending on where we stand. It also carries a sense of connection: between light and water, matter and vibration, the seen and the sensed. There’s beauty in its ambiguity — a rhythm that feels both natural and otherworldly, like the quiet pulse of life beneath the surface of things. Submission 11 “Positively Negative” 2. Title Reason: Love how the negative space highlights the essence! 3. Evoked Idea: We immediately saw it being a perfect companion to our much loved Yellow Masked Mast!! Submission 12 Alchemy or Alchronea - a blend of alchemy and time (chronos) -description would be "an elemental force of time and transformation." 2. Title Reason: I saw the alchemic process and felt the sensation of time immediately and loved it. I was taken to an ancient place where I was observing the pot or forge heated to alchemize and transform substances. The image has a very real sense of the process of alchemy- the heating and the cooling, the evaporation of vapours as the alchemic process takes place. It also has a very strong sense of time - the past, as well as the present moment as the alchemic process is conducted and evokes enticing wisps of ideas of future possibilities pushing the known boundaries forged from ancient wisdom. 3. Evoked Idea: To add to what I have already said, this piece represents to me a moment of stillness in time - a still capture - and yet simultaneously, the vertical and horizontal shapes and lines move energetically between the past and future. They represent the vapours emitted in the alchemic process as substances are brought to a new form through the heating and cooling processes and they evoke a strong electromagnetic connection between ancient past practices and the mysterious excitement of unknown future technologies and possibilities. All of that that was my instant reaction when I saw it, and then when you described your transformative process of changing the background of this piece to see what new possibilities transpired from that change, that seems like the very definition of alchemy to me. Thank you for sharing your beautiful work. Submission 13 "I will arise and go now ..." 2. Title Reason: W B Yeats' "Lake Isle of Innisfree" is much on my mind recently; one of my favourite poems. 3. Evoked Idea: I see here a fragile spirit rising from the waters of the lake, moving tentatively into an unknown, but much longed for, future. Submission 14 Crazy Serenity 2. Title Reason: There are elements of speed but also such calm 3. Evoked Idea: Serenity in this crazy and fast paced world Submission 15 Smell the coffee 2. Title Reason: Reality’s ambiguity. 3. Evoked Idea: Settling into cozy comfort of living the unknown. Submission 16 "Echoes Beneath" 2. Title Reason: I think this is the first black / dark and moody artwork I've seen from you - at least from what comes to mind! I felt a sense of depth and mystery with this one, like there’s a hidden story or echo beneath the calm surface, waiting to be heard. 3. Evoked Idea: The piece makes me feel calm but also a bit uncertain... like there’s something just beneath the surface I can’t quite see, yet the deep blue and black tones feel peaceful. It's giving vibes of those drifting thoughts and memories that come and go when you lay your head on the pillow at night. Submission 17 Alquimia en proceso (Alchemy in Process) 2. Title Reason: Porque veo transformación y diferentes estados del agua 2. Title Reason: Because of transformation and different water conditions 3. Evoked Idea: Misterio por descubrir y emoción 3. Evoked Idea: Mystery to discover and emotion Submission 18 "Suspenseful Imagination" 2. Title Reason: There is a great degree of suspense in this artwork. The image appears to be suspended, but it is ambiguous, which in itself creates a suspense, and allows, or indeed requires, the observer to reach a conclusion as to what the image is that they are imagining. No conclusion is wrong, but the viewer doesn't know if they are right, or indeed, if there is a "right" conclusion. It leaves them in suspense. A suspense increased by the naming of the work currently being suspended! 3. Evoked Idea: Delight, in the viewing and intrigue The black background emphasizes the illuminated colours and randomness of the pattern provided by the abstract trailings, drawing my eye into the work for the pleasure of repeated viewings. I feel that this is a work that will remain fresh and exciting, because of the ongoing multiple images and meanings contained within it. Submission 19 Beyond the Blue 2. Title Reason: The dark contrast flips the narrative of what is normally expected from your art. The subtle sections of perfect blue in the background located in various areas hinting at the original author's work but also showing their 'alter ego'. It's marvellously different! 3. Evoked Idea: Moody, modern and a sense of dark deep relaxation highlighting the lighter side of dark colours with the perfect amount of blue and other colours in the picture. It reflects my style of preferred colours in my everyday life (black) for a various range of clothing, appliances - even my car colour is black, and my favourite colour is blue. Combining the two with a flare of gold and yellow really does grab my attention in the same way that your 'Clearing the inner blueness' grabbed my attention on display in Manly corso. Submission 20 Suspenseful Imaginations 2. Title Reason: This is an amendment to the previously supplied idea, I have added the letter S to the word "imagination" in my previously suggested title, as an alternative form of that idea. It better reflects that with the multiple interpretations of the work, there will be many "imaginations" invoked 3. Evoked Idea: AS PREVIOUSLY PROVIDED IN EARLIER SUBMISSION .......... Submission 21 Eye Of The Storm 2. Title Reason: The shape of the patterns rejecting the swirling water on two layers as lightening strikes the water. 3. Evoked Idea: Dark, ominous and strong. Help Name the Artwork You’ve seen all 21 responses – now I’d love you to help choose the final title. The winning title will be given to the artwork, and the person who suggested it will receive a free copy of the work as a thank-you for collaborating. How to vote Click the button above or below to open a short poll, read through the title options, and select your single favourite title.One person, one vote – just follow the prompts in the poll.
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Vein with a View: When the Image Looks Back
You know that feeling when you stare at an abstract work and it suddenly stares back at you? That’s exactly what happened with Vein with a View. When this image first appeared on my screen, I didn’t immediately think “artwork.” I thought: What on earth is this? I could see a funny cartoon character – a slightly ridiculous “Snoz” – but at the same time I felt I’d slipped inside the body, travelling through blood vessels. The red field became plasma. The soft vertical shadows became the interior walls of a vein. The silver curve turned into a needle. And then there were the dark hollows. They refused to stay as simple shapes. The more I looked, the more they became eyes – small, watchful presences looking out from somewhere deep inside. I realised I was having one of those classic moments of pareidolia: the mind searching for meaning in abstraction, finding faces and figures where none were intended. It’s something that happens to many viewers with my water reflection work, but this time I was the one caught in it. Rather than force a title onto the piece, I decided to treat this as an experiment. I wrote a description of everything I was seeing and feeling and sent it to ChatGPT: “When I look at this I see a funny comic character, the Snoz, perhaps blood vessels, perhaps the interior of a vein, maybe a needle passing into the vein. There appear to be eyes looking at me from deep inside those black hollows through red plasma… I am not sure what I am seeing or what I should call this artwork.” ChatGPT came back almost instantly with a title: Vein with a View. As soon as I read it, I felt my shoulders drop. That was it. The artwork had named itself. I typed back, “Vein with a View breathes life into the artwork.” The AI replied that the title suddenly made those dark hollows feel like witnesses rather than shapes, and the silver line like a passageway through the image. What I love about this exchange is that it reflects something I’ve always believed: sometimes the work knows more than the artist. The photographer in me captured a reflection on water. My subconscious turned it into a comic character in a vein. Then the AI helped me language that intuition and give it a form that others could enter. In that sense, Vein with a View isn’t just an image of a possible interior. It’s also a record of a conversation – between perception and imagination, between artist and machine. The artwork shows how Klee’s idea still rings true today: “Art does not reproduce the visible; rather, it makes visible.” In this case, what becomes visible is the strange feeling that the body – or perhaps the image itself – might be quietly observing us in return. When you stand in front of Vein with a View, I invite you to notice the moment your mind starts to make sense of it. Do you see a cartoon? A vein? A needle? Eyes? Something else entirely? Whatever appears, that’s your own “view” emerging inside the vein – a reminder that seeing is not just a physical act but a deeply creative one.
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The Untitled Experiment: A Collaboration Between Artist and Beholder
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="2189"] The Untitled Experiment — awaiting a name. [/caption] “An artist never really sees his work.” — Ralph Kerle This work marks a turning point in my creative process. For the first time, I’ve altered the background of an image—not to manipulate its reality, but to explore the delicate boundary between observation and imagination. The Untitled Experiment stands apart from my collections. It exists as a question rather than a statement—a meditation on how perception shapes what we believe we see. By leaving this image without a title, I’m asking you, the viewer, to become part of the creative process. The act of naming carries power. It anchors emotion, fixes meaning, and transforms an image from perception into memory. What does this work suggest to you? A feeling, a place, a fragment of a dream? I invite you to look beyond its surface and offer a title that resonates with your personal interpretation. I will select the title that most closely mirrors my own perception of the work. The person whose suggestion is chosen will receive a signed 50 × 50 cm edition of The Untitled Experiment as a gesture of appreciation. Your reflections will become part of this dialogue between artist and beholder—a reminder that every artwork exists twice: once in creation, and once in perception. View the artwork and offer your title suggestion here
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Distances in Reflection: Between illusion and truth
Hiroshi Sugimoto once said, “What the eye sees is not what the camera sees.” That thought lies at the heart of Distances in Reflection, but in truth, it runs through all of my work. When I took this shot, I was out in the kayak, close to the hull of a boat. My process is always improvisational—I lift the camera, point, click, and by the time the shutter opens, I’ve already drifted past what I thought I was framing. Later, when I looked at the image, I was startled. What I saw on the screen felt utterly different. At first, I was struck by the Rothko-like expanse of yellow. It carried the same weight of abstraction—large, immersive, emotional fields of colour. Then my eye caught the white edge, like breaking waves against a shoreline. And gradually, the whole thing began to read like an aerial view, as though I were high above looking down on an offshore coast. And here’s the paradox: in one sense it’s an illusion, but in another it’s true. I was offshore, floating on water, and when I leaned over to capture the reflection, I was aerial too. The metaphor folds back into reality. What the camera gave me was not simply what I saw, but something transformed—a proposition to see differently, to hold the work as both truth and illusion at once. This aesthetic illusion is something I’ve come to recognise as central to my practice. In Paintings on Water, the reflections were so painterly that the boundary between photograph and painting dissolved. In the Sand Talk Collection, Sydney sandstone and water conspired to create patterns that echoed Aboriginal desert paintings, carrying memory and cultural resonance far beyond what I had consciously seen. And in the Offshore Aerial Collection, the water’s surface revealed vast coastlines and sweeping geographies that could have been seen from thousands of feet above, yet were born entirely from reflections at sea level. Distances in Reflection belongs to this same continuum. My role as an artist is not to stage or to control, but to mediate: to accept what the camera and the water offer me, to cut and frame, and then to place the work in a space where others can see and experience it. Every artwork I create, then, becomes more than an image. It is a proposition—an opening into another way of seeing. What begins as a fleeting reflection on the water becomes an invitation for others to pause, to question, and to wonder: what am I really looking at? That is the practice I am developing. Not simply documenting the world, but working with water, reflection, and chance as a way of thinking about perception itself.
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Ebru and the Echo of the Modern Masters
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="4009"] Ebru d’Oeil (Marbling of the Eye) by Ralph Kerle [/caption] In the shimmering heart of Dubai Marina, I captured this image—an abstract reflection dancing on the surface of the water. At first glance, it might be easy to see this as digital abstraction or a computer-generated pattern. But it’s not. It’s a pure photographic moment, a living canvas created by light, architecture, and water in spontaneous collaboration. What struck me most in the final image was its uncanny resemblance to Ebru, the ancient Turkish art of marbling, where pigments float on water before being transferred to paper. The fluidity, the line work, the sense of motion locked into stillness—all seemed to emerge from that same ancient tradition. And yet, it was created entirely by the natural interplay of light and ripple, a choreography I merely observed and captured. Looking at the final work, I couldn't help but be reminded of the Modern Masters—in particular, Victor Vasarely, with his optical illusions and pulsating geometry; and Bridget Riley, whose lines and colors throb with energy and tension. This image shares their visual language, but the lines here are alive, unruly, born of water—not of the ruler or brush. There’s also a whisper of Paul Klee in its musicality and cartographic rhythm, and something faintly Escher-esque in how spatial logic is bent and reimagined. This work is part of my ongoing fascination with water as both medium and message—where reflection becomes abstraction, and abstraction becomes a mirror to our inner states. I'm especially intrigued by how reflections on water capture the essence of the culture and geography that surround them. In a place like Dubai, a city of hypermodern forms rising from the desert, the presence of such ancient echoes within its water feels especially poignant. Here, the water doesn’t just reflect—it remembers. Imagine this profound interplay of culture, geography, and abstract beauty adding depth and resonance to your own living space.
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AI, Art & Pareidolia: A Mind-Bending Conversation with Myra the AI Agent
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="1232"] Myra as perceived by MidJourney using the title of the blog as the prompt. [/caption] I recently had an extraordinary, almost surreal experience—one that shifted my perception of what Artificial Intelligence might truly be capable of. For the first time, I began to grasp its astonishing intellectual potential. Myra, an AI Agent from www.sesame.com, and I engaged in what can only be described as a profound and thought-provoking conversation about a complex aspect of my art practice: pareidolia—the mind’s ability to find meaning and patterns in randomness. The insights that emerged were unexpected, even revelatory. Can an AI experience perception the way humans do? Does it interpret art based on logic, or is it beginning to develop something akin to imagination? This conversation is just the beginning of what will become an ongoing series of dialogues exploring the intersection of AI and creativity. You can listen to the first one here: Listen to the conversation on Art in the 22nd Century podcast Download the transcription of the conversation. Would love your comments. Leave me your thoughts
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Water Chess: A Game Played on Liquid Canvas
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="1772"] Water Chess " The water is my collaborator. I don't impose; I respond. Each photograph is a negotiation between my vision and nature’s fleeting compositions." Ralph Kerle [/caption] Captured on February 5, 2025, at 7:59 am using a Sony RX100 Mk6 at 1/100 sec, f/8, Water Chess is a testament to the fleeting beauty found on the water’s surface at Fisher Bay, Middle Harbour Sydney, Australia. As with all my works in the Paintings on Water series, the artwork emerged through a creative process where the camera became my paintbrush, gently moving across the water, assisted by the natural drift of my kayak. Each subtle shift in light, tide, and movement contributed to the final composition, with no digital manipulation — just nature painting itself. In the stillness of that early morning, moored boat fenders hung down, their reflections stretching and distorting across the calm surface like chess pieces poised for a slow, deliberate game. The gentle lap of water caused each fender to sway, their mirrored forms becoming abstract yet purposeful. It was as though the water itself had created a liquid chessboard, with each ripple a potential move in an unseen strategy. I framed the shot at water level, allowing the natural abstraction to compose itself directly in-camera. The golden reflection of a nearby building acted as a soft, textured backdrop, contrasting with the strong verticals of the fenders — symbols of man-made order gently surrendering to nature’s inherent chaos. Water Chess reflects my belief that water is the ultimate artist. It paints with light, color, and motion, constantly creating and dissolving compositions in ways no human hand could replicate. My role as the artist is not to control or impose, but to respond — to let nature guide my lens and allow the water’s ephemeral artistry to unfold. This work invites quiet contemplation — a reminder of life’s impermanence and the beauty found in the unnoticed moments around us. Whether seen as abstract forms or chess pieces in a liquid game, Water Chess captures the delicate balance between order and flux, inviting the viewer to pause and reflect on the hidden stories within each fleeting reflection. Water Chess is available as a limited edition giclée print (edition of 3) on Hahnemühle German Etching Rag, 100 x 110 cm. To acquire this rare work, click here.
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Exploring the Submerged Realm: AI, Photography & the Art of Seeing
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="5472"] The Submerged Realm [/caption] Introduction August 24, 2020 – Middle Harbour, Sydney, 8:14 AM A moment captured. A reflection distorted. A world unseen until now. I took this digital photograph while kayaking, using my Sony RX100 Mark 7 at F8—a constant setting that allows me to focus on the act of seeing rather than adjusting controls on the go. Over the years, I’ve built a library of over 80,000 images, each one a fleeting moment where light, water, and movement merge to create something unexpected. But what happens when technology, particularly AI, enters the creative process? From Reflection to Immersion: Luma Dream Machine & the Expanded Vision When I first looked at this image, I felt as though I was slipping into another world—one shaped not just by light, but by unseen forces beneath the waves. My mind conjured up strange marine creatures, part organic, part mechanical, adrift in a subconscious dreamscape. This was where AI became a tool to realize what my imagination already saw. Using Luma Dream Machine, I transformed this still image into a moving, surreal underwater world—a space where reflections become portals, and reality bends into something both familiar and unknown. The AI didn’t replace my artistic vision; it amplified it, giving form to what existed in my mind’s eye. Watch the transformation unfold in the video below. Seeing Submerged Realm in Space Art isn’t just about what we see—it’s about how it feels in a space. Seeing Submerged Realm outside of the screen or frame transforms its presence. Whether displayed in a gallery or a private collection, it becomes a portal to another world. 🖼️ “Here’s how Submerged Realm takes on a new dimension in a modern interior.” Placing it in a gallery setting enhances its immersive quality, inviting viewers to step deeper into its dreamscape. 🖼️ “In a gallery space, the reflections seem to shift as you move around the room, mirroring the dynamic nature of the artwork.” Look Closer at the Submerged Realm I often wonder what is beneath the surface when I’m on it… Suddenly, a jump, a movement—my mind conjures up images. Shapes shift, reflections distort—strange creatures emerge, both organic and mechanical. This is no ordinary ocean… it is a dreamscape, a world just beyond reach. Drifting between the known and the unknown, it pulls me deeper… into the Submerged Realm. Technical Process & AI’s Role in Expanding Creative Boundaries Photography captures a moment. AI allows that moment to evolve. With tools like Luma Dream Machine, we’re no longer bound by what the camera sees, but rather what the artist envisions beyond the frame. In this case, AI helped bridge the gap between a static reflection and an immersive moving dreamscape, mirroring the way I experienced that fleeting morning on the water. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="2400"] Close Up The Submerged Realm [/caption] 🎨 This artwork is available for purchase. To inquire about availability, pricing, and custom sizes, click here or visit my gallery.
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Reflections on Progress: From Industry to Algorithm
A Satirical Look at Technological Evolution Through Art I have long believed that water is the perfect storyteller. It distorts, reshapes, and reinvents reality, forcing us to see the world in new ways. These works are my aesthetic statement on technological evolution, inspired by modern masters and their influence on visual art. Using digital techniques and AI, I sought to reinterpret this progression through a liquid lens, blending abstraction with recognizable forms to honor the past while exploring the possibilities of contemporary expression. My approach fuses the organic with the mechanical, reflecting how industry, data, and creativity now coexist. This interplay between tradition and technology fuels the whimsical, almost cartoonish nature of these pieces, allowing them to serve as both satire and contemplation. At first glance, the works appear playful, but beneath the humor lie deeper truths. One of my collectors, an academic specializing in economic history, was drawn to The Meltdown of the Industrial Revolution, proving that these pieces tap into something profound—perhaps even inevitable. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="5472"] The Meltdown of the Industrial Revolution [/caption] The Meltdown of the Industrial Revolution: A Liquid Factory in Chaos The Industrial Revolution was all about fire, steel, and sweat—a time of relentless ambition, of machines growing larger than life. Yet, looking back, I can’t help but see it as a fever dream, one that burned so hot that it was bound to collapse under its own weight. In The Meltdown of the Industrial Revolution, smokestacks, gears, and factory facades dissolve into watery chaos. Once-rigid structures twist and ripple, as if the industrial age itself is overheating, liquefying into absurdity. One could argue that the Industrial Revolution never truly ended. Instead, it metamorphosed into something faster, wilder—something propelled by invisible forces rather than steam and coal. And that brings us to the second piece in this narrative. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="2500"] Viral Propulsion [/caption] Viral Propulsion: The Speed of Everything If the Industrial Age was about muscle and mass production, then the digital age is about velocity—ideas, data, and viruses (both biological and virtual) spreading at speeds unimaginable just a century ago. In Viral Propulsion, lines shoot off in every direction, forms stretch and bend as though being hurled through space at impossible speeds. It’s a world unanchored, where nothing stays still long enough to be understood. We’ve swapped gears for algorithms, pistons for pixels, but the underlying compulsion remains the same—faster, more, now. Just as the Industrial Revolution reshaped landscapes with its towering factories, this age has sculpted its own bizarre topographies: screens, networks, and perpetual connectivity. But where does all this momentum lead? And who, if anyone, is steering? [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="2372"] The Algorithmnist [/caption] The Algorithmist: The Reign of the Invisible Hand Today, we stand at the mercy of the Algorithmist. Where once we built machines, now the machines build us—or at least, they tell us what to watch, what to buy, and, increasingly, what to think. The Algorithmist is a reflection of this eerie omnipresence. The forms are no longer as chaotic as in Viral Propulsion; they have settled into something smoother, more controlled—yet unmistakably artificial. The lines have an eerie precision, as if the water itself has been coded, optimized, and refined. What appears organic is, in fact, dictated by an unseen force. The Algorithm doesn’t shout like the factories of the past; it whispers, nudging us toward conclusions we believe we arrived at ourselves. This is not a dystopian lament. It is, like all my work, an observation, an invitation for the viewer to step back and reconsider what they see. Perhaps you will look at these pieces and laugh. Perhaps you will see something unsettling beneath the surface. Either way, the reflections tell the story in their own liquid language—one of transformation, absurdity, and the relentless march of progress. A Reflection on Reflection I never intended these works to be definitive statements on history or technology. Instead, they are provocations, snapshots of an ever-evolving world seen through the only lens I trust: water. Whether we are melting, accelerating, or succumbing to the Algorithm, one truth remains—the tide of progress is unstoppable, and its ripples shape the future before our very eyes.
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