The Art Journal
Water Map 1 — A Map Made by Water
Water Map 1 110 × 180cm “I think about the country where I was walking and camping, all the main water holes, all the camping areas… and I follow them up with my painting.”— Freddie Timms, East Kimberley artist When I first looked at Water Map 1, I did not immediately see water. I saw sand. I saw an aerial field. I saw something that appeared to have been remembered rather than photographed. This new work belongs to both my Offshore Aerial Collection and my Sand Talk Collection, and perhaps that is why it captured my creative focus in such a compelling way. It began, as usual, as a photograph of reflections on the surface of water. Yet the final image seemed to have travelled somewhere else. It no longer behaved only as water. It appeared as terrain, as if a moving surface had opened into a map. What struck me first was the space in the work. The simplicity of the central form. The way the surrounding field holds it quietly, without crowding it. The centre of the image feels spare, but not empty. It has weight. It has presence. It sits inside the work like a place. Almost immediately, I thought of the great East Kimberley painters: Paddy Bedford, Freddie Timms, Rover Thomas, Queenie McKenzie, Shirley Purdie, and the Warmun/Turkey Creek artists whose work transformed Australian painting. Their paintings can appear deceptively simple at first glance: large areas of ochre, strong forms, restrained composition, vast spaces. Yet within that apparent simplicity is country, memory, movement, ceremony, history and story. I do not pretend to fully understand the emergence of Kimberley painting, but I have long been moved by the way it carries a view of land that seems both grounded and aerial. Freddie Timms’ paintings are often discussed as aerial maps of the Country he knew through walking, camping, mustering and living. His statement about remembering waterholes, camping areas and places of work speaks directly to the way painting can become a form of following — not inventing a place, but returning through memory to where one has been. Shirley Purdie offers another statement that stopped me because of its connection to photography. She has said: “When you paint you can remember that Country, just like to take a photo, but there’s the Ngarranggarni (Dreaming) and everything.” That phrase — just like to take a photo — is extraordinary. It makes a bridge between image, memory and Country, while also making clear that the image is not merely visual record. It holds story, spirit, inherited knowledge and lived experience. Examples of Kimberley art from Freddie Timms, Shirley Purdie and Rover Thomas (l-r) When I looked at Water Map 1, I felt an unexpected connection to those statements. Not as a claim to Indigenous knowledge, and not as an attempt to make Indigenous art. Rather, I felt a recognition in the idea that an image can become more than the thing it first appears to depict. My photograph began as water. Yet it appeared as sand. It was taken through close observation, yet it felt as though it had been seen from above. It was a reflection, yet it opened into something like terrain. In that moment, the artwork seemed to sit between surface and depth, between looking down and looking over, between water below me and an aerial perception above me. In the late 1990s, I was fortunate to spend time working on a cultural project connected to Indigenous ritual and creative practice. Being on Country and being exposed to the visual languages of Central Desert painting began to shift my understanding of what painting could be. I started to understand, however modestly, that these works were not simply images of land. They were ways of holding land, knowing land, remembering land and seeing the world. What astonishes me still is that both Central Desert and East Kimberley painting often seem to contain an aerial perception long before the aerial image became part of ordinary visual culture. They appear to rise above the land while remaining profoundly inside it. That is the feeling that returned to me through Water Map 1. There is also, for me, a strange sense of ascent and descent in the work. I am looking down into water, yet the image seems to lift me upward into an aerial field. I am photographing a surface, yet the result feels as if it has emerged from beneath the surface. Water becomes sand. Reflection becomes map. Abstraction becomes a place of recognition. This is why Water Map 1 feels like a new threshold in the Sand Talk Collection, while also belonging naturally to the Offshore Aerial Collection. It is an offshore image that behaves like inland memory. It is water that seems to remember land. I am interested to know whether others sense this too. Do you see water, sand, aerial Country, or something in between? Does the work carry, for you, an echo of Kimberley painting — not in imitation, but in spaciousness, restraint and the feeling of a map seen from above? For me, Water Map 1 is not a map of water. It is a map made by water — and perhaps, more truthfully, a map made by looking long enough for water to become memory.
Learn more
The Uncovered Script: Finding the Golden Score
There are moments in my practice where I feel less like I am making an image and more like I am encountering something already written. A Golden Score emerged in exactly that way. A Golden Score, Ralph Kerle, Signed Limited Edition 1 of 3 (100 × 250 cm) [/caption] I was drawn first to the field of gold — an expanse that felt both ancient and immediate. Gold carries the weight of manuscripts, icons and sacred objects, yet here it appeared fluid, unstable and alive on the surface of water. Then the lines began to reveal themselves. At first glance they seemed incidental — distortions of masts, rigging and structures reflected on water. But the longer I stayed with the image, the more they began to organise themselves into something else entirely. They started to behave like notation. Like a score. Not precise in the way of traditional music, but suggestive, rhythmic and full of pauses and tensions. That was the turning point. The work moved from being a reflection of the world to something that felt as though it was describing a hidden structure beneath it. A kind of visual music written by light, water and movement. Not composed by me, but discovered through attention. What fascinates me is that this score cannot be read in any fixed way. Each viewer brings their own rhythm and interpretation. In that sense, the work is never complete. It continues to unfold.
Learn more
Sea Parrish and Why Some Images Stay
Sea Parrish, 100 × 110cm When I looked at this work, Maxfield Parrish came back to me almost immediately. I had not been consciously thinking about him, yet there he was — rising out of colour, memory and feeling. What interests me is why that happens. Why does one artist remain lodged in the mind for decades while others, equally admired, fade more softly into the background? I remember loving Parrish’s paintings long ago, but I cannot say exactly why they imprinted themselves so deeply. They just did. Somehow they settled into memory and stayed there. It makes me think about the way the brain stores visual experience. Perhaps a powerful image enters us at the right moment and becomes fixed somewhere in the prefrontal cortex, or wherever memory, feeling and recognition meet. Over time it begins to feel less like something we once saw and more like part of our own internal visual language — almost like part of the brain’s DNA. Maybe that is what viewers experience with certain works of art. Something in them bypasses explanation and simply stays. A colour, a mood, an atmosphere, a sense of stillness or strangeness — and from then on it becomes part of how we recognise the world. That is what Sea Parrish stirred in me. The luminous blue, the strange floating forms, the almost dreamlike instability of the image — all of it triggered an old visual memory I had carried for years without fully knowing it. It reminded me that perception is never just about the present moment. It is also shaped by what the mind has loved and kept.
Learn more
The Ancient Mariner's Sentience
The Ancient Mariner's Sentience [/caption] The New York Times Book Review of Other Minds: The Octopus, the Sea, and the Deep Origins of Consciousness by Australian philosopher and diver Peter Godfrey Smith resonates strongly with the influences in my art and how viewers might perceive it. As a philosopher, Godfrey-Smith is seeking to explore and discover the elements of sentience. Sentience is defined as the capacity to feel, perceive, or experience subjectively. In Eastern philosophy sentience is a metaphysical quality of all things that requires respect and care. He has chosen the octopus as the backdrop for this journey as a result of his diving experiences interacting with these highly intelligent creatures in what he calls a "mutual engagement" observing their different individual personalities in behavior, at play and in recognition. Godfrey-Smith is more interested in his own behavior and intelligence as he interacts rather than the octopus. What is it he is feeling and how is he behaving in order to understand the world of the octopus and his interaction with it. This is the state of mind I am traversing in my work with the abstraction of reflections. I am not sure what a snapshot of a reflection might reveal until I have examined it. What aesthetic is the reflection revealing, how is it making meaning for me how does it affect me subjectively. Likewise how does it affect those who view, how does it make them feel , what do they think the image is about. As Godfrey-Smith writes...."Contrary to some philosophers’ assumptions, consciousness doesn’t just project out; it is a relationship in traffic with the outer world. Consciousness did not “suddenly irrupt into the universe fully formed,” Godfrey-Smith says. “Perception, action, memory — all those things creep into existence from precursors and partial cases.” Asking whether bacteria perceive or bees remember “are not questions that have good yes-or-no answers.” From minimal to elaborate sensing there’s a continuum, “and no reason to think in terms of sharp divides.” How beautifully he sums up the Ancient Mariner’s Sentience!
Learn more
Fences of The Mind: Reflections, Boundaries, and the Unconscious
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="2995"] Fences of the Mind [/caption] I have always trusted water to tell me the truth about a place—and, more secretly, about myself. Its surface is a live canvas: a membrane that accepts the world above, distorts it, then offers the result back as something strangely new. In Fences of the Mind I leaned hard into that alchemy, aiming my lens at an ordinary shoreline fence and allowing the small waves to become co-authors. What emerged feels uncannily like an Edward Hopper streetscape—solid posts, sun-washed façades—yet the image also flirts with the loose gesture of the abstract expressionists who mined reality for emotion rather than accuracy. The title is deliberately provocative. A fence, after all, both defines and confines; it marks ownership, keeps outsiders at bay, and reassures those within. But when that same barrier appears in water, its rigidity melts. Pickets bend, stripes sway, colours bleed into one another. I wanted viewers to feel the moment that mental certainty softens: the split-second when you realise that “solid” ideas—about identity, memory, even geography—can be as fluid as the ripples that rewrote these planks. Neuroscientist Eric Kandel reminds us that perception is never passive; the brain is constantly making unconscious inferences, filling gaps, projecting meanings. Stand before this print and you may see a harbour boardwalk, or the façade of a forgotten suburb, or perhaps just an abstract rhythm of ochres and greens. None of those readings is wrong, because each arises from the beholder’s own storehouse of sights and sensations. The water simply provides the prompt; your mind completes the painting. There is, too, a quiet play on time. Hopper’s realism often held a still, contemplative hush—as though the world had paused long enough for us to feel its solitude. By contrast, the abstraction here refuses to stay still; even frozen in pigment, the lines quiver with remembered movement. In that tension between stasis and motion I find a metaphor for thought itself: ideas appear fixed until some subtle current—a new experience, a half-forgotten dream—sends them wriggling into new shapes. If this wavering fence has opened a gateway in your own imagination, I invite you to bring the print home—secure your limited-edition piece today and let your walls reflect the boundless conversation of water and mind. To bring the print home click here.
Learn more
The Velvet Land: An Invitation to See
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="2500"] The Velvet Land [/caption] There’s always a moment when I step back from an artwork, letting it sit in its own space, waiting for it to tell me what it is. At first glance, this piece felt calming—peaceful, even joyous—its fluidity suggesting movement without urgency. Yet, the more I allowed my subconscious to settle into it, the more elusive its identity became. What was I really looking at? A reflection on water, theatre curtains drawn in anticipation, or perhaps an aerial glimpse of the land beneath me? Abstract art has a way of shifting beneath the eye, never quite settling into a singular reality. It’s like a mirage—what we see at first may not be what we understand later. This became especially apparent when collaborating with AI. Initially, the piece seemed to belong to water, an undulating, shimmering surface, but then something else emerged: the rich texture of velvet, the drapery of a stage curtain, the softness of a paddock seen from above. The title ‘The Velvet Land’ was born from this dialogue—a merging of perception, illusion, and reality. It felt right. It felt open-ended. It allowed space for others to step in, to name their own experience of the work. That, for me, is the essence of abstraction—its ability to live in multiple worlds at once. The beauty of this process, especially with AI, is that it encourages an interplay between intuition and technology, expanding the way meaning is formed. Photographer Hiroshi Sugimoto once said, "With still photography, if you freeze a moment, you start to see something you couldn't see before." That sentiment resonates deeply with The Velvet Land. By capturing a fleeting reflection, what first seemed obvious transformed into something layered with hidden possibilities. What was once a moment on water became a stage, a landscape, an abstraction waiting to be interpreted. **The Unexpected Transformation** Then something remarkable happened. When I fed the image into AI, it responded with an unexpected shift—The Velvet Land transformed into an acrylic painting of a green pasture. Was this a reinterpretation of the aerial landscape I had subconsciously imagined? Or was the AI itself engaging in a creative dialogue, offering a new way of seeing the work? This reinforced something I’ve always believed about abstraction: it is alive. Meaning isn’t static—it shifts, expands, and reveals itself in layers, influenced by time, perception, and even the tools we use to explore it. So, as you watch *The Velvet Land* evolve, what do you see? A reflection, a curtain, a pasture, or something else entirely? Perhaps meaning isn’t fixed at all, but in constant transformation. **Watch the animation here and experience the evolution of ‘The Velvet Land.’**’. If this work speaks to you, The Velvet Land is now available as a limited edition. Secure yours today before it disappears into the next act.
Learn more
Blue Thoughtfulness: A Fine Art Photography dialogue with Painters
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="2431"] Blue Thoughtfulness [/caption] My latest work, ‘Blue Thoughtfulness’, invites you into a contemplative space captured through the lens of fine art photography—a 21st-century medium rooted in the real, inspired by nature as seen from the water, often while kayaking. Featuring a deep blue expanse and wispy white lines, this piece suggests subtle quadrants, evoking a meditative stillness with an impressionistic, even illusionistic flair. The title reflects my intent: a quiet reflection on nature’s abstractions, discovered through the camera lucida as I glide across lakes and rivers. Unlike the painted abstractions of the past, my work emerges from the dynamic, fluid perspective of being physically on the water. As a photographer, I create solely while kayaking, immersing myself in the environment’s rhythm. This process infuses ‘Blue Thoughtfulness’ with an impressionistic style, capturing fleeting light and motion—perhaps a ripple’s trace or a cloud’s drift—mirroring how Claude Monet chased transient effects with his brush. Yet, there’s an illusionistic quality too, as the water’s movement bends reality, creating abstractions that feel both real and dreamlike. This contrasts with painters like Piet Mondrian, whose rigid grids in ‘Composition with Red, Blue, and Yellow’ (1930) imposed order, or Sean Scully, whose textured blocks in ‘Wall of Light’ (1998) softened division from a studio’s stillness. Mark Rothko’s emotional color fields, like ‘No. 61 (Rust and Blue)’ (1953), drew from inner vision, while my lens captures nature’s live performance from the kayak. The blue of ‘Blue Thoughtfulness’ might echo a dusk horizon reflected on water, the white lines tracing waves or mist, frozen in a moment of paddling. These elements are authentic, yet the water’s motion adds an illusionistic layer, blending the real with the perceived. Where impressionists like Monet painted light’s fleeting dance, my photography preserves it with precision, revealing nature’s patterns from a unique vantage point. While Mondrian’s structure, Scully’s texture, and Rothko’s depth inspire indirectly, my camera translates the watery world, not an imagined one. This sets my work apart, grounding it in the fluid chaos and order of the environment. The quadrants hinted at in ‘Blue Thoughtfulness’ emerge organically from my kayak’s perspective—divisions shaped by water’s flow and light’s play—inviting viewers to explore its emotional resonance. This piece bridges the real and abstract, blending impressionistic spontaneity with illusionistic depth, honoring photography’s legacy while forging a new path. It’s a testament to seeing nature’s artistry, crafted amidst the gentle sway of a kayak. Experience Blue Thoughtfulness for yourself! Visit the online gallery to view and purchase this limited-edition print, bringing a piece of nature’s watery, contemplative beauty into your space.
Learn more
In Search of Not Far to Paradise 3: An Invitation to My Creative World
I’d like to invite you into my creative thinking process—to share not only the genesis of my new work but also the influences and outcomes that shape it. The best way I know to connect with you is to take you into the environment that inspires me through a video. The video reveals the essence behind Not Far to Paradise 3—an ethereal, dreamlike landscape where light, color, and reflections converge to create an almost otherworldly realm. It’s a glimpse into the mystical space that sparked the work’s creation. The dynamic textures and hues—evoking the surface of water, shimmering skies, or distant horizons—blur the line between abstraction and reality, offering an immersive, meditative journey. What do you see? Does it evoke a memory, an emotion, or a sense of place? Your interpretations might reveal dimensions I hadn’t even considered, adding to the story of this artwork. I’d love to hear your thoughts—what does Not Far to Paradise 3 reveal to you?
Learn more
The difference between perception and sense: how we make sense
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="2537"] Appassionata - If it is not a landscape, what is it a photo of? [/caption] On Friday, September 27, 2024, we explored the intricate relationship between perception and sight, highlighting how we interpret the world. The evening bridged art and science, offering insights into both realms. Why I Support the Sydney Eye Hospital Forty years ago, I faced a rare eye condition that threatened my vision. The recommended treatment in the U.S. cost over $250,000, but I found a leading surgeon in Bondi, Sydney, who restored my sight with a corneal transplant for just A$700. This transplant is now over 40 years old. Supporting the Sydney Eye Hospital is deeply personal—raising awareness of our incredible healthcare system and its world-class ophthalmologists is a mission close to my heart. The Evening's Journey [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="1024"] Ralph Kerle explains Underwater Lillies [/caption] The program focused on two key areas: 1. **Perception from an Artist’s View**: I shared how our brains process visual information from an artistic perspective. 2. **The Science of Sight**: Dr. Con Petsoglou, Director, NSW Medical Tissue Bank, Associate Professor, University of Sydney and senior ophthalmologist who has helped maintain my vision for 30 years, explained the physiology of the eye and its interaction with the brain. Together, we explored how my eye condition influences my artwork. Sight and My World as an Artist [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="748"] Top down and bottom up elements. [/caption] Vision dominates how we interpret the world, accounting for over 72% of our sensory input. Nobel laureate Eric Kandel provides a framework for understanding this. He explains perception through two processes: **Bottom-Up Processing**: Our brain’s instinctual response to visual stimuli. **Top-Down Processing**: How past experiences shape what we see. Kandel’s concept of **unconscious inference** shows how perception is an illusion shaped by both immediate input and personal history. Dr. Con Petsoglou’s Insights Dr. Petsoglou detailed the condition known as **keratoconus**, a corneal disorder that distorts vision. As someone living with this condition, his explanation resonated with me. The distortions caused by keratoconus shape how I see and interpret the world, which directly influences my art. My Artistic Journey I shared how my artistic path evolved, from my early days in multimedia to discovering kayaking as a source of inspiration. On the water, I saw reflections that resembled abstract masterpieces, which I began capturing and sharing. My eye condition didn’t hinder my creativity—it enriched it, allowing me to present the world uniquely. The Intersection of Art and Science The evening demonstrated how understanding sight enhances our appreciation of perception in art. Likewise, artistic perspectives offer insights into scientific concepts. We concluded with an audience member sharing their interpretation of my artwork, **"Appassionata,"** reaffirming that each of us perceives the world uniquely. Thank you to all who joined this enlightening journey. Let's continue to explore the myriad ways we make sense of the world. --- *Interested in seeing the world through my lens? Explore my latest works at Ralph Kerle Art [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="918"] Event Sponsors [/caption]
Learn more
Leonardo’s Submarine: A Creative Reflection
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="1000"] Leonardo's Submarine, Artwork by Ralph Kerle. [/caption] "All our knowledge has its origins in our perceptions," Leonardo da Vinci once said, a notion that resonates deeply with my creative process. "Leonardo’s Submarine" emerged from one such moment of unexpected clarity, where perception and imagination intertwined. I was kayaking under the Spit Bridge that joins the upper and lower North shore over Sydney's Middle Harbour, when I decided to capture what I was seeing on the surface of the water. At first, it seemed like just another shot—ripples and reflections playing in the light. But as I downloaded the image and stared at it, something curious happened. My subconscious began to speak, shaping the abstract patterns into something more. I found myself looking at what I thought must have been Leonardo da Vinci’s famous submarine drawing, only this time it was rendered in full, vibrant color. However, upon further research, I realized my subconscious had misled me. While Leonardo da Vinci is so deeply embedded in the public consciousness that it was natural to attribute the image to him, the submarine that truly stirred my creativity was not his. Instead, it was David Bushnell’s Turtle, the first submarine used in combat, that had woven its way into my mind. The title "Leonardo’s Submarine" was a spontaneous inference, but in truth, it was Bushnell's creation that had inspired the image. This work represents more than just a photograph; it’s a reflection on how we perceive the world and how those perceptions can lead us to see beyond the obvious. In this image, I see a dialogue between the conscious and the subconscious, a reminder that within the ordinary lies the potential for extraordinary discovery, even if our initial perceptions lead us astray. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="317"] David Bushnell's Turtle Submarine circa 1660 [/caption]
Learn more
Beside the Shore: The Artist’s Vision and the Beholder’s Perception
94 year Nobel Prize-winning neuroscientist Dr. Eric Kandel, (my guru), eloquently posits that an artwork is a dual entity comprising the artist's concept and the viewer's interpretation, which he terms the "beholder's stake." This concept underscores the brain's instantaneous interpretation of art, a process Kandel refers to as "unconscious inference." This phenomenon highlights how our brains actively construct meaning from sensory input, influenced by personal experiences, memories, and emotions. The advent of AI in the creative process offers a revolutionary perspective on this dynamic. AI platforms like Haiper, Runway, and InVideo provide artists with unprecedented insights into the beholder's stake. These tools allow artists to see how their work might be perceived, free from academic, political, or social biases. By generating and editing content through AI, artists can explore a multitude of interpretations and responses, effectively engaging with the viewer's perspective in real-time. In my new work, "Beside the Shore," Runway's AI capabilities inferred and added what I read as origin spirit motifs, aligning with how my imagination experiences the shore. This interaction between AI and human creativity transforms the edited output into a new form of the beholder's stake. The AI-generated reinterpretations serve as a bridge between the artist's original vision and the potential diverse perceptions of the audience, enriching the artistic dialogue and expanding the boundaries of creative expression. I am really excited by it. Thoughts?
Learn more
The Difference between Perception and sight: How we make meaning
Dr. Con Petsoglou, Ophthalmologist at Sydney Eye Hospital, Medical Director at NSW Tissue Bank, and Senior Lecturer at Sydney University, and kayaker and renowned Australian fine art photographer Ralph Kerle delve into how our brains interpret visual information and how illusions shape our reality.
Learn more