The Art Journal
Ralph Kerle Returns to Manly with a New Flagship Gallery at 36‑38 Sydney Road
Manly, NSW – Internationally acclaimed fine‑art photographer Ralph Kerle is coming home—literally—by opening a sophisticated new gallery at 36‑38 Sydney Road, Manly, only metres from the beaches and waterways that inspire the majority of his work. The move follows a successful tenure in the former Billabong store on The Corso; the fresh location offers a more refined, purpose‑built space that aligns with Manly’s evolving cultural scene and growing appetite for premium art experiences. Local Waters, Global Reach Kerle’s signature imagery—captured while kayaking the sheltered waters of Middle Harbour, Fairlight and Manly Cove—has been exhibited from Palm Beach, Florida to the Rothko Museum in Latvia. Now, his latest series of large‑scale water‑reflection photographs returns to the very shoreline that birthed them, inviting visitors to witness how Sydney’s coastal beauty can resonate on a world stage. A Decade of Impact & Well‑Being Over the past ten years, Ralph Kerle has: Presented 15 solo exhibitions on three continents. Selected as one 4 global artists to exhibit in the 10th Anniversary of the Rothko Museum, Latvia Recognized as one of 42 Emerging Young Artists in Berlin Art Week Commissioned by the Rotal Australian Navy to create a major exhibition for the Australian National Maritime Museum Collaborated with Australians’ leading eye health specialists raising awareness of eye health and tissue donation showing his immersive artworks lower stress and foster mindfulness in clinical and community settings. “Living with art is living with calm,” says Kerle. “The rhythms of water reflections remind us to slow down, breathe and find balance—something city dwellers and tourists alike can benefit from.” What to Expect Opening Reception: Friday, 22 August 2025, 6 pm – drinks & light entertainment. Gallery Hours: 10 am – 5 pm (Mon–Sat), 11 am – 4 pm (Sun). Well‑Being Programs: (Coming Up) Creative photographic skills programmes based on “Mindful Viewing” sessions Collection Highlights: New limited‑edition prints exploring the play of dawn light across Middle Harbour, alongside international works first unveiled at the Rothko Museum and Louis Vuitton commissions. Posted In: Events, Gallery Opening Tagged: Destination NSW, Manly Cove,, Fairlight,, Art & Wellness,, Northern Beaches Events,, Sydney Art,, Middle Harbour,, Australian Artist,, Water Reflection Photography,, , Gallery Opening,, Ralph Kerle,, Manly Gallery,, Sydney Art
Learn more
Sandstone Drift: Gadigal Echoes Reflected in Sydney Sandstone
I keep returning to sandstone. From my kayak, gliding across the quiet reaches of Middle Harbour, Sydney’s ancient yellow-ochre bedrock rises on every flank. Some mornings the rock appears solid and immovable; on others—especially when the tide slackens and the sun hangs low—it dissolves into molten ribbons on the water. That is when I lift the camera, set at f/8 to hold just enough depth, and trust the Harbour’s surface to paint with light faster than my paddle can disturb it. The frame that became Sandstone Drift slipped into being on such a morning. Through the lens I watched whole cliff-faces loosen, liquefy and swirl, gold folding over muted greens like pages turned by wind. Hours later in the studio, scrolling through the raw takes, I realised the image carried more than visual surprise. It hummed with memory—yet not my own. For years my Sand Talk Collection has traced a dialogue between water and rock, seeking affinities with Central Desert sand paintings while honouring the sandstone that underpins my coastal city. This new photograph felt different: it seemed to whisper in Gadigal voices, those of the First Nations people who paddled these coves long before Europeans carved the word “Sydney” onto maps. The Gadigal read the sandstone’s stories the way I now read a weather app—watching its colour and texture to gauge season, animal movement, shellfish cycles. Pale bands signalled hot time, dark seams hinted at cool changes. Every abrasion and fault line offered instruction on sustenance and ceremony. I imagine a Gadigal fisher easing a nawi canoe across the same mirrored water, scanning the reflected cliffs for subtleties—the green tinge that means sea lettuce is abundant, the ochre blush heralding mud oyster fattening, the morning when sandstone flashes almost white and announces a shift in prevailing winds. My camera caught only an echo, yet in that echo I feel the ancestors drifting beside me, reading nature’s script while I read light. Technically, Sandstone Drift is a photograph; emotionally, it is a palimpsest. The top layer is pure abstraction—fluid lines that might recall a Turner sky or a Rothko haze. Beneath lies 200 million years of compressed sand, filtered through the Harbour’s skin. Deeper still flow Gadigal pathways: their silent strokes across water, their seasonal calendars etched into rock. The image invites the viewer to hover at those thresholds—seeing, sensing, wondering what knowledge lives inside the shimmer. Creating this work reminded me that my kayaking practice is less about “taking” photographs than about receiving them. I wait for the water to negotiate terms between sandstone, sun and lens, and when it does, I press the shutter out of gratitude. If the resulting print offers even a glimpse of the ancestral wisdom encoded in these reflective conversations, then the journey across Middle Harbour—and across time—has been worthwhile. I invite you to spend a moment with Sandstone Drift, to let its currents guide you beyond the surface toward the deep continuity that binds rock, water, and human imagination.
Learn more
Burning Outback Blazes at the Rothko Museum
A little self-promotion never hurt—especially when the news is this exciting. Throughout June 2025 the Rothko Museum is featuring my photograph “Burning Outback” as its monthly highlight. The honour feels doubly significant because the museum has only just attained full EU museum accreditation, cementing its status as Latvia’s national heritage collection with more than 4,000 works (including original Rothkos). To have an Australian water-reflection image hanging in dialogue with those colour-field masterpieces is, frankly, surreal. “My fine-art photography captures the unending source of colour variations, shapes, forms, and movements created by light reflecting on water. I work to reveal the joyful engagements—and the quiet sublimity—I feel every time I launch the kayak.” “Burning Outback” (2019, 109 × 158 cm) was created on Sydney Harbour but channels the scorched hues of inland Australia. The lower register—molten ochres rippling across the water—meets a weather-worn band of teal and rust, crowned by a sun-baked wall of orange. It’s equal parts landscape, abstraction, and silent sonata to fire and flood. The Rothko Museum team describes the work as “a vivid echo of Rothko’s own explorations of colour and feeling, translated through the lens of contemporary photography.” I’m humbled by the comparison and grateful for the museum’s ongoing support after my 2023 solo show “The Indeterminate Sublime.” If you find yourself in Daugavpils this month, please drop by the museum and spend a moment with the piece. And watch this space—later in the year I’ll share news about my forthcoming project “Discovering Gold in the Desert,” incubated during recent conversations at Dubai’s Alserkal Avenue. Thank you, as always, for following the journey. Your interest keeps the work alive long after the shutter clicks.
Learn more
Over the Side: The Quiet Beauty of Returning
Returning from travels, I saw Over the Side with new eyes — drawn back to the familiar blues of Sydney’s waters and the quiet beauty that had been waiting all along. Sometimes it’s good to step away. Not just from a studio or a project, but from your whole environment — to travel, to reset, to come back with new eyes. That’s exactly what happened with Over the Side. After being away overseas for a while, I came back home to Sydney and started looking through my quick collection — a folder where I store artworks that I’m not quite sure about yet. Pieces that haven’t found their place. When I finish a shoot, I usually rate everything from 0 to 10. Zero means there’s no future for that piece. Ten means it’s ready, right now. But most works fall somewhere in between. They need a little time. Over the Side was like that — sometimes I liked it, sometimes I wasn’t so sure. It was shot on the 1st of April 2024, and it had been quietly waiting since then. Looking at it again after all that time away, it hit me — the blue. That beautiful, rich, shining blue of Sydney’s waters. It pulled me right back to everything I love about creating art on the water: the way the sunlight plays across the surface, the calm, the clarity. It was like taking a deep breath. Over the Side had all the meditative, peaceful qualities I always look for. It wasn’t loud or showy — it was simple, bright, and quietly powerful. Sometimes you need to leave for a while to really see. And when you do, you realize the work was ready all along. If Over the Side speaks to you as it did to me, I invite you to explore it further — and perhaps, find a quiet moment of your own reflected back at you.
Learn more
Opening Reflections: The Indeterminate Sublime Arrives in Vilnius
Last Thursday May 22nd in the evening, a powerful ripple of abstraction and human connection swept through the Kalve Art and Design Gallery in Vilnius, Lithuania. The opening of The Indeterminate Sublime, my Rothko Museum touring exhibition, marked more than the continuation of a European journey—it marked a moment of deep synchronicity and unexpected meaning. The invitation to exhibit had came from Ramunė and Ramas Kalvėnas, owners of the new Kalve Art and Design Gallery, situated in the Old Town. I first met Ramunė some years ago in Manly, Australia—when she wandered into my gallery as the Chief Operating Officer setting up the Lithuanian Embassy in Australia. We talked, and I mentioned my Rothko Museum exhibition in Latvia. A dream was seeded. So when they opened Kalve earlier this year, they invited me to exhibit. Their hospitality and introductions to the Lithuanian arts world have been extraordinarily generous. Vilnius reminds me of Lisbon 15 years ago—restless with an emergent vibrant young creative energy. But what truly moved me on the night was a conversation I didn’t see coming. A Filmmaker, a Theorist, and a Moment of Recognition Among the attendees was Mindaugas Meškauskas, a Lithuanian documentary filmmaker. He shared a reflection on Facebook about the exhibition—his words ltouched me with a rare resonance. “By completely random invitation,” he wrote, “I ended up in this exhibition of an Australian artist. No longer young, I guess, around 70, but actively taking photographs. He was once a theatre and commercial director, burned out, depressed. He started kayaking. Then he started seeing things. Now, his photographs are in some of the homes of rich collectors and the leading museums and galleries. He uses a small Sony camera that could have been bought duty-free, and he’s half-blind. His condition, keratoconus, means he can’t see straight lines—everything pours into itself. And then, the most astonishing thing. During the opening, he started speaking—not just about his work, but about Guy Debord. That shocked me. Debord? Situationist theory? At an art opening? I’ve never met someone who connected art and Debord like that. We had a brief, wonderful exchange. He said he’d never met anyone who understood what he was saying. ‘What are the chances?’ we both asked.” – Mindaugas Meškauskas Reading those words floored me. As artists, we often wonder if our breath—our speech, our work—has meaning beyond ourselves. Mindaugas didn’t just hear what I said. He heard why I said it. The recognition of Guy Debord’s influence, the shared understanding of how we see—and fail to see—in this mediated world… it was a gift I did not expect. Photographs That Don’t Prove Anything – They Just See Mindaugas wrote something else that struck me: “The honesty with which he spoke… that fragile, unguarded quality… was deeply moving. He said he wasn’t a ‘real’ photographer—as if anyone truly is. Maybe that’s why his images resonate. They’re not trying to prove anything. They just see.” That, in essence, is what The Indeterminate Sublime exhibition is about. It’s about unlearning how we’ve been taught to perceive. It’s about letting go of the need to define everything immediately. It’s about standing at the edge of what we think we know—and surrendering to what we feel instead. A Journey Still Unfolding Also present that night were longtime colleague and new supporters: Brigita Strods, a Victorian College of the Arts, Melbourne Australia, a fellow student from 47 years ago who became Latvia’s leading crown designer; Zina Auzelytė, one of Lithuania’s foremost photographers; the President of the Lithuanian Artists’ Association; and the wife of the Kazakhstan Ambassador to Lithuania with her daughter. Each brought a different facet of meaning to the evening. I invite you to read more about the exhibition’s philosophy in the earlier blog entry on The Indeterminate Sublime. And while you’re in Vilnius, don’t miss Fotografijos Teritorija ‘25 at AP Galerija, where Mindaugas will present his film on 19th-century photographer Joseph Chechavicius. Strange coincidences, yes. But also threads in a deeper creative pattern. In times as complex and divided as these, I’m reminded that creative conversations—across languages, across borders—do more than bridge understanding. They build friendships. They nurture empathy. And, in their quiet way, they sow the seeds of peace. Thank you, Mindaugas. Your words mattered more than you know.
Learn more
Fences of The Mind: Reflections, Boundaries, and the Unconscious
Fences of the Mind 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
Ebru and the Echo of the Modern Masters
Ebru d’Oeil (Marbling of the Eye) by Ralph Kerle 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.
Learn more
Surviving the Fire: Graham Maslen, Australia's Master Fine Art Printer, Speaks exclusively
For over a decade, Graham Maslen of Spitting Image has been an essential collaborator in bringing my artwork to life as my trusted fine art printer. With an impressive career spanning two decades, Graham has designed and published exquisite fine art books and catalogues for some of the world's most renowned museums, including the National Gallery of Australia, The Art Gallery of New South Wales, and the Museum of Singapore. His remarkable portfolio also extends to creating bespoke publications for internationally acclaimed artists and photographers. Spitting Image maintains a carefully curated roster of selected artists, and I feel extremely privileged to be among them. Recently, Graham experienced a significant setback when a fire damaged many of his irreplaceable books and prints. Thankfully, his vital printing machinery survived intact, allowing his exceptional work to continue. I recently had the opportunity to speak with Graham about his experience, his resilience, and his enduring passion for fine art printing and publishing. Watch our conversation above to learn more about Graham’s inspiring journey and the unique artistry behind Spitting Image.
Learn more
Sand Talk: Reflections on Water, Culture, and Connection
The Water Knows The Water Knows, the newest addition to my Sand Talk Collection, began—as all the works in this series do—with a moment of stillness. A quiet drift across water. A sandstone wall. A flicker of light. And suddenly, what appears on the surface of the water isn’t just a reflection—it’s something older, deeper, and strangely familiar. As a fourth-generation Australian with roots in Northern England, I’ve often felt the pull of two cultural landscapes: the inherited European sensibilities that shape my artistic instincts, and the profound presence of Indigenous Australian culture that surrounds me every day. The Sand Talk Collection is where these threads meet. These artworks are not created in a studio. They are captured in nature—reflections of Sydney Sandstone on water. Sydney Sandstone is ancient, some of it over 200 million years old, its colours and patterns shaped by time, wind, and weather. Through the lens of my camera, and in the fluid canvas of the water’s surface, these stones transform into swirling forms that, to my eye, mirror the visual language of Central Desert Aboriginal sand paintings. What fascinates me—and what I invite you to consider—is this: is the resemblance I see a personal projection, a subconscious echo of a culture I deeply admire? Or are others seeing this too? Central Desert sand paintings, often created using ochres or drawn directly into the ground, are spiritual, symbolic, and communal. They are not merely visual expressions but maps of story, land, and law. The circular forms, the flowing lines, the spatial relationships—they speak to Country in a way that is visceral, rhythmic, and rooted in place. When I see similar forms appearing organically in the reflections I capture, I am struck by the mystery of it. I don’t claim to replicate or reinterpret Aboriginal art. Rather, I see these images as homages—a form of visual respect. Sand Talk is my way of listening, of responding through my medium to the stories etched into this land. The works are not only an artistic reflection, but also a personal investigation into what it means to be an Australian artist of European heritage who is seeking connection with the country’s original cultures and visual histories. The newest work, The Water Knows, invites viewers to consider the question for themselves. Does the land speak to us in visual symbols—no matter our background—when we learn to see slowly? Can water become a mirror not just of stone and sky, but of story? I encourage you to explore The Water Knows and the wider Sand Talk Collection from this perspective. Let the images speak to you, let the patterns ripple through your own interpretations. Perhaps in doing so, we begin to build a bridge—between cultures, between past and present, and between ways of seeing. You can view The Water Knows and the full Sand Talk Collection. Each work is available for acquisition, and I would be honoured for them to find homes with those who see their story. Let’s keep the conversation going—through art, through land, through the water that always knows.
Learn more
The Velvet Land: An Invitation to See
The Velvet Land 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
Blue Thoughtfulness 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
AI, Art & Pareidolia: A Mind-Bending Conversation with Myra the AI Agent
Myra as perceived by MidJourney using the title of the blog as the prompt. 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
Learn more