The Gift of Sight: A Journey Through Reflection
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On Saturday 15 November 2025, I had the privilege of attending the Annual Remembrance Service for Organ and Tissue Donors in New South Wales – this year held at the Northside Conference Centre in St Leonards – and of being invited as a guest presenter.
It was a beautiful, deeply moving service. Sitting in the audience, I felt that my own story – of receiving a corneal transplant and then going on to build a life as an artist – was, in many ways, both minor and almost magical compared with the absolute heartbreak and courage I heard from others.
These donors and recipients – the families who said “yes” in the darkest of moments, and the people who now live because of that decision – spoke of the giving of life and the end of life in the same breath. One presenter, speaking from the donor perspective, said something that echoed through the whole service:
“Where there is great pain, there is also purpose.”
Sitting there, I felt humbled and honoured to be part of this gathering of people who are both givers of life and receivers of life. My own experience felt like one small thread in a much bigger tapestry of generosity, loss, and renewal.
What follows below is the presentation I gave at the service, accompanied by some of the artworks that have grown out of the gift I was given – the gift of sight.
Ralph Kerle’s Personal Reflection.
Good afternoon, everyone.
My name is Ralph Kerle, and I stand before you today with a deep sense of gratitude — gratitude to an unknown donor whose extraordinary gift over forty years ago quite literally allowed me to see.
That single act of generosity — the donation of a cornea — gave me the ability not only to live with sight but to see the world in a way that defined my entire life and career.
The Beginning of the Journey
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I was in my early twenties when I received a corneal transplant. At the time, I had no idea what that would mean beyond the chance to see clearly again. But as the years passed, it became the foundation of everything I would go on to create — in art, in vision, and in life.
I often think of that moment not as a medical procedure but as a gift of perception — a bridge between two lives. Someone I will never know helped me see the world anew.
From Sight to Vision
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That new sight became something deeper: a way of seeing.
My creative life evolved through an ongoing fascination with light, water, and reflection.
My art is not painted. It’s photographed directly from the surface of water — unaltered, abstract reflections that exist only for a moment before they disappear. I call them “paintings on water.”
When I’m out in my kayak, camera in hand, I never know what I’ll find. The patterns and colours are created by nature itself — the movement of the tide, the play of sunlight, the stillness or turbulence of the day.
Every image is unique, fleeting, and impossible to repeat. In many ways, each one feels like a reflection of the gift I was given — a vision that is not permanent, but precious because it exists at all.
A Conversation with My Surgeon
It was only recently in conversation with my eye surgeon, that I truly understood how unusual my art is.
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He explained that my condition — keratoconus — distorts the way straight lines appear, bending and warping them.
And suddenly, it all made sense: the world I capture — its abstractions, distortions, and depths — is shaped by the very condition that led to my transplant.
My art, in a very real sense, is a collaboration between myself, my donor, and my eyes.
The gift of sight not only restored my vision; it created an artist.
The Journey Beyond Borders
Over the decades, that creative journey has taken me around the world — from Sydney’s Middle Harbour, where I first began photographing reflections from my kayak, to Berlin, Dubai, Portugal, America and the Baltic States, where my work has been exhibited internationally.
Domestically, a commission from The Royal Australian Navy resulted in a major solo exhibition at the Australian National Maritime Museum.
Most recently, my exhibition “The Indeterminate Sublime” was shown at the Rothko Museum in Latvia — a place dedicated to one of the greatest painters of abstraction. Standing there, thousands of miles from home, I realised that none of this would have been possible without that anonymous person’s generosity all those years ago.
Their legacy didn’t just restore my sight — it illuminated a life’s work that now connects with people across cultures, languages, and continents.
Reflection and Legacy
When I create my photographs, I often think about the act of giving.
Every reflection I capture is temporary — it appears, transforms, and disappears.
That, to me, mirrors what donation means: something that vanishes from one life but lives on as light in another.
To the families here today who have given the gift of sight, life, and hope — please know that your generosity ripples far beyond what you may ever see.
You make possible not only the continuation of life, but the creation of beauty, meaning, and connection in ways that are beyond measure.
Closing: Dedication and Thanks
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So, to my unknown donor — and to all of you who have given, or lost, or received — I dedicate my work, my vision, and every reflection I create.
Because every time I see, I remember:
This sight is not mine alone.
It was given — and it continues to give.
Thank you.
