Persona
Persona is a commemorative project raising awareness of the cultural and creative engagements of Australian contemporary veteran artists. The project took shape in 2017 with the chance meeting of ANVAM founder, Tanja Johnston, and professional photographer, Michael Christofas. Tanja and Michael brought their interests in showcasing who veteran artists are together to form Persona.
Persona honours living and recent/contemporary Australian service personnel who form the veteran arts community. It aims to provide a glimpse and insight into current and ex-serving veteran artists and their persona as artists and creatives.
The concept for the project was developed across multiple media to commemorate recent/contemporary service personnel, to inform and increase public awareness of their service, and sacrifice and highlight lived experiences both during and post service.
Having developed the concept, a DVA Saluting Their Service grant was awarded to deliver Persona nationally in a range of complementary formats including an exhibition, an online digital showcase and supporting publication.
At the invitation of the Victorian Veterans Minister the exhibition component was held during March 2022 in the Queens Hall of the Victorian Parliament House. The exhibition consisted of 12 large photographic display panels and was the first exhibition in Parliament following the COVID-19 pandemic.
Expanding on the exhibition, an online digital showcase of 44 veteran artists portraits with accompanying narratives takes the exhibition Australia wide to create broad national public awareness. This medium for showcasing veteran artists enables a broader national and international audience to engage in the cultural activity, and experience the exhibition and connect with the stories of service and sacrifice of service personnel, in particular veterans in the veteran arts community.
The final element is the curated publication. This component is a commemorative cultural record and legacy document showcasing the diversity and richness of the Australian veteran arts community at a point in time.
The Persona project will continue to evolve from these initial elements into an enduring project showcasing the veteran arts community. Veteran artists have long been part of the broader Australian community. They are our story tellers and creatives who inspire us. Their work will continue to live on as a legacy for future generations.
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Air Force, Painter - Musician
Adam was born in Hong Kong, before the handover of that country from Britain to China. In the late 1980s, when he was nine years old, his parents emigrated to Sunnybank in Queensland with Adam, his brother and two sisters. From his earliest years, Adam lived in a world of creativity with his father working as a chef.
At high school, Adam’s favourite subjects were Biology and Film and Television. He loved participating in school musicals and concerts, both as a singer and a performer. His creativity shone brightly.
“When I was a kid, I was touched by the Anzac spirit. I was always interested in joining up. Even at uni, I went to anything at all that the military put on. But I thought I should finish my studies first. I kept that dream alive and, when I graduated and started working as an Occupational Therapist, I joined the air force reserves. This allowed me to have both of the things I loved in my life.”
His was a Direct Entry enlistment in the reserves, which saw him begin his military training as an Officer. Adam remained a reservist and, later, volunteered as an Officer of Cadets with the Australian Air Force Cadets.
Working as an Occupational Therapist, Adam developed an interest in mental health, the brain and the human mind. He expanded this interest to specialising in the mental health of children and young adults. Another of Adam’s many areas of interest has been military mental health, where he advocated for veterans in their transition from military to civilian life. He promotes help-seeking behaviours through his involvement with Occupational Therapy, Australia.
As Adam developed professionally, he began focussing on using creative arts to promote mental health. In 2015, already with two young children of his own, he created a youth event called The Positive Mindset Creative Arts Festival. This showcases dance, drama, music, visual arts and media arts. The festival culminates in Mental Health Week and the feedback from the young people involved backed up his belief that purposeful, artistic activities made them feel worthwhile. His motto for the festival is “Create, Connect and Chat” and, because of the Covid-19 Pandemic in 2020, he added the words “Keep Calm and (get) Cracking”. As well as promoting mental wellbeing, Adam aims to reduce the stigma of mental illness and addiction issues in young people through the arts.
More than twenty years of actively working as a community volunteer in areas such as youth advocacy and mentoring, fundraising, supporting his local church, working with the veteran community and a long engagement in community radio broadcasting, has resulted in Adam’s efforts being recognised. In 2021, Adam was awarded the Medal of the Order of Australia, and was also a recipient of the Multicultural Queensland Award in 2006. He also earned the Brisbane Lord Mayor’s Australia Day Achievement Award in 2011, a Highly Commended Award in the Queensland Health Awards for Excellence in 2015 and was a finalist in the Pride of Australia Medal Award in 2015, and the Mental Health Week Achievement Awards in 2017 and 2018.
“Lately, I’ve been getting more into my own interest in visual arts. I’ve also always loved music - guitar and singing. It connects you to others and I’m learning saxophone with my boy. Also, although I’ve never had any formal training, I’ve always liked to draw. I really enjoy doing portraits, rather than landscapes. I experiment and sometimes add in a bit of mixed media. I have been painting portraits of work colleagues as a gift for important events in their life. I like to include an object, or symbol, that has some importance to them.
“One of my paintings shows the transitioning from military life to civilian life for a female, and the fact that Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) can be a real part of that transition. I get my ideas from knowing the person.”
Adam’s life became even busier when his air force reservist role led him to being appointed Aide de Camp to His Excellency, the Honourable Paul de Jersey, Governor of Queensland in 2019. He continued in this role as Her Excellency, the Honourable Jeanette Young, became Governor in 2021, who was previously the Chief Health Officer in Queensland and led that State through the Covid-19 pandemic. Adam was very involved with the pomp and ceremony that accompanied this changeover of Governors.
Young Adam’s pride in his country, and love of both the performing and visual arts, have kept him focussed throughout his adult life.
“Art gives me an escape from all of the other things in my life.”
His greatest wish is to continue to open these avenues to the young people with whom he interacts.
@adamloart
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Brad, Army - Musician
Maria, Family - Author
As a child, Brad never imagined any life other than a career in the army.
“I was that Sixties kid in a green helmet with a plastic gun, or a stick to use as a gun”.
The army lived up to his young dreams. He began his military career in the Royal Australian Armoured Corps (RAAC). He was an Armoured Personnel Carrier (APC) driver at 17 and moved on to become a Vehicle Commander, an instructor, and then retired 33 years later as a Warrant Officer Class 1 and Regimental Sergeant Major (RSM) of the RAAC.
“Why walk, when you can ride?” he asks, laughing.
“The army was always my family, and my home away from home,” says Brad.
Brad and Maria met, and married, when Brad had been in the military for ten years. They made the decision at that point to commit to Brad’s army career while Maria would adapt her life around this. However, she wasn’t prepared for their next step.
“Eighteen months after we were married, Brad came home from work one day and said those words that most spouses and partners dread, ‘I’ve been deployed,’” Maria says.
Brad was posted to Cambodia for a year. The country was in tatters and the United Nations was there to help conduct its first democratic election. Brad was a Troop Sergeant in a Signals Corps unit, which controlled radio traffic all over the country.
Being married to a serving soldier meant “keeping the home fires burning,” but Maria hadn’t expected this to be so tough, nor so soon. There was no internet or video calling, and not even a mobile phone. Letters could take up to six weeks to arrive and there was the constant worry of, “Is he OK?”
Maria set up a support network of like-minded people whose partners were away on deployment. However, nothing replaced the support that Brad and Maria could offer each other. What really got them through this time was the fact that they are both positive people who try to find the best in every situation.
“Brad is my strength. We support each other,” says Maria.
Brad successfully applied for a diplomatic posting in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, as Assistant to the Defence Attaché in the Australian Embassy. One of the requirements for the posting was that he learn to speak the Khmer language. Prior to moving to Cambodia, he was posted for a year to the ADF School of Languages at Laverton, outside Melbourne. Maria was offered the 12-month language course, alongside Brad.
“I wouldn’t have passed the language course without her. I knew she didn’t enjoy it but she stuck with it, for my sake,” says Brad.
“I could have left the language training at any time. But, when I was close to doing so, I focused on what I could do, rather than what I couldn’t. I’m not ashamed to say that I struggled.”
After four years in Cambodia, where Maria also worked in the Embassy, the pair returned to Melbourne. It was at this time that Maria’s vision suddenly became blurred and she was diagnosed with a brain tumour. While benign, it needed to be removed.
Their roles were suddenly reversed. Brad now became Maria’s strength and support.
Brad took seven months’ long service leave from the military and they bought a caravan to tour Australia. Maria gradually returned to good health. Their motto of Overcome and Adapt had served them well once again and they relished this time together.
Maria wrote two successful, light-hearted books; Married Quarter - Boots, Berets and Bloody Uniforms about life as a military spouseand Dunnarunna – A Retirement Dunn Right which tells of their life post-military, as full-time travellers on the road.
Their life as Grey Nomads has allowed, and encouraged, their individual creative bents. Brad has documented their lives through photography capturing rare glimpses of parts of Australia as well as quiet, reflective times with friends made along the way. It’s in these times that he enjoys accompanying himself, singing as he plays guitar. However, a stroke in 2019 put a temporary stop to this. He became, “a singer without a voice,” and struggled with this, as he was always “a big, army-voiced man.”
Maria now does the talking as both a writer and speaker, with Brad in the supporting role. He sells her books, takes photographs of this new direction in their lives and is always ready for a chat.
“Every day is a new adventure!” laughs Maria.
The pair are totally in accord with each other and their co-support for each other has never wavered.
“Think about your future…. talk about it…. think…… and paint a picture with your partner,” says Brad as his advice for a long-lasting and satisfying partnership.
“It’s waiting for you.”
@Maria Augustus-Dunn - Author
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Army, Jewellery Designer
Even at school, Christie was unique. The successful art student stood out, with her long hair often adorned with clips, feathers or even chopsticks. She describes herself as both a tomboy and a ‘girlie’ girl with her childhood spent on her family's third-generation sweet potato farm at Cudgen, in the Northern Rivers region of New South Wales.
“Every time I think about my childhood, I think I was living the dream. We were close to the beach and we had a farm life as well. Our family was close-knit. It was an authentic, old-school type of childhood,” Christie recalls.
It was while she was at university that she first saw a military recruiting stand. After chatting with an army officer, who outlined an appealing pathway that allowed her to complete her degree while being paid to study, she enlisted. Her family were amazed and amused, as military life did not appear to fit the outgoing, creative young woman they knew so well.
“I hadn’t really thought about how it would work until I got to Kapooka. It was like chalk and cheese, for me! But I stayed in the army for eight years and, when I was discharged, I had a degree in Paramedical Science rather than Nursing.
“I was actually good at being a soldier. I was always on time, neat, good at instructing and had self-confidence and great organisational skills. When I was doing my job as a medic, I loved it. But military life wasn’t soul-fulfilling for me.”
After discharge, Christie spent seven years working for a medical company, travelling and interacting with medical personnel at all levels. Throughout, however, she still knew, “This is not the grassroots of who I am.”
Christie married a soldier and spent a portion of her adult life moving around the country, before she began to miss her family in Cudgen. The couple moved back home and her days were spent engaging in quieter hobbies such as making clay earrings on the kitchen table.
“Then I realised that I really loved making earrings and wanted to work at it, full time,” she says.
“I get inspiration from colours, designs or anything that catches my eye. I recently saw a great pattern on the floor of a pub and quickly took a photo of it! My mind is never far away from the creative side,” she says.”
“I started selling the earrings online and at markets. From there, my business took off. It wasn’t an overnight success, but involved a lot of hard work. I knew then that creating is what gives me the most joy.
“For a start,” she laughs, “Earrings always fit!”
Those early days of working on the kitchen bench morphed into a thriving full-time business for Christie, supported by her husband, mother and sister. The earrings are now made of acrylic in all shapes, sizes and in all shades of colour with choices of glitter, matte or gloss. Each pair is unique, having been carefully designed, created and marketed by Christie and her team.
“The ideas for new earrings just come to me all the time. I get inspiration from colours, designs or anything that catches my eye. I recently saw a great pattern on the floor of a pub and quickly took a photo of it! My mind is never far away from the creative side,” she says.
Christie’s family-owned and operated business is ever evolving. Each year in the lead up to Anzac Day and Remembrance Day she creates a collection of earrings that pay tribute to Australia’s, and her own, military heritage. The profits of these go directly to organisations that support veterans.
Tragically, her brother, Robert, was killed in a road accident in 2022.
“Our family, as I had always known it, was now broken forever.”
Although deeply traumatised, Christie wanted to pay tribute to Robert, and so curated a collection of earrings based on the artwork that adorned his bedroom walls. From this, Zest for Life was born, with Christie stating that she knows he’d want her to get on with life.
“He loved women and they were drawn to him. He’d love the idea that he’s swinging off the ears of women all around the world,” she says, laughing.
“This series of earrings opened my eyes and I realised that people love a sense of connection and a story. A cause and a purpose. Now, with everything we do, we try to find that connection to our audience. We’ve recently collaborated with a cancer charity in Australia, for example. Saying that, it’s still very important that I also stay true to my own vision.”
That vision, Christie tells us, is to encourage all to connect on a deeper level and to act with fearlessness. And through the development of that vision, she has discovered her true life passion.
@denteddiva
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Army, Poet - Author
George was born in 1934 in Beachborough, Western Australia and, like most of his generation from the Great Depression, was taught the values of life and respect for others. He was familiar with hand-me-down clothes, patched pants, bare feet and, often, scant food on the family table.
“My mother was a wonderful, hard-bitten pioneer Australian woman. Tough, resourceful and resilient with a brilliant humour which, I believe, I was fortunate enough to emulate. It prepared me for the unseen hazards of life,” remembers George.
As was expected of the working class at the time, he left school early to help add to the family budget.
“I enlisted into the army with five school mates when we were all seventeen. The Korean War had started and it was not unusual for youngsters to step forward and join up. Training was demanding and tough and there were no excuses. But it wasn’t torture and it served a purpose,” says George.
“Being in the army developed team and individual pride. My mates, including World War II veterans, really protected me as I was the youngest. As time went by, the survivors of these rough and tumble blokes reflected with immense pride that young Georgie became a one-star General.”
George served in Korea, the Malayan Emergency, Malaysia and on the Thai border. He was also commissioned from the ranks and served in the Vietnam War.
“I was planning to get out after six years, when I was 23, and study. However, my bride, Maureen, much wiser than me, encouraged me to matriculate at night school and supported me through many difficult and challenging obstacles. Sadly, she had a heart attack at a very young age, leaving me with four small children.
“The true heroes during time of war in all generations are the wives and families who keep the home fires burning. I later met and married the second love of my life, Helen. She arrived on the scene and just took over from where Maureen left off. She was a perfect lady. She, like Maureen, was very much a part of my success as husband, father and soldier.”
From 1980 to 1982, as a Lieutenant-Colonel, George set up the army’s Battle School (later renamed the Jungle Training Wing) at Tully in Queensland. His orders from the Chief of Army were, “I want it to be on the very edge of the battlefield.” He designed it to provide combat training for some of the most unforgiving environments imaginable. His quotes still adorn the walls there, as a reminder for soldiers, of all ranks, to hone individual and collective skills. One has become legendary and is now simply known as The Oath.
The oath to serve your country did not include a contract for normal luxury and comforts enjoyed within our society. On the contrary, it implied hardships, loyalty and devotion to duty, regardless of your rank.
Not satisfied with army retirement, in 1983 George became a reservist and went to Townsville to the 11th Field Force Group as the Assistant Commander. From there, he was promoted to Colonel and later to Brigadier. He served as Commander of the 11th Infantry Brigade and remained in this role until 1991.
George holds strong beliefs about what he’s learned from his many, and varied, life experiences. His memories of Korea are that it helped him mature and appreciate how wonderful Australia is. In Vietnam, sheer admiration for the conscripts.
“In Malaya I learned to follow officers because that’s your job. Also, that there is more than one way to skin a cat or to punish a bloke.
“I’m not really a chauvinist. I also learned from the two beautiful women in my life about maturity, responsibility and love.
“It’s knowing, understanding, valuing and appreciating people that matter in life. I often say that anyone can wear a uniform, but not everyone can be a disciplined individual who sets the standards,” says George.
In his retirement, George (as “Warrie” George) has become a prolific poet and published author. His textbook, Junior Leadership on the Battlefield, is now in its third edition. George has also written a fictional novel, The Mad Galahs, about the mateship, humour and camaraderie that he experienced in military life. He’s also published a collection of short stories and verse, titled, The Spirit of Australia. This has also had a second print and George is described in the foreword, as ‘lconic and patriotic, with a great zest for life.’
George’s poetry reflects life around him and he always tries to find a point of optimism to finish each piece of work. His themes are often of resilience, purpose and pride in the human condition. To live what he preaches, George is currently working on his fourth book, Reflections.
George claims his passion for writing was born from the trials of life and because of the levels of stupidity impacting on our nation - particularly in recent, challenging times.
Above all is his belief that our history is a proud one and must never be distorted.
“It’s a history which must always be part of a school’s curriculum,” he adds, firmly.
One of his peers says of George, “Such is the overwhelming respect for this man that soldiers and officers alike still refer to him as Sir.”
Sleep
If I could only sleep the sleep of sleeps
To capture sweet deeds I can keep
In the cloak of night greet blissful rest so rare
To dream of peace and even love should I dareI cannot escape this shrinking smothering room
Painted with spite, hate and terrible doom
I am shackled to the past and never to be free
Deep sleep in pure white sheets is not to beOh to be deaf to shrieks and howls spat from spiteful guns
Blind to flitting silent shadows mid the last rays of dying suns
Be gone the shuffling file of haunted faces never to smile again
If only a welcome storm to wash away the guilt and painIn this lonely bed, to dream of peace, goodwill and love
To walk mid young green forests reaching high above
To hear the joyful welcome calls of feathered birds so bright
To shut out the darkness of yesterday and seek tomorrow’s light.George Mansford
(c) September 2016
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Army, Painter
James can’t remember a time when he didn’t want to be a soldier. Growing up in Canberra, he and his brothers would explore the Australian War Memorial on Saturday mornings while their mother shopped. He learned a lot about Australian military history through the art and relics on display there, as well as through his father, who was a journalist and an oral historian.
In 1991, at University in Melbourne studying to be a teacher of History and Politics, James joined the University Reserve Support Company. Choosing to then enlist full-time into the Infantry, he went to Duntroon. However, upon developing Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Glandular Fever, he was medically discharged. Returning to Melbourne, he joined the 5th/6th Battalion, Royal Victoria Regiment (RVR) and, later, the Bendigo Regional 8th/7th Battalion, RVR, as a reservist, where he served for seven years.
It was during this time that General Sir Peter Cosgrove integrated some reserve units into regular battalions to go to East Timor with the United Nations mission to support that country’s move to self-government. James' Bendigo unit was part of this integration. The result was A Company in the 5th/7th Battalion of the Royal Australian Regiment. James was sent to Darwin to train for five months and, from here, he flew to East Timor.
It was only when he returned to Australia that James realised how affected he had been by the deployment.
“I knew fairly soon after I got home that I wasn’t doing brilliantly. That was one of the reasons I did a visual arts course with the Victorian College of the Arts (VCA). It gave me something to focus on.
“My artwork, Eyes of the Damned, was a self-portrait and an attempt to visualise my fifteen-year struggle with Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and depression after operations in East Timor. It attempts to externalise the thoughts and feelings in the dark places of the ‘Black Dog’. It shows the eyes of the damned; damned by the conditions of PTSD and depression, by the ability to take another person’s life and how none of these things fits into civilised places. It is a life understood only by those I served with.”
His battle with depression continued. James and his wife, Myfanwy (Miffy) and their daughters, Molly and Jessie, moved back to the Mornington Peninsula from Bendigo.
“It was hard for me. I had built a safety net in Bendigo. That move was probably as difficult as coming back from East Timor. At that point, art was one of the few emotional releases I had. I’m not particularly articulate about my emotions and that was how I managed.”
James graduated as a teacher of History, Politics and Humanities and worked as a teacher and librarian in various schools for seven years. During this time, he escorted a school tour of the World War 1 battlefields in France. Here, he collected shrapnel wherever he found it. These relics united his childhood memories, his military and teaching careers and his art. James used them as stimulus material for his university art project on ‘found objects’. After photographing each item, he drew a corresponding image and then had the images morph into a final drawing, most poignantly, of a skull.
While James’ pieces are very personal, they’ve reached a much wider audience. His works were selected to be part of a travelling art exhibition for the Shrine of Remembrance and he was placed in the top ten of the Napier Waller Art Prize in 2019. James was also included in the Australian National Veterans Art Museum’s (ANVAM) International Veterans’ Art Exhibition during the Invictus Games. He has been a strong, and constant, supporter of ANVAM and of the work they do for the veteran community.
James’ art is changing, just as he is. He’s exploring sculpture and printmaking.
“I want to get outside more, to paint. I’m also interested in life drawing.
“There’s a therapeutic side to making a lino cut; a repeated action that is also true of applying paint or pastel or pencil. It certainly gives me a kind of peace. It’s become a way of expressing things that I have no other way of expressing.”
In art, James has found both peace and success.
@Farquo67
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Army, Author
Horses have always been part of Jennifer’s life. Growing up on a rural property on the outskirts of Sydney, she continued riding right into adulthood. Enlisting in 1979, even her military postings to Singleton and Puckapunyal acknowledged her love of the country way of life.
“It was the post-Vietnam War era and there were few deployments. There were a lot of changes in policy. It felt like they didn’t really know what to do with women in the services. Things have improved, but there are still areas that need to be looked at.”
When Jennifer left the army, writing became an important part of her life.
“When my horse contracted the Hendra virus and died, I wanted people to know how dangerous this virus was. The impact on my family was huge. I had two young daughters and I was handling a horse with a deadly disease that transferred from bats to horses to humans. What would happen to my girls if I contracted the virus?” she says.
Jennifer’s book, Spillover: A Memoir, was published in 2008, when fatal cases of the virus were still active in Queensland. She later published two fiction novels in the Opal Dreaming series for a younger audience, wanting the books to be instructional about training and handling horses in a way her audience could relate to. She also wrote short stories for this audience.
“I remember devouring any, and all, horse books when I was a child and I wanted to write something that would make a reader say, ‘So that’s how you do that!’”
To learn more about her craft, Jennifer completed a Masters degree in Creative Writing. She loved her studies and chose to base her dissertation on short stories.
“Award-winning writing is very subjective, and sometimes I still don’t get it! The short story genre always appealed to me in particular as it has to be really precise and there’s more discipline involved. I really like the one I’m working on at the moment. In a novel, I tend to lose track of the characters and what they’re doing as the story develops,” she laughs.
Jennifer’s life and writing never ventured far from her military experiences. Together with fellow-veteran Melanie Hill, they produced an anthology, Our Spirit.
“It’s not a historical book, but rather a collection of stories, essays, poems, letters, emails, photos and artwork by Australian service women who served from 1960 to today as a creative representation of their service and offering a valuable insight into their personal experiences.”
In the latter part of her career, Jennifer volunteered her time conducting creative writing workshops for veterans with Mates4Mates and other ex-service organisations.
“When I started, the walls were often up with the veterans. They had doubts and expressed, ‘Why are we here? How can this help?’ or ‘I can’t write. I’ve never been able to write.’ I’d give them a few words and exercises and hints and off they’d go. By the end, they were so enthusiastic. One veteran wanted to know how he could use words to express himself and how he was feeling. He showed his family and indicated their relationship had started to improve,” she recalls.
“It was about the process - both for them and for me. My writing always looks to the process rather than the product, as the greater issue. Although, herein lies some of the tension, as this may be difficult to define and measure except, as my poem Analyse Me suggests, by the participants themselves.”
Analyse Me ¹ by Jennifer Crane
You want to analyse me?
go ahead
you can
measure the chemicals that flow through me
and test for the sweat on my palms
detect the rapid movement my eyes make
and note the tone and intent of my voice
interpret the language of my posture
and assess the rise and fall of my pulse
but
only I know
the feel of those chemicals coursing through me
and when my palms are wet or dry
what my eyes still see awake or asleep
and the way my body shapes as it does
the pain in the surge and ebb of my blood
and how my voice struggles for controlYou can
dismiss the matter of my gender
and rate me on a sliding numerical scale
classify me in clinical terms
and tick the box into which I best fit
presume from where it has come
and then prescribe the drugs I need to be fixed
but
only I
feel the words I write yet cannot speak
and see the memories as the colours I paint
live my past in the movements of dances I dance
and touch strength through the sculptures I create
inhabit the characters in the plays I perform
and breathe the sound of the tunes I composeYour analysis is yours
but
allow me these my measures
for the stories they tell are mine alone. ²1. Analyse Me by Jennifer Crane Qualitative Research in Psychology Vol 15 2018 Issue 2-3 pages 260-266
2. The poem, Analyse Me, evolved from my desire to understand where and how the creative fitted into the scheme of military veteran mental health treatments in Australia. In 2016, as an Australian Army veteran and a creative writer, I undertook to conduct craft of writing workshops for veterans. However, I found creative arts, in all modes, were not as widely incorporated into treatments and research as I thought. The poem is a creative response to my frustration and disbelief of the results of my research and is a representation of my findings conceptualised to be the clinical and externally measurable treatment modes at one extreme, contrasted against the less definable use of the imagination or the creative at the other. The poem highlights the broad expanse between these extremes. It underlines a view on the difference of gender in treatment and the divide between the detached, clinical analysis and the more personal, intuitive creative response. Analyse Me does not deny the use of one modality over, or to the exclusion, of the other but rather indicates they both have purpose and can be mutually supportive and beneficial.
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Army, Photographer
“I remember sitting in a rowboat in a river. Dad was rowing and I sat between his legs. I could only have been about two years old. As Dad rowed, I watched his wiry arms straining at the oars. My eyes were riveted on a light patch visible on his left arm. It was a band-aid. My earliest memory contains my father’s protective arms around me and the sharp definition of light against dark.”
Both light and dark would always remain an imperative part of Kris’s life.
Although born in New Zealand, Kris grew up in the Blue Mountains in NSW. By day he ran free with his friends in the bush, building rock walls and forts and playing war games. He wanted to be just like his dad, who had fought in the Vietnam War. In the pristine environment of his childhood, Kris would be drawn to exploring the texture, colour, light and shade of the trees and plants in the mountains. He saw their beauty with the purity of a child’s eye.
His dad told stories of Vietnam where he had been posted to Nui Dat with the 161 Field Battery, Royal New Zealand Artillery.
“His stories included respect for a formidable enemy who fought with primitive weapons against the most powerful group of allies in the world.”
Sadly, Kris’s father was most likely infected with Agent Orange, telling his son, “The shit was sprayed all over us”. He was sick for 20 years and was later diagnosed with leukemia and died when Kris was an adult. Kris still feels this loss strongly.
Kris tells us of his love for cooking class during high school.
“Mostly because I was always hungry. I love food,” he laughs.
Joining the army in 1988, the decision was simple and he trained to become a chef. Kris remained in the Australian Defence Force (ADF) until 1991 and, after his discharge, rose rapidly in a hospitality career, which included the Ritz Carlton Hotel in Sydney and a role as Executive Chef for the Brassey Hotel in Canberra.
Kris then began Media Studies at university and started work with the Australian War Memorial as its official videographer and cinematographer. In this role, he was deployed to Bougainville with the ADF in Operation Render Safe. His role was to photograph the work of the Explosive Ordinance teams who were clearing the island of bombs, remnants from World War II. At first, he was frightened by the danger. But this wore off quickly as he worked with such highly professional soldiers.
His next assignment was to the Philippines, again on a humanitarian mission. Here, he felt helpless as he documented, in still photographs and film, the devastation a typhoon had caused to people who had very little, even before the disaster. They had lost everything. At the same time, there were armed rebels in the mountains, always ready to attack the Australians who didn’t carry weapons. His photos from this deployment are now in the National Collection in Canberra and he comments that he is proud of his country.
“We were looking after our neighbours.”
Kris has become an award-winning artist, particularly for his documentary filmmaking. However, his focus has expanded and now he always carries a camera with him.
“It is an extension of who I am,” he says, quietly.
He holds dear the photographic documentation of the last years of his dad’s life. His father hated having his photo taken but tolerated Kris capturing natural poses. It was a special time for both of them. The contrast of darkness and light are strong in this series, as strong as the unbroken bond between father and son.
“I had to do it. It was about honouring my father”.
Kris takes pride in one particular photo, titled My Father’s Spirit Arrives. This was taken at the Australian War Memorial, a place where his father’s war service is recorded and immortalised.
“While I was taking this photograph, the Last Post ceremony was being conducted. I had this notion that my father’s spirit may still be with me and that he’d appreciate that I was taking him to the place where his legacy, and a part of him, can live on.
“When photographing, there’s a moment of looking and getting nothing. Then I’ll take a few more steps and I’ll get a feeling. I just know. It’s innate. I’m excited and I can’t wait to get the photo.
“Sometimes, I look at the image with both eyes open, away from the camera. I let the image go into my heart. Light and dark and the beauty of the moment is paramount.”
@kris_kerehona
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Air Force, Author
“I sound old fashioned, but the idea of having a noble cause still strikes people. We, as a nation, are drawn to it. However, there’s still a strong need to debunk the ‘bronzed male Aussie’ myth that exists in, and about, the military. The national image has not included women.”
In saying that, Melanie knows that the Department of Defence’s policy is now focused on increasing diversity.
“There’s more research and understanding about the balance that diversity brings to an organisation and how diversity of experience and opinions increases the quality of its decision-making.”
Yet she believes that there are bastions of resistance and toxic behaviour that still prevail in some areas of the military.
“It’s hard to break through that,” Melanie states.
“I had to learn that who I am is valuable and that I don’t have to try to fit a particular mould. I had a Wing Commander who said to me, ‘Mel, I don’t want you to be another man in this group. I value your perspective’. It really took me aback. I felt valued and listened to by him.
“The Defence Force is a team sport. It’s the biggest team sport there is. If the people at the front of you aren’t doing their job and if the people at the back of you aren’t doing their job, then everyone will suffer. It’s a matter of making sure that everything, and everyone, is in the right place at the right time. That doesn’t just happen.”
Melanie served in the air force for eighteen years. Whilst at the Australian Defence Force Academy, she graduated with a degree in English Literature, specialising in war literature and poetry. She believes this course of study developed her analytical, research, and written communication skills, which were essential to her role as a Logistics Planner.
During her service, she was awarded the Conspicuous Service Cross (CSC), which she proudly uses as her post nominal. Melanie was awarded this for excellence in logistics planning for Operations Slipper, Bastille and Falconer.
“I was drawn to the Royal Australian Air Force by the ideal of serving my country and being part of something bigger than myself,” says Melanie.
Melanie loved being in the air force and found it difficult to leave.
“It was more than a job. It was all-encompassing. To come out of service life was really hard. The fact that I had retired also seemed to put me at a lower level of knowledge in the eyes of some of my former peers. Even now, working with military personnel in defence industry in Logistics Support, there’s still a vibe of ‘What would you know? You’re a contractor.’”
Her decision to retire was based on becoming a mother. She had been deployed on operations in the Middle East and loved the work while she was there.
“But once I had children, I didn’t want to put myself into a position where my children may lose their mother. It was simply a personal choice and a risk I wasn’t willing to take.”
Her experience in logistics planning gave Melanie a love of plotting and problem solving. This tied in well with her passion for writing. Added to that were her children’s imaginations and joy of stories, so she began to record the funny things they said and did. “I have never lost this habit,” she says, with a smile.
“Sometimes, an idea will come to me and I’ll need to write it down or I won’t remember it. I have lots of ideas written on the back of envelopes or receipts. I have a book of them. I don’t write a diary or journal, but I do write poetry about moments in my life that I want to remember or experience again. I see writing as a gift. I try to get the imagery precise. Writing in the precise form of Haiku poetry is often helpful—no wasted words.”
In 2018, Melanie was delighted when her 9 minute script, Maddi’s White Christmas, was animated and projected onto Brisbane’s City Hall as part of the nightly Christmas Parade through the city.
Melanie’s thoughts are never far from her experiences in the Australian Defence Force (ADF). In 2020, she co-authored an anthology with fellow veteran, Jennifer Crane, titled Our Spirit. This is a collection of creative works by military and ex-military women, which celebrates and honours all aspects of their life as a woman in the ADF.
“I see writing as very healing. I wouldn’t be a balanced person without writing. I need something creative to keep myself balanced alongside the technical work that I do.
“I write fiction because I can speak more truthfully through my characters than if I was writing something like an autobiography or a biography. The truth is in my characters and what they say and do. Fiction writing requires editing and analysis, but it’s also about the human experience.”
Melanie is currently working on a middle-grade novel.
“The action of the story is driven by the obstacles presented to the protagonists and the decisions they make. I’m happy with where it’s going at the moment.
“Writing is the work I really enjoy. I have to keep working in industry to help provide for our family. But, hopefully, the time will come when I can simply write, and I’ll be so content doing that.”
@melaniehillauthor
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Navy, Photographer - Knitter
Niel lives surrounded by lush, sub-tropical gardens with the sounds of Eastern Whipbirds and parrots filling the air. His own native bees mix with dragonflies and beetles. Niel and his wife, Christine, take full advantage of their environment without a television to intrude upon these idyllic sounds. Montville, in the mountains behind the Sunshine Coast in Queensland, has been their home since his retirement from the Royal Australian Navy in 2018. They are building a natural retreat to host their two children Emma and Tom, their partners Paul and Olivia and their growing number of grandchildren.
Enlisting at just 15 at Mt Isa, Niel went to Naval College at Jervis Bay before graduating as a Seaman Officer in 1982.
Niel worked his way through the ranks from Cadet Midshipman. He recalls career highlights such as the command of two patrol boats, HMA Ships Fremantle and Ipswich and the patrol boat and hydrographic base in Cairns from 2003-2004.
After an arduous posting in tropical Cairns, Niel became the Fleet Safety Officer in Sydney. For this role he was awarded a Conspicuous Service Cross.
“That was very special to me as I took great pride from the fact that I was recognised for having contributed to keeping navy people safer at sea in the very unique work that we conduct,” recalls Niel.
Niel retired after 41 years full time service, the last as the head of Navy Safety in Canberra as an acting Captain. Upon retirement, he continued to serve as a reservist.
“People assume that, after that sort of time served, you’d have trouble retiring. But I’ve benefited by having a number of creative pursuits in my life during my transition from the navy,” says Niel.
“It’s funny. I honestly never considered myself as having a creative bone in my body. I couldn’t draw, didn’t do any painting or anything like that as a child. Towards the end of my career though, in Canberra, I began taking photos, mostly of sunrise and sunset, on my iPhone. But even now, I feel a little self-conscious in thinking of that as being creative.”
Niel’s photographic skills developed over time, and he achieved success in numerous photographic competitions. His photos are often close-ups of nature, all taken in his Australian native garden, which was handcrafted by both Niel and Christine.
“I had never gardened before we came here. I worked in great harmony with my father, who was alive then, and as we worked on creating a sanctuary for native animals, I began taking photos. I was teaching myself about plants and animals as we went along.”
Another facet of Niel’s creativity began some years before retirement. He was travelling for work and picked up a magazine that featured a book entitled The Knitting Cowboy.
“It was the biography of a man who knitted blankets for his horse with shovel handles. At the back of the article there was a pattern for a beanie. I bought some yarn and needles and thought, ‘I’ll have a go at that.’ It was basic knit/purl, knit/purl. It took me a while, but I finally had a knitted hat. I’ve never looked back.
“There are communities of knitters all over the world. I love their stories and traditions. For example, there was a woman in Northern England hosting a Podcast who talked about a yarn that comes from the St Kilda Islands, off Scotland. The last inhabitants left the islands in the early 1900s but the sheep are still there and have continued to breed and prosper. A group has permission to go annually to the island, shear the sheep and spin the yarn. I was able to procure some of the yarn before knitting up a shawl in a traditional Scottish pattern. It’s wonderful being part of such communities of people from around the world that I’ve never met.
“But I’m usually the only male in the group,” Niel adds, smiling.
His current project is called Gansey knitting.
“A Gansey is the name given to the traditional hand-knitted pullover worn by herring fishermen off the coasts of Britain and the Netherlands, particularly in the 19th and early 20th centuries,” he explains.
“It’s tight knitting in a very fine yarn, which makes it almost weatherproof. The patterns were never written down, so they are all unique and contain motifs specific to the wearer. I see it as a mathematical exercise, but I guess it’s also creative as no one else has ever done this exact pattern before.”
The Australian National Veterans Arts Museum (ANVAM) contacted Niel through social media and shared an original Red Cross pattern with him that was used by women in Australia to provide warm, dry socks for the men at the frontline during World War I. Over 100,000 pairs were sent to ‘cover the feet of the men that have made Australia famous throughout the world’. (Red Cross pamphlet Blue Ribbons to Balaclavas 1916).
Niel sourced a fine yarn that was, ironically, made in Germany and knitted a complete pair of socks on circular needles from the original Red Cross pattern. While doing so, he discovered a small error in the pattern.
“It’s a minor mistake but that line of decrease that it creates after the heel is knitted is very important to the look of the sock,” he says.
Niel’s socks would certainly not have warranted the tongue-in-cheek poem that was printed in the Kilmore Advertiser on 22 September 1917.
Received your socks and they are ‘some’ fit
Am wearing one as a helmet
And the other as a mitt
Am glad to learn you are doing your bit
But who the dickens taught you to knit.
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Army, Photography
Simple, telephoto, wide-angle, panoramic, or fisheye. There are many different types of camera lens in the modern world. Rob Suggett is no stranger to them all as he experiences life through his own multi-faceted lens.
“I owe my photography skills to my good eye,” he says.
Rob is not only an observer of life, but also someone who is comfortable to dive right in. He brings his lifelong photographic skills to all aspects of life as he researches, listens, plans and takes to heart who, and what, he sees
As a young man, Rob was studying to be a pharmacist. However, his life took a different turn when he was 19 years old and was conscripted to do his National Service training at Puckapunyal in Victoria. He decided to make a personal photo-essay of every one of his 98 days there. Yet, in this compilation, Rob is noticeably absent in all 98 photos, choosing to observe it all through the lens.
“I was just a kid with a camera,” he recalls.
More than 60 years later, Rob sorted through the scores of negatives and chose just 35 images. This framed collection, titled Nasho ’57: 98 days at Pucka, he kindly donated to the Australian National Veteran Arts Museum (ANVAM).
Rob’s daily interaction with the camera was the catalyst for a new experience. On finishing basic army training, he opted to change his field of study to journalism and this passion for storytelling has never left him.
He recounts some of the opportunities his story telling, both written and visual, have offered. In 1963 he was in the Melbourne Herald office in London when JFK (Kennedy), the American President, was assassinated. His mind’s eye still clearly sees queues of people in the darkness of Fleet Street silently waiting for trucks to deliver the first editions of London papers with any updates of the story. Inside, Rob spent five hours glued to a bank of teletype machines which were chattering out reaction stories from around the world.
Rob has always loved being at the centre of things. The Warrnambool boy remembers staying at Young and Jackson’s hotel opposite Flinders Street Station, in Melbourne. His black and white photo, taken from his hotel room in 1956, depicts the busy intersection below. A former World War II ambulance, still with a big Red Cross on its roof, is now a delivery van. There’s the minor drama of a pedestrian collapsed on the opposite footpath.
“Photography is a window to all that’s going on.”
Another noteworthy image is taken from the balcony inside Melbourne’s Town Hall. It was the final dinner for more than 300 officers of General Sir John Monash’s 3rd Division, and Rob attended, proudly wearing his scarlet and green Mess Dress with gold buttons. In the photo, there is one noticeably empty seat in the dining hall as Rob has taken himself out of the event to capture it.
While still in the army, Rob joined the, then fledgling, community radio station for the LGBTIQ+ community, JOY 94.9 FM in Melbourne, as a volunteer news presenter. Over a 25 year career with the station, he helped train many young newsreaders, and was the News and Current Affairs Director. His remarkable contribution earned him a Life Membership and an inscribed golden microphone.
Rob reached the rank of Major as a reservist in Army Public Relations, after 39 years’ continuous service, and was awarded the RFD (Reserve Force Decoration). He also earned an ED (Efficiency Decoration) which recognised his long and valuable service.
At all times throughout his career, Rob was ready to deploy, if required. Had this happened, Rob would probably have been seen somewhere in the world with his camera, and his ‘good eye’ capturing all that he saw.
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Army, Artist
Sarah grew up in a tiny coastal village in North Wales, UK. Her dad had been in the merchant navy and served in the British military reserve. She happily admits to growing up a tomboy, always outside and physically active. She loved nothing better than making mud pies.
Noting this immense love of adventure, Sarah’s father recommended that she think about joining the Naval Cadets in their town. However, Sarah was drawn instead to the Army Cadets and joined when she was just twelve years old. From that time on, she never wanted to do anything else. It was a natural progression for her to enlist.
Throughout her military career, Sarah felt balanced, as she studied and achieved a Bachelor of Applied Science with Honours while using her creativity to approach problem solving.
She became a petroleum specialist and worked with military personnel from all parts of the world. In this role, Sarah met her Australian husband, emigrated with him and transferred to the Australian army. They raised their two children, Jack and Lucy, and Sarah remained in the military until 2019. During that time, she was deployed to Afghanistan, Cyprus, East Timor and Kuwait - all of which she enjoyed. She was medically retired with Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) in 2019 at the rank of Major, after 23 years’ service.
"We had the best and hardest of times and, in the end, my service and the consequences broke us. I’ll always remember the good times we had,” says Sarah, when talking of her marriage.
After leaving the army Sarah discovered the time to explore who she was under the mask that she had been wearing for much of her life. Her artistic talent emerged.
“I was always trying to be who I wasn’t - pretending to be someone else, to fit in.
“Art comes naturally. I go with the flow. Sometimes, I’ll even be inspired by a view, simply coming home from the shops. I’m very visual. I always take my watercolour pencils to the coast. I love my artwork. I now attract people who like me for myself.”
Sarah tires easily, both physically and mentally, because of chronic fatigue and pain.
“Some days getting out of bed is an achievement in itself. These times are often spent simply lying with my dog on the couch.”
But her creative self is ever active and to the fore. An idea is allowed to simmer gently in her mind during these quiet times, until it’s ready to take shape.
When overwhelmed with emotion, particularly with military memories, Sarah writes poetry and she’s currently illustrating her book of poetry with sketches.
“That’s how I get these feelings out.”
All aspects of Sarah’s life are tinged with her creative self. She works closely with another veteran artist and their interaction enhances the work of both. She recalls being “body shamed” for most of her life.
“I now have the freedom to live in, and love, my body.”
Sarah works as a life model and the two artists have set up an online company producing tasteful, and intensely emotional, nude photographs to use as reference for drawing, painting, sculpting and other artworks.
“Being on both sides of the canvas is a fun and fascinating experience every time and I adore seeing everyone's creations.”
As Sarah evolves and grows, she strives to continue to visually express her emotions. She’s drawn to fresh ideas as different skills and techniques are gained, and now feels empowered in her body as she works towards being fit, healthy and pain free.
“And, for the record, I really like where I have ended up in life. There are shitty bits and great bits. It’s all part of the ride. I’m grateful to be alive, to be on the roller coaster.”
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Army, Artist
British Punk emerged in the UK in the 70s, when Sean was just a teenager. Drawn to the ‘do it yourself’ ethos of Punk, Sean revelled in being able to break away from elitism and create an artistic style and identity with whatever might have been available.
“I had no formal art training. It wasn’t an option then. I just found it a great way to communicate,” he recalls.
A former British soldier, Sean emigrated to Australia and served in the Australian Defence Force (ADF) between 1989 and 2006 with deployments to East Timor, the Solomon Islands and the Middle East.
His Australian service began with the Royal Australian Regiment, where he became a Section Commander. Soon after, he was excited to accept a transfer to the Australian Army Public Relations Service as a military reporter, putting his field photography skills, honed during past deployments, to good use.
Following transition from the ADF, Sean’s desire to follow his ‘grassroots’ art crystalised, when he found himself struggling with deteriorating mental health as a result of his military service.
Art offered a purpose and connection post-service, as well as many personal lessons in resilience. He began using photographs of those he’d served with, as a base for his street art.
“Street art was my way of making my artwork widely accessible. It’s my way of telling the stories of everyday people who stepped up to serve their country. Their stories are priceless, and they add to Australia’s cultural identity,” he says.
As an artist, Sean has a foot in both street art and the world of established art. His primary canvas has, to date, been the walls of Melbourne’s laneways. He has also been exhibited in galleries nationally, including the Art Gallery of Western Australia’s Lester Prize for Portraiture and the National Portrait Gallery’s Darling Portrait Prize. Sean has been a featured artist in several exhibitions staged by the Australian National Veterans Arts Museum (ANVAM) including From War at Parliament House, Canberra, in 2018. In 2021 his work was showcased in an exhibition, Between Two Worlds, at Melbourne’s Shrine of Remembrance.
Sean loves telling stories through his art, particularly those stories of other people.
“I really enjoyed painting veteran artist Saif Shamkhi recently. Our stories cross over. We were both born overseas, came here as new Australians and are now veteran artists,” he says.
“We’ve experienced very different journeys when it came to getting to Australia and we have reflected on those initial challenges we faced, particularly of fitting into a new culture.
“Our cultural backgrounds may be very different, but our mutual connection through art and military service opened up an opportunity to discuss what it means to be a new Australian.
“The story behind my artworks is not always necessarily about me, but there’s always a little bit of my personal journey in the mix.”
Primarily using contemporary mediums of stencils and aerosol paint, Sean’s work often depicts people he’s served with or stories of service men and women from the past. The facial expressions, colours, words and clever juxtaposition of seemingly unrelated components convey Sean’s wry sense of humour as well as his deep understanding of his subject matter. He includes clues to make a viewer ask, ‘Why are they wearing that?’ or ‘Why are there paintbrushes in the painting?’. These are all visual clues identifying the subject’s lived experiences.
“Street art is ephemeral. It’ll be here and gone in no time, and you really can’t get too precious about it if you put it out there. Even so, some pieces stand the test of time,” he says.
“I once remixed a particular army image, Babs, into a street art piece. I was lucky, as it stayed up for a year in a Melbourne laneway! So long, in fact, that the old street art underneath started pushing through, adding face wrinkles, and I really liked the natural ageing process.
“The piece took on a new life and, after a year of being exposed to the elements, I wanted to save it from the impending paintover. So, we started peeling and carefully lifting it off the wall, to relocate it back to our studio for preservation.
“But a crowd gathered and started heckling us, thinking we were stealing their street art. ‘Leave the artwork! It’s for everyone,’ they called. It was a bizarre scene. But we avoided the potential riot with our explanation, and we carefully carried the large artwork away in one piece.”
Sean says that he’s proud to see his friendships illustrated via the subjects of his paintings.
“I find it easier to communicate through my art than I do to actually talk to people.”
*Sean and Saif exhibited in ANVAM’s 2018 annual March to Art exhibition, and in the 2018 From War exhibition at Parliament House, Canberra.
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Army, Musician - Blacksmith
Stuart grew up surrounded by stories of his grandfather who had fought in New Guinea during World War II.
“He was part of the group that constructed the famous Bulldog Road. A road longer, higher, steeper, wetter, colder and rougher than even Kokoda,” Stuart says with admiration.
“I had a huge respect for him and what he had done. I admired him and so did everyone else around him.”
Stuart was teaching adventure sports when he decided, at 21, to enlist.
“To do my bit. I felt that if I could do something, then I should.”
With a strong sense of adventure, military life also sounded appealing to him. His love of history, and particularly his own family history, connected him to the ethos of going off on a great adventure.
Unfortunately, early into his army career, Stuart was injured.
He was offered a choice of external courses to study, during his recuperation. However, most of these were physical and he was unable to face their rigours due to his injuries. Instead he chose to learn the bagpipes.
“There was always music in my life,” he says.
“I had musical experience and I thought it would be better than sitting and doing nothing, which was pretty much what my life was about at the time.”
As soon as he began, Stuart was a natural on the instrument, as he had been surrounded by music all his life. Everyone in his family had played an instrument at one point or another.
He worked hard at rehabilitation toward a medical upgrade and was deployed to Afghanistan in 2015.
“I was in the north, at Kabul, and it was almost a white Christmas. Everyone seemed to appreciate the joyful notes of the bagpipes and the songs I played,” he recalls of his Christmas in Afghanistan.
Stuart became a member of the 8th/9th Royal Australian Regiment Pipes and Drums band, where he played solo for the Chief of Army, as well as many other dignitaries. Later, he joined the reserves, 5th/6th Royal Victorian Regiment Pipes and Drums band, which is still part of his life.
“I had also been interested in metal work but never thought I’d do anything seriously with it,” Stuart recalls of his love of sculpture at school.
This interest led to blacksmithing, which Stuart taught himself through YouTube while he was in the army.
Upon leaving the military, Stuart was having problems with his memory and was diagnosed with Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
“I struggled to find meaningful full-time work and blacksmithing was a useful way of spending my time as I searched. As people started seeing my work, they’d put in orders for things. It wasn’t my plan to start a business. Instead, it metamorphosed from a hobby into a job.” he says.
“I decided to be creative with what I produced. I make things like brass roses and fire pits and I do some restorations.”
Stuart is now coping well, despite life’s setbacks. Since leaving the service, many friends have lost their lives.
“I’ve had five friends suicide in the past five years. It doesn’t make sense.”
This, as well as Stuart’s own difficulties faced in the army, has led him to become very vocal about veterans’ health.
“You live under two sets of rules - military and civilian. In the army, you have constant anxiety about things like whether you have shaved today or ironed your collar properly. This kind of minor anxiety becomes a part of you after a while. But other negative things get added to that and the stress can build up and cause widespread and extreme long-term anxiety and depression. Also, you must face what the Infantry is required to do in a war zone. How do you deal with that, as a moral person?
“We went to Afghanistan to protect the people and we did it well. We had a duty of care to them. But I still have local friends there that I haven’t been able to help get out, since we left their country. I now have to dissociate from that. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be able to cope at all. People say that it takes a village to raise a child. I say that it takes a village to help someone deal with these kinds of things.”
Stuart’s ‘village’ has been his wife of two years as well as his local community where he regularly connects with veterans at his local RSL.
“Sometimes they just need a chat, or a drink or something non-military to take their minds off it. I can usually tell if I see someone struggling a bit with a lack of mateship.”
For himself, the focus that is required, as a passionate artisan and craftsman, helps settle his mind. Stuart has also gone back to full-time study in Conservation and Land Management, determined to work in preserving the Australian environment.
“I look at my life now and realise that I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”
@thefoxholeblacksmith
@thefoxholeblacksmith
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Army, Painter
Guy was born in 1921 in Goulburn, New South Wales.
“It was cold as buggery in winter, and hot as hell in summer.”
He experienced an itinerant life as a child, with his father, a piano man at the movies, who shifted the family from place to place every couple of years as contracts expired. Eventually, with the introduction of the talkies and the onset of the Great Depression, the work dried up.
Guy had no choice but to leave school in 1935, aged just 14. He was able to find work as an assistant proofreader for The Bulletin newspaper in Sydney.
“I had always enjoyed drawing, so I began bombarding the Art Editor with my own creations. Eventually, he got fed up, took me by the hand and walked me a couple of blocks to the JS Watkins Art School and told them to ‘teach this kid how to draw.’ He changed my life,” he says.
When World War II broke out, Guy enlisted and served in New Guinea and Bougainville with the 136 Advance Supply Depot, where he rose to the rank of Staff Sergeant. Many of his creative stimuli can be traced to these deployments, along with his experience at the Jungle Training Centre at Canungra in South East Queensland.
“By the time I entered the army at 21, when the other blokes sat down and played cards, which bored the hell out of me, I could sit down and draw them playing cards,” Guy recalls.
He drew the New Guinea landscape, soldiers at work and play, Japanese prisoners-of-war and the local people with their amazing headdresses and body decorations. On the day he was discharged, Guy took advantage of the post-war Commonwealth Reconstruction Training Scheme and enrolled at the National Art School in Sydney.
Shortly after graduation, Guy married Joyce Carney, who was always known as Joy. Travelling to London together, they remained there for eight years.
“It was what everyone did in those days. I found the English landscape a bit uninteresting to me. It was very beautiful but I didn’t want to paint it. It was as simple as that.”
Instead he started painting things from his memory of New Guinea.
“I saw a documentary about some bloke who was working there. He made a film of a festival where people from all over the Pacific came to dance. They wore feathers and flowers and masks. This was the kind of memory that I had of New Guinea and it was what I was trying to paint. I phoned the BBC and got a call back from this fellow. He said his name was David Attenborough and that he wanted to come around.”
The two occasionally kept in touch over the years and David sent him a card for his 100th birthday.
Guy and Joy returned to Australia where he alternated his painting with full time work. They had two children, Paul and Joanna. Joy, who died in 2011, remained the great love of his life.
“She became an important figure in the world of ceramics and a patient, long-suffering spouse to a man who could never see success in life as having anything to do with money or job security. I still wonder why she never made the slightest objection.”
From the 1960s to the 1980s, he experimented with different ideas and techniques.
“I’ve never wanted to be one of those people who paints the same boring picture for the rest of their lives. You can be conscious of the bank balance, or your freedom and your soul. I’ve always asserted the right to do whatever I bloody-well want to do.”
In 1985 he won the Archibald Prize, with a portrait of his friend, the sculptor Bert Flugelman. In this piece, he played on the translation of Flugelman’s name, which means Wingman, by adding the outline of a winged form that he’d used repeatedly in his paintings.
Guy’s paintings have always valued a connection with the earth. They include figures that are an integral part of the landscape, and not superimposed. He’s still dreaming and experimenting, with no thought of retirement at 101 years of age.
“I think artists are very lucky because there’s always something else one wants to do. Writers, poets and musicians are the same. They have other primal urges such as dance, telling stories, and making sound. It’s all about making things. There are certain things that we, as humans, have always done, while trying to understand our relationship to the real world. That’s what I’m still doing now.”
“What else would I do, for God’s sake? I’m never satisfied. I have too many doubts. One Australian critic says, in his blunt way, ‘the greater the artist - the greater the doubt.’ Perfect confidence is given to the lesser artist as a consolation prize. I think it was Picasso who said it wasn’t until he was 41 that he learned to paint like a child.
“No one ever warned me that, at 101, I would be busier than ever. I’ve just finished washing the brushes out from my work this morning. Drawing is a primal urge. Someone would have picked up a stick from a fireplace, many millennia ago, and made a mark on the cave wall. And we’ve been doing it ever since. At the same time, it’s a most human thing. It says, ‘I am alive. I am here.’ No other animal has ever been able to do this. It still happens today. The young ones are now painting graffiti. They put a tag onto it to let the world know they exist.
“I think artists are very lucky because there’s always something else one wants to do. Writers, poets and musicians are the same. They have other primal urges such as dance, telling stories, and making sound. It’s all about making things. There are certain things that we, as humans, have always done, while trying to understand our relationship to the real world. That’s what I’m still doing now.
“Drawing the landscape is making sense of where we fit into the world. That’s all it is. My name is Guy Warren and I’m a mark-maker. I’m a painter, an artist. I do things on a flat surface. That’s a bit stupid, if you come to think of it.
“People find it fascinating that I’m still working. Well, if I’m still alive and I’m still capable of working and still capable of making marks, then I’ll keep doing it. Reaching old age is a matter of good genes, good luck and a whiskey every night. Retirement is an absurdity! Give me another ten years and I might start thinking about retirement.”
Guy Warren is a recipient of the Archibald Prize (1985) and the subject of the Archibald Prize (2021) painted by Peter Wegner. He was awarded the Medal of the Order of Australia OAM (1999) and the Australia Medal AM (2013). He was awarded a Doctorate of Creative Arts (Honours) from the University of Wollongong (1998) and a Doctorate of Visual Arts (Honours) from the University of Sydney (2007). He was the principal lecturer and Head of Painting at the Sydney College of Arts from 1976 to 1985 and a Director of the Wollongong Art Collection from 1992 to 2002.
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Army, Woodturner
Kerry always had the military in his blood. His father joined the army when he was 17 and made it his career, retiring after 45 years. His oldest brother followed their father’s footsteps, as did Kerry Jnr. In his high school years, Kerry joined the Army Cadets and rose to the rank of the Australian RSM (Regimental Sergeant Major).
“That was pretty cool, for a kid. We used to do lots of trips down to Canberra,” he reminisces. “We moved back and forth between Singleton, where I was born, Wagga Wagga and Brisbane as Dad’s military career developed. It seemed natural for me to join the army.”
Not only was the army in his childhood memories but so, too, was working with wood. He remembers, as a small child, often visiting his extended Polish family. One day, his aunt put a tool box around his small waist, filled it with nails and pointed at a big pile of timber.
“She said I could do whatever I wanted. There was mess everywhere, and nails scattered all around. I still remember how good it felt.”
When he left the army, Kerry worked in the construction industry across Southeast Queensland, driven by his passion for building and creating, especially in timber. His prior military service had left its mark on his body and the rigours of construction work only compounded the issue.
Recalling the circumstances, he remarks, “I realised something needed to change. I’ve always been drawn to roles that involve helping and caring for people. When a friend suggested nursing, I thought about it for a while then jumped in.”
He worked in the Emergency Department at the Princess Alexandra hospital in Brisbane after his graduation as a nurse in 2019.
“I thought that would fit with my personality and I liked that it was the centre of all that was happening. That ended up backfiring, because of the amount of trauma that was coming through. When I think about it now, I connect with the old saying that ‘some kinks in the armour were starting to show.’ I also had two significant losses during that time. My father-in-law, whom I was incredibly close to and, tragically, my mother both passed away. Their departures weighed heavily on me and I realised I was struggling to cope with the grief and emotional turmoil.
“It was a shock because everything was going so well when I started nursing. Trying to care for someone in a deep trauma situation is the thing that keeps coming back to me. It’s the intensity of the situation that leaves a lasting impression.
Kerry met his wife, Nadine, after his army discharge. He soon formed a strong friendship with her dad, Bill.
He says, “He was an inspiration to me. He was such a special man who was amazing at what he built, particularly using metal. When he retired, Bill (I called him Dad) bought a timber lathe. He’d go out to the shed and tinker away and I’d watch him. He came from the school of hard knocks and he did things the old school way. I learnt so much from him. When he passed, I started tinkering and then my interest went through the roof.
“Woodworking has now become a significant part of my life, providing a sense of calm amid the chaos of daily existence. Picture it as discovering tranquillity within a bustling city. Even though sirens, traffic and noise may surround me, the moment I start working with wood, all of that fades away. It’s a comforting space for me, an unexpected haven that has had a profound impact on my mental well-being.
“I never anticipated struggling with mental health challenges but, when I immerse myself in woodturning, the external world vanishes, leaving me feeling refreshed. This profound sense of renewal has become a positive habit and it’s liberating to release the mental burdens. Woodturning requires unwavering focus. A piece of wood spins rapidly at 2000 rpm which demands complete attention with no room for distractions.
“Motivated by the transformative power of this craft, I aimed to share it with others, offering them a source of comfort and a creative outlet. Consequently, I started producing YouTube videos, creating tutorials on woodturning and documenting my personal journey. My goal is to provide others with a glimpse of the potential benefits they could also experience.”
Kerry’s future plans are firmly based on woodturning. He specialises in timber bowls and platters and uses sustainably sourced timber such as Red Stringybark, Cedar and Camphor Laurel. He loves unleashing the beauty of the wood.
He laughs, “I need it more than it needs me. I think we all need something like that. There are lots of ways to relax. For me, it’s going to the shed. It will always be there for me, whatever happens in the future. It’s now part of who I am.”
@kerry_corney
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Army, Painter
Memories of Anthony’s childhood hold for him an equal mixture of military life and art. Although born in Queensland, Anthony’s father was in the army, which saw the family live in Singapore, New Zealand and Australia.
“I used to draw all the time. I always wanted to be an artist,” Anthony recalls.
Attending primary school outside of Australia, Anthony was encouraged with his art which saw him win prizes for painting. He and one other student were selected to take a special course in oil painting, which reinforced his love of the medium.
Sadly, he hid his love of painting as an adolescent, when he felt negated by a teacher in his high school art class, putting his brushes aside during this time.
After leaving school, Anthony began an apprenticeship as a painter and decorator. However, he was drawn to the army by what it had to offer. Anthony’s military career was largely in Royal Australian Signals Corp, seeing him sent to England on exchange, to serve with the British Army. Remaining there for two years, the small, coastal village where Anthony lived, was in heavy fog for much of the year.
Anthony and his wife enjoyed all aspects of this deployment, becoming part of the tiny, rural community while also keeping the communication channels open with the Royal Air Force base there. Living in England also gave them the opportunity to stretch their travel legs and they saw as much of Britain and Europe as they could.
“My original aim at realism in my work led me to ask myself, ‘Why paint a photo? I can take an excellent photo, if that’s what I’m aiming for’.”This meandering also showed Anthony the world of the Great Masters, and he was particularly drawn to Monet. It was not Monet’s paintings of lilies that he appreciated however, but his interpretation of nature on a much larger scale.
“I was inspired by the power of art,” says Anthony.
It was during this time that Anthony discovered that his desire to paint was merely hidden, not gone from his life. Upon leaving the army, Anthony made the decision to make art his life’s work.
“Again, I had to put it on a temporary hold. I still had to make a living. But I held onto the dream until I retired,” Anthony recalls.
Anthony and his wife retired to a small coastal town in Victoria, which was reminiscent of the village they lived in when they were in England. Always drawn to portraiture as well as nature, Anthony finally had the opportunity to inject his time and passion into his art.
He began to take art courses and interacted with other veteran artists, who gave genuine encouragement and advice to each other about their work.
“My original aim at Realism in my work led me to ask myself, ‘Why paint a photo? I can take an excellent photo, if that’s what I’m aiming for’.”
His work began to contain a deeper meaning and an individual interpretation.
In his portraiture, Anthony creates canvases that show the nature of his subject. One such painting is of Rach which, in his own words, he describes as “quirky”.
“She turned up at our Unit as a young digger. She was mischievous but good-hearted and never gave up when the odds seemed insurmountable. I tried to show the battle in her that almost all soldiers carry. At times, giving strength and, at others, being the one who needs the strength of her peers.”
Since his retirement from the army, Anthony has developed into a skilled oil painter, building a significant body of work in his home studio where he paints for at least two hours each day. He now laughs as he heeds the comment of a curator friend who tells him to be “controversial.” Anthony enjoys this approach, as his art finally takes him to where he has always wanted to be.
He, proudly and finally, is an artist.
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Army, Actor
Brett grew up 10 kilometres outside Dapto in New South Wales. He remembers spending a large portion of his time alone with his dog.
“I’m thankful for my oldest brother, Jeff, who recognised that I needed guidance, and he introduced me to things like fishing and cricket. Without that, my childhood would have been pretty sad.”
Like most of the men in the area, Brett began working in the nearby coal mine and remained there for eight years. Also working there were his father, his brothers, uncles and cousins.
“I didn’t mind it for the first two years with the money coming in, but I just used to think there was something better,” he recalls.
By the time Brett was 25, he was married with two small children to support. Going to a military recruiting drive one day, he heard a fantastic speaker. They offered Brett income, accommodation, a career path, medical support and a community to support his family.
“When I look back over the years, I still think it was a good decision to enlist,” says Brett.
Brett joined the Australian army and worked his way to becoming a Warrant Officer. He actively looked at being deployed and one of his longest terms was seven months with the United Nations Transitional Authority Cambodia (UNTAC).
“We were there to clean up the remnants of the rebel Khmer Rouge forces who had just melted into the population where they tried to work against the government.”
Brett also served in Afghanistan, Iraq, Bosnia and East Timor. However, he began to suffer mental health issues and developed Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). It was then that he saw an article in the Army News about an arts program being run in Canberra.
“In that course, we shared and laughed and built together. It was the first time I had laughed for a very long time. And those friendships from the course have endured.”
When Brett returned to Wollongong from the arts course, he eagerly joined the local community theatre.
“I auditioned for the part of a US soldier in Iraq who underwent mental health issues. But it was OK because I was now part of a theatre family and I felt at home and supported.”
Since then, his love of acting and theatre has never left him. Brett is given another persona or character, and is able to channel his own ideas and personality into that character.
“In that play about Iraq, I channelled a lot of things that I didn’t even know were part of me. I didn’t know I could build a character using my own background and history and experiences. It was everything, and theatre still gives me that. In fact, when I begin getting stressed, my wife tells me it’s time to do another play,” he says, laughing.
“It talked about how all the different arts streams could help build resilience and communication for all service people. I couldn’t communicate at that stage, so I enrolled in the acting stream and I’m just glad I did. It probably saved me. It pulled me back from a very, very bad place. I needed help with my struggle to communicate. This skill is everything for a Warrant Officer.
After his discharge, Brett and his family moved to Cairns. Once again, he found his niche in a local community theatre called the Rhondo Theatre.
“We have built a theatre family and it’s a safe place. No one is judgmental. You can make a complete fool of yourself and that’s OK.
“Even to this day I apply for anything that enables me to combat the Black Dog. I found I can channel all my built-up anger, anxiety and frustrations and allow these emotions to breathe realism into my characters. A director adds to this by providing a safe space.
“I can see a real difference from where I was when I first went to the arts course in Canberra. I have worked in a movie, Hacksaw Ridge, which was directed by Mel Gibson and it was brilliant to see what happens on a big movie set. I have listened to great directors and mentors who have helped me have confidence in my work. I now build characters and really investigate them,” he reflects on his creative development.
“I currently work with a director who has a different focus and we work as a team. Sometimes that means a compromise but it’s all about bringing out every bit of the character that’s possible. Acting has taught me to laugh again as well as to handle my demons.”
@chieflinkin
@chieflinkin
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Army, Photographer
Creativity surrounded Craig as he grew up. He remembers his dad’s passion for photography and his beautiful old cameras, as well as the landscape and portrait photos that adorned the walls of their home.
As a young man, Craig went on to enlist, spending many years of his military life as a paratrooper. He was also sent to East Timor as the Battle Group Photographer. His own passion for this art form was truly ignited on this trip.
An accident in Afghanistan, some years later, however, put an end to his military career, but not to his artistic pursuits. As part of his rehabilitation, the army posted him to Tasmania and offered him a choice of study options. He successfully completed a Diploma in Photography there and reveled in every aspect of the course.
“The lecturer was fantastic. He had great knowledge as well as an excellent way of teaching. I studied three days a week and was at work in the army the other two days. It worked out well. I did this until my medical discharge,” Craig says.
During this time in Tasmania, Craig focused his studies on what he knew best, and his graduation portfolio included 30 portraits of military veterans. RSL Tasmania heard about the work he was doing, as they were looking for a project as part of their Centenary celebrations. They mutually agreed on expanding the project to 100 portraits and thus Craig toured Tasmania, setting up studios in carports, outdoors, in houses, or wherever suited his purpose.
“That was a great experience. I spent 1-2 hours with each veteran and heard their stories. That way, I was able to get a certain mood for each of them. Looking back, I see that this experience was probably a reflection of my own mood at the time. I wanted to use the same techniques for each of them, while making every one unique. They were all shot in Black and White and all subjects were unsmiling. I asked each veteran to bring an object of meaning, from their military days. It was their story, not mine.”
At the same time, the Australian Institute of Professional Photography (AIPP) was putting together a collection of all remaining World War 2 veterans, called Reflections. Hearing about Craig’s work, they asked him to complete their collection with the few remaining veterans in Tasmania.
Looking back, Craig can see his own development as a person reflected in the changes in his creative skill and style as a photographer.
“In the beginning, it was about the soldier and I was focused on individual portraits.”
His involvement with the AIPP encouraged him to challenge himself more.
“You need a thick skin to allow your work to be critiqued by them, as they are professional photographers who pick your work apart. But it was great and I learnt a lot,” he laughs.He uses an example to show the change in his art.
“I had the idea of setting up three diggers from different wartime experiences. I called it Three Wise Veterans. The uniforms reflect soldiers in the Vietnam and Iraq conflicts. There is also a demarcation line on the table, which separates the third soldier from the other two. It wasn’t intended in the original photo and I was considering editing it out. But it stayed because it shows that, when you are back in Australia, you can’t speak about your experiences in war, for many reasons. I entered this photo in the Matthew Flinders Art Prize and won. It wasn’t a military competition so that spurred me on. Then, in 2022, I was shortlisted for the Napier Waller Art.
“Recently, I’ve been working on the theme of Why War? This links with the current conversation around veteran suicide. There’s been a lot of talk about it in the past, but no real action taken, until the Royal Commission. I’d like my photos of this theme to hang in the foyer of an RSL, or somewhere like that, to keep the issue in front of people.”
Craig sums up his creative passion and how it impacts on his life.
“As a photographer, I’m not just taking portraits, but also using my art to ask questions. I create art to start the conversation about military service and the realities of war. It’s also my mission to bring the joy of photography to veterans in Australia, as a way for them to practice mindfulness and meaningful engagement.”
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Air Force, Musician - Singer - Poet - Photographer
Glenn’s childhood was an ever-swaying pendulum between the male role models in his life. It swung from having to play the role of protector for his mother and siblings against his father’s domestic abuse to witnessing great compassion from his stepfather and an Aboriginal friend’s dad, Ken.
“Possessing humble decency, Ken would suddenly appear at our doorstep, his kindly eyes always glistening against his beautiful, dark skin, holding a box of fruit and vegetables at the very moment my mother ran out of money to feed my sister, myself and my two younger brothers.”
Born with a gift of being able to sing, Glenn was enveloped in a sense of joy when he was surrounded by music.
“Unfortunately, it was a gift discouraged and ridiculed,” he says.
Opposing forces in young Glenn’s life were again at play. He endured mockery from his influential figures and became locked in a lifetime of denial about his talent. Yet, his grandma’s words to him, at eight years old, rang strong and helped him maintain a grip on what would, eventually, bring him his greatest contentment.
“Glenn, you have an amazing gift. Never stop singing,” she said.
In 1974, his family was seemingly destroyed when his mother placed Glenn and his brothers into the Church of England Homes for Children at Carlingford, Sydney, just months after Glenn had sung as a boy soprano at the opening of the Sydney Opera House. Finding factory work, his mother attempted to dig her way out of destitution However, fate would cruelly upend his mother in that period, as an industrial accident rendered her unable to ever work again.
Fate intervened again, but this time fortuitously. Glenn’s mother met a World War II navy veteran who fell in love with the remnants of his long-suffering mother. He opened his heart to Glenn’s mother and supported her to the extent that she could retrieve her children from the homes just as foster care was being considered. They later married.
Tragically, in 1987 Glenn and his brothers were orphaned a second time when his mother and stepfather died, just eight weeks apart. Glenn, still a young man, sacrificed a burgeoning professional music career to move back into the Housing Commission home in Sydney’s outer western suburbs. From here, he worked two jobs and guided his brothers into careers.
At 26, Glenn joined the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) and it was the first time that he felt a lightening of the burden of being responsible for others. This was a pivotal moment, where he could put his unfortunate life behind him and look towards a positive future.
Glenn enlisted as a Clerk Supply and, after recovering his decimated education, was commissioned as a Logistics Officer. He became a Leadership Facilitator for Non-Commissioned Officers at the RAAF’s School of Post Graduate Studies’ Airman Leadership Flight. Following commissioning, he became Directing Staff at the RAAF Officers’ Training School. Promoted to Squadron Leader before retiring in 2010, his last official positions were as an Air Force Leadership Officer at the Centre for Defence Leadership and as an Honorary Aide-de-Camp to two successive Governors of Victoria.
Glenn valued the structure of military life that had been absent from his childhood and made friends for life among trainers, students, workmates and superiors. However, he was also exposed to instances of unacceptable behaviour during his service, which plunged him into Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
Marrying in 1990 and raising a young family, Glenn realised that he desired more than what the Australian Defence Force (ADF) could provide.
“I had contributed enough, and left with gratitude for all the development, opportunities and friends the ADF gave me.”
Glenn’s focus was now on his three children, and keeping them safe from the traumas of the childhood that he had endured.
“The most beautiful humans I’ve ever known.”
His own experience as a victim/survivor of abuse led Glenn to becoming an active ambassador and State Chair for White Ribbon Australia, which advocates for women who experience domestic violence.
“I’m a feminist,” he proudly declares.
Having been denied his creative life as a child, and masking it in the military, it was time for Glenn to finally allow his creative self its full expression.
As Glenn today sits with a microphone slung over his shoulder, he considers it a metaphor. His creative life is on the verge of flourishing. He now has the opportunity to appreciate and develop himself as a musician, a photographer, a poet and an author.
Glenn is, finally and fittingly, a respected musician who is writing and producing his own music.
“I am the classic Billy Elliot! It’s time to banish the voices that left me like an injured tiger in a paper cage.
“It’s my time.”
@buzz_may
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Army, Comedian
Jarryd was born in Fremantle, Western Australia and remembers a childhood of looking down the long, narrowing lines of the family-owned vineyards, where sheep grazed and fed among the vines. He and his brother delighted in mustering these animals, at speed, much to the horror of both his parents and the sheep.
Jarryd admits that his later choice of career as a stand-up comic would have been the last thing on his mind. At family gatherings, he was simply seen as a goofball.
As a schoolboy, he recalls, “I was always funny.” But this translated as ‘distracting of other students’ on his report cards. He would perform, ad hoc, at large shopping centres with self-written scripts and improvisations.
“I didn’t make any money from it,” he says, laughing.
In 2006, Jarryd enlisted in the Australian army, within the Royal Australian Infantry Corps. He was posted to Lavarack Barracks in Townsville, Queensland, where he spent over six years. During that time, he served a seven-month deployment to East Timor on Operation Astute. He remembers the graffiti and murals painted throughout this small country, which opened his eyes to the power of art as a way of expressing a strong emotion.
“In this case, it was about injustice. It was a means of expression rather than a work of art to be admired.”
Jarryd’s creativity came to the fore in the military in his ability to plan and to lead others. In ‘mud mapping’, for example, he was given the task of planning how to lead a group of soldiers in a particular terrain. While his peers spent many minutes verbally explaining their ideas in detail, Jarryd was prepared with tiny flags collected from fast-food outlets and a bag of tiny plastic soldiers and other props. By visually showing his plan, he was able to explain it in just a few minutes. This, and his ability to speak clearly and positively to a group of people, inspired confidence in his leadership.
As happened with many of his army cohorts and their post-military careers, the pendulum swung and he transitioned from a military infantry man to a civilian chef.
“It didn’t help too much in a resume that I could clean, arm and disarm a rifle,” Jarryd laughs.
On an evening off from his work as a chef, Jarryd occasionally enjoyed an Open Mic night. This involved a variety of stand-up comedians with a five-minute time slot each. He started to consider trying his own talents and it took him four weeks to summon the courage to sign up. Recalling his first night, he says he took to the stage and ‘bombed.’ To add to his humiliation, the small room was packed with workmates.
“I went from being the funniest person at work to being the least funny person in front of an audience,” he recalls.
“I quickly learned that a good comedy routine takes a lot of preparation.”
Working as a professional comedian, Jarryd now spends his week opening his mind to ideas based on life around him, planning and thinking, before putting pen to paper. He also researches his upcoming audience to learn as much about their demographic as possible. Before he takes to the stage on the night of a performance, Jarryd gauges the reaction of fellow comedians and his planned routine can change - even at the last minute.
“I had a gig in Perth once and went onstage five minutes after the Perth based West Coast Eagles football team lost the grand final playoff to Collingwood. I could see that most of the audience were disengaged and constantly looking at their phones for an update of the score. In that environment, I took to the stage. I began with a rundown of the opposing team, Collingwood, and the common belief that football fans from all over the country disliked this team. The audience was surprised, and immediately they were with me.
“In comedy you can’t lie. If the audience stops believing you, there’s nothing to hide behind. It’s very humbling. You’re only as good as the last ten seconds of your routine.”
The Australian National Veterans Arts Museum (ANVAM) reached out to Jarryd, as a veteran artist, when he was preparing for the Melbourne Comedy Festival. They offered to help promote his work in any way they could.
“Overall, veterans struggle in creating a community and I was blown away by the work that this volunteer organisation does for us. I decided to repay the service by volunteering for them, when Covid-19 cancelled the Festival.
“I soon realised that I was receiving so much more than I was giving. I was becoming involved in the rich tapestry of the lives of veterans, who were being offered creative ways to live their lives post-military.”
@jarrydgoundrey
@Jarryd Goundrey
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Army, Painter
Jess grew up in a small town in the Flinders Ranges in South Australia. She remembers pulling a cart, filled with her art supplies, to the home of a female artist who never spent a day without a paint brush in her hand. Twelve-year-old Jess loved this time.
“Her name was Jean, and she had an art studio where women chatted, painted, took classes and were happy being together. For Jean, art was about freedom. There was no right or wrong way to create.
“When I joined the army, no one saw it coming…..even me.”
After finishing high school, Jess spent a few months contemplating a career in hospitality. But then her thoughts turned to working as a steward in the army when she saw an opportunity to join as a Gap Year. She was also fluent in Indonesian and thought she may find a role as a translator.
“I thought, if I like the army I’ll stay for a while. If I don’t like it, I’ll leave and work in a hotel or restaurant.”
After enlisting, Jess remained in the military for thirteen years. During those years, she worked as a steward, a driver and, finally, a multi-media technician. In this latter role, Jess knew that she’d finally found her place.
“I didn’t know this job even existed! How did I spend all of this time in the service without knowing about it? I could have been training in this area right from the beginning, as it just felt so right for me.”
She relished the work and was deployed to Kuwait for seven months. Here, Jess was stimulated by the company of soldiers in the Coalition who were from all over the world including the United Kingdom, America and Germany as they worked together on Information Operations in the fight against ISIL.
“That deployment. We just all worked so well together. It was the highlight of my career as I felt like I was finally doing what I’d been trained for.”
While serving in the army, art remained a part of her life. Jess began airbrushing in 2012 by taking classes in this art form. Then, in 2015, her instructor suggested she try body art as the Australian Body Art Festival was coming up. Her work won first place in the airbrush category.
“At that time, I’d airbrush anything that would stay still long enough. One of my best experiences was body painting a pregnant Mum. She was so beautiful and resilient. It was a great experience for all of us,” she laughs.
An evocative set of Jess’s work was exhibited at the Adelaide Fringe Festival in February 2022, as part of the Australian Defence Force Creative Arts Association’s body of work. Jess painted three large, airbrushed acrylics on canvas, each one with a hand grenade at its centre. One has the grenade surrounded by coloured pencils and art materials, another is surrounded by sweets and treats, while the third is lying among brightly coloured flowers.
“Overall, the trilogy is about my feelings of apprehension and being ‘out of place’, just waiting for the next chaotic event to explode in my world. Every now and again, I feel as if things are going well and then life explodes again. It’s like being on a roller-coaster. I’ve struggled to put down roots, just as plants do, and build relationships, but there’s always an expiry date in the army, as transfers happen and it’s time to move again. I’ve gone into every relationship with an exit plan, knowing I’d be leaving eventually.
“I also struggle with body image, as expressed by the painting of sweets. Even though I feel happy in myself, I still feel the need to fit in and meet the army standards every day. There’s a push-pull feeling, like Imposter Syndrome. I’m so proud of my service but it’s been a hard slog at times, both physically and emotionally.
“As far as my artwork goes, I constantly self-censor. Especially because some of my work, like body painting, can walk the line of ‘appropriateness’. I’m cautious with what I paint and post online as I am always aware of defined standards set by the army. I’m always careful that what I do and create is appropriate. In saying that, I try to stay true to myself as best I can.”
As Jess transitions from the army, she is aware of the limited time she has spent with her family because of her service. She’s keen to continue offering that service as a reservist, but she is excitedly planning to return to her family and her roots, in a small town in South Australia.
“My dream direction is to open an art studio where people just rock up, pay for the supplies they use, tea, coffee, whatever, and work in the studio. An open, creative space.”
There’s a sense of symmetry in these plans, and perhaps there will be a young girl in that town, with a trolley of art material, who may find her way to Jess’s studio.
@flythecoopcreations
@fly the coop creations
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Navy, Photographer
Born and bred a country kid, Lauren grew up just outside Ballarat in Victoria. Life was good and she fondly remembers playing with her younger brother.
“He was the creative one in the family. He could draw anything. I was so jealous! And Dad could sketch well, too. I didn’t seem to get that gene.”
When she reminisces on those days, she also remembers the thousands of photos that her father captured, and that were always a visual part of her life.
For her sixteenth birthday Lauren was gifted her first camera – a Canon. To this day, it’s still the only brand she chooses to use. A family road trip to Tasmania shortly after, saw Lauren make good use of her Canon. Her Mum’s positive commentary about the quality of her photography encouraged Lauren to begin looking at objects from as many different angles as possible and she began capturing common household objects in fascinating ways.
At school, Lauren’s love was science, rather than the creative arts. Undecided about where her future might lead her, she went to a university Expo, with every kind of career available for her consideration. She stopped at the military stand, where she began chatting to a navy representative. She remembered, fondly, how she would drag her grandfather to the coastline as a small child, to watch the ships, of all description, sail by. This seemed like something that may be of interest to her.
Lauren enlisted and was trained as a Hydrographic Surveyor. Her strong science background was a bonus as she learned to create detailed charts of both oceans and land masses. Based in Queensland, Lauren surveyed the northern coastline from Cairns to the Kimberleys in Western Australia.
One particularly exciting time in Lauren’s naval service was spent in Papua New Guinea (PNG), surveying the coastline.
“It reminded me of being in a National Geographic magazine. We lived on the naval vessel and visited the local people who were living in traditional huts and villages.
“One of Australia’s support roles for PNG was to survey and document outlying islands. There was one island off the mainland that was about six or eight hours away. It hadn’t been charted since the 1920’s and there was a lot of information to update. On the way, we passed two small island outcrops that had never been charted. It may sound strange, but we imagined how the first European explorers must have felt when they discovered new lands!”
Lauren was excited about an upcoming posting, which included another trip to PNG. However, it was at this time that she started experiencing severe pain and unexplained spasms in her back. Regretfully, this left Lauren unable to work and she was medically discharged.
This condition has not left Lauren, and its attacks are random and without any triggers. The frustration of her health having such control over her life led Lauren to depression.
“I didn’t pick up my camera for years.”
She felt that the best way to offer service to her community was by becoming a volunteer with the National Trust. As a volunteer, she had some control over her hours and her ability to work, when she was able.
Through meeting other veterans, she was encouraged to attend an Australian National Veterans Arts Museum (ANVAM) series of painting workshops.
“I can’t paint to save myself. But they encouraged me to pick up my camera again. I discovered that my passion for photography was buried, not dead.”
Lauren now devotes a large portion of her week to being a volunteer guide at an authentic bluestone mansion and stables called Barwon Park, run by the National Trust at Winchelsea in country Victoria.
“There’s so much to photograph. In quiet times, I sit with my camera and look for how the light plays on the building, inside and out. Through constant practice, I’m learning how to use my camera better. It’s incredibly therapeutic – both physically and mentally,” she says enthusiastically.
It was here that she also met Doug, who lovingly works on the upkeep and restoration of the furniture at Barwon Park. He has become Lauren’s mentor over the past few years and laughingly calls her his apprentice. She’s keen to learn as much as he can teach her as she enjoys the ‘old school stuff.’ Unfortunately, the lockdowns in Victoria and general uncertainty of living with Covid-19 impacted on Lauren’s ability to travel there regularly during 2020/21.
Her painful and intrusive back injury has inadvertently led her to a place of peace and harmony. Lauren now balances that trauma with a focus on her creativity and volunteering role. As so often happens in life, paths taken do not always lead to what is anticipated.
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Army, Photographer
Michael was passionate about photography throughout high school.
“I’d chase my friends around with a camera while they rode skateboards. That was where I got into the action style of photography,” he reminisces.
At university he began to study Fine Arts, which was where Michael saw a program advertised by the army. The Ready Reserves offered to fund university study in return for a year of full-time service as a reservist. Choosing to enlist, he served the required full-time year before choosing to then continue in a part-time capacity.
Michael’s military career began in catering school at Puckapunyal - The Rock - and he had various postings throughout Victoria and Queensland as a cook. Upon promotion to Corporal, he began work as a clerk which saw his interest in photography reawakened.
In 2018 Michael was posted to 4th Brigade headquarters at Simpson Barracks in Watsonia, Victoria as an Image Specialist before being transferred to the army Public Relations service.
For fifteen years, Michael balanced his military commitment in the reserves with a full-time job and a family, while also following his passion of freelance photojournalism.
“I took a lot of annual leave from my day job as a Public Servant at half pay to manage these demands on my time,” he recalls.
Over time, these strands of Michael’s life have begun to merge. He’s one of only a handful of permanent part-time reservist photographers working for the army. Michael is also writing a course in photography for his government job, which involves training investigators in the use of a camera.
“A photo is not only able to tell a story instantly, but it also captures a lasting story. Still cameras can go to places where a video camera can’t and there’s no sound to distract from the image. I believe a still photo will last longer in the mind of a person seeing it.
“I’ve been doing photojournalism on and off with the army since the bushfires in Victoria in 2009. When the fires broke out again in 2020, I was asked to photograph some of the affected areas. I was harnessed and sitting in the open door of a helicopter taking photos on the second day of the fires. One of these photos was picked up by Reuters and shown to millions of people around the world. This told me that my creative work was having an effect on people. I would never have had this opportunity any other way and I’m grateful for that.
“The downside of being in the military is that I’ve missed out on things like birthdays and important family events. I put in about 60-70 days a year with the reserves. At times, I’ve had to make a decision in favour of my family. One such time was the graduation of my son. That day will never come again, so I chose not to miss it.”
Michael’s dedication to his craft is evident. He believes that there is no such thing as a lucky shot. Instead, he gives credit for his successes to mentors and teachers he’s had throughout his life as well as his experience in capturing images in all types of environments and conditions.
“If you’re in the right place at the right time to catch that moment, it is everything you have done and everything you know that has brought you there. You make your own luck.
“I also wouldn’t be a professional photographer without the military. The army is great for letting you have a crack at what you’re interested in.”
When Michael first attended an Australian National Veterans Art Museum (ANVAM) exhibition, he learned that the organisation was already aware of his photographic work as well as his veteran status. His surprise was genuine.
“You can tell yourself 1000 times that you’re an artist and not believe it. But when someone else affirms you, it helps you to accept it. It made me think, ‘I knew I could do this’.
“I may still stuff things up, but I’ll always try to make the next photo better than the last. Bit by bit, I’m moving in the direction of becoming a full-time photojournalist.”
@michael_currie
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Army, Painter
Born in Fiji, Phil moved to Australia when he was in his teens. Enlisting in 2003, he began military service as a reserve Rifleman and remembers his time in the service as equal parts challenging and rewarding. Throughout his military career, Phil remained in the reserves and is currently with the Cairns based 51st Battalion, Far North Queensland Regiment (51FNQR).
During his service, Phil was deployed to East Timor with the International Stabilisation Force, worked on border protection in Australia and also had a garrison posting to Butterworth in Malaysia.
“It was like being a full-time soldier, but with the luxury of getting off at the next stop. When the regular army personnel come home, they usually turn around and go back. I feel that l’ve been quite lucky to get these short-term contracts, as a reservist.
“What I learned from these deployments is how really lucky we are, in Australia. East Timor is a country that had all of its infrastructure ripped out by its departing Indonesian rulers, yet the people seem to remain happy. We can learn from them.”
Phil had always followed some kind of artistic pursuit and, while in East Timor, he found it particularly helpful to work on preparatory sketches for the artworks he planned to complete on his return to Australia.
“My aim has always been to become a better artist,” he states, with feeling.
It was in Canberra in 2015 that Phil became acquainted with the Australian National Veterans Arts Museum (ANVAM), an organisation to which he felt immediately drawn.
“I wanted to help in any way I could. The defence force personnel need a platform dedicated to their unique narrative. ANVAM is that platform.
“As a serving member of the defence community, I’ve always felt a sense of duty toward fellow members going through periods of difficulty. Particularly if their issues are service related,” he says quietly.
As well as working on his own artwork when he can, Phil is the volunteer Exhibitions Coordinator of Crate 59, a collective art studio in Cairns in Queensland. He curates the work of fellow contemporary artists and also works with networks and local media platforms to market exhibitions. He believes he holds both a grasp of the language of art as well as an experienced eye for displaying works.
Phil also works full time as a Disability Support worker. He believes that all he has learnt from the military, ANVAM and his artistic community have helped him in this work.
“I’m really enjoying it, and I love working with the people in my caseload. I’m a kind of bridge to normality for them. I assist them with all kinds of things they find difficult.”
Phil uses music, and sometimes art, when he is working with a client and his time management has become particularly important, with his heavy caseload of clients in residential care.
“What I have learnt from ANVAM is how an arts-based program can work. I try to fit in a sense of heart when working with my clients. I saw how the arts can be helpful for veterans with PTSD and I apply the same principles here, whenever possible.”
Phil has served, continuously, for almost 20 years in the reserves. He also tries to paint each week. He juggles these two fulfilling activities in his life alongside full-time work.
“The reserves are a group of mates and it’s our time together. However, I recently felt I needed to paint and I chose to miss going to reserves, which is very unusual for me. My partner was at tennis and I had the house to myself. It was just what I needed for my art.”
“Just as I did in East Timor, I have begun making a few sketches for pieces I plan to develop further, when I get some time.”
“There are so many things I want to do! There should be a 48 hour day for people like me,” he laughs.
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Army, Author
Born the son of a military man, Roger spent a lot of his childhood in northern New South Wales. His father had served in Korea, although he had left the navy before Roger was born.
“My father left the navy but the navy never left him,” says Roger.
“I was a pretty rough kid and a bit of a loner. If pushed, I could become quite violent. But I generally left people alone. I loved martial arts and I loved reading.”
Roger’s family background is strongly Welsh and he believes it has given him a strong longing to be connected to a place.
“When a Welsh friend was being encouraged to emigrate to Australia, she replied, ‘If I can’t see the mountain in the morning, I won’t know who I am,’ ” he explains.
While a wandering military life meant that this kind of connection eluded Roger, the positive side of his heritage and its cultural background gave his poetry and writing a distinctive style.
Roger remembers that his goal was always to enlist. His original intention was to be a pilot in the British air force. However he didn’t meet the residency requirements at the time. It was some years later, after 9/11, that this intention became much stronger.
At this time Roger had completed university, studying Greek and Hebrew, and had a strong bent for other languages. He was also an ordained Chaplain.
“Chaplains in the Australian army are unlike Chaplains just about anywhere else in the world. We trained on weapons and were allowed to carry them. When I was in Afghanistan, I needed to be able to defend myself. I had grown up around firearms and was familiar and comfortable with them. I didn’t come to the army inexperienced with firearms. I understood that the application of controlled force has an appropriate place. People tend to misinterpret the Bible’s teachings. The Old Testament, being written in Hebrew, actually reads, You shall do no murder, rather than the common interpretation of You shall not kill. It means that we shouldn’t take life unlawfully.”
Roger’s work as a Chaplain involved many difficult situations but he found notifying a family of a casualty or death the most harrowing.
“I had to identify the dead in Afghanistan. It’s pretty awful. But dealing with living, breathing and grieving people was what wore down my mental health more than anything else. I realised later that women’s screaming was actually quite a trigger for me.
“The Chaplain’s role is a very reactive one. In one sense, you’re helpless. You can’t change any of the circumstances. You can’t go out on a patrol to capture, or kill, the people who’ve just created chaos for you. You just stay with the broom and the bucket waiting for what’s coming next,” he says.
“But when I came back, it was not a time for rest. We had had a string of casualties and work was hard. It took two years before I realised I had a problem. I sought help but I knew that I couldn’t keep doing the job. I needed to get out, which led me to being medically discharged.
“I started writing while I was in active service, to clean the rubbish out of my head and to try to distil the essence of my experience. I also wrote because I realised that the people I went to school with were now across a cultural divide from me. They didn’t understand why army personnel are the way we are. I wrote my first book, Echoes in the Wind to try to explain that a little, if I could.The character of Rob in my book is heavily based on me.
“It’s like a form of exposure therapy crossed with narrative therapy. In order to write about things I experienced, I have to actually walk in that valley again. The narrative therapy helps me to come to grips with my feelings and emotions.”
Roger’s writing was helping to really process what he’d been through when his son, Jonathan, became ill with an incurable form of brain cancer at age 12. He knew then that he had to stop working as a minister.
Jonathan died during the Covid-19 pandemic when a maximum of ten people were allowed to congregate. To enable himself, his wife and children and immediate family members to attend the funeral, Roger was the celebrant. He was able to do this because Jonathan died with hope and a lot of cheerful defiance.
“I knew then that I would never do another funeral after that. I just can’t do them anymore,” he says, quietly.
Roger has now reached the point where he introduces himself as an author and not a minister. His second novel, A Wind ofBitter Tears, is ready for publication and he has two more to follow. His idea is to take his main characters to the point where they’re both out of the army.
“The third book is really what I wish somebody had said to me immediately after all the worst stuff happened. I’m crafting it to answer some of the questions that whirled around in my brain and how to manage that situation.
“We really do need some way of actually helping people journey and ask the right questions of themselves. I hope that my writing can do that for someone, to some small degree.”
@rogermarsh_author
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Air Force, Artist
When Scott was in school in Grafton, NSW, he topped his year in Art. His teacher recommended to his father that he become a professional artist. On the way home from that Parent-Teacher interview, his father said, “You won’t do art. You’ll get yourself a real job.”
Scott reflects on his art, “I parked it when I joined the RAAF and picked it up again after my military service.”
During that time, Scott served 20 years in the Air Force which, he says, “ingrained efficient time management into me. I don’t waste time. I multi-task and I manage to do many things that interest me.”
In the Australian Air Force, Scott was an Avionics Technician. He worked on the aircraft Avionics systems, including electrical, instrumental and radio. “I loved it,” he says. “I’d still work on helicopters tomorrow if I could. I worked on Chinook CH47C helicopters at 12 Sqn for about seven years, then Hercules at 486 Sqn for three years and then Caribou at 38 Sqn for eight years. Before I left the RAAF, I ran F-111C Avionics and Oxygen workshops at 501 Wing.
“One of the most important things I learnt in the Air Force is that there’s nowhere to park at 30,000 feet. You’ve got to get everything right before you start. That’s the mindset that I now bring to my clients and to my business.”
Scott’s business is Financial Advice and Stock Broking. However, the road to his success in business has been a challenging one. He trusted his former partner who sent their previous business into insolvency.
He remembers, “I lost everything. I started again at 45 years of age and, in eleven years, have once again built up my own successful business.” He adds, “Art was my way of working through my anger and grief during that time. I had started my art journey five years before my bankruptcy and it was very cathartic.
"Since then, I’ve taught art and run workshops using art for healing. To lower the barriers to art, we start simply with finger painting. Ironically, my mantra has been about balancing the evil that was involved in the business collapse with as much good as I can do. I have a strong sense of Yin-Yang. It’s innate in me. I always strive for balance.
“The propensity for defence personnel to be vulnerable once they leave the ADF is there for us all. It’s not about intelligence as they’re all highly intelligent people. In the defence force, it’s called SERVICE because you’re giving. But not everyone survives twenty years of giving. That’s what people are dealing with in their repatriation to ‘normal’ life. Art is a profound way of exercising some kind of control over your own life and bringing balance to it.”
As with his business, Scott’s journey to art has not been an easy one. He recalls, “The military would never have encouraged me to do art, nor would my father, nor would society. They’d say do sport, engineering, make lots of money, but don’t follow a career in art. I was locked into that approach or social norm of the time. I had to give myself permission to do what wasn’t really acceptable or seen as normal.”
Scott was at a barbecue and made a throw away comment about wanting to do art someday. One of his friends told him of an art class nearby, so Scott followed his feelings and joined the class.
“Now, I run that group and I own the studio,” he laughs. “I spent a lot of money allowing people to follow their art dreams. The class was threatened with closure because there was no space to rent. I bought a space, because I could.”
He now paints and draws and runs Life Drawing classes in the studio once a week. He says, “I learnt by doing, without any formal training. I still love it. Another one of my mantras is to only do what you really enjoy and are passionate about. That’s just how I roll. I concentrate on things I like to do. Art gives me the opportunity to let my brain stop. When I’m drawing or painting, I’m thinking of nothing else.”
“My studio is called Art of Phi. It’s named after the Golden Ratio in mathematics. Phi appears in patterns in nature and many artists have proportioned their work to approximate the Golden Ratio. To me, it encompasses the balance I seek in my art, in my life and in myself.”
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Army, Craftsman
Growing up in the north of England, Steve joined the British army the minute he left school. He completed his cadetship at Sandhurst and served as a Lieutenant in the Staffordshire Regiment. On completion of his short service commission, Steve looked for new opportunities.
By then, Steve was dating Olga, a young Australian girl. With the relationship going well, he successfully applied for a Direct Entry enlistment to the Australian army with the goal of a long-term career.
“It was the best decision I ever made.”
The only negative to moving countries was that Steve could no longer see his Mum, Dad, brother and sister on a regular basis. He recalls fondly the country walks and fishing trips with his dad.
“Men don’t always talk a lot and we didn’t need to. Just being present with Dad was enough. I miss that.”
Steve and Olga married and raised three children - Ben, Sara and Penny - allowing them to move into army housing.
“I’d started carpentry donkey’s years ago. We were broke in those early days, so I’d make tables and small pieces for the children. I was just a bloke in a shed. Later, I got more ambitious and made a large display cabinet and even a four-poster bed.”
The family lived in most states of Australia during his twenty-one years of Australian military service. He served in many different units, including 3rd Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment (Parachute) (3RAR) and retired at the rank of Major. The family accepted the pros and cons of this way of life, expecting a unit transfer every two years.
“We were a bit like gypsies,” Steve says.
Family was always Steve and Olga’s priority, and they had always stayed together, wherever the posting took them. Towards the end of Steve’s service and, when the children were in high school, he was posted to Victoria. By the year 2000, they knew it was time to put down roots.
Steve had maintained a close friendship with one of his army mates, Dom, who was working with the Australian National Veterans Arts Museum (ANVAM) in Melbourne. Dom asked Steve if he would help ANVAM by making a large studio work table.
ANVAM had received some expensive timber, generously donated by Reid Brothers, and Steve’s careful craftsmanship was needed on this task. Working side by side with Dom, surrounded by sawdust and wood shavings, the work table was brought to life.
Steve laughs as he remembers, “It took six of us to get the tabletop into the back of the van!”
Steve’s perception of creativity has changed since those early days, where he was “just nailing a few bits of wood together”.
“ANVAM opened my eyes to the notion that designing and making a bespoke table is a creative process. I find it strange to call this ‘art’. To me, it’s not the conventional meaning of the word.
“I guess that you can give art a broader meaning and, for me, it’s therapeutic. I love working in the shed and making things. It’s much more fun than passing papers from in-tray to out-tray on any day. If it’s art, that’s fine by me!”
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Army, Painter
Wendy’s paintings tell the stories of her life as a Yuwaalaraay woman, artist, mother and Christian, while also laying down her connection to her time as a nurse in the Australian Defence Force.
Originally from Goodooga, New South Wales, Wendy was born in the nearby Dirranbandi hospital in southern Queensland. Although the family left Goodooga when she was small, Wendy returns there often because it is “home”.
Wendy grew up mostly at Redcliffe in Queensland. In her third year of university where she was studying to become a Registered Nurse, she joined the army. Enlisting as a Direct Entry Officer, Wendy was posted to 1Mil, a small military hospital in suburban Brisbane.
“It was like stepping back in time. There were multiple wartime buildings, and we still wore cardboard veils. To take a patient to the operating theatre, we had to go outside and up a hill. This was certainly an exciting, hands-on change, after coming from my training and post-grad year at the modern Holy Spirit Hospital in the centre of the city.”
Unfortunately, Wendy’s time in the military ended when she was in a car accident and broke her back. After persevering for a few months in a full body brace, she realised she couldn’t continue with the rigours of army nursing.
After her medical discharge, Wendy married and had two children. As a career, art wasn’t an option at this stage. However, she created small craft pieces and eventually graduated into working creatively with recycled furniture. It was then that she bought a canvas and began to explore the possibility of connecting with her Indigenous culture through that medium. Her elders gave their approval for her style of storytelling and Wendy began to create her own stories.
She became a single mum and with an accumulation of pressures, Wendy was admitted to a mental health facility in 2005, where she spent Christmas and New Year.
“I asked if I could bring my canvases and paint, and I painted every day about what I was feeling. The paintings depicted the valley of depression as well as the feeling of being pulled in so many directions at once. But, to me, being lost in the zone of creation, even if that makes your mind swirl and be busy, it quietens the rest of what is happening in there.”
For some years Wendy developed her artistic style while raising her two daughters and working full time as a nurse.
“I was rearing two kids alone, working, and establishing a professional arts practice and I just crashed. My body was so wrecked with stress that the doctors thought I may have Multiple Sclerosis.”
Something had to give, and this time it was nursing. The need to paint for her mental health far outweighed her desire to continue working. With both children grown, she sold their house and became a full-time artist, concentrating on healing her mind and body.
As Wendy’s style and reputation grew and developed, it saw her begin to paint wall murals, fabric paintings and tattoo designs, as well as hold art workshops and accept private and corporate commissions. Throughout, she continued to work on her own practice.
At one of Wendy’s exhibitions, the Mission Director of St Vincent’s hospital was present. She was working on curating a set of storyboards at the hospital that would showcase its Indigenous healthcare workers in the upcoming NAIDOC week celebrations. This exhibition would also feature Wendy’s own artwork. She proudly agreed to the Director’s request to add the speeches that her two daughters had given at the exhibition opening to the storyboards in the hospital.
One of Wendy’s commissions saw her create a mural at a school with sizable student numbers of both First Nations and defence families. The brief was to include reference to the school’s Indigenous and military connections, as well as their Christian beliefs, their new garden and the school library. Once Wendy began, she also included a large tree, which was inspired by her own 2021 painting series Ode to Trees and Heal Country for NAIDOC.
“I didn’t know how it would all fit together until I got there!” Wendy remarks.
Another avenue of her art is creating timber Acknowledgement Crosses for Christian schools and parishes.
“On each, I acknowledge the Father, Son and Holy Spirit and the Traditional Owners of the land that the school or church stands on. I also include the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Island flag colours and have a meeting place in the middle of the Cross. In my research of that community or school, I creatively include everything about them that I find, and I include a written copy of the meaning of each acknowledgement that is on their personal Cross.
“A work grows as I grow. Indigenous artwork tells a story, and all paintings find their owner by their connection to the story as well as their visual impact. I paint in a contemporary, abstract style, drawing from my history and family, about experiences, Christian themes and circumstances relevant to today, although the themes can translate across ages, culture and time. I find painting very calming, therapeutic and spiritual.
“I paint in response to music, conversations, colours, feelings, nature, my past, my present and my future. My paintings are my story. They are all a part of me.”
@wendyrix_artist
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Karen - Army, Painter
John - Army, Musician
Karen and John are a wife and husband team, both ex-military personnel and artists. Karen is a water colourist and John, a singer-songwriter. Karen is also a non-Executive Board member of the Australian National Veterans Arts Museum (ANVAM).
Their childhoods were very different from each other. Karen’s father was a Vietnam War veteran who met her mother while on Rest and Recreation (R & R) in Taiwan. Karen grew up surrounded by the camaraderie of army families from her father’s various postings.
“As part of an army family, I grew up playing with other army kids and being familiar with army life. But never did I think I was going to join the army,” she recalls.
“One day, Dad showed me a pamphlet about a new university in Canberra, called the Australian Defence Force Academy (ADFA). It paid for you to get a degree and guaranteed a job after you graduated.”
Karen had watched her older sister struggle through her studies, taking part-time jobs waitressing and having difficulties finding a full-time job. She knew she didn’t want that.
Karen signed up in 1986 and graduated from ADFA and the Royal Military College, Duntroon. She completed an Electrical Engineering degree and joined the Signals corps, focussing on electronic warfare. She was then deployed to Bougainville.
John’s childhood was quite different from Karen’s. Growing up in Melbourne, John’s father was an accomplished musician who played the trumpet at National level.
“He was a professional in a big band and there was always music in the house. But, as a child, I watched him practise scales over and over and it didn’t seem like much fun. I must have absorbed some of it, though, as I took it up later.”
When he was 18, John left home, keen to join the army. He joined the Infantry in Townsville, North Queensland and completed his service in Sydney with the Commandos. He also had a posting to the Survival Wing in Darwin.
“I had read a bunch of adventure comics and books and the army seemed to have plenty of that kind of excitement. I liked the Darwin area, as we were giving people the skills to stay alive and to keep others alive. In retrospect, it suited my nature a bit more comfortably than the Infantry.”
John also studied at ADFA, majoring in English.
“I enjoyed writing and also poetry, so I’ve probably always had an inclination to that side of things.”
A back injury confined John to an army stretcher for several months. To help him pass the time, his sister gave him a ukulele while his brother challenged him to be able to play, proficiently, Somewhere Over the Rainbow by the end of his twelve months’ recuperation.
“My creative music and songwriting journey really began by accident, from there. Later, we were at a dinner party and an old Infantry mate asked me how my ukulele playing was going. I think he was just being polite. Karen had a tape of one of my songs and played it. Another guy at the dinner party thought it was a good song and he asked if he could come round and play some guitar with me. That was about seven years ago and we’re still playing together. We were just a couple of hacks mucking around, until another fellow, who played bass, joined us as well as my sister, who sang vocals. We added a drummer and we had enough of my own original songs for a gig at the Gasoline Pony in Marrickville.
“My songs are all focussed stories. There are only two things worth writing about - love and death - as they provide the ‘left and right of the arc’. Songs about the military generally encompass both,” John explains.
“I’ve written about eighty songs now. I think Noel Gallagher, from Oasis, said he’d penned about that many before he wrote Wonderwall so I’m hoping I’m starting to wear in,” he laughs.
The catalyst for Karen’s transition to art was the death of her beloved brother, Bruce. Tragically, he died of cancer when he was a young man. At that time, she was working in the technology industry as a successful executive leader. It was a highly paced environment where she was developing and growing both businesses and talent in the Asia Pacific region.
“Are you sure you’re doing what you really want to do?” Bruce challenged.
She questioned her life and corporate career and realised it didn’t have much soul to it. So, she left.
Both Karen and John have always loved the challenge of an outdoor adventure and John had a childhood dream of sailing around Australia. They bought a boat, learned to sail and took off for six months, sailing from Sydney to Townsville and back.
“It was a big learning curve to bounce our way through all of those coastal bar crossings. It was a fantastic adventure. We loved meeting new people and experiencing a different way of life,” Karen remembers.
When they returned to Sydney, Karen started executive coaching, volunteering and exploring different interests such as drumming, ceramics and tai chi. She realised that she’d never taken time to think about what she really wanted to do, for herself.
“Some things were satisfying, but nothing was really giving me deep joy or satisfaction,” she says.
One of her ex-military friends suggested she try watercolour painting, so she did.
“I moved into a really good place. Just as John does, I lose myself in my art. I’m not great at expressing myself verbally but I’m trying, through my art, to get people to feel something. I’m not trying to recreate a picture. I’m trying to create a mood and atmosphere and to impart a feeling of peace in my artwork.”
Karen felt that, in her military life and her corporate career, the image that people saw of her was often one-dimensional.
“They only see one part of me - no nonsense, business oriented, logical and orderly. But art is satisfying to me as it enables me to be more expressive. Art is helping me grow. I like the flow of creating.”
Karen enjoys painting landscapes, street scenes and animals - particularly her two toy poodles. She’s also extending herself to drawing, figurative painting and portraits.
“My paintings are Impressionistic. Loose and suggestive.”
While Karen turned to watercolours after their ocean adventure, John asked if his band mates were keen to reform. He surprised himself, as he had previously thought he’d ‘ticked that off the bucket list’. It was then that he also made the decision to pick up a guitar, an instrument that had previously intimidated him.
“Now I’m more of a guitar player - even though lots of the songs sound better on the uke. I also play harmonica on some songs,” he says.
“A lot of people join the military for the sense of having faith in, or service to, something bigger than themselves. It could be the country, the flag, the platoon, the section. When you are younger, your sense of doing ‘good’ is, by necessity in the military, much narrower than when you look at things through older eyes. I do wonder occasionally whether writing songs that, in all probability, will never be heard can qualify as a good thing. Though difficult to answer, I am confident that, at minimum, I’m not doing harm to other people. And sometimes when you play, there are those moments when you make a connection with someone else. I feel there’s some good in that, even if just for a moment.”
John is proud to remember playing for the veteran community during the Invictus Games in Sydney in 2018.
Karen and John agree that their creative work ‘helps us throw out the rubbish, or non-essential, parts in our lives.’
Each is very quick to showcase, and applaud, the creative expressions of the other, while they both tend to be humble about their own work. Together, they talk about the challenge of transitioning from military to civilian life and the loss of connection to people and communities that is experienced after leaving the military. They both served for fourteen years. Their creative pursuits have given them that sense of connectedness.
“We belong to different communities now,” they say.
“Our art has helped us understand ourselves as well as understand others.”
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Army, Poet - Painter - Photographer
Barham spent a lot of his young life on his grandparents’ property near the Victorian township of Ballarat. As a strong young man, he was invaluable on the farm shearing sheep, shoeing horses, birthing goats and burning dead sheep. It developed in him a deep love of animals but didn’t send him down the path his mother had hoped for: to be a professional horse rider. While ride he did, the uniform beckoned from an early age and he joined the Army Cadets in Year 8 and spent the next four years getting a taste for military life.
Joining the Australian Regular Army, Barham served for thirty-two years, before transitioning to the army reserves. He was commissioned at the Royal Military College, Duntroon and retired as a Lieutenant Colonel. During that time, he served on operations in Bougainville, Southern Thailand, South Sudan, Iraq, Israel, Jordan and Afghanistan.
His experiences in these distant lands would become inspiration for many poems and photographs - not just from a military perspective, but also addressing humanity and the environment.
Barham’s art practices include poetry, painting and photography. He is also an ambassador for the Australian National Veterans Art Museum (ANVAM) and is a strong advocate for the use of artistic endeavours to create personal change.
He began writing ‘proper’ poetry while he was in the service and he found the language in it was deep, moulded and liberating. It became an unleashing.
Barham has strong views about what creativity means to him. He would prefer to hear, “See that poet? He used to serve in the military,” rather than “See that veteran? He became a poet.” Even with more than half his life in the military, he strongly believes it should shape you, rather than define you.
“Poetry takes a reader or a listener where your heart and mind want to go. It gives you your own imagery, interpretations of sound and smell, regardless of why I wrote it or what I saw… yet, in some cases, you will see exactly what I saw. I love to see a reaction to something I write that is also in someone else’s life. That’s why I write poetry.”
“I didn’t choose to write on certain topics. They would just come to me. From initial thoughts to completion would sometimes last no longer than 3-4 minutes. I could sit at home on the couch for hours on end and write nothing. Then, on a plane ride from Sydney to Canberra, I could trot out four poems on different subjects.”
When Barham was deployed to Bougainville for seven months, he wrote an astounding 180 poems. At this time, A Feeling of Belonging was published by the ADF Journal and contained twenty-seven of his poems focusing on military themes of both peace and conflict. Many people were reading and liking his writing, so he published his own work; Love, Life & Anzac Biscuits. Although these poems also offer a military focus, they tell a much wider story as they transit through some of life’s major events from an Australian point of view and not just a soldier’s.
“Poetry takes a reader or a listener where your heart and mind want to go. It gives you your own imagery, interpretations of sound and smell, regardless of why I wrote it or what I saw…yet, in some cases, you will see exactly what I saw. I love to see a reaction to something I write that is also in someone else’s life. That’s why I write poetry.”
He also believes that all creative expression needs focus on skill as well as enjoyment, in order to take an artist to the next step.
“Art is a universal language, and a gift to both the creator and the beholder.”
As well as poetry, Barham has always been interested in photography and this has expanded to include painting. As a child, he watched his grandfather paint portraits. The boy liked what the old man created, rather than the process.
“I attempted to recreate my grandfather’s style but found it wasn’t happening. My paintings seem to evolve from my mind, like a Tolstoy novel. When I’m painting, I always consider it time well spent. Creating changes your mindset completely.”
Barham’s life in Canberra today with his teen-aged daughter, Isobel, is a satisfying combination of fatherhood, work and creativity as Isobel also paints.
“The army didn’t create my personality. I had respect for people before I joined, and they just reinforced that.”
This respect he offers Isobel, and those he meets in his daily life and interactions.
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Army, Painter
The daughter of a Vietnam War veteran, Cassie grew up in a small, New Zealand town.
She was creative from an early age and her father encouraged and mentored her passions while ensuring that she learned important life lessons. Using his experiences as a Lead Scout in the Royal New Zealand Infantry Regiment (RNZIR) in South Vietnam, he honed her hunting, shooting and survival skills and strengthened her resilience.
Those early days of outdoor adventures with her father within the natural environment played a strong role in the development of her personal artistic style and chosen subject matter. Her creativity flourished during that early childhood period, both at school and through her various extra-curricular activities, where she was able to explore a range of mixed media techniques, technical drawing, cartooning, Maori bone carving, screen printing, and much more.
She considers herself a true ANZAC, having pride in both her father’s Kiwi heritage and her Australian mother’s family history. As well as her father, she has family members who served in the Australian Imperial Force (AIF) in both World War I and II. It was this lineage, as well as her father’s military service in Vietnam that inspired Cassie to enlist first to the Royal New Zealand Air Force (RNZAF) in 1996, and then continue her service into her current role with the Australian Defence Force (ADF).
By 2021, Cassie had served for over 21 years as an Intelligence Officer specialised in Imagery and Geospatial Intelligence systems and remote sensing. She also completed a research thesis on a Chief of Army’s scholarship in 2019 into information warfare.
She was deployed twice to Iraq, on Operation Catalyst in 2007 and Operation Okra in 2016, and served in Afghanistan in 2012 on Operation Slipper. It was during these deployments that Cassie weighed down her pack with art materials, using art as a means of relaxation.
Her artwork represents subject matter that is equal parts personal and distinctive. Specifically, her war-focused pieces reflect a combination of her military background, her father’s experiences, the importance of mateship, and the harsh beauty of war and its associated landscapes.
“Art is an alternative communication method. It creates a stillness, a mindfulness, and there’s no judgement of whatever marks you want to make on the paper. It’s your own journey.
“You also control the process and decide the outcome, which is often in contrast to our military work where we’re frustrated by a lack of control over situations or decisions that impact our lives.
“As a self-confessed ‘map addict’, I’m interested in landscape ecology, patterns in nature and the interconnectedness of the landscape - where contours could become geological formations or swirling water, or perhaps now it’s tree bark, a Paua shell, or maybe even a fingerprint.”
Cassie’s sporty background, bush craft skills, creativity, and Girl Guide experiences provided a solid foundation for the career she has pursued in the ADF.
“Since joining the ADF, I’ve learnt the importance of understanding the terrain and being able to blend into the geography of the battle space.”
Cassie is passionate about telling her story to other veterans, and society more broadly.
“I want to increase awareness of the role that art plays in creating a dialogue of the impacts of operational service, highlighting important narratives about the subject matter,” she says.
“Art has the power to provide a healing mechanism to veterans, and civilians. It’s a remarkable space we can all look to explore, when going through difficult times.”
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Army, Author
Donna’s uncle, who was serving in the Australian army, challenged her at a family barbecue.
“Don’t you think it’s about time you got off your arse, started behaving yourself and stopped being a dole bludger?” he said.
It was 1979 and Donna was 20 years old and unemployed. She went to the army Recruiting Office just a few weeks after that barbeque and became excited at the idea of joining the military, because it sounded like something at which she could succeed.
She recalls, with a smile, how different the initial training was for women in comparison to men at the time.
“We were given make-up lessons. Our dress uniforms were slightly see-through, so we had to wear stockings and a petticoat underneath or face being charged. We were taught to be ladies, not to be fighters. It was a peacetime army after all.”
She also remembers, with wry humour, when her group of recruits had to admit that they had never been taught how to fire or handle a rifle.
“One day we were instructed to use our entrenching tools as a weapon by pointing them at each other, while loudly yelling, ‘Bang! Bang! Buckets of bullets, buckets of bullets!’ ”
Over the next few years, the army became Donna’s life and, within it, she thrived. It was no longer just a job. She found that she loved working in Signals corps and soon found that it was a solid career move.
However, when she married and welcomed two beautiful little girls into the world, her priorities shifted and Donna wanted to devote her time to her family. She made the decision to leave the army. Yet her love of military life never left her and she became a reservist.
She left the army in 1999. Then, the attack on the Twin Towers in New York on September 11, 2001 exploded onto the world. Donna found this event incomprehensible and felt a burning urge to do something. She made the decision to re-join the army and transferred to the Intelligence corps.
During her absence, she found that opportunities for women in the military had increased monumentally and she embraced every one of those opportunities, when able. Donna also found that there were many inspirational, brave and fearless women fighting for equal rights in what was still a ‘man’s world’. She was deployed six times over a nine-year period to areas such as East Timor, Afghanistan, and a short stint at sea on Border Protection operations.
A memory that will always remain with Donna is the Ramp Ceremony that she experienced, albeit all too frequently, in Afghanistan.
When an Australian soldier has been killed, they are never left alone while preparations are made for their repatriation back home. When ready, every available member of the camp then forms a Guard of Honour as the Australian flag-draped casket travels to the waiting aircraft. A soldier walks in front of the coffin carrying a photo of the deceased soldier. Once the coffin is settled inside the plane, the ramp is raised, and the plane takes off on its journey home. It slowly banks to the left and a red, white and blue flare is fired into the sky. Only then, do the soldiers on the ground release their salute.
Donna's many years of service, including her six deployments, culminated in severe injuries that saw her medically discharged from the army in 2016. A diagnosis of Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), anxiety and depression, coupled with physical injuries, saw an immeasurable sense of loss envelop Donna.
As she looked for ways to regain control over her life, Donna attended an Australian Defence Force run arts program in Canberra. She discovered a non-judgmental environment that offered creative writing, drama, music and art. Having been a singer in her early life, Donna loved reconnecting with this passion.
“Singing brought back joy and confidence to my life,” says Donna.
Through the program, she began to heal and found a connection with the Australian National Veterans Arts Museum (ANVAM). This connection, and her support of ANVAM, remains strong to this day.
As Donna gained clarity and her mental health returned, she knew that she had a story to tell and began writing her highly successful novel, Hidden Courage: My Life as a Female Australian Soldier. Donna wanted it to serve as a legacy for her grandchildren so they would know that she wasn’t ‘just their Nanna’ and, instead, was a soldier who had been to war and, like many others, was injured.
Donna also wanted to demonstrate to future generations of women wanting to enlist into the military how she coped, asked for and accepted help and, with strength of mind, kept going.
She had a story that needed to be told.
@donnapriscilla59
@Hiddencourage
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Army, Photographer - Painter
“When I grow up, I’m going to be a soldier just like my dad and my big brother,” declared Gordon, as a small boy who loved playing with his army toys.
Gordon’s childhood evolved from solitary play into a strong love of football and cricket, with all the struggles and rewards that come with being part of a team. Without realising it, his childhood was preparing him for his enlistment into the Australian Defence Force, at 19.
“This is where I belong,” he said, upon enlisting.
His army mates became his new ‘team’ as they looked out for each other, socialised together and were taught how to deal with both physical and mental conflicts. Gordon’s military career totalled 28 years, mostly as a chef in the Infantry.
Unfortunately, Gordon discovered that his military support networks eventually weren’t enough. Upon returning to Australia from a deployment to Iraq, life as he knew it evaporated in front of his eyes. He was medically discharged, diagnosed with Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
“There would be no more playing with big boys’ toys.”
Now, Gordon’s support team became his family. His wife, Shona, became his friend, psychologist, his manager and, when needed, his Commanding Officer. She told him, very firmly, that he needed to find something to replace the passion he had for the army. So Gordon picked up a camera.
Over time his skills were honed, and he became well known as the photographer for the book The Victoria Cross - Australia Remembers, and co-author and photographer of Unconquered - Our Wounded Warriors about the Invictus Games in Sydney in 2018.
Becoming an Australian National Veterans Arts Museum (ANVAM) mentor, his photography was exhibited twice by ANVAM. Firstly it was exhibited in their inaugural exhibition in Melbourne in 2017 and then later at Parliament House, Canberra, in 2018. His photos were shortlisted for the Napier-Waller Art Prize at the Australian War Memorial in 2018, where he was also a finalist in 2019 and 2022.
Gordon’s 2022 portrait, Ricky, was taken at a community lunch in Geelong. Ricky had admitted that he didn’t have a photo of himself and would really like one. When Gordon later gave him a copy of the image, he thanked him with a tear in his eye.
“I had a real connection to Ricky as I asked him to stare straight down the barrel of the lens.”
Looking at life through the camera lens opened a new perspective for Gordon and it was a natural transition from this to canvas. On finishing a self-portrait of his experiences in Iraq, he put down his brush and declared, “Now, I can put those memories away. I’m finished with it.”
Rather than being ‘finished with it’, however, painting became a new beginning for Gordon. He began by gathering discarded artworks to use as canvases. One, an oil painting of a dark, Scottish sky that, upon sanding over, opened his eyes to a different beauty as the new work quietly came through the shadows. His joy is in the creating, rather than the result.
When he talks about his passion for the creative arts, Gordon becomes charged with joy and emotion. He’s alive. His creative gift is dynamic and ever evolving.
Without formal training, his creative mind is an empty canvas and Gordon marvels at artists such as veteran Sidney Nolan and Margaret Olley, whom he finds inspirational. He’s become hungry for learning new ways to create with oils, acrylics and watercolours. He experiments in colours and loves the geometric shapes of Cubism.
“I like asking questions - especially of artists. It opens up new ways for me.”
He paints every day in his home studio, where he has three or four paintings in progress at any time.
“It gives me peace. I can be lost for hours. Time just goes! I know that it makes me enjoy life.”
Gordon looks back at his first, hesitant watercolour paintings and reflects on his artistic journey.
“My art is always a work in progress. You have to start somewhere. It’s something I can keep working on and improving.”
This compassionate, creative man has worked through many challenges with the help of family and friends and now, his art.
“I wouldn’t change a thing. It has led me to where I am.”
@gordontraillphotography
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Navy, Videographer - Photographer
Jason’s formative years were varied and interesting. He was born in Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea, where his father worked for the Australian government. When he was seven years old, the family moved from the tropical heat to the icy winters of Canberra.
Growing up in Canberra saw Jason follow a popular path, choosing to enlist in the navy when he was just twenty years old. He had always been drawn to the military as his grandfather was in the Australian Imperial Force (AIF) and his stepfather was conscripted to National Service during the Vietnam War.
Jason’s role as a Boatswain’s Mate meant that he could work on just about any seagoing platform. A few years after his posting, he was given the extended role of Ship’s Photographer and provided the navy with photos.
During his time in the service, Jason was deployed in 2005 to assist victims when an undersea earthquake with a magnitude of 9.1 struck off the coast of the Indonesian island of Sumatra. The people of Banda Aceh recorded the largest number of deaths and the Royal Australian Navy was deployed to assist in the humanitarian response. As well as supporting the clean up of towns completely devastated by the earthquake, Jason used his camera to document the journey and to send photos to the naval administration in Australia.
Jason’s second major deployment was to the Solomon Islands, in a peacekeeping capacity, while their government elections were in progress.
His final posting saw Jason sent to Cairns in Far North Queensland. This was also where he chose to make his home upon being discharged.
As he settled back into civilian life, Jason used the skills he had obtained in the navy and started his own business as a photographer. Beginning with wedding photography, he then moved to commercial work, particularly in advertising. Jason also collaborated on film documentaries, focusing on such things as the fishing industry in Karumba, in the gulfland area of Queensland.
However his heart, and his extended family, remained in Papua New Guinea. Jason was in the process of moving there from Australia, when, in 2020, Covid-19 changed his plans. He was working in his home country when the pandemic broke out but the first anyone heard of its existence was when the borders to Australia were about to be closed.
He returned to Australia but kept the vision of Papua New Guinea in his sights and in his mind.
“I’m now planning on going to live in Rabaul in New Guinea and will work there in advertising. It’s just taking off and photography, especially filmmaking, is the way of the future in that country. I’m also interested in teaching photography up there. Everyone has a camera on their phone but they don’t necessarily know the basics of how to use it. Although Covid changed my plans, I’m still very keen to get back there, where I have family.”
Unfortunately, during the pandemic Jason’s dad became sick and passed away. During this time, Jason moved back to Canberra to support and be with him.
The wheel has certainly turned full circle, with Jason and his dad able to be together in Canberra, and now with Jason choosing to return to the country of his birth.
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Army, Printmaker
“Art or army?” seventeen year old Kat wrote in her diary.
Passionate about both, Kat excelled in her art class at school while also enjoying army cadets. Upon being offered a scholarship to study for her Bachelor of Arts at the Australian Defence Force Academy (ADFA), the answer was easy.
“I felt it was a young person’s career and I was ready to leave the farm and search for adventure.”
Kat also knew that, no matter where she was and what she was doing, she would always keep art in her life. She accepted and signed on for nine years.
Her instincts about a military career were right and Kat received a Queen’s Commission at Duntroon and went on to further study, achieving a Master of Engineering Management and a Master of Military Strategy and Defence Studies.
Her first deployment was to Kuwait as a Lieutenant. Kat loved working in the logistical hub, with a platoon of about forty personnel. They ensured that supplies, ammunition, machinery and various bespoke items were sourced and processed on their way to and from the war in Iraq and Afghanistan. Soldiers needed to be fully kitted and armed before heading to the war zone, while utilised equipment needed to be sent home for refurbishment or disposal.
Just over a year before her deployment, Kat met Andrew, who was in the Armoured Corps. When he returned from Iraq and she from Kuwait, they married in Darwin. Kat had been in the army for five years.
Her second deployment was to Afghanistan as a Captain. She helped run a specialised workshop there, war-fitting and training soldiers on the constantly evolving and upgraded military machinery and equipment. Kat’s 10-year contract was up. However, she knew she wasn’t ready to walk away, so she chose to serve for a further five years.
Kat’s third and final deployment was again to Afghanistan. This time as a Major, her role was to retrain Afghan army and police personnel in order to help them preserve their country’s security after withdrawal of the Coalition military forces.
It was during this time that Andrew’s service caused him to suffer both serious back injuries and deteriorating mental health. His time in Afghanistan was cut short and he transitioned out of the military. His adaptation to civilian life added to his instability.
“It was a long decline,” Kat remembers of those years.
She was still in the ADF, now working in Melbourne, when she joyfully discovered that she was pregnant. Their baby was born perfectly healthy. However, tragically, Andrew, suffering Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) passed, when their daughter was only two years old.
After twenty years of service, Kat knew it was time, once she had finished her term, to focus on both herself and her child.
“I had walked in a fog of shock and grief,” Kat says.
Kat remembers the tremendous support of her family and both her military and non-military friends during this time. Even so, the challenge of living her life was very difficult for her.
These friends and family members supported Kat’s healing, with her plan to walk the 780 kilometre pilgrimage, Camino de Santiago (The Way) in Spain.
Along this journey, she stopped at the Cruz de Ferro monument. Rather than a monument to those who have died, it’s a place to leave a part of yourself in any form that you choose. Kat left a white stone from the Australian War Memorial that had been decorated by her daughter. As she walked away without that small stone, she felt her life load lessen.
Back in Melbourne, Kat successfully applied for a three-year degree in Fine Arts.
“Sometimes, I get exhausted at learning new things. But this is the best kind of labour and learning I could be doing.”
Commenting on a piece of her artwork, Kat says that she has created four maps that represent journeys.
“One was Andrew’s. One, mine. One, our five-year-old daughter’s. The last one might be yours. In another piece, despite being bitterly disappointed about how my image was so underexposed on my copper plate, I have grown to love what the processing fault has created.”
Kat’s photographic etching, Reckoning, was a finalist in the 2022 Napier Waller Art Prize competition.
“The Brereton Report gave Australians a reckoning when it was released in November 2020. I meshed together images of the heavily redacted Brereton Report and the Australian War Memorial, to depict where this reckoning lies. Was that a grainy aerial photograph of a foreign war zone? The acid-burnt holes grew like multiple shotgun wounds across the work’s landscape. I added women in burkas who represent war’s ‘collateral damage’. My artwork urges us to courageously reckon with the unvarnished truth.”
It seems that Kat no longer needs to ask, “Art or army?” Today she ensures that her love of both has remained, becoming a strong and balanced part of who she is.
@kat_a_rae
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Army, Photographer
“For veterans, in particular, I want to promote Post-traumatic growth. To take their experiences and, moving forward, to thrive.”
Mark grew up in Tasmania without any thought of the mainland.
“I went to Melbourne once for a footy match, when I was thirteen,” he laughs.
“Picture this. It was the early 90s and jobs were scarce in Tassie. I tried for years to get an apprenticeship as a motor mechanic, but with no luck.”
At 18, Mark enlisted into the military and it was in the army that he was offered such a role.
However, Mark’s mind was expanded at army recruiting and he elected, instead, to join the Infantry. He remained in the regular army for sixteen years and worked his way up to Sergeant in the Special Forces as a Patrol Commander. During that time, he was a Sniper Supervisor, Demolitions Instructor and Roping Instructor. He specialised in mobility operations and trained local forces on deployment, predominantly Afghans.
“I enjoyed the excitement of the job.”
On leaving the army after a number of deployments, Mark joined the reserves for a further eight years. This time of his career also involved several contract deployments for the regular army.
“In my last six years in the military, I’d spent most of my time working in Kabul as a personal safety consultant for the Australian Embassy. Back in Tasmania, I would have time off between contracts and would take a few people hiking in the remote areas of the island.”
After leaving the military, this interest expanded into a business both within Australia and abroad. Mark also led international adventures and expeditions to countries such as Mongolia, Cambodia, Vietnam, Indonesia, Papua New Guinea and Israel.
“I use a lot of the skills I learnt in the military and from my work as a safety consultant. I help people go beyond their comfort zone, to be OK with being uncomfortable. It’s a unique kind of adventure that appeals to the explorer mindset. My clients learn how to take care of themselves and survive in harsh environments,” Mark explains.
“I laugh at myself because I’m basically working towards doing myself out of a job! After a few trips, they’re able to operate by themselves because of the skills they’ve learned.”
In 2019, Mark was given sponsorship by the Tasmanian Government to conduct the Veterans’ Active Recreation Program, delivering unique outdoor adventure experiences and showcasing career pathways in the ecotourism industry for military veterans.
“The program demonstrates how core military skills like self-discipline, time management and resilience can be harnessed and are highly transferable to employment in the adventure field.”
As an offshoot of this work, Mark has become passionate about photography.
“I used this skill in the military as a sniper and in my reconnaissance work. Now, I use photography as an artistic pursuit. I find it both relaxing and good for my mental health.”
Based on this interest, Mark conducted free online photography training for veterans during Covid-19 lockdowns. From here, his concept of a Veterans’ Photographic Exhibition was brought to life. Showcasing career imagery and accompanying stories from Australian veterans, the Point & Shoot exhibition brings a voice to the unique stories of serving personnel and provides a rare glimpse into the life and experiences of fellow Australians who have served their country. The exhibition is now in its third year.
“It’s not about professional photography, but about sharing some of those moments frozen in time that those who serve our nation thought were worth remembering,” Mark comments.
“What’s been most rewarding has been bringing veterans and communities together. Most Australians don’t ask themselves about the experiences that veterans have gone through. I am humbled by the opportunity to share these stories with the public.
“Sharing and documenting lived experiences is where my passion is at the moment,” he says of his move into videos and short documentary films.
“I want to encourage and help others get more out of life. I don’t want to come to the end of my days wishing I had done more. My experience of facing death and mortality head on has led me to want to lead a life without limits. To not fear death but also to not wait for it. To get on with living.
“For veterans, in particular, I want to promote Post-traumatic growth. To take their experiences and, moving forward, to thrive.”
“I want to encourage and help others get more out of life. I don’t want to come to the end of my days wishing I had done more. My experience of facing death and mortality head on has led me to want to lead a life without limits. To not fear death but also to not wait for it. To get on with living.”
https://www.facebook.com/PointAssist
@point_assist
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Army, Painter
Born in Montmartre, Paris, Nyulla is of French Australian descent. Her family moved to various countries during her childhood and, from this experience, she became fluent in many languages while developing a love of history. Nyulla also revelled in nature and challenged her body and her mind through martial arts, at which she excelled.
As a child, Nyulla’s future was always clear to her. All she wanted to do was join the army, choosing to enlist as soon as she finished school in Australia.
Sadly, her dream of serving became her nightmare. After serving for four years, she left the army with a bad back injury and Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Even though she has deep scars, Nyulla also remembers the incredible bonds she made in the military.
“I’ve never been able to find such strong friendships in the civilian world.”
Nyulla had no training in any visual arts. “In fact,” she says, “my high school art teacher had told me ‘You don’t have a single artistic bone in your body,’ and I’d believed her.”
Yet, after her discharge, from somewhere deep within, she turned to painting. Nyulla wanted something to pass the time at night when her anxiety made sleep impossible. She laughs as she recalls the first time this inspiration hit her.
“I went to a ‘two-dollar’ shop and spoke to a lovely woman there. I told her I needed painting materials. I had no idea what I needed. She guided me towards acrylic colours, a canvas and two brushes.”
Nyulla rushed home and began to paint. When she finished, as if coming out of a trance, she looked at the canvas.
“I said to myself, ‘It’s good. I love it. I’ll enter it into a competition.’ ”
Online, she found the Mission to Seafarers’ Maritime Art Prize and entered her painting. Nyulla was a finalist in the competition.
In the same year, her work attracted the attention of two publishers in London and she appeared in international art publications. A gallery in Rome also expressed interest in exhibiting her work during this time. She’s proud of what she has achieved and continues to paint from within.
“Life is my inspiration and, ultimately, that dictates my style. I generally paint when my emotions are most intense. My work is not beholden to one category or style. I feel that doing so would only limit my ability to express my passion, desires and inner turmoil. I still enjoy the surprises that appear on my canvases during, and when I finish, a piece of work.”
Just as Nyulla paints from a place of passion, she gravitates towards strong, deep colours. The turmoil in the sky and ocean are a constant inspiration for her. She finds that her work comes from strong emotions in her life, both positive and negative, and the colours she chooses reflect those feelings.
“For me, there is no such thing as a work day. It depends on when my hand and heart tell me they want to paint. I then go into my own interior landscape. I put on music. I block out completely. Something happens. When I’m painting, I feel like I’m tasting life, that I’m drinking it.”
Nyulla continues to paint from her heart and not from what she learns from others. She now paints with both oils and acrylics and sometimes uses both in one piece of art. She often paints on paper, as well as canvas.
“I don’t know the rules, so I don’t know if I’m breaking them,” she laughs.
Nyulla prefers the effect produced by a palette knife rather than brushes. She loves to slowly mix colours so that she can watch what new shade is produced.
Nyulla is keen to highlight the role that art has had in helping manage her illness. She believes that the number of nights a week that are interrupted by night terrors has halved since beginning to paint. She knows that it hasn’t cured her PTSD, but it has certainly diminished its impact and provided her with a future.
The Department of Veteran Affairs (DVA) has also been a constant support, and she states that they have not once let her fall.
Recently, she became part of their program to provide a support dog. Cuba, the Springer Spaniel, has enriched her life and expanded her horizons. With her, she has been able to leave the house and be near people. Even enjoying a coffee in a public space had not been possible before Cuba came into her life.
“She won’t betray me, and she makes me laugh,” Nyulla says.
“I want to tell people that I have PTSD. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m still a person. I’m no longer a prisoner of my demons. I think there are a lot of veterans out there who are in my shoes. Who, like me, hesitate to reach out. I want to use my art to get people talking about PTSD.”
Today she has become Nyulla, the artist. She has become a fighter.
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Army, Painter
Robert always wanted to become an artist. He found out early that he was ‘pretty good at it’ and was accepted into the School of Art in Glasgow, Scotland. Yet after only a year and a messy parental divorce, he knew that he needed to leave home and support himself. As a student, this wasn’t possible.
Passing the recruiting office one day, Robert decided to follow his father’s footsteps and apply to become a Royal Air Force (RAF) engineer. However, he failed the medical, and it was then that Robert discovered he was colour blind. Walking out dejected, he was quickly ushered into the army recruitment office where they were happy to enlist him as a Queen’s Guard.
“I had mixed feelings. I knew I had to get away. I was also really excited at what lay ahead.”
The strict regime of the Guards suited Robert’s strong sense of discipline. There, he discovered that he was also ‘pretty good’ at shooting and was enrolled into a sniper course. He went through the ranks of sniping and reconnaissance and then proceeded into Special Forces.
“I look on those days as a curse sometimes. As my dark period. I wish I was rubbish at shooting. I had no inclination for that sort of thing. But I know that, whatever I try, I have to master it - as quickly and as accurately as I possibly can.”
It was only when he was medically retired, many years later, that Robert began realising the toll those years had taken on him.
“When I was in Sandhurst, one of my snipers died in Afghanistan. I found it really hard to get over that. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I felt guilty that I couldn’t protect him, even though I wasn’t even in the same country. I couldn’t deal with the fact that he’d died,” Robert recalls.
Making sniping his own, Robert became an instructor and began harnessing his artistic talents.
“We had cameras, but the image wasn’t immediate. It was the days of spool film that had to be sent off to be developed. I started teaching snipers how to sketch the areas of reconnaissance. This worked out well - especially for briefing those higher up the chain.”
“Art was always part of my life in the army. I used to do murals or advertisements for boxing tournaments and so on. It was woven into my job. I taught Prince Harry how to sketch a bit, at Sandhurst.”
He remembers an incident, as a Queen’s Guard, with humour.
“I came around the back of the guard post at Buckingham Palace and one of my guardsmen was trying not to make any noise. But a dog had latched onto his leg. He was looking at me as if to say, ‘What can I do? It’s the Queen’s corgi!’ This little thing was quite vicious and really going for his leg. I kicked the dog, it went off yelping, and we both legged it back to the guardroom.”
His next move was to Australia, in a training role. Unfortunately, Robert’s back was seriously injured when he was travelling in an armoured vehicle that dropped three metres into a creek bed.
“That was the end of my army career, basically,” says Robert.
“It took me a long time after that to be tested for PTSD (Post-traumatic stress disorder). I always thought I was way stronger than that. I would counsel other people with the condition but I couldn’t believe that I had it. It was devastating and I was pretty embarrassed. I was the Master Sniper in my unit in Iraq. People came to me for help and advice. I’d done eleven Operational tours. But it all just caught up with me. You try to ‘get on with it’ but you pay for it later. I still struggle now and it’s my ongoing battle,” he says quietly.
“Then I knew what I had to do. I needed art to get me out of the hole I was in. It was something tangible I could hold onto. Art took me out of myself.”
Robert became a patient in a veterans’ hospital in Melbourne. He had previously worked with the Australian National Veterans Arts Museum (ANVAM) on the Invictus Games where his painting, True Resilience, was showcased. Joining in on their weekly art classes, Robert was able to master his feelings of guilt and shame.
From there, Robert has taken his art to a different level. He thoroughly enjoys teaching veterans and their spouses, knowing the relief it can be to those who suffer with the effects of PTSD, and those who care for them. Robert also finds value in producing art that fundraises for charities, especially relating to PTSD.
For his own creative development, Robert has successfully entered art competitions, where he is able to showcase his passion. One Archibald Prize entry was a self-portrait.
“The peripherals of the painting are a snapshot in a day of my life. It shows what I see and feel on a daily basis with no warning. I painted the outside in grey tones to reflect my visions and ‘daymares’. When they do come, they are not always in detail, which is frustrating as I work with detail.”
Robert shares his story verbally and artistically in his aim to raise awareness of mental health issues in veterans, both as an artist and a guest speaker. His words and images are not only powerful, but help his audience to better understand his journey and how art has helped him battle his demons.
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Army, Artist
During Rory’s adolescent years, he skateboarded and practised his bass guitar for hours at a time. He loved martial arts and kickboxing and had his own clothing brand as a teenager. However, when he joined the army at 18, all of this “went into the bin”.
Rory knew he’d always wanted to be a soldier, but the reality was much more confronting than he’d imagined. The trainers were tough men and their motto was to Train Hard and Fight Easy. Surviving training meant that a recruit had earned the right to wear the beret, and that they were a valuable asset to the Australian Defence Force, ready for deployment.
After two years of preparation, he was deployed to the frontline in Afghanistan and spent a gruelling nine months there with his Infantry unit. The unit’s main purpose was to mentor the Afghan National Army personnel. Like most soldiers who serve in a war zone, hyper-vigilance soon became a part of Rory’s life and remains so to this day. On his return to Australia, he completed five years in the 5th Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment in Darwin before leaving the army.
As Rory adapted to civilian life, he admits there were times when he felt unsupported by both individuals and organisations, both military and civilian. Rather than knocking him down, these experiences made him sensitive to the suffering of others. He became aware of friends and other veterans who felt abandoned by the military after they were discharged and he became passionate about getting their stories known. He also maintains close connections to the people he fought alongside during his time in Afghanistan.
Although Rory was always drawn to creative forms of expression such as drawing and music, he found that it wasn’t until after leaving the army that he discovered the true power of art.
“The creative process is like an exercise in mindfulness. The positive focus of attention and time spent mastering technique is a kind of meditation.”
During his time of transition from military to civilian life, Rory began to paint. He used acrylics on canvas and painted both abstracts and portraits, at times a combination of both. Even to this day he still appreciates the graphics on a skateboard and many signed skateboards adorn the walls of his studio. He has respect for all aspects of art and particularly appreciates graffiti and street art.
In no small way, Rory’s art has played a big part in his ability to not only survive, but also to be a mentor and role model to others.
“I’m trying to leave my mark on the world with my art. My time is well spent when I’m interacting with a canvas. It keeps me sane,” he admits, as he adjusts and re-adjusts to life’s constantly changing perception of ‘normal’.
He uses his art specifically to draw attention to young, ex-serving veterans and the life-changing experiences that they have been through. As he meets other veteran artists, he has discovered an affinity with them. He understands their attempts to express themselves and their experiences through art. Rory has completely reframed his life since his discharge and he continually works to reframe the perception of the public towards ex-soldiers.
The challenges of being deployed to a country so different in environment and culture from one’s own, the gravity of war, the gruelling demands of life as a combat soldier and the transition back into civilian life have all become inspiration for Rory’s paintings. In 2021, his work formed part of a long-term exhibition, Between Two Worlds at Melbourne’s Shrine of Remembrance.
“My story is in my artwork. My military story is what separates me from other artists. When you go from being a teenager to a soldier, you’re a soldier forever. It impacts my story.”
A thought, or perhaps a memory, flashes across Rory’s face that may be seen on a canvas in the near future as he considers where, and who, he is at this moment in time.
“I’ve seen death. I’ve seen horror. I’ve seen it all. I’ve come out the other end. I’m just happy I survived.”
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Navy, Photographer
Scott was raised by his grandparents in the small coastal town of South West Rocks in New South Wales.
“It was one of those small towns that makes you feel a bit ignorant of the outside world. There were only the 3 B’s on offer for a job - a butcher, a baker or a builder. My grandparents wanted more for me than that. In my early teens I joined Naval Cadets and fell in love with it. I knew that was what I wanted to do.”
It was straight out of high school that Scott joined the navy. Joining as a Bosun’s Mate, his work involved direct contact with ships and boats mainly in the area of ship’s husbandry.
“There was also ceremonial work for events and the training of other personnel. I did that for fifteen and a half years,” he says.
Scott spent ten years at sea, which the small town man thoroughly enjoyed. He was trained and prepared for deployment to Afghanistan, and was disappointed when this didn’t happen. He was, however, deployed to Bougainville.
“I picked up a UN stint from the army. I did a lot of Southeast Asia deployments and mainly refugee work. From 2002, I worked on Operation Sovereign Borders. It was both eye opening and confronting.”
Scott’s opinion of refugees changed from the media’s perception when he was able to put a face to the people.
“Refugees are just people trying to escape a bad or dangerous life,” he says.
His memories are vivid of one particular event.
“I was injured in an incident. We had more than sixty refugees in the water that night and there were six metre swells. Two of our ship’s company and a refugee floated off and were picked up by another patrol boat the next morning,” he says quietly.
“The refugee boat started sinking. We managed to get all of the women and children off, however, and the men were in the water and hanging off our inflatable boat. As our large patrol boat came towards us, we managed to hook onto the back of it. However, I tripped and fell back into the inflatable boat. The refugees were panicking and I was pushed down into a confined space, in knee deep water. I ended up with crushed vertebra and connecting tissue damage to the ligaments. I now live with constant pain. Consequently, when I left the navy, I had severe depression.”
Scott found that his interest in photography became a way to help him cope. He had been interested in this art form since high school, where he took it as an elective for three years.
He carried his camera with him everywhere in the navy, starting with a ‘point and shoot’ basic model and ending up with a Digital SLR camera. Scott enjoyed taking day-in-day-out photos of the navy that people aren’t usually able to see. He wanted to show his grandparents what navy life was really like.
“My photography became a kind of escape. My heart went towards images that weren’t mundane. I’d take photos of helicopters landing and taking off and our ships leaving for deployment.
“I discovered that I don’t like to photograph people too much. Sometimes, they’re too critical. I prefer landscape and large scale photography.”
One of Scott’s delights in life had been when he was able to ride his bike around the mountains behind Cairns during a posting. Frustratingly, while he now lives in the area, his nerve pain has made that pursuit impossible.
“My photography, once again, has been my escape. It allows me to free my mind and gives me purpose. I believe it also gives me control over my situation. Even things like planning what I’ll photograph, working out what I’ll need and deciding where I’ll go for a photoshoot add to that purpose.
“I love to photograph waterfalls in the mountains. I can get out and explore, even though I’m a lot slower than I was. I also do drone photography. I live between the rainforest and the ocean, so I’m never lost for inspiration.”
He describes one of his photos which, while not in the landscape genre, tells a visual story.
“It’s a photo I took in Bali of huge Koi goldfish all pushing and crowding each other for food. That’s how it feels for me, sometimes, to be around people. I get that feeling of chaos and of being crushed.
“Even with my landscapes, I try to lead the viewer’s eye through the photo.”
@scottthephot
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Army, Painter
Steve grew up in, and around, the working-class suburb of Broadmeadows in Victoria. His family unit consisted of his Mum, his sister and Steve.
“I remember my childhood being a bit rough. We moved around a lot. This meant changing schools quite often,” he says.
His creative streak was exposed in high school, where he studied art up until Year 12 and was accepted into RMIT University in the Creative Arts faculty.
“My Mum was raising me and she didn’t have the money for me to go to art college, and I would have had to support myself. At that stage, I wasn’t mentally ready for it, either. I bummed around for about four years after school.”
Now, as an established artist who has developed his skills through his lived experiences, Steve reflects, “what is learnt at university can become a cliche.”
After a few years of ‘bumming around’, Steve wasn’t completely happy with the direction his life was taking. Feeling the need to develop some self-discipline, he enlisted in the Australian army, doing his military training at Kapooka in New South Wales.
“I couldn’t do drill. But I focused and got stuck into it and got Most Improved Recruit. I felt I had to do the stuff myself and that nobody had my back. It was all up to me. It needed a strong mindset. It was good for me.”
Steve then spent five years in the Infantry in the 5th/7th Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment (5/7 RAR), mostly at Holsworthy, also in NSW. Military life suited Steve and he developed a lifelong discipline and work ethic as he worked hard and completed many courses there. He also enjoyed honing his physical skills and is particularly proud of his award for Physical Fitness at the School of Infantry.
“Army life was good for me.”
At this time Steve was able to reconnect with his dad, who had been diagnosed with cancer, and was living in Melbourne.. The army gave Steve a compassionate posting there in order to play a support role for his father. Later, fate stepped in, when he was about to be transferred to 1 RAR in North Queensland.
“I met a girl in Melbourne. I wanted to see where that relationship might go, so I decided to leave the army. We married and are still together, with two sons, over 20 years later,” he laughs.
There were times, post-military, when Steve suffered from depression and he doesn’t know where this came from.
“You can accomplish great things if you keep up the discipline learnt in the army. I use that. I also know that I have to look after myself.”
After leaving the army, Steve started his own motor restoration shop, and began painting custom cars, hot rods and motor bikes.
“I think I basically just fell into it. I didn’t have any training. My dad had been a panel beater but I didn’t really learn anything from him because he was never around.”
His creative talent was coming from within as he began to win trophies for his work and was listed in many magazines.
This was merely a stepping stone for Steve and he next worked on large scale realist paintings, which were soon being exhibited around Melbourne and regional Victoria. Many of his portraits feature familiar faces and his painting of television identity, Dylan Lewis, was a finalist for the prestigious Doug Moran art prize in 2012.
“He was in Star Wars so I painted him dunking a Star Wars robot into a cafe latte. I wanted to incorporate things from his life into the painting,” Steve says.
His mantra is No one wants to eat spaghetti bolognaise every night. He aims to keep variety in his work and his style constantly evolves and changes. Steve admired the work of Albert Tucker and Charles Blackman in the Heide Museum of Art and this encouraged his style to move in a new direction. Freed from the constraints of accuracy, he plays with colour and looseness of brushstrokes. He began by using the army in his work, as a way to include Australiana.
“If people from around the world are looking at my paintings, I want them to immediately think, ‘This guy’s an Aussie’.
“There’s one painting I love. It’s of a boy holding a teddy bear. He’s got no one to play with and he’s missing his dad. He’s wearing a slouch hat, so his father could be on Operations or simply not in his life. My old man did a runner, so it comes from the heart. I don’t paint for anyone else - just for myself.”
Steve currently uses sign-writing enamel paint. The result is a combination of colour and a personal exploration of emotions.
“It’s a brighter paint and I really like what I’m getting with it. I love the colours and the smell of it. It’s very textual. It gives an old-school effect that I’m looking for. I also love using black in the background, as it makes the colours ‘pop’. My recent work is quite dark and it might be reflective of this time of Covid. I want my work to jump out at you because of the colour. It may not be a traditional way of putting colours together, but I love the way it turns out.”
Steve’s two sons, Josh and Aidan, have watched him paint since they were babies and both are leading creative lives.
“Josh is a musician. He’s like me. He gets obsessive about it when he’s creating. Aidan likes art. I tell them, ‘You’ve got to have a crack. That’s all you can do’.
“To me, if it’s not real and not from the heart, I feel like a fraud. I have to feel it - like a Jedi knight from Star Wars.”
@steve_may_painter
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Air Force, Designer - Craftsman
Born in New Zealand, Zachary moved to Australia with his family as a small child. His father was a fish farmer, finding work in the Huron Valley in Tasmania and later in Cardwell, North Queensland. Growing up in these small coastal towns, Zachary hid his creative streak, which was evident from a young age.
“The small-town lifestyle didn’t consider art and drawing very masculine and I was called names and picked on for it. You had to like football, fishing and shooting or you’d be ostracised. You had to drink beer and Bundy rum, too,” remembers Zachary, laughing.
Without realising it, joining the military was probably the most masculine thing Zachary could have done.
“Instead of getting out of the small-town mentality, I stayed trapped in that mindset in the air force. In saying that, I really enjoyed my time in the military. It was a good experience,” he recalls.
After basic training in Adelaide, Zachary was posted to Wagga Wagga where he was trained as an Avionics Technician. He was later transferred to Townsville and worked on the Caribous; the last piston engine aircraft in the air force, and was part of a transport flying squadron. The Caribou was particularly useful in Papua New Guinea as it had short takeoff and landing capability for the mountainous terrain.
“There were lots of opportunities to feel that you were doing something rewarding, for many areas of the Pacific region.”
As the aircraft started showing signs of fatigue, the squadron closed and Zachary was transferred to the army to work on Blackhawk helicopters.
“With the army, I was deployed to East Timor for six months and that was an experience that changed me. I realised how much opportunity we Australians have, in so many areas such as health and education and a sense of security. We have a safety net. Yet, the Timorese were such happy people, who wanted to share the little they had with us. They were happy and uncomplaining even though they had so little.”
After returning to Australia, Zachary was posted to Amberley Air Force base in Queensland. But he found himself asking, “What do I really want to do?”
“I want to be more creative.”
At this realisation, Zachary began studying full time at university, completing a Bachelor of Industrial Design while continuing to work part-time at Amberley in the air force.
“At this time, I would drive past an aircraft museum near Amberley. Plane relics were lying around outside, with grass growing through them, rusting away. There were some old planes there from the Korean and Vietnam wars. I saw an excavator chopping them up one day, and I pulled in. I was upset about the idea of scrapping old things, rather than thinking about them culturally.
“I suggested that they turn some of the aircraft parts into functional pieces, to give them a new purpose as they seemingly had the workshop and equipment to do it. They stunned me with their reply, ‘Why don’t you do it?’
“They gave me a wing from an Aermacchi that very day and I made a conference table out of it, presenting it back to them shortly after.
“I was excited because I felt that I was using the knowledge I’d taken from my days in the military, as well as my studies with design and my own inbuilt creativity.”
“There were some old planes there from the Korean and Vietnam wars. I saw an excavator chopping them up one day, and I pulled in. I was upset about the idea of scrapping old things, rather than thinking about them culturally.”
Zachary was supported by the Prince’s Trust, a national charity which helps veterans transition into being business owners.
“They gave me the confidence I needed - that little boost to get my foot over the line and give it a go. The hardest part was taking that first big step.”
As Zachary developed his business, he also volunteered at museums that focused on aviation. He chose to get to know that community and they opened their arms with gratitude, providing him with aviation parts that had no further use.
“I thought getting parts would be the hardest part of the project, but they seem to pop up all the time!”
Zachary believes there is beauty in aircraft that represents the dream of leaving the earth and entering the clouds. He also sees them as a symbol of significant technological achievement.
“Other than in museums, there is a terrible waste of decommissioned aircraft. By repurposing them, I can make a positive contribution to sustainability and the historical preservation of our aviation history.”
“Finding practical applications by reclaiming scrap, by turning them into furniture and art, is the main function of my business. It also preserves the history of the original item. A decommissioned wing tip may become a bookcase, aircraft skin can become bottle openers or an emergency oxygen bottle, a desk lamp,” he says.
“I aim to make a positive contribution to the world by moving away from consumerism to creating long-lasting, quality items designed to be passed down from generation to generation, while celebrating a unique history.”
@relicdesignandcraftco
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Army, Poet - Author
Haydn began his working life as a fitter and machinist. At the same time, he completed a Bachelor of Theology and a Master of Arts, and became an ordained minister in the Churches of Christ in 2006.
Shortly after, Haydn was attending a church ministers’ forum, where he sat next to an army Chaplain. Striking up a conversation, it later developed into a firm friendship. The life of a Chaplain piqued Haydn’s interest and he began investigating it for himself.
“You’ll need to shave off that beard and lose some weight, for a start!” his friend said.
Haydn laughs as he remembers thinking, “Cheeky fellow!”
However, he did just that and, after a lengthy recruitment process, was accepted to work part-time as a Chaplain and an Officer in the Army Reserves.
“I thought I’d start gently so I committed to five years. Now, fourteen years down the track, I still enjoy it and love the work - most of the time. It’s challenging, diverse and, at times, a sacrifice. You’re always on call. That’s part of our core value of service. I signed up to serve those who serve our nation. It’s a great honour.”
When Haydn’s civilian life changed and he faced redundancy, he made the decision to become a full-time army Chaplain. This decision had the added benefit of providing stability for his family at a time when his two sons were transitioning from high school. It wasn’t an easy time in his life with himself and his wife, Bronwyn, working four part-time jobs between them. So they made the decision to down-size and simplify their life.
“We just got by. One day I was having a particularly bad day. I was in tears, desperate to find a way forward. I was processing the grief of what I had known and lost. Decisions were out of my control. I was asking God, ‘Well? What’s next?’” he says.
“I started to write down some of my feelings about what I was going through. I was told in school that I was never any good at writing and poetry, so that’s what I believed. And yet, poetry was forming in my mind, and so I posted one of my poems to Facebook. A friend phoned and asked if I was OK. I explained how I was processing my shadow side and not doing well with the changes in my life. He said my writing was beautiful and to keep going. So, every day I would put a few words into a notepad. I’d reflect while I was walking or busy at work. Before I knew it, I had over a hundred short verses. That was the beginning.”
Haydn was deployed to the Solomon Islands in 2012.
“This was a hard time for my sons and my wife. Both boys were having difficulties at school.”
Out of this time of adversity, Haydn developed his approach to difficulties with the acronym S.A.F.E.R. He wanted to give his sons the tools to better themselves, rather than have someone else helping them. Haydn is very quick to point out that he’s not a medical or psychology practitioner, but that these tools are simply his personal approach to wellness and well-being.
“It’s really common sense. But it’s not that common.”
Haydn’s acronym and explanations are as follows:
S - Spirituality.It can mean different things to different people. It could be admiring the sunset, or it could be something religious, but that’s not necessary.
A - Activity.How do people move their body? It’s going to be different for different people, for example dance, martial arts, marathon running, etc.
F - Friendships and Belonging.This is a big one. Do a stocktake. Who are the people in your ‘tribe’? Where do you belong? You may be in a workplace, but these are not necessarily your friends. But, then again, they may be. It’s often our family and yet, your family may not be a safe place. So, how do you find friendship?
E - Eating nutritiously. Cutting back on things you know are bad for you, such as alcohol, processed foods, etc. How do we ensure a balanced diet? How do we measure our energy levels, based on what we put into our bodies? Water? We need to be mindful of this and talk to professionals in this field, if needed.
R - Redevelopment through life-long learning. We are developing the person we are and it’s an ongoing growth. We learn through visual, kinesthetic, aural, etc. We learn through creative ways. But we can also learn through hardship. What lessons can suffering teach us? It takes a lot of courage and some vulnerability.
Based on all his self-reflection on life, Haydn published a book of poetry called Beneath a Sea of Masks in 2020.
“It’s based on my lived experiences. There are twelve different personas in there, from my responses to being on top of the mountain to being in the deepest pit,” Haydn explains.
“The beautiful thing about poetry is that it gives the soul a voice. Often, when I share my poetry, a military veteran will say, ‘Me, too. I’ve felt that.’ At the end of my poetry is the S.A.F.E.R. material that, I hope, may help a reader look after themselves.
“Any of the creative arts offer something tangible to share with others, and to connect. A work colleague called me the Padre Poet. That sounded audacious. For me, poetry is just a way to share my story.”
Behind Persona
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A shared vision to create a greater understanding of the relevance arts engagement plays in the lives of each individual and the insights into an ever growing veteran arts community, Persona seeks to highlight the creativity of many veterans who we have had great privilege to know and build connections with across time, generations and creative endeavours.
Through an invitation, each artist joined this project with grace, generosity, curiosity and creative inquiry. The team operated with sensitivity, representing each artist in their own words and creative spaces. Each portrait captures an artist’s story at a point in time. A visual legacy of arts engagement and opportunity.
My own connections to the veteran arts community have been a catalyst for Persona’s inspiration and I am honoured to have been able to support the honest documentation of these lived experiences for future generations.
Tanja Johnston
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When ANVAM invited me to be part of the Persona project, I knew that my intellectual life had been leading to this. I had lived with three generations of veterans, through WW1 and WW2 and Vietnam. My university studies had been in Literature and Drama. Yet all of my experience and studies didn’t prepare me for my emotional engagement with the project. I learned the power that my art form, story telling, holds for both the narrator and the reader.
When I was confronted by painful or gentle or humorous or fascinating stories, they spoke directly to my heart. I am excited at the prospect of sharing them.
Take these stories to your own heart and listen deeply to, and be excited by, the veterans’ reminiscences. Be grateful for their Service and for their Art - just as I have been.
Gabriel Holmes
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What started as a personal interest in understanding more about an artist, has evolved into a series of environmental portraits and a body of work that I feel has a deep connection with the subject, an understanding of their career in the Australian Defence Force, and an appreciation of their arts practice.
Persona has enabled me to establish networks and friendships that I otherwise wouldn’t have found myself exposed to. It has also produced artistic collaborations which has seen my own work evolve as an image creator and artist.
For me, I didn’t just want to turn up and take a photograph of someone I barely knew. I wanted to find out more about each individual as a person, an artist and their career in the Army, Navy or Airforce. It was a deep dive into lived experiences from people that were happy to share and entrust in me their story.
The portraits you see are the end product. However, that’s only part of the bigger picture. After I was introduced to each veteran artist, there may have been days, months and in many cases, well over a year, before I pulled out my camera to capture their image. A lot of learning and reflection can happen in that time. I hope you enjoy my honest captures of these incredible service men and women.
Michael Christofas