Joe Furlonger: Horizons

27 For some time, Joe Furlonger has been drawn to the awesome power of nature, its potential for disaster (particularly floods), and the people who cling precariously to the land and ride things out. Paintings of coiling, swollen rivers which spill over, of bruised black landscapes baking dry in the sun, and figurative works of farmers — with their brimmed hats, tractors, dogs and camaraderie — are worked up from his source material: calligraphic sketches and watercolours, done en plein air . Long days travelling solo into Barunggam Country, through the sodden Darling Downs, or out towards Channel Country in the rear corner pocket of Queensland, have never been an issue for Furlonger. Three such trips west, through 2011–12, even proved catalytic, ultimately giving rise to his ‘Balonne River’ series — a seminal juncture in a painting practice spanning three decades. ‘For these guys,’ he explained of the series, ‘I went back to Nolan’. The backgrounds informing the closely cropped figures are indeed Nolan-esque; resonant with 1940s Dimboola landscapes, their washy colour and minimal forms collude to suggest mirage-evoking heat, dry wind and midday light. Furlonger thinks Nolan’s paintings are often more accurate representations of a scene than is generally accepted, because he not only painted subjects from life but also froze intangibles in pigment. The product was an elaboration of a state of place, he adds, using the atmospheric, climatic, human and land-based attributes of a specific tract. For Furlonger, this is a crucial goal in his painting, taking precedence over a faithful rendition of a view. ‘Often, it’s considered a throwaway or mock naive style that Sid conjured, but those small Wimmera landscapes really nail it.’ I started looking back at Tucker, too. When I was 17, I had failed at a nice little list of things and then I thought I’d try art school. Another kid I knew said that art wouldn’t be for me, and that really burred me up. Not long after, I went to the Northern Territory and I saw these parrots flying through and thought, ‘Wow, they’re Tucker’s’. Before that, I’d thought, ‘I wonder why anyone would paint those birds so ugly?’ When I saw them, it was clear to me that he’d painted them as they are, and I realised, ‘Oh, this modern art thing actually works!’ It was Tucker, of all people, [who] taught me that — to paint what I see — and I knew I’d paint then. POURED FROM THE BRUSH