19 Stumps

Stumps is a quiet painting filled with echoes of noise. At first glance, it shows an ordinary suburban scene: a modest garage, a stretch of green lawn, long shadows cast by the late sun, and a simple set of cricket stumps standing patiently with the ball resting nearby. Yet within this stillness lives the memory of countless summer evenings when time slowed, rules bent, and imagination carried the game far beyond its physical boundaries.

Set in the late 1970s and early 1980s, Stumps captures the essence of backyard cricket, a ritual as familiar as it was flexible. It recalls evenings when dinner had barely settled, and daylight still lingered just long enough for one more game. The minimum number of players was tw,o and there was no maximum. A brother, a neighbour, a passerby, anyone could become part of the match simply by finding a place somewhere in the outfield. In this world, participation mattered more than skill, and enthusiasm outweighed technique.

The garage in the painting stands in for a pavilion, a boundary wall, and sometimes a wicketkeeper, depending on the moment. Its clean lines and soft colours contrast with the organic shapes of trees and hedges, mirroring the way childhood games brought structure and chaos together. Backyard rules applied without argument. Every player had a turn to bat and bowl, and controversial decisions were settled with laughter rather than protest. It was often difficult to tell who was playing and who was watching because spectators could become players at any moment.

When the neighbours joined in, the game expanded beyond the backyard. The space in the painting feels larger than it is, as though its boundaries could shift easily. In reality, that shift often led to the street itself. At Number 33 Mountain View Terrace in Ōtaki, the cul-de-sac became the cricket ground for the entire neighbourhood. Cars were rare, and interruptions were forgiven. The asphalt transformed into a pitch shared by children and adults alike. Age and ability dissolved into a single communal game.

Light plays a crucial role in Stumps. The long shadows and warm tones suggest the fading of the day, that golden hour when the game became more urgent because its end was inevitable. As the light softened, the streetlights would flicker on one by one, signalling the gradual return home. Bats were leaned against fences, balls rolled to a stop, and goodbyes were called across lawns.

Eventually, stumps would be called. Not with disappointment but with satisfaction. The painting holds that moment, the pause between play and memory, when the game is over but its joy lingers. Stumps is not simply about cricket. It is about belonging, shared time, and the richness of a summer evening in Ōtaki when everyone was welcome, and everyone had a turn.

Oil on fine portrait linen: 95 x 115 cm; 37.4 x 45.2 in (sold)