All paintings carry memories, the season, a reason, or a lifetime experience, which often impact the painting’s journey in the studio. Destination Unknown will always remind me of the very unexpected death of my Mum. It was a jarring experience to leave a painting for several weeks and then return to the studio, as if nothing had changed. Of course, everything had changed; our family will never be the same. The ironic thing is that Mum and Dad were keen trampers, so it is very fitting that this painting should feature mountains. Additionally, the painting hints at fragility and the unknown, themes that I often revisit.
In the cool hush of early morning, as first light stretched across the high country mountains, a fragile balsa wood aeroplane flew into the sky. Built with care and powered by a single rubber band, it hummed softly as it climbed into the still air, its delicate wings catching the low sun. Hours of patient work had gone into its making—trimming, gluing, balancing—a quiet labour of love for one perfect flight.
The aircraft, barely heavier than a feather, soared with surprising grace. Beneath it, the valley yawned wide and rugged, a tangled ribbon of blue-green river threading through the stones. The rubber band unwound steadily, its power fading with every second, and the aeroplane began its silent glide. It flew on, steady and true, then faltered, dipping its nose toward the distant unknown.
The aeroplane drifts forward, its path uncertain. It is a fragile thing, dependent on forces unseen. The suggestion of motion is gentle rather than dramatic; there is no urgency in its flight, only a quiet persistence. It moves through the air as though carried by intention rather than control, guided into a space that offers no clear destination.
Colour plays its role carefully. The cool blues and greys establish a restraint, a subdued atmosphere that holds the painting together. Against this, the orange becomes more than an accent—it becomes a pulse, a point of focus that draws the eye and refuses to be ignored. It speaks of warmth, of presence, of something held onto even as everything else recedes.
There is a tension between what is fixed and what is not. The land endures, shaped over time beyond comprehension, while the aeroplane exists only for the duration of its flight. Its journey is finite, its outcome unknown. It may rise again on a current of air, or it may descend beyond sight, coming to rest somewhere in the unseen reaches of the valley.
What remains is the sense of continuation. The painting holds both absence and movement, loss and forward motion, without resolving them. It allows the uncertainty to remain, to sit within the image as part of its structure. In that space, the possibility of what comes next remains open, carried quietly along the path of a small, bright form moving through a vast and indifferent landscape.
