Painting the industrial past on Cockatoo Island - Before and After

Cockatoo Island, the largest island in Sydney Harbour, is located at the intersection of the Parramatta and Lane Cove rivers. It is the last vestige of the era of the Industrial Revolution remaining in Sydney.

CK8B & CK52 Crane & slipway from the Officers headquarters
1989 & 2007 oil on canvas 61 x 46cm

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Between 1839 -1869 Cockatoo Island was a prison colony.

The inmates not only excavated the 2 tunnels and 2 graving docks that nearly bisect the island, but to add insult to injury they even had to build their own gaol using the excavated sandstone of the island! The only successful escapee was bushranger Captain Thunderbolt (his more prosaic real name was Fred Ward), who escaped on 19th September 1863.

After its stint as Sydney's 'Alcatraz' the island was used as a graving dock,  reformatory and industrial schools, and a major shipbuilding site.
In the early twentieth century Cockatoo Island became one of Australia’s most important industrial sites where ships were built, repaired and modified. Thousands were trained and employed there. I still meet people who did their apprenticeship as a boilermaker or fitter and turner on Cockatoo Island.

As the progressive removal of tariffs, regressive government policies, the high dollar and the pressures of globalization helped kill off Australian manufacturing, the focus of employment has turned increasingly to tourism, entertainment and service industries.

Most of Sydney’s former sites of industrial and maritime activity have now been gobbled up by developers for monolithic dormitories of beige apartment blocks. After many political battles, some remaining industrial structures of Cockatoo Island have been retained, against all odds. Although some large workshops, slipways, wharves, residences and other buildings remain, such as the Turbine Shop and the Mould Loft, many major buildings were demolished after Cockatoo Island closed as a dockyard in 1991.

Now it's a UNESCO world heritage site and its industrial ambience has been exploited for many cultural events. It was the site for the filming of X Men Origins -Wolverine and several 'reality' programs. Since 2008 it has been the flagship venue of Sydney’s Biennale. However, its original function as part of Sydney’s rapidly disappearing Working Harbour, has gone forever.
When I was 'Artist in Residence' there in the mid-late 1980s and then again in the early 2000s, I was the only artist on the island.

For the last decade, the public has been allowed to visit the island, but when I painted the 2nd canvas in 2007, it was still off limits. The Sydney Harbour Federation Trust was frantically fixing up the infrastructure to be able to open it to tourists. I would travel by barge at the crack of dawn from Mort's Dock with the other workmen.

CK8B 2 Cranes on the North-West Slipway
1989 oil on canvas 61 x 46cm
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I started painting on Cockatoo Island in the mid 1980s when it was still operational and submarines were still being refitted there.

I'd have to sign the Official Secrets Act and promise faithfully not to paint any submarines or sell any of my paintings to the Russians. I'd leave my easel, paints and table in the office of the Ship Painters and Dockers building between Fitzroy and Sutherland docks.

There was a sign "Pro Painter Foreman" on the door, which always made me laugh. I was so naive that I didn't know anything about the reputation of this notorious union!

These two canvases were painted at the same location,the north - western slipway, at the same time of day, at the same time of year and on the same format canvas - but 18 years apart.

CK52 Crane & slipway from the Officers headquarters
2007 oil on canvas 61 x 46cm
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The most obvious difference between the 1989 and 2007 paintings is the omission of the pale green crane, a casualty of a storm not long after the 1989 canvas was painted.

This was the Butters crane, purchased from the Whyalla Shipyards in 1979, when Cockatoo Island was trying to adopt more innovative strategies,for the construction of HMAS Success in 1983-4. The rather forlorn looking crane left on its own in the 2007 painting, was the ex- West Wall crane, also a comparatively recent addition to the island, as it was relocated from Garden Island in the 1970s.

This partial modernization was a false dawn, however, as HMAS Success would be last ever ship built and launched at Cockatoo Island. Less than 8 years later, the island was closed.     

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My page of Cockatoo Island Paintings

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Article written by Steve Meacham in the Sydney Morning Herald

Painting Spirit of Tasmania in drydock Garden Island

Today's painting on the deck shows a plein air painting of the Spirit of Tasmania 1 in Captain Cook drydock, Garden Island.


GI 5 'Spirit of Tasmania 1 in Captain Cook drydock'
2013 oil on canvas 45 x 92cm

It was an amazing experience to watch the whole operation of drydocking and I was so lucky to be able to paint it from the floor of the drydock, with the immense bulk of the ship looming up above me.

On this occasion the Spirit of Tasmania 1 was in drydock for about 3 weeks between July and August 2013.

Every sea-going vessel has to undergo this maintenance process twice within a period of 5 years.

GI 5 'Spirit of Tasmania 1 in Captain Cook drydock'
2013 oil on canvas 45 x 92cm

When the ship arrives at the dock, it has to be positioned accurately so that when the water is pumped out it will rest exactly on the blocks at the bottom of the dock.

Once the ship is in position, the entrance to the dock is closed using a watertight gate, known as a caisson, sealing the ship off from the rest of the harbour.

The time from when the stern of the ship first touches the blocks, to when the full weight of the ship is bourne by the blocks is the most crucial and potentially dangerous period in the entire operation.

The ship must rest on an even keel and not be lopsided or tilting down at one end.

Even 1 metre off the sender line could result in the ship toppling over.

Care also must be taken that the ship doesn't refloat after it is resting on the blocks.

When the ship is finally resting on the blocks it is called "Taking the blocks" and after all the water has been pumped out of the dock, then the inspection, cleaning and repairs can be carried out.

GI 11 'Captain Cook drydock Garden Island'

2013 oil on canvas 25 x 51cm

An awe-inspiring 280 million litres of water had to be pumped out of the Captain Cook graving dock before work on the ship can begin.

It is a hypnotic sight to watch the water slowly drain over a period of several hours.

This is a painting of the southern end of the dock, and inside the walls you can see the black depth indicators pointing like giant rulers into the bottom of the dock.

Plein air oil painting  of Spirit of Tasmania 1
in Garden Island Drydock

Dry dock walls are built on a heroic scale. They need to resist the enormous hydrostatic forces unleashed when the dock is being dewatered.

They reminded me of the monumental architecture of lost ancient civilizations such as the Egyptian, Mesopotamian or Aztec.

GI 5B 'Fabulous flying forklift in Captain Cook drydock'
2013 oil on canvas 10 x 10cm

Heavy machinery such as forklifts, cranes and scissor lifts were then lowered onto the dock floor by the two cranes on either side of the dock.
In my largest canvas you can see no fewer than 8 cranes, as well as 2 portaloos!
It was a very long walk up to the surface!

The first major job was to wash the slime off the outer shell plating with high pressure waterjets. Although this certainly does make the ship look much prettier, the real reason is that it helps reduce fuel consumption and emissions.

Then the outer shell plating is coated with anti- corrosive paint, as seawater takes an enormous toll on any surface exposed to it. Any parts of the ship that will be submerged are then painted with a coat of anti-fouling paint.

GI 5A 'Workmen on Spirit of Tasmania 3
in Captain Cook drydock'
2013 oil on canvas 10 x 10cm 

Propellor blades, rudders, underwater valves, cathodic protection systems, anchors and cables must be inspected for corrosion and cracks.

There was also extensive work on the interior and the stern doors.

GI 7 'Andre on bridge of Spirit of Tasmania 1
in Captain Cook drydock'
2013 oil on canvas 25 x 51cm

I included many of the contracters in my series of paintings. This, painted from the bridge of the ship also shows the soon to be demolished Hammerhead Crane set against the scenic backdrop of  the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

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Patina- Beautiful decay

 GIHC16 'Detail Hammerhead Crane'
 2014 oil on canvas 28 x 36cm
SOLD
PRIVATE COLLECTION : SYDNEY

In my major solo exhibition "Under the Hammer" at the Frances Keevil Gallery there are several paintings of the Hammerhead Crane seen from various vantage points in the middle distance.

However, I also painted several canvases of close-up details that at first sight look like abstract works. I can assure you, they are completely realistic. They just focus on a tiny portion of the subject, unlike most of my work. These paintings have been wildly popular, but I wonder whether it is just because onlookers have become less capable of coping with the complexity of an entire scene, and are only able to appreciate a fragment.

GIHC18 'Girder, Hammerhead Crane
2014 oil on canvas 61 x 91cm 
FINALIST : 2015 HORNSBY ART PRIZE
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Now I can't overstate how much I hate the flat picture plane!

And "modern" art has been all about "the surface", flatness and shallowness, in more ways than one.
In my paintings, I want depth, perspective and layers; physically, emotionally and intellectually.
So even in my canvases of close-up details, there are hidden depths and a sense of space extending beyond the picture plane, especially in the drawings and paintings I created while looking up, standing directly underneath the centre of the crane. I feel that the painting with the greatest sense of space and depth is  "Under the Hammerhead Crane" seen below.
However these canvases of details of the Hammerhead Crane have given me the chance to reveal the transmutations, ambiguities and impermanence of form by the beauty of its decaying exterior.

 GIHC20 'Under the Hammerhead Crane'
2014 oil on canvas 61 x 91cm
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Patina is the visible sign of age on the surface of a material. It panders to our growing desire for the proof of authenticity; a backlash against the homogenized and generic corporate spaces that have taken over so much of our world. Materials are imbued with a history that speaks of ‘natural’ processes accrued over time, such as distressed wood, weather-beaten stone or brick, faded wallpaper, well-worn textiles, rusted ironwork, greening copper - the valued hallmarks of "shabby chic" in upmarket interior decor.

If you lose the texture, you lose your history.
The irony is that patina is seen as adding "authenticity", even though it has been caused by the degeneration and instability of the object.
I think of rust on a metal structure as though it is blood dripping from a wound.

Worship of patina can be seen as yet another symptom of the post-modern obsession with surface at the expense of ‘authentic’ depth.

Patina can be a by-product of the natural process of ageing, but it also functions as a memorial to disaster, natural or otherwise- the architectural equivalent of post-traumatic stress, showing the ‘wound’ inflicted by the trauma of the past as it reverberates down into the present.
Patina straddles the space and time between construction and ruin. The allure of patina lies in its instability; because any attempt to stabilise it affects the essential process.
The art critic Walter Benjamin said that the ‘real’ is only revealed in moments of ruination.
As with ruins, patina represents a fragment that suggests the meaning of the whole. Patina holds together contradictions, reveals historical depth, and yet ironically also remembrance and even healing.

Under the Hammer
Exhibition dates: 

Open from Tuesday 18th November –  Sunday 7th December

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Painting the Hammerhead crane Part 1

Ozymandias

Every ruin is a reminder that all things are destined for oblivion.
I am both artist and historian; painting amidst the detritus of the industrial past, walking under rusty girders in the shadow of toppled giants.

'Under the Hammerhead Crane'

2014 ink pastel charcoal on paper 115 x 80cm

FINALIST : 2014 KOGARAH ART PRIZE

FINALIST : 2014 MOSMAN ART PRIZE
Available 

This is a mixed media painting of the Hammerhead Crane, which unfortunately is now being demolished, despite its iconic heritage status and distinguished history.
By now the "hammerhead" of the crane has been almost completely dismantled.
Instead of painting from the more familiar viewpoint of Mrs Macquarie's Chair opposite, I tackled the daunting bureaucracy of the Navy for permission to paint 'en plein air' on Garden Island itself.
I stood directly underneath the Crane and looked up into the top of the soaring structure, to capture its sheer scale. It is the embodiment of the 18th century concept of the sublime.
This painting has now been chosen as a finalist in both the Kogarah Art Prize and the Mosman Art Prize.

People are absent in many of my paintings, even though I trained as a figure painter and for 2 decades spent several days a week drawing and painting figures from life. I find that leaving out figures or relegating them to the role of "staffage" enhances the sense of the powerlessness of the individual against the inexorable forces of destruction and change. The crane itself is the best homage to the absent and largely forgotten workers who created the industrial landscapes that are now being destroyed.

GIHC13 'The Hammerhead Crane - homage to Piranesi' 

2014 ink gouache on paper 56 x 76cm
Available

Spaces that have a sense of history, place and meaning, find an echo in art history.

The safety nets resemble fan vaulting in a ruined Gothic abbey and the zig-zag tangle of girders and scaffolding recall Piranesi's images of the 'Carceri' or the wreckage of the dying Roman Empire.

The Hammerhead Crane was built during World War II, and symbolized industrial might, the march of progress and confidence in the values of Western civilization.
The mood of past triumphalism is now tempered by the present reality of scuffed textures, rust and tarnished metal.
Even as a victim of the slow death of de-industrialization, it had retained a poignant grandeur as industrial memento mori.
The last gasp of the Industrial Revolution, and of Sydney's Working Harbour.
In the words of Shelley's ruin-poem Ozymandias "Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Except that a future civilization would be extremely lucky to be able to find any trace of our heroic past.

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Under the Hammer

Before the Navy finally booted me off Garden Island, I made sure that I tackled some large scale drawings
Since 2007, due to real or perceived safety issues, temporary catch platforms have been suspended from the long arm and short arm jibs. They spoil the line, but apparently provide access to allow condition inspections to be performed safely.
At first glance, it looks as though the Hammerhead Crane has 5 legs.
However, one of these "legs" is a lift to give access from the wharf to the slew ring level (seen in the centre at the top of my drawing). As the crane is 61m high, this wasn't an idle luxury.
Unfortunately this lift has been out of operation since 1998.

While drawing this, I met probably the last person to have ever used the lift. He was escorting a group of photographers to the top, and had pressed the lift button when he heard a muffled explosion, and then found his hands were black with graphite.

He said that he was lucky and got off lightly. I think he was right.

'Under the Hammerhead Crane' 2014
ink, pastel, charcoal,graphite on paper 140 x 110cm
WINNER : 2014 DRAWING PRIZE ROYAL EASTER SHOW
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My hands were also black with graphite after creating this enormous drawing.
I stood directly underneath and looked up into the top of the soaring structure.
By looking up I sought to capture the Burke and Longinus concept of the "sublime", with its overtones of awe, terror and vertigo, rather than the picturesque aspect of the typical "hammerhead" profile, a view familiar from Mrs Macquarie's Chair opposite.
The girders were silhouetted against the open sky; the safety nets resembling fan vaulting in a ruined Gothic abbey.

While creating this enormous drawing, I also remembered Piranesi's devastating images of Roman ruins, dangerously broken and overgrown amid the wreckage of a dead civilization.

 GIHC7 'Under the Hammerhead Crane'
2014 ink pastel charcoal on paper 76 x 56cm

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I am an artist and historian, born into a time and place where only sport and business are valued. Drawing on the ruins of the industrial past , walking under rusty girders in the shadow of toppled giants.

Every ruin is implicitly a reminder that all things are destined for oblivion.

The Hammerhead Crane was built to demonstrate industrial might and the march of progress.

Even as a victim of the slow death of de-industrialization, it retains a poignant grandeur.

This was exhibited in my solo show "Under the Hammer" at the Frances Keevil Gallery from November 18th - December 7th 2014.

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Rust never sleeps : Painting the Hammerhead Crane Part 2

Starting to paint my canvas of the 
"Hammerhead Crane from Garden Island" 
2014 oil on canvas 91 x 61cm
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The Hammerhead Crane was constructed between 1944 – 1951 as part of a major development of the Garden Island naval facilities that also included the Captain Cook graving dock.
It was originally intended to serve the ships of both the British and Australian Navies.
 The British Navy had access to the 250 ton Hammerhead Crane at Singapore until 1942. When Singapore fell, this crane was destroyed, but its design and steelwork construction drawings were reused for the Garden Island crane.

Starting to paint my canvas of the 
"Hammerhead Crane from Garden Island" 
2014 oil on canvas 91 x 61cm
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The crane designer was Sir William Arrol Co Ltd of Glasgow, with Sir Alexander Gibb and Partners of London as consultants.
The 250 ton crane was the largest size of the 18 Arrol Titans constructed from 1910 to 1960. The Garden Island Hammerhead Crane was one of the six 250 ton Arrol Titans.

Painting my canvas of the 
"Hammerhead Crane from Garden Island" 
2014 oil on canvas 91 x 61cm
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Between 1989 – 1991  the crane capacity was reduced and inspections and repairs were carried out.
In 1995 Jigger hoist was withdrawn from service due to runway corrosion.
1996 seems to have been the last known date of operation.

Painting my canvas of the 
"Hammerhead Crane from Garden Island" 
2014 oil on canvas 91 x 61cm Enquiries

Large riveted structures have an inherent problem.
They have, by the nature of their construction, many inaccessible surfaces which can't be completely sealed against water and are therefore prone to corrosion.

Work in progress on the easel

"Hammerhead Crane from Garden Island" 

2014 oil on canvas 91 x 61cm

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This problem was well understood by the designers of the Hammerhead.
Their specifications required that all surfaces to be brought together should be painted with two coats of red lead in boiled linseed oil as a corrosion protective coating, before fit up and riveting. The surfaces were supposed to be brought together while the 2nd paint layer was still wet.
This was the normal procedure to limit corrosion on inaccessible surfaces.

Painting my canvas of the 
"Hammerhead Crane from Garden Island" 
2014 oil on canvas 91 x 61cm

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However, according to the Hammerhead Crane report by Godden Mackay Logan an analysis of the paint layers is as follows:
Substrate: Dark Brown Mill Scale on Steel
First paint layer: Yellow Zinc Chromate Primer
Second Paint Layer: Light Grey Aluminium Top-Coat
Third Paint Layer: Dark Orange Red Lead Primer
Fourth Paint Layer: Grey Alkyd MIO

Painting my canvas of the 
"Hammerhead Crane from Garden Island" 
2014 oil on canvas 91 x 61cm

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A Zinc Chromate primer as well as a second coat of grey aluminium paint lie underneath the layer of red lead over most of the crane. 

This was completely contrary to the original specifications of the designers. And with good reason.

Red lead is intended for direct application to ferrous substrates, so it is of limited value when applied over existing paint. 

The National Paints product sheet says that red lead primers are " not suitable for over coating of zinc primed steel".

So there.

Painting my canvas of the 
"Hammerhead Crane from Garden Island" 
2014 oil on canvas 91 x 61cm
Enquiries

Red lead/Lead tetraoxide (Formula: Pb3O4) is a bright red, heavy, water and alcohol insoluble, poisonous compound and has been used as a pigment since the time of the Roman empire. It was originally known as minium, after the Minius River in northwest Spain where it was first mined. Red lead was usually obtained as a powder by heating the yellow lead ore known as litharge. In the medieval period it was used as a pigment in the production of illuminated manuscripts, and gave its name to the miniature.

In combination with linseed oil, red lead is incomparably useful as a thick, long-lasting anti-corrosive paint.

However red lead  is also notoriously and horribly toxic. 

But then, so is zinc chromate.

Painting my canvas of the 
"Hammerhead Crane from Garden Island" 
2014 oil on canvas 91 x 61cm

Enquiries

Every now and then I can see a sallow greenish yellow hue seeping mockingly through the apparently uniform grey top coat. 

What were they thinking when they applied the zinc chromate primer? 

The combination of a zinc based primer and aluminium based 2nd coat makes me suspect that the first painters of the Hammerhead were attempting a "zinc-alume" solution. The theory is that aluminium and zinc oxides will migrate to a scratched surface and provide enhanced corrosion protection. 

In practice, it didn't work.

GIHC6 ' Looking up at the Hammerhead Crane'
2014 oil on paper 12 x 12cm
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There are large areas of breakdown and surface corrosion occurring on the Hammerhead Crane where the paint layers have failed.
Rusting through the paint due to corroding millscale is also common.

Rust is a common metaphor, even a cliche, for slow decay. It gradually but thoroughly corrupts robust iron and steel metal into a soft crumbling powder.
In my paintings, I am grateful for the patches of rust. They add a dash of much needed warmth and texture to contrast with the monotony of the cool grey colour of the steel.
But in real life, rust is something I am sorry to see. It speaks of neglect, of compromise, of lack of foresight, of laziness, of apathy, of failure to preserve and protect.
Decay is not merely physical.

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