The Forgotten Alexander Colquhoun

One Australian artist who appears to have slipped under the radar of many historians is Alexander Colquhoun (1862 – 1941), who was born in Glasgow and arrived with his family in Melbourne in 1876.  Some time back, I posted about the landmark exhibition “Golden Summers” held at the National Gallery of Victoria in the mid 80’s which featured the Heidelberg School artists.  Colquhoun wasn’t in it, even though he studied under Thomas Clark just like Fred McCubbin who was one of the ‘stars’ of the exhibition.  And again just like McCubbin, Colquhoun was a member of the Buonarotti Club which was an artistic-musical-literary society in the 1880’s.

Portrait of Colquhoun by John Longstaff

I wasn’t even aware of Colquhoun until I saw an exhibition of his work at the Castlemaine Art Gallery in 2004.  According to the gallery, this was the first significant exhibition of his work since his death. “As a writer and critic he did much to record the art history of his time and place. His writing, in books and in articles for periodicals and newspapers (including the Melbourne Herald and The Age), shows him to be a cultured man possessing a wide acquaintance with classical and general literature.”

Colquhoun - The Old St James Church 36 x 25 cm n.d.

Colquhoun took private students as well as teaching drawing at the Working Men’s College (later RMIT) from 1910.  Later he taught art at Toorak College until 1930, as well as exhibiting regularly at venues including the Victorian Artists Society.

Colquhoun - A Spring Morning, 71 x 96 cm n.d.

He is not an easy artist to track down and some of his works are undated. He usually painted from nature using a sombre palette with some impressionistic accents, and most of his works are in oils either on wood panels or on canvas.  Frederick Follingsby’s influence is apparent in Colquhoun’s early work.  In later years he became friends with, was influenced by, Max Meldrum.  His painting A Spring Morning has fetched the highest  price of any of his works - $10,862USD in 2015.

Colquhoun - Figure In Interior, c1920

So why is Colquhoun so obscure?  Possibly because he didn’t produce any blockbuster works such as Robert’s Shearing The Rams or McCubbin’s The Pioneers or Streeton’s Golden Summers.  I think we can associate his darker tonal works to a later period when he fell under the spell of Meldrum.  Some of his interior scenes remind me of nineteenth century social realist paintings by Jozef Israels and Honore Daumier but without the pathos.  There is a calm domesticity, even intimacy in Colquhoun’s interiors.

Colquhoun - title and date unknown

In 1936 Colquhoun was appointed a trustee of the National Gallery of Victoria. He died in East Malvern in 1941, survived by his wife and three of their four children.

Members of the Buonarotti Club in 1885. From left, back row; John Longstaff, Llewelyn Jones, Colquhoun, E. Phillips-Fox, Fred McCubbin. Middle row; Tudor St George Tucker, Julian Gibbs, David Davies, Fred Williams. Seated at the front is Aby Alston.

Jane Sutherland was one of the first women to be invited into the Buonarotti Club.

References;

The Australian Dictionary of Biography

Castlemaine Art Gallery

The Heidelberg School – William Splatt and Dugald McLennan

Russell Drysdale And The Blank Canvas

I have a once-upon-a-time story for you.

Many years ago during an Australia Day long weekend, the ABC screened a series of excellent Aussie art shows.  Hard to believe these days given the tripe that passes for art programs, but it did happen.  It’s a sad story in some respects as this happened just before I got a VCR – I was still finding my feet after a divorce.

One of those programs featured the formidable Russell Drysdale and dated from the mid 1960’s.  An old pal of his, the journalist George Johnston, came up from Sydney to have his portrait painted.  Drysdale was living at Hardy’s Bay near the entrance to the Hawksbury at the time.

Drysdale has being described as the artist who ran away from the canvas, and this program made it abundantly clear that he had a hell of a job getting started.  Having the same problem myself at the time, this caught my attention.  Drysdale would get Johnston into position, then faff about in front of the canvas for a while before suggesting they both visit an old friend at a nearby pub.  So off they went and the camera would focus on the canvas – blank.

The next day the same routine would be repeated only this time Drysdale suggested they go fishing (I think – I’m digging up nearly 30 years of memory here).  But I remember the camera focusing on the canvas again – blank again.

He eventually made some progress and I distinctly remember Johnston saying that it seemed as if Drysdale was going into a trance in front of the canvas.  But after 2 weeks Johnston had to return to Sydney, resigning himself to the idea that the painting will never happen.  A few weeks later he gets the call, “I’ve finished”. 

Drysdale's portrait of George Johnston 1966

Drysdale’s gift as a portrait painter was that he could capture the character of the person.  Both he and Johnston were in fairly poor health by that time.  Drysdale was also an incredible portrayer of loneliness and my two favourite paintings of his are…

'Soldier' (1942) oil on composition board, 59.5 x 40 cm

And…

'War Memorial' (1950) oil on composition board, 66 x101.6 cm

“The subject is of no particular township but rather is representative of a small bush community with its cheap, cast figure (there must be hundreds of them) looking completely unreal and out of key.”  Letter from Drysdale to the Tate Gallery in 1956.

This painting became the first acquisition of an Australian painting by London’s Tate Gallery.

As for the availability of the program, simply titled “Russell Drysdale”, I suggest you contact ACMI, the Australian Centre for the Moving Image.

These days a blank canvas presents no issues for me, it’s just a matter of getting something happening ASAP.  The problems usually start later on. 

Tracey Moffatt - Body Remembers

The current shutdown has given me an opportunity to reflect on an exhibition held at Tarrawarra Museum of Art last year; Tracey Moffatt’s Body Remembers photographic series and her video work Vigil both of which received acclaim at the 2017 Venice Biennale.

Walking into the space, there was a strong sense of alienation pouring out of these 10 sepia-hued photographs, of displacement and discord.  A lonely domestic figure (played by Moffatt) in an abandoned homestead seemingly in the middle of nowhere.  The colour of the walls was obviously chosen to emphasize the sombre mood of the exhibition.  Yet the photographs are also highly evocative, there is a sense of longing and sorrow.

Why has she been left behind, or has she returned?  What was she doing there in the first place?

Moffatt rarely gives interviews, but a Sydney Morning Herald article tells us that in preparing the series of photographs she created a diagram or mind map listing her various ideas and influences;

“Desert and silence”

"Essays about the ruin in art that I have never read."

"The back of women's necks."

"The history of Mount Moffatt Station – the former vast cattle station in Queensland where some members of my family worked in 1910 – of which I know nothing."

"De Chirico – shadows of the afternoon."

She also mentions the film Black Narcissus, the works of Andrew Wyeth and Martin Scorsese, glass-plate photography, Irish lace, Spain, Egypt, and various film scenes and actors.  A disparate list indeed, yet you can see many of these influences in the final series. 

We never see Moffatt’s face, instead we either see her in the distance from behind or she is gazing away from us.  According the Tarrawarra’s director Victoria Lynn, this emphasises one of the central themes of the photos: the collision of looking and being looked at.

"It is as if the woman portrayed is returning to the place where she used to be a servant, returning to that place of servitude, remembering the trauma," Lynn says. "She is looking and gazing in various directions away from the camera but she is also aware that we are looking at her.”

Moffatt was born to an Indigenous Australian mother and an Irish father in 1960, but was adopted into a white family in the suburbs of Brisbane at age three. Her birth mother would visit her and accustom her to Indigenous identity, thus allowing her to take part in two separate cultures growing up.

This exhibition is at once personal and universal, referencing the stolen generation.  This is not a new theme for Moffatt.  Her 1989 series Something More referenced the forced removal of young Aboriginal women from their families and their internment as domestic servants on rural properties.

Tracey Moffatt describes Body Remembers as ‘a play with time, backwards and forwards of the past and present’.  She appears to be exploring the legacy of colonisation, of resulting intergenerational traumas and their reverberations across time and place.

It was one of those exhibitions where viewing it alone seems to be the only option.  The carefully constructed compositions allowing the viewer to absorb the loneliness and the sense of simply being out of place.

References;

Sydney Morning Herald

Tarrawarra Museum of Art

Mosman Art Gallery

Fred McCubbin; A Story Of Evolution

A recent article published online by the National Gallery of Victoria discussing Australian artist Fred McCubbin got me thinking about a memorable exhibition from the mid 1980’s.  “Golden Summers” was held at the NGV from October 1985 until January 1986 and it was the exhibition that left me convinced that my future would be an artistic one.  (At the time I was studying for my Associate Diploma in Cartography – GROAN!!). I can remember taking a day off work to visit the exhibition thinking the crowds would be modest – wrong!  Hell, it wasn’t even raining which is when many people think of visiting galleries.

The Golden Summers catalogue - a wonderful resource

The late 19th Century saw a blossoming of Australian landscape painting in and around Melbourne, and later, at Sydney Harbour which was part of a nationalistic fervour that was developing at the time.  This was not a uniquely Australian phenomenon, there were similar movements happening in the Barbizon School in France and in Russian landscape painting at the time.

Walking around the NGV show, I could almost taste the dust and feel the heat emanating out of these works, constantly asking myself “how did they do it?”  One of my favourite artists of this period has been Fred McCubbin whose work showed great development during his career.  While, for me, the work of Arthur Streeton and Tom Roberts seemed to plateau early on in their careers.

Fred McCubbin (arrowed) with his students at the National Gallery School, 1893. Note the large number of female students. A study in art was considered part of a woman’s deportment at the time.

McCubbin, or The Prof as friends liked to call him (he was an avid reader), was born in West Melbourne in 1855. The son of a baker, his mother encouraged his fondness for drawing while a local pastor lent him Cunningham’s Lives Of The Most Eminent British Painters to read and a set of landscape prints to copy.  In 1869, McCubbin enrolled at the Artisans School of Design at the Trades Hall in Carlton and paid 2 shillings per term to study figure drawing under Thomas Clark.  Fellow students included his close friend Louis Abraham and Charles D Richardson.  According to McCubbin, “Clark was partly paralysed, he could only speak in the faintest whisper and was so feeble that he could hardly hold a crayon – so we youngsters did what we pretty well pleased.”

Among the artists he most admired early in his career was Louis Buvelot (1814 -1888), arguably the first artist to portray the Australian landscape as it really was rather than viewing it through European eyes.  In 1871 McCubbin enrolled at the National Gallery School where he remained a student for 15 years before being appointed drawing master there – a post he held (much loved, apparently) until his death in 1917.

Home Again, 1884, oil on canvas, 85 x 123 cm. This early work shows the strong influence on McCubbin of his teacher G F Folingsby.

McCubbin married in 1889 and the following year he named his first son Louis, after his close friend Louis Abraham.  Abraham reciprocated by naming his son Frederick.  Abraham had shown great promise as a painter and founded, along with McCubbin and Tom Roberts, an artist’s camp at Box Hill in 1885, but he had to devote more time to managing his father’s cigar manufacturing business.  During the 1890’s he became increasingly depressed, once writing to Roberts in Sydney of his lost artistic career.  He committed suicide in the cellar of the factory in 1903.

A Bush Burial, 1890, oil on canvas, 123 x 225 cm

Whilst at Box Hill, McCubbin painted A Bush Burial in 1890.  He dug the grave in his own backyard and the female figure is his wife, Anne.  He initially intended to title the work Last Of The Pioneers, as by the 1880’s a nostalgic reverence for the pioneering early days of settlement was already widespread in the now largely urban community.

It’s instructive to contrast this painting with one of his later works, Autumn Morning, South Yarra from 1916.  Over the decades, commentators have tended to focus on the narrative aspects of McCubbin’s work, yet in his own writings McCubbin discussed the craft of painting and his fascination with the painted surface together with the use of different materials and techniques.

Autumn Morning, South Yarra, 1916, oil on canvas, 68 cm x 135 cm

It is argued in the NGV article that the apparent spontaneity of Autumn Morning is misleading and the work is actually just as technically complex and fastidiously constructed as his early work.  He would apply the paint layer, let it dry and then rub it back to reveal the layers underneath.  He would manipulate the paint using palette knives, brush handles and even cloth.  “Experimentation with the construction of the painting was clearly of far greater interest to McCubbin than was the subject itself”.

McCubbin’s preferences in supports changed over time as well as his technique.  In Lost 1886, the paint is applied thinly over a finely woven canvas.  However in Lost 1907, McCubbin used a much courser canvas to assist in the development of texture of the painted surface.  In his early paintings, he concentrated on careful modelling of forms using predominately brushes and playing down the surface.  Later in his career, he focussed on the development of the surface using a variety of techniques.

What The Girl Saw In The Bush, 1904, oil on canvas (private collection)

In What The Girl Saw In The Bush 1904, McCubbin appears to have applied the paint directly onto a cotton surface without any preparation of sizing and priming.  This is thought to be bad practise and yet the painting has survived well.  This highlights McCubbin’s keenness for experimentation.

So why the transformation in McCubbin’s technique, you may be wondering?  I always thought it was his trip to Europe in 1907 which was the catalyst for change.  But as I have discovered in this NGV article, his technique was undergoing transformation long before this which makes it all the more remarkable.  It is his desire for innovation that stands McCubbin apart from almost all of his contemporaries.

The Pool Heidelberg, 1910 oil on canvas, 50 x 75 cm

For me, it is something of a relief to learn that McCubbin’s later work was not as spontaneous as it seems, that he worked and reworked the surface to get the effect he wanted.  Patience, perseverance and a willingness to experiment is just as important in an artist’s armoury as raw talent.

References;

Golden Summers - exhibition catalogue, National Gallery of Victoria, 1985

The Art of Frederick McCubbin, His Materials and Techniques - NGV Art Journal 33

The Case Against Ben Quilty

I paid Tolarno Gallery in Melbourne a visit to view the work of an Australian artist who (we are told) has garnered international acclaim.  His paintings are in the collections of the Art Gallery of NSW, the Australian National Gallery and the University Of Queensland Gallery Of Art among others.  The only problem is, it’s Ben Quilty.

My latest encounter with his work has me convinced that as an artist, he would make a very good earth moving contractor.  If you are the type of person who gets almost violently passionate about contemporary issues, and you look to an artist who can vent his spleen by moving vast quantities of paint around a canvas with the dexterity of a one punch attack, then Ben’s your man. 

150 Year, Rorschach

An artist who supposedly has the ability to invoke passion and drama in his work doesn’t necessarily produce work that is aesthetically pleasing.  He seems to have no idea of surface, no idea of colour harmony.  Subtlety is Quilty’s enemy.

Are we meant to admire Quilty’s process of constructing, deconstructing and then reconstructing an image again rather than the final product?  In other words, is this a form of conceptualism where the means to an end is more important than the end?  I don’t know, all I know was the feeling of disillusionment as I walked around the gallery space.  If this is where Australian art is today, then we are in a dark period of our creative history.

Exhibition notes by Milena Stojanovska tells us that each work invites us to participate in a critical discussion.  It sure does, but not in the way she intended.  Quilty’s Santa series is meant to reference the crass commercialism of the festive season, and as a satire of a children’s fictional character it’s meant to be funny.  Really?  All I see is an ugly painting.  Reference is made to the tension in his brushstrokes, but that tension is created by a guy who doesn’t know how to handle paint.

The Big Fellow

If there is a narrative element to Quilty’s work, then for me, that narrative is lost in the execution.  Perhaps he sees himself as another of those heroic, belligerent artists in the vein of the American sculptor Richard Serra who go out of their way to challenge the art market. 

There are many artists throughout history who have expressed their despair with the world around them, but they did it in a way that engages their audience.  Quilty’s work is likely to have many viewers rushing for the exits.

The Desert

If I wanted to view the work of an Australian artist who really knew how to handle paint, who understood colour harmonies, composition and texture whilst conveying a sense of drama, I would look at James Gleeson.  His retrospective exhibition at the NGV in Melbourne during the summer of 2004/5 still resonates.  There was nothing he couldn’t do with oil paint.

I think it’s time for Mr Quilty to drive off into the sunset in his fabled Holden Torana, and perhaps throw in some burnouts along the way.  The case against Ben Quilty – pretty overwhelming, I would have thought.

Ben Quilty’s exhibition “150 Years” finishes at Tolarno Gallery on 29th February.

The Highs And Lows Of The Archibald

Visiting the Archibald Prize is akin to viewing a weather map.  But if droughts are caused by an excess of ‘Highs’ and not enough ‘Lows’, some recent Archibald’s would have had me reaching for the life jackets.  This most prestigious of art awards has been courting controversy since at least 1943 with William Dobell’s winning portrait of fellow artist Joshua Smith.  So incensed were 2 Sydney artists with the decision, they took the matter to the Supreme Court alleging the portrait was a caricature. 

Dobell has been described by some art historians as a timid rabbit who suddenly found the spotlight rudely thrust upon him.  Interviewed many years later, Dobell said he became so distressed over the episode that he developed severe dermatitis as well as temporarily losing the sight of one eye and the use of one leg.  He said he could never forgive those responsible.  Dobell won the case, but he shied away from portraiture for a while before making a triumphant return to the Archibald in 1948 with his winning a portrait of Margaret Ollie.  He won again in 1959.  The Smith portrait was later almost totally destroyed by fire before being sent to the UK for the “less-than-successful” restoration seen above.

Dobell died in 1970 and given the events around the Smith painting, one wonders what he would have made of Adam Cullen’s winning portrait of actor David Wenham in 2000. About all that can be said of it is that it meets the three key criteria for winning the Archibald these days; it’s big, the subject is well known and it’s topical as Wenham was starring alongside Sigrid Thornton in the ABC TV series Seachange at the time.

To me, one of the more memorable recent winners was Craig Ruddy’s 2004 portrait of actor David Gulpilil.  This image does the work no favours at all.  I saw it in the flesh and it was a stunner. 

And so to the 2019 prize currently on show at Tarrawarra and Anh Do’s entry left me even more convinced he would make a very good plasterer of feature walls.  In recent years I have found the Archibald a rather cold and alienating experience.  Perhaps it’s a sign of the times and some of the works in this award fit that description, but not all.

There’s Tsering Hannaford’s studied portrait of Adelaide philanthropist Mrs. Singh, superbly executed but perhaps too conventional?

Jude Rae’s portrait of actor Sarah Peirse performing the role of Miss Docker in Patrick White’s “A Cheery Soul” is emotive and powerful.

There’s Katherine Edney’s exquisite little “Self Portrait With Ariel”.  She was 37 weeks pregnant with her first child at the time.

Last year, Jun Chen was commissioned by the National Portrait Gallery to paint Li Cunxin, the Chinese-Australian former ballet dancer who is now artistic director of Queensland Ballet.  The title ‘Mao’s Last Dancer’ is also the title of Cunxin’s autobiography that was later made into a film.  There is something ethereal about this painting, almost as if the figure is not really there.

And the winner is………..Tony Costa with his portrait of fellow artist Lindy Lee.  Viewed at close range this work is unconvincing, but step back at least 10 metres and there is a real presence about it.  The figure appears to be floating in space.

The Archibald continues at the Tarrawarra Museum of Art until 5th November.

The Conundrum That Was Brett Whiteley

In writing about Brett Whiteley, it is tempting to simply present the facts and let the reader draw his/her own conclusions, such are the contradictions. He claims that at the age of about 5 he re-experienced his birth.  He said it was a fearful experience.  He claims he saw 2 words on the wall of his mother’s womb.  Security.  Rebellion.  He had to decide which one he would go towards.

Brett Whiteley, Self Portrait at 16

In an ABC program focussing on his work “Alchemy” he discusses his life in a boarding school at Bathurst. He left the security of his mother and found himself in a boarding school “with these morons who talk like rabbits about tractors and seeds.  You are penned in, you don’t know what the crime is (most horrible).”  So he tried to imagine a world that was more constructive and meaningful.  “There were bus trips to church where you were given stained glass window meaningless talk then be taken back school for lunch.”  There is the oft told story of him finding on the church floor a book about Van Gogh and suddenly he felt there was a meaning to existence.  He knew it was in him and had to find a way to get it out.

So it’s a bleak picture that he is portraying here, and yet it’s documented that he was given paints and brushes and allowed to produce works at the rear of the classroom, and he would often return to Bathurst later in life to recharge the batteries.

In an interview with Barry Pearce many years ago, Whiteley’s widow Wendy described Brett as a driven artist.  “He wanted to create his own world and move away from childhood.  We were curious and obsessive, we wanted to take things apart.  He viewed contentment as a dangerous state, bovine.  He needed to put his hand in the fire.”

Some interesting observations were made about Whiteley by his co-workers at Linton Advertising Agency where he worked in his mid-late teens.  They felt he was going full speed at the world with a sense of seeking compensation.  There was a disquiet about him which he disguised by moving fast.

Whiteley threatened to walk out of school if his mother left for England.  She left anyway and Brett felt abandoned.  However he received encouragement from his father Clem in his desire to become an artist.

Portrait of John Christie

Of the Christie series (works based on the London serial killer John Christie) Wendy said Brett had a lot of pain in his life and so did she.  The death of his father in 1963 raised a lot of questions.  It was recognition that evil and ugliness, good and beauty coexist.  It was about this time he became aware of Francis Bacon and his ability to deal with alienation whilst producing beautiful things.

BW with Francis Bacon

Of the monumental work American Dream, Wendy described New York as floundering in the late 1960’s and Brett pushed himself to the extreme and it took its toll.  American dream was Whiteley’s response to New York and what was going on there.  “The centre panel looks like he vomited all over the canvas which was painted in a drunken state of rage and fear.”

Brett Whiteley - American Dream

“He had this desire to know everything….but not being prepared to accept that there are a lot of things you may never know.  He couldn’t concentrate on one thing at a time and became really overloaded in New York.”

Pearce described American Dream as having trauma and failure written all over it, because Whiteley’s intentions were absurd.  “He aimed at nothing less than to challenge America and change it.”  Pearce thought the painting was less about America and more a portrait of Whiteley himself “whipping up hell and heaven to extend the possibilities of art far beyond what it could achieve.”

American Dream was never exhibited in America, the Marlborough-Gerson gallery refused to take an interest in it, and Whiteley fled to Fiji to recover – without Wendy and daughter Arkie.

Brett Whiteley - Alchemy

In 1972-73 Whitley produced another monumental work “Alchemy”, described by Pearce as another self-portrait but without the fierce political agenda of its predecessor.  Drugs and alcohol took its toll on Whiteley’s health during the production of Alchemy and viewing the ABC program based on this work, his motivations for it seemed incoherent at times.

It was after he and Wendy moved to Lavender Bay in 1974 that heroin began to play a major role in their lives.  Wendy spoke of spending time with some very crummy people and the ”whole tragic thing”.  In spite of his addiction, Whiteley produced some excellent work, but “he was just defeated in the end.”

In a letter to his mother written in the latter part of his life, Whiteley mentions her inability to spawn love, a difficulty that he inherited to some degree and this accounts for their vigorous independence.

Pearce argues that in Whiteley’s hunger for physical intimacy, reflected through the sexual themes of his art, emotional intimacy was not part of the game.  In his last days he finished up with neither.

He died alone from a drug overdose in a hotel in Thirroul south of Sydney in 1992, aged 53.

Baldessin/Whiteley and the curator

Sometimes a 'curator's perspective' can lift ones appreciation of an exhibition from moderate to considerable.  Emeritus professor Sasha Grishin's talk on the Baldessin/Whiteley show at the National Gallery of Victoria (Federation Square) is a case in point.  Both Brett Whiteley and George Baldessin were born in 1939, both had difficult childhoods, both enjoyed considerable success in their respective cities; Melbourne (Baldessin) and Sydney (Whiteley), and both had relatively short careers.  Baldessin's was ended in a fatal car accident in 1978, Whiteley died in 1992, although the last decade of his life was somewhat unproductive.

Whiteley The Spray At Bondi (1981)

I was aware of Whiteley's difficult childhood, largely the result of being sent to a boarding school at Bathurst when he was 8.  He hated every minute of it.  But I was not aware of Baldessin's.  He was born in Italy and his mother left for Australia shortly after with the intention of finding work and then bringing her family over - but the second world war intervened and George was shunted around from relative to relative, not seeing his mother again until he finally arrived in Australia at the age of 10.  They were never close. 

Baldessin Part of his MM (Mary Magdalene) at Rue Saint Denis series 1976

Both artists rejected the abstract expressionist movement of the time and focused on more figurative work.  Both of them were concerned with the human condition and the duality of human nature.  One of Whiteley's more celebrated series of paintings was based around the serial murderer John Reginald Christie in his 10 Rillington Place series.

Both artists explored themes of sexuality in an urban environment and witnessed the rapidly changing world following WW2 including the cultural upheavals of the 1960's and 70's.  Both artists were sculptors and well as 2D artists and both were strongly influenced by British artist Francis Bacon.

Whiteley Black - The Get Laid Totem

The highlight for Whiteley fans will probably be his 22 metre long "American Dream" which was painted in the late 1960's while he and his family were living in New York - a savage critique of life in America, which as Grishin points out, seems just as relevant today in Donald Trump's America.  Overall, a powerful exhibition.

Baldessin The Performer