1of 2016 visual bind

A Tale of Two Gifts by Lizzy Marshall How does life shape a man, and how does a man shape a life?

Vernon Treweeke saw life as a series of gifts. He also gave his gift to us—a vision; a vision that extended not only to a commitment to community and a love of family, but also to a lasting legacy of sharing his aesthetics.

I knew Vernon and his art through proximity for many years: I knew his wife through her career, curators who had shown him, and other artists who had known him all his life. However, I didn’t actually meet Vernon until I had the pleasure of interviewing him before his last exhibition in September 2014.

The Life … It would be a wonder if this life, Vernon’s life, could exist in any other historical context.

The 1960s was an era caught in a bind between conservatism and experimental expansion, and Vernon, with strong traditional family values as well as interests in psychedelic happenings, personified this duality. Even at the end of life, in a career which spanned over 50 years, Vernon’s work was never anachronistic, always forging new directions, whilst still very much the hippie.

He was a man of action and not just words, who acted on his principles whilst still accepting responsibility. He received acclaim relatively young with Gallery A, but departed the gallery in an anti-capitalist stance against the art tax-deductable scheme for corporations; during our meeting he declared himself a ‘democratic socialist’.

Having dropped out of the Sydney art scene, Vernon tuned into the alternative ‘hippie’ scene. A reductive history would have him invited to participate in the Aquarius Festival in Nimbin, where he started painting the murals for which he is best remembered. After that festival he was pivotal in establishing the commune Turntable Falls, which was committed to sustainable living. It was in the Easter of 1973 that Vernon met Riri, and they became lifelong partners.

The Man … Meeting Vernon later in his career and his life, he seemed exotic more than otherworldly, like the recent work he showed me. His interest in beat culture, exotic religions, conspiracy theories and alternative lifestyles had not waned; yet always the family man, he took great pride in telling me his name was Cornish and that he was related to the Anglo-Irish writer, political activist and cleric Jonathan Swift. What had failed to come through all the stories people had told me about Vernon was how humorous he was; when he recounted tales they were scripted like sit-coms, particularly the ‘drug bust’ anecdotes which always ended with wellintentioned officers thanking Vernon for his time. When I commented that he deserved a film about his life, he mentioned a documentary being made; but these tales were the stuff of a full Hollywood production.

Family influenced all major moves in what is often misinterpreted as a nomadic existence. His father having died when Vernon’s was 11 meant that his ties with his mother were always strong.

The move to 60ha in Little Hartley was with his mother. The move back to the mountains was also prompted by his mother. The career with the railways was motivated by family responsibilities.