THANK YOU
I had a lot of love after last week’s email announcing my new fine art series Gaoth. So, thank you.
Now, I both want to explain more about this series—and I also don’t. I’ll explain why in a minute.
Gaoth is the Irish word for wind, and that’s why I’ve titled this new body of work as such. The wind is at the heart of it.
Over the last year or so, I’ve explored a few different ideas for new work, but nothing really gripped me—until I came across Hiroshi Sugimoto’s photographs. Between his dioramas and portraits, there’s something beautifully haunting about how—if only for a second—he brings life to the lifeless. Not literally, of course. But for that split second, his images are so lifelike and awe-inspiring they trick your brain. When I first saw his dioramas, I assumed he’d spent fifty years with National Geographic, capturing the best nature shots on earth. Then I realised: many of the animals he photographed are extinct. The work is so strong, it convinces you, for a moment, that what you know isn’t real... somehow is.
That got me thinking. I loved the idea of exploring something intangible. That’s when the wind came to mind.
How I did it isn’t important—and I’ll likely keep that part close. But the why—that matters.
Why wind (Gaoth)?
Well, I live in Perth, Australia, which happens to be the third windiest city in the world. (I’ve no idea how they measure that—but hey, we’re top five, so go Perth.)
The idea of capturing wind intrigued me for a few reasons:
1. It’s invisible, but its impact isn’t.
How do you photograph something you can’t see? Photography is a physical medium- seeing is everything, right? But wind is something you feel. You hear it. You experience it. The challenge was: how do I show that?
2. How do I want to present it?
Wind can be beautiful, or brutal. In Perth, during summer, there’s nothing better than the “Freo Doctor” coming in around midday, taking the sting out of the heat. It’s literally called the Fremantle Doctor because it brings such relief.
But a few weeks ago, on the other side of the country, a cyclone ripped through, and the wind was anything but relief. It was terrifying. So how do I show it? Which side of it do I want to show?
3. Why do I care about wind in the first place?
For me, wind represents movement. It’s a great metaphor for life. On quiet days, we don’t go far. But once we gain momentum—once we get moving—there’s no telling how far we can go.
As an immigrant to Australia, that metaphor hits home.
The wind carried me here.
Why I don’t want to explain too much…
After my last exhibitions, I realised I’d spent a lot of time trying to tell people something. And that’s not a bad thing, but in doing so, I took away the space for connection.
I came across a piece on how different cultures approach art.
In Western culture, we tend to be literal. We explain great works in exhaustive detail—the why, the how, the who, the when.
But in Eastern cultures, it’s often more of an offering. I made this, and I invite you to sit with it and see what you find in it.
That’s the job of art.
No one has a favourite artist because they told them what to feel. We connect because of what we feel when we see the work or hear the work. The artist can describe their experience, sure—but the connection to it, is ours.
That’s art.
With Gaoth, I’ve gone more abstract—both in the images and in how I talk about them. I’ve made this work, and if you sit with it and find something there, that’s amazing. If you don’t, that’s okay too.
I’ve realised my job is to make—not to tell you how to feel. The work should do that on its own.
I had a thought about this the other day:
We teach technical skill in all art forms—and rightly so. It’s an important part of craft.
But can we really teach someone how to feel when they take a special photograph?
What makes an image emotive? What makes someone connect to it?
Some of the most moving works aren’t technically perfect. They’re often deeply emotive works by the artist. Why they took it may not be told but when its real and you feel it, that’s where connection happens.
With Gaoth, I know immediately when I’ve made an image thats different. I know exactly which frame it was—and I’m still figuring out what's it is in that image.
But I feel it. And that’s enough.
I’m looking forward to sharing more soon. Until then, here’s an Irish blessing I wrote in English and Irish for you.
With Love,
Adam
