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s an academic discipline, the history of art is
predominantly taught through the medium of
painting. Specifically, it is the development of figurative
and representational painting which forms a fundamental
part of Western art historical pedagogy. To teach the work of
Michelangelo or Manet (one would argue) is to ensure that
students understand the social and political value painting
once gave to the Western world as its dominant mode of visual
expression. The broader rationale, of course, is for students to
sharpen skills in visual analysis through discerning the work
of artists now deemed as masters.
Yet, beyond the confines of institutionalised learning, figurative
painting has for centuries beguiled the imaginations of many
others. It is not a stretch to say that the ability of painters to
transform canvases into recognisable scenes is a talent that many
still hold in high regard. The appeal of this kind of painting perhaps
lies in its ability for those with or without a formal art education to
approach, point and enter a frame to say, ‘I know what this is’.
Tom Polo’s paintings conjure within us a similar desire to
approach, point and identify. His larger works on canvas present
twirling lines which silhouette shapes that sail off in many
directions. Figures seem to hide behind watery pools of pink or are
completely lost amongst rich swathes of electric blue. He lures us
in with a foot here or a face there, but as our eyes adjust there is no
clean separation between where bodies begin and end.
Polo is well aware of how our eyes are trained and inclined to
see. And, while conventional painting has always ensured to lay
bare its subject matter, Polo makes us work to understand the
canvases he paints. From his paintings curated into the recently
concluded ‘The National: New Australian Art’ at The Art Gallery
of New South Wales, to those in his April 2019 solo show at Roslyn
Oxley9, each presentation feels like a rigorous examination that
tests our abilities to see.
When I visit Polo’s studio at Parramatta Artists’ Studios in
Rydalmere, I am greeted by a mound of black cinefoil masks, a
narrow bench strewn with an assortment of brushes and pigments,
and two fluorescent paintings which flank the left and right walls.
Between the masks and the bench is a semi-defined path which
leads to Polo’s desk at the far end of the studio. I’m a few steps
behind as he navigates the trail with ease, but it’s a challenge to
dodge the stray masks and protruding paintbrushes, trying not
to damage anything while also fixated on the fluorescent yellow
painting which leans casually against a wall.