Ocean Fantasy

By DAMIAN WEST

Recent weeks spent packing down, storing, and selling mum’s worldly belongings for the second time in less than ten months has been a lot to bear to say the least – but here’s a little story about how pretty life can be, even when so much around us may feel cruel, futile, and crushing.*

(*much of the information that follows was only just revealed to me through living this story myself – it’s news to me too)

The painting pictured is named “Ocean Fantasy” by Pavel Forman, a prominent Australian artist of the “post war” era, and a migrant from the former Yugoslavia which experienced its own brand of turmoil during the not-so-great wars. My dad bought it from an exhibition of Pavel’s work a while before I was born.

Pavel migrated to Australia in the late 40s with his brother Milos Forman who would later become a globally renowned film producer including such credits as “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” Pavel returned to his mother land before the Russians invaded in the 60’s to elaborate on their Soviet ambitions. On the advice of Milos, who had remained in Brisbane as the proverbial starving artist prior to his fame in the film industry, Pavel returned to Australia in search of safety, this time with a young family in tow.

After surviving a while in the boiling tin shacks that comprised the Wacol Migrant Centre – now the site of one of Australia’s largest jails – Pavel recommenced painting, living off little more than the scent of an oil rag when he started here. Dad bought one of Pavel’s earliest Brisbane works which projected its mysterious abstract rendering of the Great Barrier Reef into my mum’s living room and into the minds of the child versions of Damo, Chris, Jared who interpreted the image to represent the war of two emus over a ruby stone or glazed cherry.

The piece was sadly put up for sale recently along with everything else. Two days ago I got an excitable message from one Glenys who purchased it without inspection. I asked her to SMS me when she was on her way. She did, and I replied “Thanks Gladys”. She corrected me, “It’s Glenys!” (with laughing out loud emoji). She arrived looking chipper while her husband dawdled behind. I said, “So you’re not Gladys Berejiklian, then. I’m disappointed!” We both laughed. I welcomed them in, oriented them to the painting, and their jaws dropped and tears welled in their eyes.

It turns out that Paul, the man in front of me, is the son of Pavel Forman and the nephew of Milos Forman! We were all just so gob smacked by the serendipity and happenstance of it all! We’ve been messaging back and forth ever since, it’s just so beautiful.

Pavel sold a tonne of work but in the manner of true artists also had countless pieces of other finished, unfinished or experimental works that never saw the light of day. After Pavel died, the pieces remained in the house of Mrs. Forman in Kangaroo Point. Mrs. Forman later got dementia and was moved to a nursing home. A while after that, the Forman house caught fire and the house was lost along with Pavel’s countless private pieces. For years, Paul Forman has been on the hunt to recollect some of his father’s works with limited success. Then this Facebook marketplace ad by yours truly lands in front of the eyes of Glenys, and she nearly falls off her chair! They are just so happy to have this beautiful painting in their hands, as am I. I just wished I had chucked an extra zero on the price tag – they would have paid it.

Paul and Glenys were both interested to learn about the role the painting has played in our household. For me, frankly it’s by far and away the best piece of art I got to grow up around. It held centre stage above our piano, its cherry bindi eye and warring emus begging myself and brothers to take note. So much so that you can see the likeness of Pavel’s work in a Father’s Day card written by my beautiful late brother Chris to my dad Robert when he was perhaps six. We only found this card today having just sold the painting yesterday. Love you all. Be good xx