The Stuff of (insert own paradigm here). Gippslandia. Issue 32, Obsession Edition.

Gippslandia #32 – Artist Feature – Neale Stratford. September 2024.

Text: Neale Stratford

Image: Neale Stratford

Sometimes I get nervous when I am introduced as an ‘artist’. Automatically, I start to

think about how I am going to explain my art practice in the sanest possible manner…a

task I have yet to successfully master. Conversations go something like this…

Person: You’re an artist. What is your medium?

Me: Err, um. Photography.

Person: What do you photograph?

Me: (Jesus, here we go…) Existential dread, mainly.

Person: Pardon?

Me: My dreams, nightmares, delusions, etc. You know, stream-of-consciousness type stuff.

Person: No, I don’t know. How do you photograph that?

Me: Dolls mainly.

Person: (Lifting a single eyebrow suspiciously, like Spock on Star Trek…) Dolls? Interesting.

Me: Yeah…um, yep, um, excuse me I need to, um, go and, um…bye. (I quickly leave the venue

and find a convenient lamppost to smack my head against.) Idiot, idiot, idiot.

Perhaps I should choose another label, a different title to what I do. I could go back to using

‘photographer’… No. Far too many memories of the days when I was doing weddings, portraits

and freelance commercial work. I am not sure that what I do is even photography anymore.

Sure, I use a camera and the tricks and trappings of photography, but I do not readily see the

end product as a photograph… more like visual evidence of a thought experiment, a physical

relic of memory, or a token from non-existent events.

_

I was 44 years old when I received my autism diagnosis while undergoing treatment for

depression. Up until diagnosis, I journeyed through life with the sneaking suspicion that I was

odd, strange and not quite normal. I dislike meeting new people. I struggle with small talk.

I have a poor memory and I do not like change. Sports or any other social interaction, especially

involving large groups, has always led to extreme anxiety.

I know that when a person’s teeth are showing in the shape of a smile, they are more likely to

be happy than sad. It is the emotions in between – such as hurt, anger or sarcasm – that I have

always had trouble recognising. This elusive enigma creates limitations, confusion and anxiety

in both my social and vocational life.

Growing up, the expressionless generic plastic faces of my toy action figures were just as

meaningful to me as the real faces of those who surrounded me. For as long as I can remember

I have been drawn to them – always more interested in the pilot than the model plane. As a

child, I was never great at interacting with other children. Their rules of play were foreign –

another language. I was happier to play alone with my toy soldiers and action figurines. I could

form my own relationships – my rules, my way.

Even now, I am drawn to these toys that should have been abandoned upon leaving

adolescence. I can readily convince myself that I am interested in the beautiful sculpting and

likeness of the figures, clothing and accessories. But my interest is deeper than that. Perhaps it

is the fond memories of my childhood play, a time of innocence.Maybe it is a simulacrum of

humanity I can physically hold in my hand. In a world so big, so fast and so scary, here I have

control. My rules, my way.

Although my artistic process may initially seem simple – a glorified still life: dolls upon a

tabletop, lit, photographed, printed and displayed – the process from conception to final print

involves many hours of preparation, research, setup, photography, post-production and printing.

My tableaux are conceived in several ways. Some ideas come from experimenting with the

figures to creating interesting juxtapositions or compositions. This 'play' lets me explore the

relationships between each element and character within the scene. Sometimes I work from a

series of sketches I’ve developed from film, television, magazine or book references. But the

majority of the images I produce directly quote images sourced from art history, especially

Baroque, Rococo, French Romantic, Impressionist and Victorian paintings.

I have a vast collection of figures and accessories that are all collated and catalogued. When I

need a figure to make a particular gesture, I go to my spares box and retrieve a 'pointing' hand. I

also collect, and sometimes make, all the accoutrements that help me 'garnish' the scene, the

fine detail that adds to the illusion. It comes down to 'movie magic' – lighting, editing and digital

effects that render the illusion of reality.

Since my diagnosis, I have become aware that my fixation on figurines fits with what is often

described as a ‘special interest’.

Professor Tony Attwood explains the difference between a hobby and a special interest is the

abnormality in the intensity or focus of the interest. “An essential component of the interest is

the accumulation and cataloguing of objects or the accumulation of facts and information about

a specific topic. The special interest is more than a hobby and can dominate the person’s free

time and conversation”.

Talk to a person with Autism about their special interest and you can be trapped for hours in a

fanatical rant of facts, figures and the minutiae of detail. No matter how you try to turn the

conversation around, you will be tracked back quickly to the subject ‘du jour’.

But I have come to realise that my art has become an important tool for me and my

communication to the world, about my world.

Having recognised some of the issues that have plagued me, I can now contextualise and make

some sort of sense of them. To give a full understanding of my thoughts, feelings, wants, needs,

delusions and desires, I need to set the scene. I often envision myself as the hero, the man cool

under a crisis, a man just as quick with his fists as his wit. I am James Bond and Indiana Jones.

I am Superman, Batman and Spiderman all rolled into one. Of course, I am none of these men. I

am withdrawn and silent around women and deplore confrontation, let alone being in a physical

fight with anyone. Cool in a crisis? Being non-confrontational, I tend to avoid most crises.

Professor Tony Attwood explains “Young children with Asperger’s syndrome [now referred to as

Autism Spectrum Disorder] can become increasingly aware of not being popular and successful

in social situations and can develop low self-esteem... An interest in and role-playing of

superheroes, such as Spiderman, can be a way of achieving social success and admiration.

Often the superhero is someone who has two identities, a timid and often meek and

unsuccessful person who is able to transform [themselves] into someone with special abilities

[and] conquer adversity… Thus, the super-hero provides a missing aspect of the child’s life, an

alter ego.”

I am drawn to the heroic stereotype as a persona in my virtual reality. This flies in the face of

who I have been at times – introverted and bullied. My continuing battle with depression and my

past failures at social interaction are revealed within my art practice. The monsters I battle, the

characters I meet within my art, are not only saturated with the DNA of eons of human

mythology but are allegories of the daily battles I endure just to be able to exist.

After diagnosis, any introspection within my art practice is based on a desire to put into context

the constraints of the world in which I exist – to explore the gap between internal and external

realities, dreams and fantasies, delusions and desires.

Being more psychological than philosophical, I offer my art practice as a phenomenological

reflection of my soul. Making and exhibiting my art is telling a story, in a public forum, about my

personal journey. The story, like the myths of old, contains imagery and metaphors that are both

recognisable and ambiguous. Each image is a piece of the jigsaw I have unfurled for the world

to see. And just like a jigsaw piece, each image needs to be studied, turned around andanalysed to see if it fits.

These are parables that are to be interpreted by the viewer with themes

that are both universal and at the same time deeply personal.

Art is my communication – my voice to the world. Sometimes it feels like I am being

heard…other times, I feel like I am talking to myself. No matter what, I will still keep

communicating. That is what art means to me.