Please treat this 'blog as an open thought bubble. I am trying to decide what I should paint next. It will be an attractive landscape, and I would like to think I could sell it, but I have to admit a degree of uncertainly in the face of adverse traffic statistics (see my comments on today's ArtId 'blog http://bit.ly/5Hnc7n).

I am an Australian and I imagine most readers (if any) will be North Americans. While you shiver under inches of snow, we are enduring 43.6 degrees Celsius (somewhere north of 108F) and catastrophic bush(wild)fire conditions. Water is a constant worry in the world's driest continent.

A landscape depicting a red ochre, rock strewn, sparsely populated, open space is attractive to an Australian art lover. It is probably alien and inhospitable to a North American who would prefer a kaleidoscopic autumn scene in the North East with at least one body of water. A small creek in bushland is comforting to an Australian because it suggests life and sustainability. A North American may be excused for viewing it as a drain for excess moisture at the Spring melt.

The image at right is of a creek, not far from my studio, where the rockface forming the right bank has been exposed by earthworks of an adjacent freeway. To emphasise the jagged rock strata, I have used a small palette-knife which adds significantly to the texture of the oil paints. I see the basic "elements" of earth and water; others less generous may see a stormwater drain choked with weed.

Given that there is so much in common among our Anglophonic communities, it's a little disappointing to think that there are so many cultural differences. I try to paint European landscapes because we both immediately recognise the foreign nature of these scenes. It is always my hope that someone will be pleasantly reminded of a holiday romance, or a honeymoon, or simply a delightful spot for a vacation. But, conversely, the landscape might also bring back unpleasant memories of rude waiters, language difficulties, bad food, wet weather or hordes of noisy tourists (not your own kind of course!).

In the end, I simply revert to painting what I like. The expectation is that if I produce enough artworks, someone has to take a shine to one or more. After all, if I am producing unique pieces of art, I only need one purchaser per item. Although, on second thoughts, a number of bidders at an auction is always a very good thing.

I can recall an artist once offering me some sage advice: "Never try to second-guess why someone may like your art". This is a worry, because it means I am not able to answer those basic questions about "Subject Matter" and what to paint to attract those hordes of reluctant buyers.

Readers are advised that this 'blog may contain some light-hearted, tongue-in-cheek comment.

I don't suppose that many ArtId members lie awake at night worrying about multiple copies of their artworks circulating in the art world, destroying value and confusing would be buyers. Admittedly, it has crossed my mind several times when exhibiting in Shanghai, China that the world of "knock-offs" (dǎ zh_ = forgery) is extremely pervasive. The Chinese are acutely aware that brand-name goods are produced in their own back-yard, and the difference between a cheap Louis-Vuitton item and its expensive cousin may simply be a silk-lining, and better stitching on a parallel assembly line in the same factory. Then there are the shoddy knock-offs produced in a dark alley behind the factory, possibly by the same workers.

Conversation over a beer after a Shanghai art exhibition inevitably turns to unauthorised use of an artist's images. How many hundreds of digital photographs, taken over the five days, with or without our permission, will end up in a commercial enterprise and be used for commercial gain? Will we return home to see our landscapes adorning tea-towels and place mats? Does it matter? One person's realistic view is that any exposure is good exposure, but another's may be anger at the sheer impudence of the copier.

Peace of mind may be at hand. An article appearing on the BBC News site (20h11 GMT, Monday 4 January 2010) proudly proclaims that a simple method to distinguish artistic fakes and imitations has been demonstrated by researchers. The approach, known as "sparse coding", builds a virtual library of an artist's works and breaks them down into the simplest possible visual elements. Verifiable works by that artist can be rebuilt using varying proportions of those elements, while imitators' works cannot.

The work is reported in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences. Daniel Rockmore of Dartmouth College in the USA and his colleagues have shown a straightforward method, known as sparse coding, that so far appears to be significantly more accurate than previous attempts.

Of course, it should be emphasised that any method of identifying fakes must first authenticate the originals. Pro (Kevin) Hart, a prolific Australian outback painter, was so incensed by the volume of imitators of his (somewhat naïve) paintings, that he reportedly added a dab of spittle to each work so that he effectively signed his paintings with his DNA.

So, before you contact Professor Rockmore and his team to have your entire output (presumably scattered across the world in national galleries and private collections) sparsely coded, you might want to consider the cost in relation to the market value of your works. And what will you do when you discover the vast number of imitations? Sue? Whom?

I recently wrote an article about "Discerning Buyers of Art", and another entitled "What is Art?" The former asserts the general public's taste in art, where a purchase is involved, is of a higher standard than might be construed by a casual viewer of the walls of their dwellings. The latter questions the validity of "art" mass-produced in the factory "studios" of Damien Hirst, Jeff Koons and their ilk.

An article yesterday in the Arts section of our local newspaper (The Age, Melbourne January 1-2, 2010) stated that "Damien Hirst and Jeff Koons, stars of the art boom, were deposed as auction bestsellers in 2009 as prices for some of their works fell 50 per cent". "Billionaire collectors shunned noughties' favourites in 2009, preferring 20th century modernist classics, art deco furniture, old masters and Chinese artworks."

"Contemporary art auction sales dropped 75 per cent last year as sellers were no longer guaranteed minimum prices. Worldwide auction sales of contemporary art grew more than tenfold between 2003 and 2008, according to the France-based research company Artprice. Its price index, based on total auction sales for Hirst, was up 996 per cent over the 10-year period that culminated in his "Beautiful Inside my Head Forever" event in 2008. The auction, which coincided with the collapse of Lehman Brothers, is seen by art dealers as the end of the boom."

The article goes on to suggest that mega-billionaires from Russia and the Middle East were told to invest in about eight names. Hirst's 2008 Sotheby's sales amounted to USD178.5 million, slightly more than Koons' USD117.2 million. Major art dealers have said that, despite early "over production", Hirst's works -- like Andy Warhol's -- will be bought as classics. In around 30 years' time collectors will focus on Hirst's earlier works, not those produced by myriads of assistants.

Has good sense returned to the art world? Will collectors appreciate good art, rather than "factory-produced" works bearing the signature of a "name"? Will investors seek quality rather than quantity? Can we expect greater emphasis on traditional art rather than shock therapy? Will the public appreciate painting skills over edgy "statements" with nonsensical names?

Stay tuned!

"If you love me, let me know". I'm sure that those are words of a love song, or more likely, a thousand love songs.

You know exactly how a sincere comment about your artwork makes your day. It boosts your confidence and gives you the strength to keep going. A positive comment, particularly one which is relevant to the artwork and in the correct context, will work wonders on the psychological, and possibly the physiological, wellbeing of the receiver.

Within your social milieu, you understand the effect of positive comment on your relationships with family and friends. You do it with acquaintances, fellow workers, colleagues and buskers on the sidewalk and footpath. Making people you meet feel good about themselves has the same effect on you too. As some philosopher once said, "True happiness is found in kindness to others".

Many ArtId members are very skilled at providing words of encouragement to their fellow artists. They understand how much it means to have someone who really appreciates art make a sincere and meaningful comment about another's artworks. It is particularly poignant when that person isn't known to the commenting party.

The tools for writing and editing comments are readily available. ArtId provides a simple means for commenting on 'blogs. Translation tools on the web are simple to use when the first language is not English. Yet statistics show that only 8% of 'blog readers will leave a comment on ArtId. That's ANY comment, including less-than-favourable words, although I suspect that ArtId members would be loath to leave a negative comment as that would be politically incorrect.

I too crave comment on my artworks on my website(s). I chose my 'blog software to include a comment facility and went to the trouble of adding reCAPTCHA to stop spam (I ask readers to type in the two words displayed in the box). Interestingly, it's only when I personalise my eNewsletter or 'blog posting do I receive pertinent and very kind praise. It's a little like sending out Christmas cards. While the receiver acknowledges the greeting, feels warm and fuzzy knowing that he/she is still on your radar screen, there is a certain latent obligation to send a card in return. Clearly I only send cards to people I care about and it's nice when they reciprocate.

Nevertheless, I would be pleased as Punch to receive a warm and considered comment from anyone in cyberspace, even from people I've never met, or who have yet to receive encouraging words about their artworks via my keyboard.

Art is everywhere. Art adorns the walls of most people's houses and apartments. Art hangs from the wall of every hotel room and many offices. What a huge and burgeoning market to be involved in!

So, why is it that original, high-quality art from the easels of ArtId members is not exactly rushing out of the studio door by the truckload? Why aren't we all about to quit our day jobs for a life at the easel?

The point I am going to make is that, when money is involved, the decision-making process ramps up several notches almost immediately. The average man/woman in the street is actually quite discerning when money and art are about to change hands.

From my limited observations, many of the original paintings which adorn the walls of the average suburban household were gifts from Auntie Flora (apologies to any ArtId members named "Flora"), or possibly a member of the immediate family with aspirations of fame in the arts. This includes finger paintings from kindergarten which really should have been archived some time ago. Then there are relics from deceased estates -- the only reminder of a fond grand-parent. There is always the chance that such ancient artworks are extremely valuable, although they have not yet been professionally valued, in deference to Grandma's memory.

Many readers will have noticed that the cost of framing Auntie Flora's masterpiece would have bought a couple of decent originals from an ArtId member. The same can be said for those cool prints bought at the Mall last weekend. The prints were cheap, but the framing wasn't.

Those of us who travel can attest to the quality of art in hotel rooms. It must be innocuous, inoffensive, tasteful, calming and preferably badly faded. It will be a print and may or may not be under glass. In its heyday, it would have been up-to-the-minute, to the extent that the discerning artist-traveller can judge its age within 6 months. Where the accommodation is themed, the print may be a Constable, or one of the European masters, but still faded.

Taking the travel theme one step further, do you remember the original you bought when you were in Bellagio, Italy? The painting is pretty average, but the artist was such an amazing individual with his gap-toothed smile, dreadlocks, tattoos and torn jeans. And what a story he told! How could a colourful character live in such an idyllic place, you reasoned? Gosh, the memories still flood back as you pass by the painting in the hallway.

Modern city offices do offer hope to aspiring artists, although the opportunities are fewer. I for one am not really in the business of producing 3 meter high abstract canvasses on the off chance that the developers of a new city office tower want something to relieve the monotony of polished granite lobby floors, polished granite walls and 10 metre ceilings.

Given this background, I find it intriguing that those of us with sufficient interest in art to browse ArtId and many other websites, to visit art galleries and to attend exhibitions, should be so discerning when art has a ticket attached no matter what its price. It may well be that there are different demographics, and that potential buyers of art only hang originals in their mansions, forbid Auntie Flora to visit and only stay in boutique hotels.

Artworks in which I have invested a lot of time and energy, and in which I am fairly pleased, generally evoke a more positive response from viewers in the number of "hits" received. The same can be said for other artists, particularly where there is a real-time measure of the desirability of the artwork, such as an online auction price. So, the general public -- at least the people who regularly expose themselves to art -- display an admirable taste in artworks, particularly where the artist is not a family member, but preferably "emerging" or "mid-career".

As an ArtId member with a number of ticketed artworks on public display I often ask myself, "Am I marketing to discerning buyers looking for investment art, in which case I expect them to cherry-pick the best examples of my works? Or, will some anonymous person, in some random act of kindness, pay good money to fill that little gap on the kitchen wall, right alongside Auntie Flora's "Daisies in a Vase'?"

Along with comments on Mary Lawler's recent 'blog "Your art isn't selling? Gee, I wonder why?", I have been running an email tag with an online marketing expert in Melbourne.

The gist of the joust is that website visitors are not necessarily buyers.

Sage men and women have written tomes about the myriad means for herding the world's Internet surfers towards your website. Lots of people make a comfortable living consulting on the best way to convince Google that you are flavour of the month. However, I lie awake wondering how to convert these metaphorical door-knockers into buyers of my artworks.

Of course, all things being equal -- which they never are -- my website content should be of international standard, if not superior. So, when the masses arrive, there should be no dispute about the desirability of the content i.e. images of my artworks. Taking this little issue one step further, there should be no doubt about the originality, the quality of materials, the intellectual property, the copyright, the value, the appreciability, the expectation that I will deliver the goods in perfect condition, and that you will pay me the correct amount within a short time.

In the physical world, shoppers drive to the mall, walk into a store and thus demonstrate a certain level of willingness to buy, or at least be open to negotiation with a sales clerk. A competent sales person knows that there is a modicum of buyer commitment (perhaps it's even snowing outside), so has a fighting chance of closing the sale.

In the online world, the ease of access to virtual stores requires no commitment and, in the case of online galleries, browsing images for ten seconds each may be all the fulfillment desired. Anonymity ensures that there will be no high pressure salesmanship.

In closing, let me ask you all one small question in relating website visitors to serious buyers: "Do online visitors to http://www.louvre.fr go there to buy the Mona Lisa?" Perhaps a slightly tongue-in-cheek question, but I think you'll agree that there are plenty of reasons to visit an online gallery other than to buy an artwork.

I have a mouse-mat from Artnet.com which reminds me that "Art is Everywhere". That simple phrase -- actually it's a clause containing a verb -- suggests that art isn't confined to the walls of galleries, on lawns of sculpture parks, in artists' studios or on the walls of rich peoples' houses. It's everywhere. It's in the eye of the beholder. It's what an artist wants you to see. It's often overlooked by those who are not appropriately attuned, and it may be so humble that it blends into the everyday tedium.

Does the fact that "Art is Everywhere" imply that "Artists are Everywhere" or that everyone is an artist?

I am a keen follower of the British "artist" Damien Hirst who is well-known for his sharks-in-vitrine and diamond encrusted human skull, among other bizarre creations. Clearly, Damien Hirst has progressed to the stage in his career where he conceives, and a team of artisans realises his concepts. That makes Damien no less of an artist than had he left his fingerprints all over the artworks.

This is no different from Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni or Leonardo da Vinci who directed teams of apprentices to complete their magna opi, while never diminishing their own capabilities to create new artworks. It is only a handful of art historians completing a PhD who boldly assert that a famous work of Leonardo, or Michelangelo was essentially that of his student who may or may not be named. The rest of us are content to associate the master with the work, and leave it at that.

Norman Foster's name is associated with a huge number of iconic buildings around the world. He certainly did not conceive, design, engineer and project manage his fabulous creations single-handedly. Ditto I.M. Pei. I am sure that no rational person would claim that he/she could have done just as well as Norman Foster (and his team of hundreds).

But many pundits have said of the creations of Damien Hirst, "I could have done that". Damien's reply was and always is, "But you didn't, did you?" The point being that, in a majority of instances, Damien's "artworks" are constructed of commonly available materials, and endowed with fanciful names. An example is Damien's "Beautiful Aurora" spin painting, currently at auction and expecting to fetch $350,000, a 48 inch X 48 inch work using "household paint".

At 44 years of age, Damien is a member of the Young British Artists and reputed to be the richest living artist to date. I have seen a number like 250 million pounds attributed to him.

Here we have a dramatic instance of an "artist" making his mark on the artworld, not through an innate ability to draw, but through a studied, no-holds-barred, campaign of shock tactics to draw attention to himself. In short, the name "Damien Hirst" -- and therefore the signature -- commands a gigantic premium as a result of publicity of inestimable value.

So, in order to make the big time in "art", do I need to be a competent draftsman or an entrepreneur-sans-frontieres?

When I say "signature styles", I am referring to the overall style of an artwork -- not the specific calligraphy of the artist's signature.

In this morning's business section of our local newspaper is an advertisement for a Melbourne suburban gallery run by a group of wealthy businessmen. The subject of the advertisement is a painting by Australian artist Tim Storrier and the price tag is $160,000. (Nice work if you can get it!)

Tim's work is instantly recognisable because he has developed a "style" which distinguishes many of his recent paintings. At this point in my 'blog, I will apologise for speaking in generalities and from a relatively uninformed position where Tim's artistic career is concerned. Suffice to say, however, that he has developed a unique style among major Australian painters.

I can only assume that, at some time in his earlier life, he was struck by the awesome beauty of a bush fire (wild fire) in grassland, as seen from the air at night -- a bright and dynamic slash of red dividing a dead area of matte black from an area of living greens, ochres and straw. The semi abstract nature of the brilliant line of flames against a starry sky and a scorched tract of earth has evolved into a number of dramatic landscapes, classified by gallery directors as "romantic realism".

Whereas the sheer beauty of such a destructive power is captured in Tim Storrier's works, reminding us of the untamed threat of nature in this the driest of all continents, Tim has evolved his style to capture the intense lights of these natural phenomena and to portray them in other contexts. I cannot help thinking of a diamond, resting on black baize under an intense spotlight. Imagine the "fire" which shoots from every facet, unchallenged by any other spurious lights in the showcase. Tim Storrier's paintings take that diamond and elongate it so that it divides his canvas by means of a striking three-dimensional body of light, separating a starry sky from an equally darkened foreground.

I can only presume that Tim was greatly encouraged by early success, spurring him on to develop his signature style. So, the bright firefront has become a wave, lapping a shore and catching the first or last rays of the sun. It has also become a series of flaming outlines of running human figures.

While many famous artists, past and present, have developed unique signature styles in terms of brushwork, underpainting, mixed media, abstract interpretations, etcetera, without regard to subject matter, Tim Storrier's magnificent ultra-realistic painting techniques are less of a unique signature than his development of the "line-of-fire" theme.

So, dear reader, have you discovered your particular niche? That individual style which will evolve over the years and become your signature style? You will know you have arrived when art lovers enter a public gallery and whisper your name at the front door, long before they lean over the railing to look for your signature at the foot of the canvas.

While self-deprecating friends and acquaintances would have me believe that they possess not a skerrick of drawing skills, there seems to be an almost universal recognition of the techniques of "name" artists. The term "loose" comes to mind immediately. This is a word beloved of gallery directors, art lovers and aspiring artists. Loose painting could refer to a continuum of styles, from abstract to realism, but to my mind it draws a line between impression and photographic detail.

The winner of the last two "People's Prizes" in the annual Australian Archibald Prize for portraiture has submitted stunning paintings of a photographic quality. I regularly try to view oil paintings from a glancing angle to gauge the consistency of surface shine, and these works have a perfect, blemish-free surface, devoid of brush marks or texture. They are portraits of media celebrities and are clearly winners in most respects, but "loose" they are not.

My attitude to oil painting, shared by many other art lovers, is that a painting is not a photograph, So, while I admire the painstaking detail in many prize-winning, ultra-realist paintings, and the talent to mimic reality to the nth degree, I believe a painting should be something in which an artist wants the viewer to see something more than just an image.

Furthermore, one often sees viewers in a gallery try to examine a canvas from very close up. Often they seek quirky detail, humorous or politically motivated inclusions, and sometimes an examination of the artist's techniques in under-painting, dry-brushing, over painting and the like. My simplistic view of good paintings is that they should generate great interest whether viewed from up close, or from the other side of the gallery.

It is interesting that, as many famous artists matured, their styles evolved from ultra-realism to "loose". From my perspective, I gain a great deal of satisfaction from the use of bold and authoritative brush strokes to achieve an impression of great detail. The canvas is deliciously edible at close range, with paint applied carefully in "careless" brush strokes, while the desired image and message emerge from the canvas as one steps back from the easel.

This is not to trivialize photography, for that is a challenging part of the process of capturing the essence of a good landscape or a portrait when time is at a premium. But a painting is a lot more than a photograph, and a loose painting adds that "je ne sais pas quoi" to an ultra realistic image.

There is a philosophy that one should paint what one enjoys most. While this might sound exceedingly indulgent, an artist probably does his best work doing what he prefers.

I love painting small format landscapes in oils on canvas panel because they can be executed quickly and are therefore fresh and vital. Commercially, they offer a unique, hand-made objet d'art, of a manageable size, affordable and easily posted in a padded envelope anywhere in the world for a very small cost.

But a landscape, even a very attractive one, is impersonal. Part of my indulgence is being lost in the picture I am painting, even if only for the two or three hours it takes to complete the work. Perhaps I choose the composition because it evokes a special memory for me. Clearly I liked the place sufficiently to take a photograph, from which I have painted the canvas.

The process of manipulating coloured paints on a gessoed canvas to portray a landscape is challenging in its own right and, like most artists, I am extremely critical of the result most of the time. And, like many, I crave the critical admiration of people I have never met before. Furthermore, a buyer or two would bolster my self esteem and give me the confidence to paint what I like in a larger format and more often.

However, I suspect that while an attractive sunset or a placid lake might turn me on, it may not resonate with someone else. It might simply evoke a "That's nice" before moving on to the next image. A painting of a well-known tourist haunt might have a better chance of bringing back pleasant memories in my viewers, and therefore a better chance of a sale. Often I suspect that the "plein air" painter on the main drag in that well-known tourist haunt might have a better chance of flogging a local scene to a passing tourist, simply as a souvenir of a pleasant holiday.

Lately I have been painting some simple scenes in ink and watercolours on heavy paper. They are of old buildings in various parts of the world, and are quite architectural in execution. To my mind, ink and watercolours have an informality about them, making them more drawing than photograph. Much of the work, particularly near the edges, is more suggestive than realism, but the overall effect is one of great detail. Perhaps more detail than can be achieved in an oil painting of similar size and in a similar time of execution.

I have had comments from viewers indicating that they prefer the ink and watercolour works to my oils. Hits on my website would tend to concur.

Does this mean I should develop my ink and watercolour techniques and abandon my oils on canvas panels, or put more detail into my landscapes in oils, or paint more cityscapes and old buildings, or concentrate on scenes most likely to resonate with viewers?

Those readers who have their own website may be familiar with Google Analytics. You embed a small amount of HTML code and JavaScript on each page of your site and whenever a visitor accesses the page, a packet of data is sent to Google for analysis and storage. Google Analytics then produces a comprehensive graphical report, including line graphs and pie charts of visitor activity over days, weeks, months and years. A map of the world is included showing the number of visitors from each city in each country. Among other pieces of information, I can see the number of unique visitors over a rolling 30-day period, the number of visits, the number of pageviews, pages per visit, average time on each page, percentage of new visitors, key words used to access my site, percentage of direct traffic, percentage of traffic via search engines and percentage from referring sites. I can even tell what browser and Internet access types are being used.

It would require a comprehensive technical paper to do justice to the power of Google Analytics, but there are some very interesting trends occurring in my art website which I would like to share. As of this evening, I can see on the world map that visitors to my site come from 93 cities in 29 different countries. The majority, understandably, come locally from Australia and New Zealand. North America and Europe are the next most populous, and Asia is not far behind. I even have visitors from Siberia and Nigeria.

Over the past few months, the number of new visitors to my site has increased dramatically -- in fact to about 85% of all visits. This seems to be due to images.google in each country, all sixteen of them as of this morning. Heartening news! The downside is that the average time on site for these "referring sites" (46% of site total) is ten seconds, viewing one and a half pages! So I can safely assume that there are no serious buyers here.

Visitor numbers arriving via search engines (31% of site total) are a little more encouraging. Over 94% of visitor traffic are new visitors and they stay a little over a minute viewing an average of 2.13 pages. It is very interesting to look at the very long list of key words and key phrases used to arrive at my site. Some are really quite random.

Again, not much chance of a major sale.

Direct traffic statistics (23% of site total) are the most encouraging. 61% are new visitors, they spent well over three minutes on site and browsed four and a half pages on average. To arrive at my website directly, a visitor must have known my URL, so this represents much more than a random event.

Happily the number of visitors to my site is steadily increasing and it would be nice to think that the statistical chances of making reasonable sales are also increasing. What is instructive however is the measurement of visitor response to various initiatives on the Web.

For example, I post an email newsletter once a week to a mailing list of friends, colleagues and acquaintances. The email contains an image of one of my latest paintings and has a link to a 'blog with the same image and format. The 'blog also includes a PayPal "Buy Now" button. So I effectively reach a small number of addressees via email and a potentially larger number via the Web. Consequently my visitor numbers increase on Wednesdays and Thursdays.

Likewise, if I add a new artwork to my ArtId studio or post a 'blog, the visitor numbers from North America increase over the next few days. The story is similar for my artworks on other art sites in other corners of the globe.

Search Engine Optimisation (SEO) techniques on my website have also yielded good results. As mentioned previously, I have a list of 47 key words and phrases in Google Analytics which have resulted in at least one visit each to my art site.

The real benefit of Google Analytics is that it can show visitor traffic in near real time. While other metrics may simply offer a running total of visits, I can actually see how my visitors respond to different initiatives on my part. My next task is to refresh the images on my site more frequently to try to attract a higher percentage of returning visitors, and to have them stay longer. Importantly, I can see which styles of painting attract the most interest and therefore increase the chance of a sale.

At the end of the day, as any shopkeeper will tell you, turning a visitor into a buyer is where the real skill lies. After all, you can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make it drink.

Many readers will be familiar with the Rorscharch Test in which the random shape of an ink blot on a folded sheet of paper is "interpreted" by a psychologist's patient. What a subject perceives in a random splodge may well be a factor in the determination of his/her mental health management for evermore.

Scary, isn't it?

Fellow artists, your activities and exposure on ArtId will make you famous, and when you are, be warned that there are hordes of psychology PhDs out there who will treat your artistic creations as ink blots in Rorscharch Tests. If you did not set out to create a deep and meaningful visual dialogue with your admirers, or if you innocently intended to portray a scene of peace and tranquillity, then it may come as a shock to you that academics with several diplomas in psychoanalysis may be about to expose your every foible and frailty by merely analysing your brush strokes.

I recall seeing a "Mythbusters" episode on television in which the team tried to determine what an artist was saying when he spoke/sang as he painted a picture. The theory is that the artist's brush becomes a stylus and engraves tracks in the paint, much as a needle engraves a track in a vinyl record. As the artist paints, sound waves modulate his hand and his brush, so creating a permanent audio recording in the medium. I think that myth was well and truly busted, but the artist does embed a huge amount of information in the image -- intentionally or otherwise. The problem is that it's all open to interpretation. It's how well the art critic, gallery director, art curator copes with the Rorscharch Test.

Yesterday's blog talked about obfuscation in which learned persons use computer-generated multi-syllabic words, subjunctive grammar and rambling sentences to describe an artist's intentions by analysing the artwork itself. This lofty prose, together with the elegantly produced catalogue, the artist's beret and jabot, and the champagne and canapés on the opening night, all work to create an air of rarefied superiority, of exclusivity. The result, hopefully, is an elevation in prices, and instant wealth and fame for the artist.

My humble interpretation of all this palaver is, "Dear Mortal-With-Disposable-Income, thanks for attending the opening night; hope you enjoyed the drinks and nibbles; I realise that you haven't a clue about art, but take it from me (an immortal icon of the art world) that this emerging artist will be worth a truckload in ten years; I understand it offends the eyes and doesn't match the décor, but........; yes, we take plastic!"

However, fellow artist, be warned that you may not always agree with the exposure of your innermost secretive thoughts by those who know more than you do about the mysterious machinations of the mind. I'm just hoping that, when I become famous (courtesy of ArtId) and the subject of several learned articles and biographies, the writers' words will be kind and vaguely related to the sort of person I think I am. I don't think I could cope with the witchdoctor-chicken-entrails scenario as directly applied to my artistic creations.

Obfuscate v, 1. vti to make something obscure or unclear, especially by making it unnecessarily uncomplicated; 2. vt to make something dark or hard to see (archaic); 3. vt to make somebody confused.

I am wondering whether I should resort to obfuscation when describing my art in order to become famous? Clearly, painting pretty pictures which might blend with the wallpaper in somebody's sitting room is not going to get me into Sotheby's auction rooms.

No, I need to develop a new way of speaking in the language of "obfuscation". Art curators speak the language fluently. So, do architects. And, I suspect, so do Martians, although I must admit I do not have first-hand evidence of the latter.

Last week I saw a delightful exhibition of portraits by a well-known Australian painter living in Tuscany, Italy. On reading the notes in the exhibition catalogue, I was mildly amused by the authoritative interpretation of the artist's innermost thoughts regarding subject matter, composition, choice of subject and progress from pencil sketch to oil sketch to trial portrait to finished work.

Since the artist is very much alive in Tuscany, the curator could have asked him why he painted the portrait, and what if anything the dots and squiggles actually mean. However I didn't get the impression that there had been a recent conversation with the artist. On the one hand, it may have been too banal. On the other hand, it may have been unprintable -- rife with unspeakable thoughts or politically incorrect comments. Or, the artist may have forgotten with the passing of time.

Last night I watched (for a brief while) an arts program on television. Dear Reader, shut your eyes and concentrate on a character sitting on a stool on a paint spattered floor, with the mandatory fedora hat, cigarette and five-o'clock shadow, and talking nineteen to the dozen. He is surrounded by "paintings" in dazzling primary colours, whose subject matter may have been the result of a collision of Class A drugs and alcohol. As I said, his lips were moving in a blur, and he was speaking English primarily, but in the "obfuscation" dialect. It was only last night, but I have no idea what he was saying.

Architects learn obfuscation at college. There is no way that their creations are going to be pedestrian -- unless they work for the government, in which case boring is a mandatory requirement. How else does an architect describe his 45-story, all-glass, leaning tower addition to a single story heritage brick residence but "sympathetically blending in with the amenity of the historic precinct"?

What would I say should the impossible happen and an art curator choose to write about my work or, worse still, want me to star in an obscure television program? I think I need to learn "obfuscation" language as an element in the process of elevating my artistic endeavours to somewhere above the humdrum. It's the struggle of working in the rarefied atmosphere alongside those souls anointed with the creativity and passionate spirit which so emasculates me and diminishes my effectiveness to a mere shadow of its former self.

Yes dear reader, my artwork -- should you stoop to demean it as merely "artwork" -- is a juxtaposition of the ethereal with the visceral and the philosophical with the metaphysical. It certainly is NOT a colourful matrix of splodges which through some random act of good fortune represent an image with a basis in reality.

Oh, should you be unable to spell "obfuscation", let alone pronounce it, you could always use the acronym "BS".

Interestingly, while there are quite a few animal portraits featured on ArtId, portraits of people are quite uncommon. Why is this so?

Is it because a portrait is only of interest to the sitter and her immediate circle of friends? Cannot a well-executed portrait stand alone as a fine example of composition, brushwork, colour harmony and depth? A few weeks ago, I travelled to Australia's capital Canberra to view the Edgar Degas exhibition at the National Gallery. As the exhibits evolved in chronological order, one could see recognisable portraits of captains of industry in earlier days and more abstract portraits of washerwomen, laundresses and ironing women in later years. Clearly Degas did not intend viewers to instantly recognise his subjects who were doing the most mundane of tasks. Likewise, I don't believe he was interested in painting particular jockeys (or specific horses for that matter) in his beautiful horse racing studies. However, his subjects -- be they ballerinas, jockeys, race-goers or simple laundresses -- are beautifully painted and are crucial elements of his depiction of his time in history.

I am passionate about painting landscapes, but not just any landscape. I suppose one could accuse me of doing "feel good" compositions. Autumn scenes, sunsets, quite streams in bush settings, placid lakes, snow covered mountains and verdant forests. It's an indulgence. I am very pleased when a painting turns out well. Most people would give their right arm to be able to spend a majority of their waking hours doing something pleasant.

But, for reasons which still elude me, most people will generally not pay you to do something pleasant. I have made an assumption that a majority of artists would welcome that final endorsement where a statement of appreciation is followed closely by a cheque in payment for a purchase.

There is, however, an exception. Portrait painting. Being able to capture the essence of a personality in paint on canvas can be richly rewarding in all senses of the word. Australia's richest art prize ($150,000) and Australia's most recognisable art prize are both for portraiture.

I am currently working on five portraits. One is for a retiring "captain-of-industry" and it will be presented to him (he already has at least one gold Rolex) at an exclusive gentlemen's club in the presence of a large gathering of influential colleagues in a couple of months' time. Another is of a friend in his PhD regalia. This is a second portrait -- the first portrayed him as too imperious. Given that this was the way he sat for the portrait, I have decided to keep it and to start another, more friendly and less imposing depiction. Yet another portrait will be entered in a national competition.

Since significant amounts of money are involved, the patron's opinions are not to be ignored. Which is not to say that a person commissioning a portrait has a lot of ideas about how the portrait should be composed before commencement. It's just that the opinions tend to firm post completion and prior to the opening of the chequebook. It goes without saying that a decent likeness is a definite requirement, and that a friendly accommodating pose is next on the list. An artist can forget a heroic portrait, such as an El Greco or Velasquez, in which the main character is astride his rearing charger or being skinned alive as a prelude to matyrdom. Or even in today's GFC, a bankster, caught at the euphoric moment of greeting the Brinks van with his annual bonus payment. Rather, the request is for something the patron could hang on the wall and walk past each day without flinching.

Now, I realise that portraiture is a specialised area which probably won't involve school fetes, Rotary art shows, and online sales. The amounts of remuneration involved will limit my client base to wealthier subjects and, quite understandably, those with a slightly elevated sense of self esteem. I am sure that not all patrons are convinced they are photogenic (or is it "portraitagenic"?) even when I agree to leave out the wrinkles and other indicators of character. Some would say that it's a huge ego-trip, but I am hoping that there will always be someone who simply appreciates a good painting.

Yes, I do actually enjoy portraiture, although it is certainly an order of magnitude more demanding than landscape painting. Understanding how much emotion is conveyed by the human face, and to some extent the hands, is an ongoing journey for me.

As Michelangelo Buonarroti was heard to say, "Ancora imparo".

"So you're an artist. Could you paint a portrait of my wife, who has a major birthday in two months?" A friend of mine, whom I had not seen for over a year, posed the question. He had suddenly had an epiphany over his cup of coffee. Here was the perfect personalised "life event" gift for the woman who has everything.

From my perspective, here was an enormous challenge. An electrical engineering colleague and friend of many years has absolutely no qualms in assuming that if I say I can paint pictures, then I can paint a portrait of the love of his life. Now, at the risk of being repetitive, I am a thing-person rather than a people-person. Left-brained rather than right-brained. Portrait painting is a process like any other. Right? Er..... right.

Now, at this juncture, Pablo Picasso and I diverge. (I do know that Pablo could and did paint superb likenesses of people. But that is not why he is remembered). I am of the conviction that a portrait should actually resemble the subject. Call me "old school", but it's probably too late to change now.

Fortunately, I know the lady as well as can be expected given our geographic separation. I have a reasonable grasp of her personality. I have been furnished with two photographic images of her in all her judicial finery. All I need now is to get on with the job.

After several sketches on paper and two or three pencilled outlines on canvas, I felt that I had created images of very beautiful ladies -- none of which resembled my subject. So I took the plunge and started to paint with oils. Gradually her features emerged, rather as they would from a sculptor's clay blank. At the culmination of a day's work, I could see her face smiling back at me and it felt good! Very good!

My wife tells the story much better than I can. She sees all manner of people-things in the portrait. A woman has that sixth sense which understands subtleties which transcend mere images. Apparently, some of these ethereal qualities have been liberated from my male psyche without my knowing. Gee, and I thought I was just painting a picture of a lovely lady.

Many of you will have read my ranting blogs bemoaning the universal paucity of sales of landscapes -- both large and small formats. Now, let's float above that mundane drudgery to a higher and more rarefied plane. Let's discuss portraits. For starters, we are now talking about ego -- the universal wish to make one's mark on society, to be recognised for achievement, to be remembered, to leave a legacy. Not surprisingly, my customer and I are both singing from the same hymn sheet here.

Also it's absolutely no surprise that ego and money seem to go hand in glove. Well, that's where I falter, but for my clients it seems to be true. So the price for a portrait commission reflects the uniqueness of the situation and, in my scheme of things, reflects the importance of the client and his/her subject. In short, one feels more than adequately recompensed.

That famous Australian expatriate living in England, Rolf Harris, recently hosted a television series "Star Portraits" in which three "emerging" portrait painters were given two weeks to paint a famous British personality. Rolf made news earlier when he was chosen to paint Queen Elizabeth's 80th birthday portrait, which he carried out in "Impressionist" style.

"Star Portraits" began with the artists guessing the subject, then meeting the personality, then "sketching" from life, during which they were encouraged by Rolf Harris to explore the subject's background. To complete the first half, the artists took photographs as "references". The second half of the 30-minute show reviewed progress on the three portraits in each individual's studio, and finally the finished works were unveiled in a prominent location. The subject was then asked to choose one of the three portraits to keep.

"Star Portraits" has been immensely popular, and has been repeated at least once on national television. Many people have referred to the show when I mention painting portraits.

Having painted one portrait, I painted a second. This time a prominent lawyer, who chose to be depicted in his favourite casual clothes, in his favourite armchair and surrounded by his impressive collection of Australian art. My intention was to enter the Archibald Prize for Australian portraits (first prize A$50,000 and 12 months' worth of free publicity, the likes of which no artist could ever afford). I was one of 693 entries and, unfortunately was not selected as one of 40 finalists, nor a member of the Salon de Refuses, both of which tour the country.

My sitter bought the portrait which now hangs proudly beside some very FAMOUS Australian artists in his home.

The third portrait was commissioned by my first portrait subject. Her husband -- my colleague and friend -- had just completed his PhD. Could I paint him in his scarlet trimmed robes and black, floppy bonnet with scarlet tassel? It's a work-in-progress, but it's coming together well. At the same sitting, she also expressed great interest in being the subject for my entry in the 2009 Archibald Prize. So that's also on the "drawing board".

Finally, a colleague of my prominent lawyer is about to retire. He has seen the portrait on the gallery wall, likes it, and expressed interest in having his own portrait painted as a parting gift. He probably already has a gold Rolex.