Finding the Land of Plenty

At the start of 2022, I was living in a comfortable paradise—the family home in Hurstbridge where I'd grown up, with its beautiful garden. We had this real desire to find a larger block of land, to live amongst community. But I realize now it was also a procrastination measure—something I was using as a crutch to say I can't create my truly best work until I'm living on my own fertile land.

My work was always powerful—collectors have valued and connected with my paintings throughout the journey. But I hadn't yet given myself permission to produce the great work. I was always striving for the complete artwork that would work on many planes of reality at once, never compromising for smallness, but still seeking that external validation.

So we left. Traveled up the east coast of Australia, got caught for months in floods in northern NSW, living isolated in a tent on a small hill with floodwaters around us. Queensland had beautiful places, but it wasn't the right time. We ended up in Denmark, Western Australia, then finally Hamilton Hill.

For three and a half years, I was still "Harry"—still carrying that weight, still searching for something external. But here's what I discovered just this year, at 37: We are living in a new world already. I suppose I have found the land of plenty. But it isn't a physical space. It is a mindset.

The Name That Opens

"Harry" felt bland. Harry means "to worry". It didn't feel like me. It's actually hard to say, as if you have to force it off the tongue, a kind of clenched mouth pushing to get it out.

Ari starts with a wonderful deep opening of the throat and rolls upward. The shift came just this year when I realized I have everything I need right now. When I stopped stressing about achieving something in the future, it all came together. I felt so different inside myself that I knew it was time to change my name.

Ari sheds the unneeded baggage and becomes more elemental. This transformation is fresh, immediate—I'm still discovering what it means to create from this new place.

Opening Portals, Not Just Painting

I'm working on four 2-meter canvases at the moment. That scale allows me to paint people in landscapes while having fun with paint application. The scale creates a bodily reaction for the viewer, becomes more encompassing of their field of view. It sits in stark contrast to our overwhelming consumption of media through mobile phones—these grand narrative paintings cannot be experienced in phone format without zooming in and out.

But it's more than scale. My paintings are collections of elements like tarot cards, dense with symbolism, rich delights for people to bite into. I myself may not fully have "read" their meaning, but just like tarot, they're meaningful tools for self-transformation for those willing to do the work. My paintings are a celebration of the possibilities of art and an invitation for others to join me.

The Fertile Ascent Vision

Many people worry about the apocalypse coming, the singularity, a period of change so rapid we can't see what's coming. But I'm seeing that the world has already shifted for those who would like to step into it. We're in a world of radical freedom and unlimited resources—it's all really a matter of choice as to which world we want to live in.

The Fertile Ascent is the continuing movement and unfolding of creativity, fertility, and freedom. Much like the fertile crescent that was the birthplace of humanity, the Mesopotamian rivers that were symbols of Enki the fertility god. It's our movement toward godhood, creating temple-communities that look like places of childlike, playful creation of awe-inspiring beautiful spaces surrounded by nature.

Living the Work

I balance my time in the studio with my family—my partner and three children—enjoying greatly hanging out with them, going on imaginative and creative journeys. Their childlike creativity and energy is godlike. They are part of everything.

I have been given a gift by infinite being that I have a responsibility to share. My work now is of a limitless picnic at the end of time, a grand theater that encompasses the everyday and transforms it.

I really don't feel the need for external approval as much anymore. I don't have an exhibition in mind, but I'm working fervently, with a wild energy I would usually only get in the lead up to a show. I'm learning to open up the sharing of my art as another artistic process I can enjoy for its own sake.