At my recent Exhibition, Mark MacLean made an excellent opening speech, so here it is...

Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests

It’s wonderful to be gathered here at this remarkable place that is surely (in spite of the weather) one of the most sublime exhibition venues in Australia. We’re at the hiding place of the Great Kangaroo and we know this because of the stories told by the Awabakal people of the past and the present, people whose songs, stories and ceremonies nurture this site, and will continue to do so for many generations to come.

Trevor had a birthday coming up a while back and I joked that I’d buy him a ruler because he was completely rubbish at drawing straight lines.

I was reminded of that exchange when I looked over the work that Trevor had assembled for this exhibition. There’s still not a straight line in sight but Trevor’s unconventional approach to his subject matter is part of the reason why his drawings are so successful and so popular. Trevor’s subjects are grand but he represents them on a human scale and in doing so he brings their eccentricities and unintended foibles to our attention in a way that’s humorous without ever being snide or malicious.

Humour is the golden thread that runs through Trevor’s work. The Establishment tends not to value humour in the visual arts but The People love it. Certainly Novocastrians do – can anyone remember a pre-Dickinson Newcastle? – and Canberrans embraced him with similar enthusiasm. Even Sydney’s beginning to catch on.

But how did he get to here?

Mark MacLean and Trevor Dickinson discussing Spandau Ballet. photo by Alison Green

Trevor and I are children of Sixties England. As kids in regional England many of our cultural landmarks were the same. However, when we left school I went to work to earn a living and pay taxes while Trevor swanned around London wearing pirate shirts and girls’ eyeliner. How I envy him.

Art schools are places where the talented gather but talent is a cheap commodity; in the world of the creative arts talent is simply a starting point. To be successful and to make a living from your artistic practice you need other ingredients: commitment, a strong work ethic, determination, a thick skin, ambition – characteristics that, in the world of the arts, are often viewed through narrowed eyes.

Trevor has these qualities in bucket loads. His work belies the research, the effort and the late nights that go into its creation. Its quirky nature, chirpy mix of colours and its ever-present humour deceive us. Surely something that appears this simple can’t be hard work?

It is. Anyone who knew Trevor during the research for his 100 Letterboxes of Newcastle project knows just how much legwork went into it. In fact we all got sucked in. A small army of people found themselves on the lookout for the weird, the wonderful and the bizarre letterbox. And of course the perfect 48, a significant number for Trevor that year.

I mentioned earlier the Dark Ages of pre-Dickinsonian Newcastle. Like Athena bursting from the head of Zeus fully formed he seemed to appear with a completely matured style. His drawing style has changed, something you’ll notice if you compare this current batch of work with earlier pieces, but as you look around this exhibition I want you to look for the development of something else, something that I’ll choose to call Trevor’s falling in love, at first with Newcastle and then with Australia as a whole.

After the bright lights and breakneck pace of London, Trevor struggled a little with suburban New Lambton. It was only when he got on his bike that he started engaging with the New World around him. Cycling in Newcastle changed the pace at which he viewed his new home and gave him the time to pause and re-see his environment.

That early period of drawing saw a burst of creativity driven by Trevor’s personal sense of urgency. Those attributes I mentioned earlier – talent, determination, commitment, a strong work ethic, ambition – resulted in a huge output over a relatively short period of time. Within a few months his tea-towels were in every kitchen, his prints on every wall, his murals on every flat surface.

A residency at Megalo print workshop in Canberra opened up a new world to the sly parody that’s become his trademark. And then Sydney got the treatment. Brisbane awaits with bated breath.

I mentioned at the beginning the story of the Giant Kangaroo who rests inside this island. That’s a story about place, and this exhibition that Trevor has gathered together is just as much a story about place. He’s taken those aspects of our city that have become invisible to us through endlessly repeated viewings and then surprised us by skewing them a few degrees, just enough to reveal the mundane in a completely new light. And all without the use of ruler.

I’d be wasting my breath telling you that Trevor’s good at what he does: you know that already. But if you want to see more of his work in the future then don’t leave without buying a print, a tea-towel or a fridge magnet. His glamorous assistant will be more than happy to help you.

And so, it gives me great pleasure to formally announce this exhibition of drawings by Mr T …