Desert Storm 1955

Curator: Oh, wow, a real silence. I'm hit by the barrenness. Gives me the shivers. Like all the color has been sucked out of it. Editor: Allow me to introduce Sidney Nolan’s, "Desert Storm" rendered in tempera on board, from 1955. It resides here at the Tate Modern in London. Curator: Desert Storm feels so...un-Australian to me! Nolan's landscapes usually crackle with that raw, red earth energy. This... this is bleak. You can practically feel the heat evaporating. It is just a beautiful whisper of a memory. Editor: Indeed. Note the pronounced horizontality—how the composition is ruled by these stark lines. The layering creates a very tangible spatial recession; horizon acting as a grounding force. Also, Nolan's execution demonstrates expressionist applications... Observe. Curator: Totally. It is like Nolan used broad strokes to create an atmospheric haze. This adds to the dreamlike quality. What those dry branches that seem to claw at the sky? They are gorgeous and unsettling. Editor: The branches offer a strong figuration to the scene... the contrast between these dark, almost charcoal-like forms and the diluted ground and aerial space invites visual discourse to their materiality and symbolic relevance. Curator: Exactly! Nolan's playing with that tension between absence and a potential for renewal; desert blooming or dying is like some sort of internal struggle… you wonder what that looks like from a cultural standpoint... Editor: An astute observation. What this work contributes is, notably, the articulation of absence—the formal means, of which are, after all, intrinsic to the subject. Curator: Yeah, seeing this is a kick to the guts. Still a banger. Gives me the melancholies but those little jolts of life sticking out there help remind me. Editor: The "Desert Storm’s" composition and handling are undeniably stark... and affecting. Its articulation of absence echoes in the mind long after viewing.