The house that Lloyd built
Visiting the North Sydney home owned by Australian landscape artist Lloyd Rees, I am intrigued to learn more about the man my mother would fondly refer to as “Uncle Lloyd”.
After he purchased the property in 1934 for only £300, Lloyd Rees designed the house as he had envisioned and it became a home for him, his wife Marjory and their son Alan.
Although this is my first visit to the house, there is a certain nostalgic ambience I can’t explain as well as a child-like curiosity to explore every room. My mother accompanies me and is viewing the house through sentimental eyes; she spent a year living here in the late 1980’s before she transitioned to married life.
Ascending the stairs, we are greeted by Jan and Alan Rees. Alan, being the son of Lloyd Rees has many childhood memories in this home and he shares stories over tea and sandwiches.
A stone relief that I’ve seen in the background of old family photos sits unmoved on the wall, a chariot of horses ride in the direction of the harbour sunset. I once read that after observing the soft veil of light on Sydney Harbour, Lloyd Rees wrote that he had thought, "I don't want to go to heaven because it can't be as beautiful as this."
I wander through the lounge room, which is partly filled with packing boxes and old artworks as Jan and Alan prepare to put the house for sale.
Sunlight filters in through the open windows and illuminates a vase of camellias resting on the bookshelf.
I am reminded of an anecdote my mother would tell me about how in his twilight years, ‘Uncle Lloyd’ would often tell of his ability to stare directly at the sun, which I later found out was a result of his failing eyesight.
Although the house itself holds many stories, the most intriguing feature is the artist’s studio built into the foundations downstairs.
Upon entering through the sandstone archway, I can only compare the room to a perfectly preserved film set.
Jars full of paint and brushes spill out from the shelves that are crammed with artistic accoutrements. Paint splatters line the walls from when the artist would stand in front of his wet painting, dip his hand into a bottle of turpentine and throw it over the painting, blending dripping colours. The strong smell still lingers, mingling with faded paperbacks.
A fraying trilby hat sits on the bench, as if its owner had placed it there only momentarily. Lloyd Rees always took his hat with him as he considered it just as essential as his brushes. In his words it gave him “a sense of horizon”, a crucial element for composing his memorable landscapes.
Even when the artist wasn’t en plein air, he would wear his hat indoors to evoke the feeling of being outside.
I pass the bookshelf on my way out, the faded volumes with almost incoherent titles guide me to a framed photo of a thoughtful Lloyd Rees. Sitting next to one of his works, complete with his signature trilby and a paintbrush in his hand, he farewells me with a twinkle in his eye.
