Tinteán

Sydney artist Anthony Quinn considers the Black Moon phenomonon and looking sideways at drawing

August is slipping into September.

The headlines say it’s a rare Black Moon. ‘Right up my uncanny alley’, imagining omens and wildness. The truth is clinical: it simply means four new moons in the same season. But I prefer to see a hidden moon that feels like a presence more than an orbiting rock. Looking inward, backlit by the sun, invisible to us.

There’s a kind of seeing that only happens from the corner of the eye. I’ve stood outside at twilight, watching a crescent moon, convinced I could trace a full silver orb. Never when looking directly. You find things that way sometimes: by softening your gaze, by not trying too hard to see, until you finally do.

The moon or the sun? I’m finishing a piece for this year’s Little Things Art Prize. It features two figures — one backlit by a source I haven’t quite named. The sun? The moon? I’ve asked myself again and again. Why does it matter? Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe another question is the answer: What do you see?

Making art is like that — chasing questions, chaining them together, until something appears that feels true. Sometimes the questions are deep: Am I getting close enough to what matters? Sometimes, practical.

How do I draw this apple?

I can draw an apple. Shiny, red, ripe. Textbook example. But that would be the wrong apple for this piece — the wrong light, the wrong angle, the wrong meaning.

So I’ve had to look sideways at apples. Trying not to see the thing I’ve always seen, until I find a fruit with the right heft to it.

Artist Statement

The title of this work is: Comparison is the Thief of Joy (An Gadaí)
Rooted in Irish mythology, this miniature drawing explores the quiet grief of comparison. Two tree-like figures—one crowned with apples, the other with pears—are entangled in envy. Embittered, each is blind to the fruit of their own nature.
In Irish myth, apples were gifts of the Otherworld: they nourished without diminishing, symbolising eternal wisdom and spiritual abundance. They offered access to joy, abundance.
Yet even such blessings turn bitter when weighed against another’s. This piece reminds us that joy wilts under envy’s gaze, and that gratitude is found in cherishing our own ripening.

Anthony Quinn is an Irish artist and an Australian citizen who lives and works on the lands of the GuriNgai and Darug people in Sydney. His Irish heritage inspires his artistic practice and also helps him to forge a connection with his adopted home. He is a regular contributor to Tinteán. You can follow his work here https://anthonyquinnartist.com