The Path to Portrait Artist of the Year - Part 5
This is part 5 of a series that looks back at my art journey and recounts the experience of being on Portrait Artist of the Year. Part 1 can be found here. Part 2 can be found here. Part 3 can be found here. Part 4 can be found here.
It was over, but it wasn’t really over. The art-making part, the main event that I’d spent weeks training for, the culmination of my art abilities to date and a challenge unlike any I’d ever experienced - sure, that much was done. But there was still so much ahead, not least the pointy part of the ordeal that would see nine nervous artists narrowed down to three, and three narrowed down to one.
I looked at my portrait of Adam. I tried not to look at it too closely; I was already seeing elements that I could refine, changes I could make, if only I had a little more time. A member of the production team had me tear off the page from its pad, and I swear I’ve never been more nervous removing a sheet of paper than I was in this moment. (Why didn’t I do this before starting my drawing? Because I’m an idiot, that’s why.) I slowly pulled it free and hoped that luck would be on my side and that today wasn’t the day where a finished portrait would be undone by a rip across my subject’s face. Thankfully it came away intact, and it was fastened to a wooden board for the upcoming easel turn reveal.
This was arranged and set after the briefest of breaks, just long enough to have some water and wonder “Did any of this really happen?” The whole thing just felt so surreal, the time that had passed feeling as much of an instant as an eternity. Any other day I’d crumple at the idea of waking before dawn and starting an artwork at a time when I’d usually be hitting snooze on the alarm clock, let alone starting and finishing one in front of cameras, in front of an audience, in a time limit, for a celebrity, for a TV show. I think I was only functioning on pure adrenaline and disbelief.
Out came three easels, our artworks arranged upon them and ready for display. We were directed when and how to turn them: all at once, clockwise, towards the camera. A Bunnings umbrella shielded Adam in his return to his seat, blocking our artwork from his view until the moment arrived. The cameras got into position, Miranda took her mark, and there we stood, waiting for our signal.
“Okay, moment of truth. Artists, please turn your easels.”
A giddy shiver ran up my back. Artists, please turn your easels. It was the trademark PAOTY phrase - and I was experiencing it first-hand! Not on TV, not even overhearing it as a member of the audience. As far on the other side of the divide as you can get: right there, as a competing artist. I swivelled my easel and hoped I’d remembered which way was clockwise.
Applause. Adam’s gaze met our artworks. “Oh wow!” And there it was, the key moment (and there would be three more to come) that had built up to, and hinged entirely on, genuine unscripted in-the-moment reaction.
We did a couple of takes of Adam commenting on our work before it came to the pointy end: which one would he be taking home? In my heart of hearts, I knew and hoped it would be Amanda’s, and so when he made his decision it felt, to me, like the obvious choice, the natural choice. A photographer snapped some shots of Adam with our artworks, Adam with us, us with our artworks. I need to say it again: Adam Liaw is super-duper nice and gracious, and I feel very lucky to have had him as my sitter (Rhys and Myf, I’m sure you’re lovely too).
Adam and Adam
Then it was time for filming “the other bits”. Our producers herded the nine of us outside and arranged us all sitting together, cameras watching as we were asked to talk, relax, look casual. This was the “now the artists enjoy a well-earned break” shot that the show would position between painting and judging, though ours only made it as far as the cutting room floor.
That reminded me: the judging.
While we were outside acting totally casual in a totally casual way, at that moment our three judges were inside, scrutinising our artwork. Any attempts to enter the arena to collect this or that were rebuffed; it was strictly off limits.
After the cameras had their fill, we were divvied back into our groups of three and sent to different areas of White Bay Power Station and, one by one, summoned to front the lenses solo. When it came to my turn, a production member brought out my self-portrait mounted to a wooden board, while Stu directed me to sit on a nearby area outside, flanked by crew manning a camera, a light reflection panel, an overhead boom mike.
“Yeah just there’s great. Maybe rest a foot over your leg - there you go. Can you tilt the drawing a little bit this way? Okay now look down at it, then when I say, look at the camera and smile.”
I did so, then again for another couple of times, each time with a slightly different pace or change. I wondered what the voice-over narration would be saying in this moment, how “Darren Wells” would be introduced to viewers.
Then it was back to our artist break-out area - again, well away from where the judges were still doing their thing - and all we could do was wait, and wonder, and hope.
Me with the art that was made before the art that was made after making it
When a production member came to collect us for the judge’s top three, things had kind of a “green mile” feel. Going from our artist area to the verdict delivered at the portrait wall brought us to a service elevator, and as we took the slow ride upwards, in some ways it felt like a final moment: the last time the nine of us would be on equal footing. There were mutterings of “good luck everyone” and “it’s that time then…” as we swirled in a stew of nerves and anticipation.
We were arranged in front of the portrait wall, each artist in front of their works, and with the lenses of multiple cameras trained on us it felt every bit like a firing squad. Very carefully we were positioned - a couple of paces in front, then one to the right, then turned 45 degrees towards Luke and Miranda, with the trio of judges close by. I tried to read their faces for any sign of a hint but they were all expert poker players. Luke asked us if we needed some water before proceeding, and a few artists nodded, so off went a runner to get some bottles. (I guess that was my “last meal” then: filtered tap water.)
Amid this brief stay of execution, I allowed myself the opportunity to look around, to appreciate the space, to take it all in. To reflect on where I was and the path that had brought me here. To have made it this far, to be on Portrait Artist of the Year, was the biggest *anything* that had happened in my art journey, and I tried to remind myself: Look where you are. You’re here. Look at what you’ve done. That much felt like reward enough.
The water arrived, and after we took some sips it was removed just as quickly. Despite it my mouth felt immediately dry as we readied ourselves for the cameras to roll, and for hosts Luke and Miranda to begin their spiel.
Luke: “Artists, thank you so much for your work today, all three sitters loved what you created.”
Miranda: “The judges have chosen their top three. The first artist is…”
And then, the pause. You know the pause. It’s the pause that’s synonymous with any reality show involving some sort of contestant elimination or verdict reveal, the kind that’s stretched and stretched and stretched to eke out every last dripping morsel of tension and suspense. I’m here to tell you that The Pause is just as long, if not longer, in real life. The Pause is not artificially padded in the editing room. It’s done for real, and standing there in that lineup, waiting for Miranda to complete the dangling ellipsis, The Pause kept going and going. I was wondering if, like several points throughout the day’s filming, she was listening to instructions from the director in her earpiece. Did they need to start again? Did they—
“Amanda.”
As the self-proclaimed founder and leader of the Amanda Oei Wells Fan Club, my first thought at hearing her name was “yay!” quickly followed by “of course”. Unbiased I may be (not), but to me it was a foregone conclusion that her work would be among the top three of the day, and as I leaned over in the lineup to send her a “wooo!” of support, I felt thrilled to bits that this experience, this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, had now gotten even better.
“The second artist is…”
The Pause. Yes, they really are that long.
“Alina.”
I clapped in support of an artist whom I had not met prior to today, but whose work immediately made an impact. I thought back to that morning, when we were all setting up our art stations, and how Alina had readied a massive canvas that had me wondering how she was going to paint such a thing in four hours, before exchanging it for an even bigger one, and used it to bring to life a portrait full of energy, texture and colour. A worthy addition to the top three.
“The third artist is…”
At this point I started going through the other artists in my head, recalling the work they had produced and wondering who would be the third name to be announced. Yet at the same time my inner voice did a weird thing: I found myself repeating my own name over and over in my head: Darren, Darren, Darren. Maybe deep down I was reminding myself what it sounded like, or thinking it could manifest something, or not wanting to be an idiot in front of the cameras if—
“Darren.”
Time stopped. That wasn’t from me. That wasn’t my head voice. That came from Miranda, and she was looking right at me, and smiling, and there was a sound that sounded like clapping.
I don’t know what my face did or how I reacted (and I didn’t know until I saw the moment occur in the episode) but I swear I floated up and out of myself in what I imagine is the closest thing to an out of body experience I’ll likely have before the maker comes knocking. This did not just happen. It did. It can’t have. But people were coming up to me — it can’t have — and people were shaking hands — it did happen — and a teary presence wrapped around me in a tight embrace and said “we’re going to the top three together” and as I realised it was Amanda hugging me close with happy tears in my shoulder, I realised that… holy shit, it did happen.
Things in this moment are kind of a blur, a whirlwind, and whatever the exact sequence of events was beyond the top-three-artworks-arranged-for-the-cameras thing, I’m not sure. “I seriously didn’t expect this…” was my new refrain, delivered in a stunned stupor. It wasn’t false modesty - ever the captain of self-doubt, I’d entered this competition with a hope and an attempt to produce something that wouldn’t embarrass myself, and had somehow emerged among the top three artists of the day.
Before long I found myself back in the firing squad again, this lineup much shorter. Three artists. One winner. Of course when Amanda’s name would be called (as the fan club founder, I knew it would be when, not if) I knew I’d be unbelievably proud… but honestly I was just riding the high of being in this lineup at all. This had made my day, my year, my everything. To have made it here was the cherry on top of being part of this amazing competition.
The intro. The Pause. The announcement. “Amanda.”
The blurry whirlwind started to clear after Robert delivered Amanda’s name as the winner. Events here are recalled with slightly more clarity. Watching the episode back, during the moment that we hug, you can hear me say something to her that’s muffled, something that not even the show’s subtitles can decipher. I can remember exactly what I said.
I said “You’ve done it.”
As an entrant to Portrait Artist of the Year, it had been a moment months in the making - months spent practicing, preparing, worrying, wondering. But as an artist, it had been years. An affinity with drawing and creating pretty much since her earliest days, to guidance from a supportive and encouraging high school art teacher (thank you Ms Tofler), to graduating uni with a visual arts degree, to working full-time as a graphic illustrator, to putting those precious outside-of-work hours into making art with traditional mediums like watercolour, acrylic, gouache…
She’d done it.
A moment to remember.
I had as much of a full experience of Portrait Artist of the Year as I could hope for. In the midst of congratulations with Alina, the judges, and the hosts, I started babbling a torrent of gratitude to every PAOTY face I could see: “I just want to say thank you to everyone for making this an amazing experience, I’m so glad to have been a part of it, thank you so much…”. Luke laughed and said “Okay you didn’t win,” and I laughed too. My cup was full.
As we were leaving I got a photo with Luke and Abdul, only just now realising that all three of us were wearing the standard issue male outfit (jeans, white shirt, open collared shirt). I shored up my list of social media contacts traded with the other artists. A crew member wandered by with a box of icy poles; I enjoyed one with Amanda and Ilana. Then I took one more look up at the monolithic smokestacks of White Bay Power Station.
I didn’t expect to find myself on this path. But I’m going to keep following it and see where it goes.
Thank you.