OPENING APRIL 24TH 5.30pm-7.30pm

Guest Speaker ~ Founder of 1 Million Women ~ Natalie Isaacs

APRIL 25th

Gallery 11:11 will be open between 12pm - 4pm on this day for those

who may wish to spend time in a calm and reflective space, surrounded by art.

APRIL 26TH open 10am - 4pm

27TH APRIL - 1ST MAY by appointment

This exhibition falls over Anzac Day weekend, and it feels deeply important to dedicate it to my grandfather—my Pa.

He provided my first experiences of exploring the landscape. Together, we walked through Lane Cove National Park every week without fail. Those mornings began early, always with a sense of quiet anticipation, and ended back at home with the sound of ABC Jazz drifting through the house. While Pa retreated to his music room, I would spend hours in the backyard—my own wild, imaginative world of large rocks, gum trees, and an abundance of Nan’s azaleas amidst an array of flowering plants.

Pa was a drummer in a jazz band called The Esquires, and after our walks he would often sit and play—informally composing what felt like a gentle tribute to the morning we had just shared. I can still hear that music in the background of those afternoons, woven into memories of sitting outside, completely immersed in imagination.

What he gave me, more than anything, was a way of seeing. He taught me to notice—the way light falls across rock, the shadows cast through trees, the veins in a leaf, the iridescence on the back of a beetle. These weren’t small details to me; they were everything. As a child, I often felt slightly out of place for noticing them so deeply—but Pa celebrated that sensitivity. With him, it felt like belonging. Like I had found my people.

He was also incredibly hands-on. I remember a toy submarine he built for me entirely from scratch, his skill in woodwork, the shed he constructed himself. He had this remarkable ability to take something broken and restore it—not just to working order, but to something even better. It felt like magic. He was thoughtful, resourceful, and quietly inventive, with a deep respect for simplicity and no tolerance for waste. That ethos—shared by both my grandparents and my parents—has stayed with me.

My Nan, too, carried her own kind of artistry. During the war, while Pa was away, she made crepe paper flowers to earn a little money. I remember being captivated by how real they looked, and the care she took in arranging them. She had an innate sense of composition. I’ve even incorporated some of the original wire from her flowers into my own sculpted poppies—her influence continuing, quite literally, through my work.

Creativity was always present at home. My mum was a painter, and our front room was filled with boards, canvases, oils, and art books. Although she stopped painting after my sister was born, I never forgot the moment she drew a woman’s face for me when I was about four or five years old. I had asked her to bring one of her written characters to life. When she did, I was completely struck by it—how something could come from nothing and feel so real, so moving.

That moment stayed with me. I made a quiet promise to myself: if I could learn to draw hands and faces, I could draw anything. It became a foundation—one that shaped not just my practice, but my identity. Art was never separate from me. It was how I understood the world, and how I felt most like myself.

As a child, I was always creating—building imagined worlds from recycled objects, turning my bedroom into evolving narratives. Cubby houses became spaceships; walls became canvases. Even the way I dressed reflected that instinct to create. My mum and Nan were both skilled with sewing—something I enthusiastically attempted, though perhaps with less success. Still, the joy was always in the making.

In later years, that instinct carried through into collaborations, including working with the wonderful Rebecca Anne Brady on her couture line, where her artwork was translated into textiles and I created accompanying headpieces—a period where I explored millinery and wearable art.

This exhibition is, in many ways, a continuation of all of that. A reflection of where it began. A tribute to the quiet, formative moments that shaped how I see, how I feel, and how I create.

And, most of all, it is for Pa.

Formative Moments - Art & Earth by MK Smirniotis

OPENING APRIL 24TH 5.30pm-7.30pm