Yellow Sun
I was born under a yellow sun in the earliest hour of a Sunday in the middle of Winter. Being the youngest of four kids, I was never alone and never without someone to play with. Sundays were simple back then, waking up to a bedroom bathed in yellow sunlight. There was the sound of lawnmowers buzzing in the neighborhood, shops were closed, cafes and the funds to visit such places did not exist but from what I remember, we were happy kids. My childhood wasn’t remarkable—nor was anyone’s, really. There was the obligatory church on Sundays until our parents got smart and switched us to the Saturday evening vigil, ticking that off the list and freeing those glorious Sabbath days for rest. About the most exciting news in the neighbourhood was a family going on a snow holiday or getting a new car, but that was rare and as thrilling as it got. There was the odd child who went on a rotary exchange to a distant country but apart from that, no one travelled much beyond the holiday shacks of the Yorke Peninsula or the local beaches.
Saturdays meant Calisthenics—until Mum tired of sequinning ‘jiffies’ for three girls, a labour I only now appreciate. Summers brought tennis; I wasn’t great, but the whole family played and my Dad helped run the local tennis club, so I learned it was more fun to play than to sit on the sidelines. I could at least get a serve in some of the time, and that gave me a shot at a point here and there.
School was mostly uneventful—I tried hard in subjects I liked, and no doubt day-dreamed through the rest. We were taught to study hard to one day secure a good job, but it didn’t feel all that competitive. Some kids were just good at different things and that’s how it was. Competition was saved for Sport’s Days and tennis tournaments, but being a gentle creature that moves slowly, I had no luck there. The odd medal in Calisthenics satisfied the childhood yearning to be good at something but generally we were content with our ordinary lives.
Summer holidays meant watching cricket and tennis on the TV, reading or re-reading my sister’s entire collection of Trixie Belden books, playing some kind of board game or building something from the odd assortment of Lego blocks. There was always some craft activity with my sister before Christmas as we made our own advent calendars or attempted Christmas decorations. Lucky for us, our parents inherited a small swimming pool which became our haven on the hot days. I remember laying out under the sun enjoying the burning heat until finally cooling off in the pool. These were the days before Slip, Slop, Slap became a thing and we wore our tan lines as evidence of a well-spent Summer.
Our other great source of entertainment was the record player in the corner of the loungeroom. I don’t remember the collection being huge – there was my Dad’s Roger Whittaker and Andy Williams albums that we didn’t play and the John Denver Christmas album that was reserved solely for Christmas Eve. But the ABBA collection was our top choice and there was much singing and loungeroom choreography to be derived from those several vinyls. At some point the record player was updated to a CD player and I remember having the luxury of my own personal cassette player at some point in between. A blank tape was just gold for recording off the radio and access to my brother’s growing collection of tapes was worth as much to me as any Spotify playlist. Songs had simple themes but I still carry many of the lyrics, themes and titles in my head from all those years ago.
This past Summer, I’ve been taking early morning walks, watching the birds and enjoying the early morning sunshine before it gets too hot. It got me thinking: as the world races into tech overload, I lean back toward childhood’s simple joys. Kids today have more stuff—but more happiness? With all the overwhelm and depression, and less time in nature, I’m not so sure. Those walks outside always lift my spirits and remind me to enjoy the simple things in life, like sipping a cup of tea in the sun. People often tell me that my art makes them feel happy, which is the nicest compliment. When creating new paintings or illustrations, I often move between having an image in my head or words that need a picture. This time, it was a simple sketch I made—a bird flying against a round sun—that sparked a flurry of titles, idioms, lyrics, and sunny phrases. I created these little pieces to make people feel happy, to remind them of brighter days ahead and that there is always sunshine above the clouds. Growing up, every kid I knew coloured the sun yellow here in Australia. It wasn’t until I lived in Japan that I discovered a sun could be coloured red or orange. I hope these happy, sunny illustrations bring you a little light and impart the joy I had creating them.
