Welcome to a vibrant corner of art blogs Australia, where creativity meets conversation. Join Danielle B Latta, a seasoned artist with a passion for storytelling, as she unveils the world of art through her unique lens.
A Tuesday in L’Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, which is the one day the sculpture foundation and the painter on the quai both keep their doors locked. So the day went to the working end of the art trade instead, and to two painters who stopped and posed at their own sign.
The afternoon of the same Tuesday, spent on rue Carnot and up an impasse off the rue de la Republique, where twenty makers share one room and everything in it carries a price.
In a town that sells everything, I went into the collegiate church, and found somebody had propped three modern abstracts up against a seventeenth century altar.
Savoie is behind us. An afternoon in Avignon on the way south, on a street where the river was put to work six hundred years ago, and then on to the Sorgue proper for the next week.
Sunday was meant to be three galleries in one walk. Instead I went up a hill behind Chambéry, then north to a slot in the rock where the Sierroz comes down, and finished the day in a spa town with a locked museum and a wooden woman under a plane tree.
Saturday in Chambéry. Four cast iron elephants with no back ends, a cathedral ceiling that only pretends to be carved stone, and an afternoon in the square drawing two blokes and a dog that had given up on the heat.
Out of Italy and into Savoy, where the flags change but the white cross does not. A first afternoon in Chambéry, the capital Turin replaced, full of shuttered lanes and passages that go straight through the buildings.
A morning behind the Royal Palace with the squirrels and a marble head wearing a pigeon, then down to Piazza San Carlo, where half the galleries were shut for August and one show stopped me dead.
I could not sleep, so I walked Turin awake. A Roman gate at first light, a mad stone dome, the Mole up close, the river holding a bridge upside down, and my favourite thing in the whole city, a little green bull that spits cold water.
Turin made its landlords build the footpath a roof in 1606 and never stopped. Underneath it: a Magnum colourist on a banner, a window of antiquarian books, and a workshop packed to the ceiling with plaster casts.
Six days of Venice water and then the train sets you down in Turin, where the whole world suddenly goes straight. A first evening in the old Savoy capital, one bronze count, a dark dome, and a very good dog.
My last Venice morning, and the famous rooftop everyone climbs for the view has been shut for a year. No matter. I had the Rialto at dawn, an empty St Mark’s, and then the rain turned every lane into a mirror.
The list said Murano, glass factories, back streets. My legs said something else entirely. So I stayed on the mainland with the actual Venetians and drew all day instead.
Before Redentore’s fireworks fill Venice, an artist walks the empty Grand Canal and Castello’s quiet campos at dawn, sketching a rowing boatman, a hidden Baroque church, and a dog asleep in a moored boat.
Before dawn, Venice belongs to nobody. A solo walk from the Grand Canal to colour-drenched Burano, caught between a sudden lagoon shower and a single white brushstroke that said everything the photographer had been chasing all week.
A wander through the Venice Biennale’s Giardini, from a folded gold ribbon and a piano under a rippling ceiling to feathered figures in a colonnade, plus the 1907 story of how nations came to build permanent pavilions here.
Ten minutes from the queue at St Marks, in a Benedictine church off the tourist route, the exiled Belarus Free Theatre have built the loudest thing I have seen at this Biennale.
Before the Biennale crowds arrive, a dawn walk to the Arsenale, once the largest shipyard in pre-industrial Europe, where revealing a shipbuilding secret meant execution. Now filled with contemporary art instead of warships.
The walk to the Biennale, not the Biennale. A mask maker s bench with forty open pots of paint on it, a gondola holding perfectly still, and a calle you could touch both sides of.
Before the Venice Biennale crowds and heat arrive, one early riser crosses from Mestre to Dorsoduro at first light, finding empty canals, leaning campaniles and a Grand Canal all to himself.
Hello there! I’m Danielle Latta, and this is where my journey as an artist and storyteller unfolds. In the bustling landscape of art blogs in Australia, I bring you Running Duck Studio’s Art Blog, a special space where art isn’t just seen—it’s felt and experienced.
From the days of crafting animations at Walt Disney to now, black and white drawings that capture the essence of nature and emotion, my path has been one of endless discovery and creative expression. This blog is my personal canvas, where I share those discoveries with you.
Here, you won’t just find posts about art. You’ll step into my world, where each article is a piece of my heart and mind. I delve into everything that makes art a pivotal part of our lives—from my passion for black and white and the inspirations behind my work to the little joys and challenges of being an artist in Australia.
Whether you’re an art lover, a fellow creator, or just someone stopping by, I hope you find something here that speaks to you. Maybe it’s a tip that ignites your creativity, a story that resonates with your own experiences, or simply a moment of beauty to brighten your day.
So, come along on this adventure with me. Let’s explore the vibrant, ever-evolving world of art together. Welcome to the Running Duck Studio Art Blog—where each post is a new chapter in our shared love for art.
As we reach the end of our current collection of stories and insights, I’d like to take a moment to extend my gratitude to you for joining me on this artistic adventure. Your presence and engagement make Running Duck Studio’s blog a thriving community of art enthusiasts.
The world of art extends beyond our individual experiences. It’s about connecting with others, sharing our passions, and growing together. In that spirit, I invite you to explore Tawny Trails, a wonderful platform where the beauty of art and nature intertwine in fascinating ways.
Additionally, for those of you interested in connecting with a broader network of artists and art lovers, the Moreton Bay Arts Council is an incredible resource. They offer a wealth of opportunities, events, and collaborations that enrich our understanding and appreciation of art in our community.
Your thoughts, feedback, and stories are what make this blog a living, breathing part of the art world. I encourage you to share your reflections on the posts you’ve read, any art experiences you’ve had, or simply what you’d love to see more of in future posts.
Don’t forget to subscribe to our newsletter for the latest updates, stories, and special behind-the-scenes glimpses into my artistic process. And if you’re not already following us on social media, join us there for daily doses of inspiration and community interaction.
As we part ways (only until the next post!), I leave you with this thought: art is not just about what we create, but also about the connections we forge and the stories we share. Let’s continue to create, share, and inspire together.
Looking forward to our next artistic rendezvous on the Running Duck Studio Art Blog!
