matthew hunt artwork

matthew hunt

"It was very early in the morning. Cold. Misty. It must have been winter. The windscreen was fogging up from my breath. I huddled forward to keep warm. As I cruised down the street a traffic jam appeared from nowhere. It was something entirely unexpected at that time of day. Everything slowed down to a crawl. As I had time to spare I relaxed and looked around; a main artery, four lanes, the suburban express into the city, nothing unusual. Over the next couple of minutes I became aware of a strange sound. Something with a continuous pitch. It was dense, yet quiet, but it became increasingly louder as I moved towards it. I had no reference point for the sound - it was disturbing and disorientating. I strained to see what the hold up was, mist preventing any visual clarity. Frustrated, I leant forward heavily onto the steering wheel. I began to see groups of people on the footpath looking intently toward the direction in which I was travelling.

Suddenly the mist cleared revealing the source of the sound and the reason for the traffic jam. A group of five or more women of African descent were gathered around an upside down yellow sports car. More than could have ever fitted into the small vehicle. They were wailing in the most intense manner, not loud but totally enveloping. The women were dressed in atypical African costume – bright, beautiful clothing, wraps and headscarves. Such an extraordinary contrast to the grey surroundings. The car had somehow struck a lamppost and was seriously damaged. A trail of smoke rose from the engine, and was mixing with the morning mist. I strained my eyes as I passed by to see if anyone was still inside the vehicle, but I couldn’t see anything as the roof had completely collapsed. I began to worry about the smoke. Two more women that I hadn’t noticed before sat on a low wall next to the car with their heads in their hands. I could hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance. Help was coming. But I wondered, and still wonder to this day, where those women had came from. How had they arrived at the scene so quickly? They cried as if they had lost someone in that car, although there was no evidence that there was anyone there at all. This scene remains with me, intense and with perfect misty clarity."

Matthew Hunt 2009


“I guess my ideas build up, it’s an accumulation thing. I follow leads, I get distracted, forget, misread or mishear; I collect, I get fascinated for no particular reason and things catch my eye. They tend to be things which are overlooked, or on the periphery, or too close… For me, there’s a sense of loss, of the temporal nature of experience and a realisation about how quickly the moment of discovery moves on.”

Matthew Hunt 2006