“It is a scientific fact that when men have their hands in warm, soapy water, they relax, and their minds inevitably lead to thinking about their life, love and other important things.”
John Mutsaers
Artist and writer John Mutsaers By Catherine Watson
Inverloch artist John Mutsaers has long maintained that writing is the superior art form because words can paint a picture in the reader's mind.
Now, with the publication of his first book – A Thinking Man’s Manual for Effective Dishwashing – he’s proved his own point.
Dishwashing becomes both a meditation and a framing device for the memories that rise to the surface while his hands are in the sink, readying him for a day in the studio.
Awaiting shoulder surgery and unable to paint, Mutsaers turned his energy to the keyboard. The words, he says, simply poured out. He revisited the small house in Eindhoven, Holland, where he grew up, the fear and shortages of the German occupation, the family’s migration to Australia in 1956, life in the Latrobe Valley in the 1960s, and courting an Irish lass called Mary who was to become his wife, muse, English teacher and "first reader".
Inverloch artist John Mutsaers has long maintained that writing is the superior art form because words can paint a picture in the reader's mind.
Now, with the publication of his first book – A Thinking Man’s Manual for Effective Dishwashing – he’s proved his own point.
Dishwashing becomes both a meditation and a framing device for the memories that rise to the surface while his hands are in the sink, readying him for a day in the studio.
Awaiting shoulder surgery and unable to paint, Mutsaers turned his energy to the keyboard. The words, he says, simply poured out. He revisited the small house in Eindhoven, Holland, where he grew up, the fear and shortages of the German occupation, the family’s migration to Australia in 1956, life in the Latrobe Valley in the 1960s, and courting an Irish lass called Mary who was to become his wife, muse, English teacher and "first reader".
The book, a blend of memoir and reflection, reveals that his writing is much like his painting: lively, vivid and often mischievous. That’s quite an accomplishment for someone who didn’t learn to speak English until his mid-teens.
Dishwashing is often very funny, especially when he’s disclosing his own foibles, but it’s also tender and sometimes raw. There are regrets and the lifelong echo of a difficult relationship with his father, Johannes.
“Although we were fond of each other, I think I disappointed him. When I was a young boy, he often said, ‘You will never amount to anything.’”
“Although we were fond of each other, I think I disappointed him. When I was a young boy, he often said, ‘You will never amount to anything.’”
As his father lay dying, John sketched him while they talked.
“He was aware of what I was doing. I finished the drawing and showed it to him. He paid me a rare compliment, saying, ‘Good job, John, nice drawing.’ These were virtually his last words to me. I took them to mean that he finally approved of me and my abilities. He died about 1am the next day.”
There’s also a searingly honest account of the anxiety that shadowed the first half of his life.
“It was so bad that I could not leave my house at one stage. Travelling on buses, trains, elevators or aeroplanes was unimaginable.”
“One day, when I was home on sick leave, I rang Mary at her work to tell her how bad I was feeling; she went silent, and when she finally spoke, it was not the consolation I wanted … She said what I needed to hear: "John, I can't do this anymore. I've had enough. If things don't start to improve, I'll be leaving".
Her words stunned him but, unbelievably, the ultimatum worked. Over time, he learned to live with the anxiety.
“Eventually, I discovered that anxiety doesn't kill you; it just feels bloody awful. I started to allow it to happen while I observed the impact on my mind and body. Each time I did this, the effect of anxiety lessened more and more until, eventually, it stopped.”
Later, studying art therapy transformed not just his work but his understanding of himself.
“At first, I found working with the others in the group challenging, mainly because of my arrogant pride. While most produced scribbles, abstracts and nonsensical art to explore meaning, I was desperate to show my artistic ability. I created sensible quality art, art that others would admire, and they did, which delayed my development even longer.
“My inability to let myself go delayed my education in much the same way as when I was at primary school in Holland. … It seems that old habits are hard to kill, but after a few weeks, I found a way of letting go.
“He was aware of what I was doing. I finished the drawing and showed it to him. He paid me a rare compliment, saying, ‘Good job, John, nice drawing.’ These were virtually his last words to me. I took them to mean that he finally approved of me and my abilities. He died about 1am the next day.”
There’s also a searingly honest account of the anxiety that shadowed the first half of his life.
“It was so bad that I could not leave my house at one stage. Travelling on buses, trains, elevators or aeroplanes was unimaginable.”
“One day, when I was home on sick leave, I rang Mary at her work to tell her how bad I was feeling; she went silent, and when she finally spoke, it was not the consolation I wanted … She said what I needed to hear: "John, I can't do this anymore. I've had enough. If things don't start to improve, I'll be leaving".
Her words stunned him but, unbelievably, the ultimatum worked. Over time, he learned to live with the anxiety.
“Eventually, I discovered that anxiety doesn't kill you; it just feels bloody awful. I started to allow it to happen while I observed the impact on my mind and body. Each time I did this, the effect of anxiety lessened more and more until, eventually, it stopped.”
Later, studying art therapy transformed not just his work but his understanding of himself.
“At first, I found working with the others in the group challenging, mainly because of my arrogant pride. While most produced scribbles, abstracts and nonsensical art to explore meaning, I was desperate to show my artistic ability. I created sensible quality art, art that others would admire, and they did, which delayed my development even longer.
“My inability to let myself go delayed my education in much the same way as when I was at primary school in Holland. … It seems that old habits are hard to kill, but after a few weeks, I found a way of letting go.
“At the beginning, I was a bit sceptical of art therapy being a real thing, I came out converted … I now paint, looking for meaning in my subjects rather than just making figurative art.”
That openness to meaning has infused his later projects – collaborations with writers and musicians that have enlivened Bass Coast’s creative community. In 2020, his Infinite Birdcage exhibition invited local writers to explore the theme of freedom through his artworks, with local musician Mark Finsterer composing a soundtrack. In 2023, twelve writers responded to a series of paintings of his boyhood in a retrospective exhibition at the Gippsland Performing Arts Centre in Traralgon marking his 80th year and 40 years as a professional artist.
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Now, the artist who always wanted to write is working with one of Australia’s foremost dramaturgs, Peter Matheson, on a play called Not a Gilder or a Herring that envisages a meeting between the two great Dutch painters Rembrandt and Van Gogh.
At a certain point Mutsaers decided he needed the back story before he could go further with the play. He sat down to write it. Once again the words poured out – over 11 days he wrote 70,000 words. |
Trump’s tariffs have disrupted John's plans to send copies of his book to friends and family in the US so a box of Dishwashing manuals sits by his desk, waiting to be read. They are $30 including postage. Email him at [email protected] if you’d like to order a copy. |
“I’d go to sleep with it and first thing in the morning I’d think of it.”
And yes, he admits, his morning ritual of dishwashing has suffered. Once or twice Mary has even had to remind him that the dishes are waiting.
Full disclosure: John Mutsaers gave Catherine Watson a limited edition copy of A Thinking Man’s Manual for Effective Dishwashing. Nevertheless the above is a true account of a bloody good book.
And yes, he admits, his morning ritual of dishwashing has suffered. Once or twice Mary has even had to remind him that the dishes are waiting.
Full disclosure: John Mutsaers gave Catherine Watson a limited edition copy of A Thinking Man’s Manual for Effective Dishwashing. Nevertheless the above is a true account of a bloody good book.