Everything is just a fidget at infinity.' The picture that won the 1978 Archibald Prize was a warning, not just a self-portrait: Australia's most celebrated artist was struggling with addiction. When that struggle ended, fourteen years later, Brett Whiteley was fifty-three. He left behind decades of ceaseless activity:some works bound to a particular place or time, others that are masterpieces of light and line. Whiteley had arrived in Europe in 1960 determined to make an impression. Before long, the Shirley Temple disguised as Holden Caulfield of modern painting' was the youngest artist to have work acquired by the Tate. Accompanied by his wife, Wendy, and their daughter, Arkie, Whiteley next immersed himself in bohemian New York and an ambitious new artwork. Within two years he fled for Fiji, having failed to break through. Fiji was paradise:but a drug charge soon ended the dream, and Whiteley returned to Sydney. His exhibitions were spectacles beyond compare; he won the Archibald, Wynne and Sulman prizes in the same year; prices for his work soared, as did his fame. A restless, hummingbird personality, Whiteley counted among his friends Francis Bacon and Patrick White, Billy
