Every now and again, there comes a day that changes the course of your life.
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For Billy Connolly, that happened one rainy day in Montreal, Canada.
The year was 2007 - a time when the Scot had more than cemented himself in the world of comedy, acting, music and presenting. He was - and still is - a household name, worldwide.
Still, purely by chance, he discovered there was one more creative field that he could conquer - that of the visual art world.
In a bid to keep himself entertained while on tour, Connolly walked into an art supply shop and left with an armful of supplies.
He returned to his hotel room with some felt tips and a sketchbook, with no plan other than to draw. To draw what, he didn't know, but it was enough to start what would be a new chapter of his career. More than a decade later and the fruits of this labour are heading to Canberra for an exhibition.
"I can't describe how I came about the art. I did it because it was raining in Canada, and I was fed up watching television," he says.
"I had never drawn in my life and I drew islands ... and that's the only way I can describe them.
"And I went to Pamela, my wife, and I said to her, 'Look, I've drawn some things. And they're not all that good. But could you tell me if you think they're getting better as they go along?'
"And she did - she said, they are getting better. So I stuck to it."
While stand-up comedy has always been something created to be publicly viewed, Connolly's art started life as something that was never intended to be seen. It was a matter of drawing for the sake of drawing. And the results were these whimsical pieces that always began the same way as that first day in Montreal - with no plan, just a matter of Connolly putting pen to paper.
The shape would come to him as he drew, and the name of the work would then follow.
And as Connolly continued to draw, the more he gained attention. First by those around him, and then, by the art community.
But the way that Connolly describes this progression from private hobby to public profession, it's almost as if he still sees it as a succession of happy accidents.
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"The showing of them publicly was my manager's idea who got in touch with a gallery who thought they were good and decided to put them out. And it's been a constant source of bewilderment to me how it all came about, but it's joyous," Connolly says.
Part of you feels, if it wasn't for Connolly's manager, the world would never have known about these artworks. It certainly wouldn't have happened without those first islands drawn on the page that began this entirely new career path.
Or at least, Connolly identifies them as islands because that's the best way to describe them, not because he intentionally drew islands. Just as a viewer may try to find meaning in a piece, it's almost as if Connolly is doing the same thing. And in the case of a lot of other works, they depict creatures that don't even exist, such as the elephant-like creature titled the Purple People Eater and another, titled Gironkey simply because the figure looks like something somewhere between a giraffe and a donkey - "He looks like one of those pantomime horses with a person inside it."
There's a charming simplicity to Connolly's artworks. They're all very linear, and one-dimensional, with the almost unexpected detail coming into play within the figures' positive space. And it's because of this the works themselves are often likened to the cave paintings of the Aurignacian period (40,000-25,000 BC). But describing them in that way almost takes away from what makes them special.
There is just this sense of childlike fun - as if you can see the pure joy Connolly had while creating them.
His newer works are brightly coloured, with the figures filled with stripes. And it's this colour that Connolly says - despite his initial efforts to leave them black and white - brought the pieces to life.
"I don't find inspiration from anywhere. It's the actual drawing that gives me inspiration," Connolly says.
"When I'm actually drawing I come up with ideas and plonk them into the drawings. It's not like I think of something and proceed to draw it. I draw something and then proceed to name it.
"But there is no comparison between the mind play that I put into my art and the mind play that I put into my other work. My so-called other work is my life in words. I merely tell people what my life is like and what my mind is like. And the artwork is more fanciful and more along the line of storytelling."
It's been 10 years since Connolly first showed his works. The series of 80 pen and ink works titled Born on a Rainy Day, and at the time Connolly said that while he was delighted he did question whether to go through with the exhibition at a gallery in the United Kingdom. While he loved the works, he didn't want them to be judged - "They're friends of mine and I didn't want to put them in the position where people would like or dislike them," he told The Guardian at the opening.
He needn't have worried. The works were highly acclaimed, and Connolly is now on his eighth Born on a Rainy Day series, which not only includes the pen and ink drawings but the sculptures that Connolly has found himself creating in more recent years.
It's this most recent series that will make its way to Canberra this month for a two-day exhibition at Hyatt Canberra, before a one-month season in Sydney.
Still, it is hard not to think about the more recent art series, without wondering how Connolly's Parkinson's has affected his practice - even if it is not evident in the final products.
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Connolly was diagnosed with Parkinson's in 2013 - one year after his first exhibition - and it has since progressively affected his body's movement.
He struggles to play the banjo and says his yodelling is also gone, as is his handwriting. It also led to the end of his 50-year stand-up comedy career at the end of 2020.
But where has this left his artwork (and all of its many intricate line work)?
"It hasn't impacted terribly much so far but it's really beginning to, now," Connolly says.
"I find the shaking and the other symptoms cumbersome and it's making my drawing more difficult to do. I don't know what I'm going to do about it but it's definitely affecting it."
His health is also the reason he won't be travelling to Australia with his exhibition. Which is not only a shame for his fans, but also for his family. His wife Pamela grew up in Sydney, and Canberra is home to her sister and niece.
"I like to go walking around Canberra. And this it's a solo pursuit," Connolly says.
"Nobody walks in Canberra. And I find myself alone all the time, but besides these lakes that nobody knows anything about. And it's lovely. It's got its own character. It takes a lot of stick that it doesn't deserve, particularly from me. And I enjoy Canberra and I enjoy my friends and relatives in Canberra.
"The last time I was in Canberra was about 2015 and I had a good time in concert. And my in-laws came to see me which is always a pleasure when I play Canberra. It's a good town to play in, they're a good audience. They have been confronted with more styles of performance and have weathered the storm really well. They're a good audience."
Billy Connolly's Born on a Rainy Day is at the Hyatt Canberra on Saturday and Sunday. Free Entry. Original art, limited edition prints and sculptures are on sale at the exhibition only.
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