Artist Mitch Cairns Recalls First Meeting Wife Agatha at Sydney Gallery Show

The first time I saw Agatha, she stood soaked in a knee-high bucket, wearing a knitted woolen jumper that said Ho Ho Ho on it. This sight at the Christmas group show at MOP Projects, an artist-run gallery in Redfern, Sydney, exceeded any expectations. The hall-like space held no other artwork, just this striking woman with water dripping onto her head.

It was 2007. I had just graduated from the National Art School, where students did not produce work like this. The image felt entirely new and arresting. Silent and still, she radiated life.

Weeks later, I returned to the venue. Her friends introduced us and suggested I advise her on applying to the National Art School. That struck me as absurd; her brilliance as an artist was already evident.

Our chat revealed her charisma. Daughter of two artists, she showed deep insight into creative life. I told her she did not need more schooling to advance her art. I could not wait to see her next work.

We kept crossing paths at exhibitions and openings. One evening, we squeezed into a corner at the Hollywood Hotel in Surry Hills amid a crowd of young artsy types. She asked about buying my painting from a show: raw linen with a foot bearing a smiley face, resembling a happy accelerator pedal.

Charmed that she took interest in me or my work, I said a bag of chips to share with drinks would do as payment.

Agatha proved not just gorgeous, talented and sophisticated, but hilarious. Time with her felt luminous. Her embrace of this odd deal left me smitten.

Soon after, I dropped the painting at her place. She had shrunk the empty chip packet in the oven and placed it in a vintage cigarette tin with a note. No love declaration, but the start of more than friendship. The absurdity confirmed we shared a language, a moment of clarity.

Sydney then buzzed with great artists and spaces. Agatha shone brightest. From that bucket, I could not unsee her beauty, and now it touched me.

Looking back, it seems another Sydney. No apps sparked relationships; they formed amid nightly mingling with like-minded young people, from galleries to bars to parties. Our bond built face to face in that chaos. Within six months, we lived together. Nearly two decades later, I still bask in her glow.

Today, the painting hangs in our bedroom. The cigarette tin sits on a kitchen shelf in the home we share with our son. That playful exchange endures in these objects, holding our life's energy. From electric early days to family calm, Agatha remains the most rigorous, interesting and sincere artist I know, my dream girl and favorite artist.