To Move Not Under The Stars But Through Them is an exhibition of paintings that grapple with and try to make sense of the present moment. Drawn from the artist’s archive of open-source images, these paintings address the legacies of modernism and imperialism – reflecting on how we use narrative, history, identity, politics, memory and culture to shape both an individual and collective understanding of the world we inhabit.

By compulsively amassing images from a range of archival sources and painstakingly rendering them in oil, Cranstoun presents paintings that consider the micro and the macro – the narrow street and the wide world. Blurred fragments of the night sky, floral snapshots that hover between the decorative and the taxonomical, and contemporary still life arrangements speak to the wonder of small moments.

The images, all taken from online resources, collected by the artist during online exploration, speak to a number of different themes and concepts, honouring the archives these images have been uploaded to, and the individuals who thought them worthy of cataloging and preserving.

Drawing from broader cultural and historical narratives, as well as the artist’s personal experiences, the works contemplate how we value and prioritise modes of visual representation, as well as the art-historical, sociopolitical and globalist implications of everything we see and touch.

“a distinct line of lights, star sized and star intensity...”

These are the words Sam Cranstoun jotted into his Notes app, still sleepy in a 4am haze, after checking the sky before heading out on an early kayaking trip. But as Sam’s focus tightened, he identified something inorganic about their precision. His Notes entry continues:

“… travelling slowly, sometimes further spaced out, appearing at the same point and disappearing at the same point. South to North”

These were not stars, they were satellites. More specifically, these twelve-or-so dots of light floating above the horizon line were satellites from Elon Musk’s Starlink constellation.

It is no surprise to me that Sam has held onto this memory as the inspiration for his new painting, titled ‘A Distinct Line of Lights, Star Sized and Star Intensity. South to North.’ It was completed in early 2025 and was the first painting he showed me when I visited his studio in February, ahead of his debut solo exhibition ‘To Move Not Under The Stars But Through Them,’ at Sullivan+Strumpf | Sydney.

After the realization that it wasn’t stars he was gazing upon but a Starlink constellation, Sam did what he often does: he trawled open-source image banks for an equivalent photograph to form the composition for a new painting. Every painting in this exhibition traces its origins back to such an image bank, with sourced imagery that spans skies, plants, mosaics, and other curiosities. Photographs often end up in these banks after direct uploads from their creators wishing to contribute to the community resource. The photos Sam chooses often seem like they were taken by hobbyists, not famous photographers, capturing simple moments in time. In this way, Sam’s practice has been recognized as contributing to the genre of post-internet art. His practice acknowledges that we live in a time oversaturated with data and images, and so he creates space for us to slow down and really look, actually see what is right in front of us.

A thematic preoccupation of Sam’s practice has been tracing the emergence of the United States as the dominate economic, military, and cultural superpower in the post-WWII era, which is particularity epitomized by the Space Race. That was, undeniably, a period full of iconic images. However, the Space Race surely isn’t over, but it is harder to say what iconic images we have of this current moment.

Starlink is an internet service provider that has become renowned, and reviled, for launching thousands of small satellites into low Earth orbit. The large quantity of satellites is necessary to deliver high-speed internet to remote regions underserved by traditional internet infrastructure. However, a consequence of this functional necessity of creating constellations in low Earth orbit includes significant environmental impacts related to the frequency of launches and an increase of space debris.

Sam reminds me “the stargazing community hate them because of the light pollution” which limits all of our ability to see the stars and constellations of our galaxy. “Unfortunately, there isn’t a stargazing lobby!”

These satellites, and their associated debris, also interfere with ground and space-based telescopes, which, ironically, can limit future exploration of the space for all of us.

While ‘A Distinct Line of Lights…’ features a restrained composition – a series of satellites represented by dots of white slashing through the night sky – the moment it represents is anything but restrained. Sam often presents us with images that seem innocuous, or intimately human, and then like the twist of a knife he lets us open our eyes to consider how that moment represents large sweeping arcs of history.

It is in this way that ‘A Distinct Line of Lights…’ demonstrates my favorite stream of Sam practice: it is an image that captures pervasive power. There are no people in this work, but Musk’s new world order looms large.

‘A Distinct Line of Lights…’ has strong resonances to Sam’s earlier series ‘Look Out!’ which has been ongoing since 2021 but is not included in this exhibition. ‘Look Out!’ includes watercolour paintings and sculptural recreations of various iconic observation towers. The observation towers are presented as pristine architectural forms removed of their functional details. The series ranges from the sinister to the curious, and feature police riot control stations, air traffic control towers, and birdwatching huts. Like ‘A Distinct Line of Lights…’ these structures are absent the figure in control but nonetheless imply that we are in the presence of a subjugating force.

I relish the unease works like ‘A Distinct Line of Lights…’ and ‘Look Out!’ set in me, but what makes a Sam Cranstoun exhibition so compelling is his ability to balance these tensions with beauty. This beauty is evident in his technical skill—his colours are often slightly heightened, his lines both precise and gestural—but it also emerges in the subject matter. While ‘To Move Not Under The Stars But Through Them’ features a number of works concerned with suspicious-looking skies, I am just as taken by the more grounded works, specifically his painting ‘Tithonia Diversifolia.’

‘Tithonia Diversifolia’ features a large yellow flower in full bloom. The flower is a Tithonia Diversifolia, which is sometimes known as Mexican sunflower or Japanese sunflower, depending where in the world you are. In his studio that day, Sam reminisced about the magic of seeing the flower bloom for two weeks of the year near his previous home in Brisbane. Sam admits, while technically it is an invasive weed which can overwhelm the native biodiversity it quickly inhabits, its bloom fills an area with gorgeous colour. Sam is also quick to point out, that in certain situations the plant can also acts as a fertilizer enriching soils. The plant is dynamic and is valued differently from different perspectives.

I love how ‘Tithonia Diversifolia’ reflects one of Sam’s approaches. Much like ‘A Distinct Line of Lights…’ and ‘Look Out!,’ ‘Tithonia Diversifolia’ is absent the human figure but is still tethered to one. While the first two work are reflections of pervasive power, ‘Tithonia Diversifolia’ is something entirely more humble, and brings our attention back to the photographer uploading their snap to the image bank. Afterall, who hasn’t taken a quick snap of a plant that brings a little joy, wanting to remember and contain a moment of that vibrancy?

This is the power of Sam’s process of utilizing pre-existing images, he honours the human desire to connect with and understand the world around us. The open-source images he draws upon do not explain the intention of the photographer, but nonetheless they unmistakably evoke a human urge to hold onto a fleeting point in time.

Sam’s Notes App entry recording his 4am confrontation with the Starlink constellation speaks to his ability to let a serendipitous moment encapsulate a history of human action. His work is a powerful reminder of that very impulse: when your eyes are drawn to a moment, pause. In a world flooded with data and images, it is worth looking deeper, because there are always new truths that are waiting to be revealed right in front of us.