If one were to account all the things that many of our grandparents found shocking; like short skirts, bright lipstick, working mothers, bohemians...it would be safe to say that visionaries were not usually successful constituents of mainstream society. It is not surprising then, that a mudbrick village, populated by artists and other 'creative types', that rose slowly out of the ground a mere twenty kilometres from moral Melbourne, would have been more than a touch offensive to its delicate sensibilities.

Justus Jorgensen's symphony in "mud and stone" has weathered the prevailing ideals of five decades to stand today as a testament to what was in essence a most successful exercise in communal living by people who were bound by a common goal - the exploration of their artistic and creative selves in an environment harmonious with and not paradoxical to this objective.

Justus, like his Montsalvat, was many varied things to many people: ranging from idealist, visionary, philosopher and artist, to ratbag, autocrat and unspeakably amoral. Establishment art critics of the Twenties and Thirties were far from enamoured with his work and there are many today who would prefer to remain close-mouthed about Justus and his contribution to Australian art in a silence that negates more than it does laud. However, what is certain about Justus is that he was a man who sacrificed all for his ideals including commercial success as an architect, a profession which he gave away in order to study painting, first at the National Gallery School and later with Max Meldrum, with whom he forged a long if somewhat turbulent alliance.