In the middle of everywhere
Some time last year, I was sitting outside the Jackpot Bakery in Wentworth, watching the cars cruise by along the silver city highway, and chomping on a meat pie which I was washing down with a Big M. Having just spent a while walking around and photographing the junction of the Murray and Darling Rivers, I was biding my time before heading back to my campsite near Merbein [see previous post here]. As I casually eavesdropped on a group of post-middle-aged ladies from Adelaide the discussing property prices in various locales around their native city, I overheard something that stood out from the rest of the chatter: "...she was right in the middle of everywhere..."
This unusual phrase caught my attention because it contrasted so strongly to the familiar phrase 'middle of nowhere', and also to my whereabouts at that exact moment [apologies, residents of Wentworth]. It made me wonder where exactly the middle of everywhere might in be - if not anywhere...
I suspect being in the middle of everywhere has something to do with your state of mind - what you want or need in relation to your location.
Anyway - I thought of it just now because I was talking to some friends who had recently been canoeing on the Whanganui River in New Zealand, and had passed by the Bridge to Nowhere. I had been informed of this bridge at an earlier date by one of said canoeists, I think because she knew that I am fond of absurd things, and interested in clashes between human technology and the natural world.
And on the topic of the natural world, this weekend I am heading up to Mushroom Rocks near Mt Baw Baw, to refresh my acquaintance with the lovely old beech trees and strange granite formations, and hopefully catch a glimpse of some solar-induced stellar activity...
With any luck, there'll be some new photos next time I write.
2011: A post-annual review
After reading my on-line horoscope for 2012, and discovering that I am in for a rough year, including financial troubles, difficulties with employment and strained personal relationships, I figured a bit of topical nostalgia was in order. [Not that I subscribe to that kind of stuff...]
ECLECTIC REVIEW, 2011:
Firstly, I'm not sure what my top art experience of 2011 was. MONA was amazing. That was an experience entirely unto itself. I especially loved the evil-Bond-villain-lair vibe of the place, with it's transparent circular elevator and carved underground chambers. The highlight there was probably...everything. The work by Gelitin, Locus Focus was the most memorable. [Hint: look in the toilets.] I also loved Michael Stevenson's mini-retrospective at MCA in Sydney. Taking the old freight elevator downstairs into a 'secret' part of the exhibition was an inspired touch, and used the in-built history of the museum to great effect [alas, soon to be lost in rubble as the new extension takes shape]. His work, The Fountain of Prosperity was one of the best works I saw all year [although the work itself is old].
Working at the NGV, I'm privy to a lot of beautiful art work, quite regularly. Of course, there is also a lot of stuff I see that I dislike, too. Actually, more of the latter than the former. That said, there were some beautiful drawings in The Vienna exhibition, and the Tjukurrtjanu exhibition of Western Desert paintings was a delight to work on, mainly because I was surrounded by people who had a sincere and infectious love for this work, and during the installation I heard some interesting stories about how this artistic phenomenon began. Also the Mad Square exhibition of German post-WWI, pre-WWII art contains some really interesting stuff.
Some of the great works I saw were at the new Westspace, at Utopian Slumps, and Sean Bailey's show at Daine Singer. But I am embarrassed to admit that I didn't venture out to the local artist-run spaces as much as I ought, so I probably missed a great deal of wonderful art, that was tucked away in one of the many nooks and crannies of Melbourne's art world.
My favourite film of last year was probably Werner Herzog's Cave of Forgotten Dreams, in 3D. But as a self-confessed Herzogophile, it's not really a surprise. The funniest character was the perfumer who sniffs at the cracks in a hillside, looking for new caves to discover. But I was an awe when Werner finally let the paintings do the talking as the camera quietly scanned the entire surface of the inside of this cave - even the overly dramatic choral piece that accompanies this scene seems appropriate.
Another film that I found myself unexpectedly moved by (although I did fall asleep at one point) was Pina (also 3D - what's with the glasses, people?), Wim Wenders' tribute to German choreographer Pina Bausch, including personal tributes in the form of dance by members of her troupe, Tanztheater Wuppertal. These emotive performances dedicated to Bausch, who died in 2009, are incredibly powerful.
Other random highlights of 2011 include: quitting the hospitality industry, growing my first vegetables (beetroots and carrots), helping my mate Dan Moynihan on his work, Warm Memorial-The Dan Moynihan Experience at ACCA, seeing glow-worms on NYE in the Otways (not my photo) and driving through the desert in western NSW, while camping at the Murray River.
Lowlights of 2011: being told by a balding wrestler at a wedding that my hair was 'gay as aids', seeing my own breath while eating breakfast at the kitchen table in the warehouse in winter [associated resolution: get a better heater].
On that note, here are a few new year's resolutions, apart from the usual exercise more, eating healthier, stop playing on the iphone, drinking less etc.:
- get a haircut
- update blog more regularly
- wean myself off Facebook completely
- reduce impulsive ebay/online purchases
- document exhibitions properly
- listen to more records
- read more about art
- talk more about art
and finally, and most importantly, make better art. [There were a few low points in my output last year that seemed to resonate with me long after the show was over, much more so than works that I was happy with...]
phew. Now - If you're not completely bored shitless after having read all that self-gratifying banter, then maybe you need to get back on Facebook...
And to finish, here's a bit of uplifting music to bring in the new year, courtesy of Abner Jay.
Slumpy
I tried to make these old photos of Renee Jaeger's work at Utopian Slumps look better by using photoshop. Turns out I am quite bad at this. But Renee's work looked really great. The piece of paper (it's a room-sheet for the gallery) is not part of her work, but the table and the bottle are. These works were in a group exhibition titled Impossible Objects II (see link above for details). I'm not sure in which way these objects were impossible, but there was certainly an overriding interest in process going on. Below is Matt Hinkley's hand-pricked straw. I really liked this object.
Saatchi Gallery vs. Australian Provincialism
Here is a link to a video tour of of the new sculpture exhibition at the Saatchi Gallery in London, titled, The Shape of Things to Come. Living in Melbourne, I haven't seen the show, but the digital tour was pretty good, although the camera does sweep rather swiftly over some work, much to my frustration. I actually really enjoyed the soundtrack, despite it sounding a little like Phillip Glass after four or five espressos. This is another link which lists the artists and gives some idea about their practice.
All in all, this show presents a reason why it can be frustrating to live in Australia, and to feel so distant from these kind of contemporary exhibitions. So often what is exhibited here at major institutions and considered 'contemporary' is already a decade or more old. Although the internet provides a seemingly bottomless and infinitely useful resource in terms of images of up-to-date international art, to actually experience it first hand - especially spatially based work such as this - is essential to really getting toward an understanding of the artists intention.
Which is not to say that Australian artists are behind the times. I've seen a no shortage of really interesting work in artist-run spaces and smaller commercial galleries which would easily have stood up to the work in this Saatchi show [some of it is actually pretty dry and/or dull], but these spaces are not frequented by the 'general public' in the way major, state-funded spaces are. And, admittedly, much of the work in The Shape of Things to Come tends towards the spectacular, or grandiose, but I think that is in part a symptom of both the Saatchi Gallery and the broader cultural zeitgeist, which seems to be grasping at something sublime and unknown...
Phew. Not sure what just happened, but I think I just reverted to art-school-essay mode.
Exscuse me. I hope you like the video.
ps. If you look carefully, there is a work in this exhibition which I've shown on this blog on an earlier occasion; from a photograph I took in Hoxton Square when I was in London around this time last year.
All in all, this show presents a reason why it can be frustrating to live in Australia, and to feel so distant from these kind of contemporary exhibitions. So often what is exhibited here at major institutions and considered 'contemporary' is already a decade or more old. Although the internet provides a seemingly bottomless and infinitely useful resource in terms of images of up-to-date international art, to actually experience it first hand - especially spatially based work such as this - is essential to really getting toward an understanding of the artists intention.
Which is not to say that Australian artists are behind the times. I've seen a no shortage of really interesting work in artist-run spaces and smaller commercial galleries which would easily have stood up to the work in this Saatchi show [some of it is actually pretty dry and/or dull], but these spaces are not frequented by the 'general public' in the way major, state-funded spaces are. And, admittedly, much of the work in The Shape of Things to Come tends towards the spectacular, or grandiose, but I think that is in part a symptom of both the Saatchi Gallery and the broader cultural zeitgeist, which seems to be grasping at something sublime and unknown...
Phew. Not sure what just happened, but I think I just reverted to art-school-essay mode.
Exscuse me. I hope you like the video.
ps. If you look carefully, there is a work in this exhibition which I've shown on this blog on an earlier occasion; from a photograph I took in Hoxton Square when I was in London around this time last year.
9112011: A Decennalia
In late August, and running into September this year, I was part of a group exhibition titled 9112011: A Decennalia. [For those who didn't study Latin (myself included), 'decennalia' means 'tenth anniversary'.] The theme behind this show, curated by Peter Thomas, was the 10th anniversary of the September 11 attacks on the world trade centre, and their lasting - or since forgotten - implications. The artists included were myself, Peter, Mia Salsjo and Linda Tegg.
My work was titled Deep Impact, and was comprised of three parts: a spinning asteroid, a mechanical model of the solar system - also known as an orrery - and a black wall-mounted panel. The sun was represented by a yellow globe suspended from the ceiling. All the planets and the asteroid were made from paper-mâché. I used a disco-ball motor for the asteroid, and the orrery utilised a microwave motor.
For this work I wanted to create something that played upon Hollywood dramatisations of catastrophe, and their various manifestations. I had heard that after the 9/11 attacks the pentagon summoned a group of Hollywood directors to present various imagined terrorism scenarios to help them prepare for any possible event. I found this situation incredibly bizarre - fiction preceding, if not forecasting, fact. This gesture highlighted the filmic nature of the attacks, and their subsequent televised repetition. As Slavoj Žižek stated in Welcome to the Desert of the Real, "the September 11 attacks were the stuff of popular fantasy long before they actually took place".
The title was directly taken from a 1998 sci-fi catastrophe film, in which a large meteorite is heading for the earth and human kind is liable to be wiped out. essentially that is what is being presented in this sculpture, except the asteroid, although rotating on an axis, is inert; endlessly spinning in vaguely-threatening proximity. Our sense of fear at the risk of disaster, be it religious fundamentalism or interplanetary collision, is shaped by our preparedness to believe the fantasy: terror reduced to a spinning paper-mâché ball.
[this is a picture of me as an asteroid.]
reading the signs
These pictures are from a recent trip to Kingscliff - on the north coast of NSW; or if you prefer, just over the southern border of Queensland, by the Tweed River. At Fingal Head, we took a walk to the beach for a dreamy time...
Westspace Fundraiser [Art vs. Vandalism]
This is a re-imagined work, made from parts of an old sculpture - it originally looked like this - which I donated to the Westspace fundraiser exhibition. The title of the second manifestation of this sculpture is New Horizons. [Pun intended.] The exhibition itself was huge, with hundreds of works. Lots of local artists contributing to help keep one the city's most interesting art spaces going. It was a fun event.
During the opening night of the exhibition, the permanent work [pictured in the post below] I created for the gallery toilets was vandalised by one of the visitors [see above]. Aside from presenting the conundrum of how to remove spray paint from clear acrylic without scratching the surface, this unusual gesture got me thinking not only about the nature of art and it's permanence - a relationship which I have always endeavoured to keep buoyant within my work - but also the relevance of protest or revolt in an environment such as an artist-run gallery like Westspace.
I have always felt that it is important to maintain a degree of indifference to the art that one creates, in the sense that once an art work is completed, the artist must relinquish a certain amount of control over the life of the work, particularly if the work is sold to another person. [Not to mention the inherent fact of the inevitable demise of all objects - i.e. entropy] It brings to mind the occasion when the Chapman Brothers purchased and systematically 'rectified' a collection of original Goya prints, by drawing psychotic clown heads over the top of all the heads in the etchings. Admittedly, the Chapman brothers' undertaking was more an act of sincere homage than one of mindless vandalism; but that didn't prevent people from seeing it as such. The point is that art may continue to evolve beyond its perceived end-point, particularly within the contexts of ownership and/or authorship and the relationship between an object and its audience.
The line between vandalism and the reinvention of an artwork seems to come down to both ownership and intent: Rauschenberg owned the de Kooning print that he erased, the Chapman Bros owned their Goya's - both admitted their reverence for the artist whom they appeared to be nullifying. Westspace were the owners of the vivarium, yet it was modified without their permission; and I suspect that the aerosol artist involved was not intending a make a tribute to my art. Even as a gesture of protest [which, according to the person responsible, it was] this is weak. The event was intended to generate money, specifically in support of Melbourne based emerging artists - a demographic which may well include the spray-can wielder - and was not for any kind of financial gain. This act of dissent was in complete opposition to the spirit of the occasion - one of community, inclusion and support. I believe there is a definite need for gestures which embrace rebellion and challenge the tradition of aesthetics and artistic representation, but for such a gesture to be of use, it must be made publicly - not behind closed doors.
Westspace Vivarium
These are some photos of a work I made for the toilets in the new premises of Westspace gallery, in the CBD. The work, which I have tentatively titled In-Situ Vitrine, is a paper-mâché sculpture, finished with resin and set inside a perspex and timber vivarium, which I built around the existing art-deco style urinal. Vivariums are transparent cases used for the growth of exotic plants or animals in environments usually unsuitable for their survival. The details for the orchids represented here (they are based on existing species orchids, not exact versions) were taken from 19C botanical illustrations. All three species originate from tropical locales.
Photos courtesy KJ
Aside from helping preserve the paper-mâché, the resin gives the whole work a slimy, or freshly soaked feel. Considering its setting, this adds a little touch of abjection.
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