tag:theconversation.com,2011:/es/topics/art-exhibition-39338/articles
Art exhibition – The Conversation
2024-02-05T17:23:04Z
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/222229
2024-02-05T17:23:04Z
2024-02-05T17:23:04Z
What makes something ‘cute’? Inside the exhibition defining the phenomenon
<p>Standing at the entrance to Somerset House, I noticed <a href="https://muse.jhu.edu/article/368549">girls</a> – and irrespective of age, they can only be described as <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/1363460717736719?casa_token=0P-RD37lxjsAAAAA%3AS55azMh3qGwHzmyG305duhZYV_YKsmKalL8ASl3qVf702XGPDrKHgEncKcBShyA0ly5ii370zvPuYg">girls</a> – dressed head to toe in pink, bows and frills, from their elaborately curled hair to their Mary Jane platform heels. </p>
<p>Glittering and adorned with stickers, <a href="https://doi.org/10.21159/nvjs.12.05">cute plasters</a> and whimsical jewellery, they, like this exhibition, stand out in the late-January weather. Beacons of colour in a sea of wintery greys and blacks. What are they here for? It can only be the gallery’s new exhibition on <a href="https://www.somersethouse.org.uk/whats-on/cute">Cute</a> – the first large-scale exhibition to examine the phenomenon.</p>
<p>The exhibition starts by exploring “cute” as a historic appreciation of cats. It draws a connection from <a href="https://www.getty.edu/art/collection/person/104XHB">Victorian cat portraiture</a> and <a href="https://andyholdenartist.com/hermione">collectable porcelain figurines</a> to the Japanese Hello Kitty. The exhibition celebrates the brand’s 50th birthday through a glittering kitty disco. </p>
<p>Jumping through time and geopolitical boundaries, the show demonstrates that “cute” cannot be bound to a single time or place but is an accessible concept that can be claimed by anyone. Appearing in its modern context through Japanese products of the early 20th century known as “fancy goods” for young women, it goes on to encompass diverse cultural products, from <a href="https://www.mdpi.com/2076-0752/7/3/24">comics</a> to computers, appliances to televisions, colonising even the screen itself as an <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/full/10.1177/1367877916674741?casa_token=NGqBsExImOwAAAAA%3AcxVQvvNJ4IF6g-_lqcW_lYIKDQhgnqCvibZ_-OlOkM8z3hU8C279H2Gff0YmV6_OuRaZxK3NO4Qm_Q">aesthetic</a> in <a href="https://muse.jhu.edu/pub/23/article/845498/summary?casa_token=XheY2yytZKAAAAAA:QDsR1YeMLNj5Q5_DVbPCs80Ch6ToVLuTua8Af5TDo9jNNrVBe_1G_T0Da-svWbjQniluXRbJTS0">music videos</a> of the 1980s and 1990s. </p>
<p>The Hello Kitty section of the exhibition is a universe of plushies and <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/135918350000500205?casa_token=JH77fxBp6BQAAAAA:OLqETMB27HC8BYV_jbTkreO9EUww1NjWkLcJETX9Cf0w2MMgq1TaXbh3ouOnDoNYX2KBnvFUWtB44g">“Kitty mania”</a> in all kinds of products, from shoes and suitcases to tablets and karaoke machines. This encapsulates the most obvious secondary function of cute – <a href="https://academic.oup.com/jcr/article-abstract/41/2/326/2907555">intense consumerism</a>, and its ability to sell objects of all kinds.</p>
<h2>Cute is a slippery word</h2>
<p>Moving upwards, visitors enter the “cute universe”. Here “cuteness” fragments and distorts into many shapes and meanings. </p>
<p>Playing on the word “slipperiness”, which is invoked several times in the <a href="https://www.somersethouseshop.com/products/cute-exhibition-catalogue">catalogue</a>, the exhibition’s efforts to put cute into distinct categories wrestles with its fluid qualities, which clamour for attention among the many objects on display. </p>
<p>The show is divided into sections – <a href="https://www.cute.guide/CB">“cry baby”</a>,<a href="https://www.cute.guide/PT">“play together”</a>, <a href="https://www.cute.guide/SCP">“sugar-coated pill”</a>, <a href="https://www.cute.guide/MO">“monstrous other”</a> and <a href="https://www.cute.guide/HS">“hypersonic”</a> – which all valiantly attempt to define “cute”. But the word resists definition. Objects of all kinds harness the differing qualities of cute to <a href="https://intellectdiscover.com/content/journals/10.1386/eapc.2.1.49_1">incite emotions</a> – of sympathy, tenderness, love and desire. Though which emotions an object evokes vary, depending on the viewer. </p>
<p>The “cute universe” offers a deeper look at the concept through displays on community, how cute can disguise agendas, the juxtaposition of cute and horror and the glistening promise of cute as a future lifestyle aesthetic. The exploration reveals “cute” to be impossible to pin down. Neither good nor bad, it <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/09502386.2012.738640?casa_token=6RE5gyzPQx4AAAAA%3AeKg-sDlxCI8qyOb0HSVC4JahEIxRod9fZ2LJ-Ne5KDcDitvkFv_-InpW4r08u1uxcgVtg01Dn7-0aA">is a tool</a> to be used, felt and interpreted, dependent on the viewer and performer in a codependent relationship of ambiguity. </p>
<h2>Playing with scale</h2>
<p>The exhibition also plays with <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/90011648?casa_token=M4jXLh8pgEEAAAAA%3AIXDKAMjguiRNoGO7fHa7q_ZHqg4l49jr0f0TdOvLVOdtj9edOjnm7zSqMdJTB0rcA4DbBXi7wZxFCi0EFdchcrCUYlqFnGRbC9K7Bq6s-YYYOsWt3zw7&seq=4">scale</a>, with both oversized and undersized installations. This makes visitors feel they’ve become children once again, playing with tiny toys or experiencing an oversized world. </p>
<p>The immersive experience continues with hyper-feminine singer and visual artist, <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/music/2023/sep/29/to-be-a-girl-is-to-always-be-performing-hannah-diamond-on-pink-punk-and-making-the-pop-album-of-the-year">Hannah Diamond’s</a> creations, which evoke girly pyjama parties and pink beanbags, staying up too late and watching music videos on TV.</p>
<p>These works are nostalgic, a retrospective longing for a time that has already passed. Within cute is a performance of desire, filling in the gap between what we have and what we have <a href="https://www.proquest.com/openview/004262f802bdec094b52706dea45c89a/1?cbl=1818460&pq-origsite=gscholar">lost</a>. The performance of cuteness can only take place in the presence of loss of innocence.</p>
<p>So what to think of this exhibition of cute? As the curator Claire Catterall told me, the show hints rather than dictates its meaning. Yet, in the end, the bigger questions remain: what is cute doing to society? What does it mean that we are so complicit in its manipulation? Who are the players in cute, and who gets to decide? </p>
<p>Ultimately, the exhibition leaves us to decide for ourselves, but how can we when the concept itself is so slippery? I left Somerset House, disoriented and fizzing, as if I had consumed too many sweets. And yet, as I thought about the exhibition on my journey home, I craved a second helping.</p>
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<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
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<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Hui-Ying Kerr received funding from the Arts and Humanities Research Council for her Doctorate in History of Design on Japanese
culture in the 1980s economic bubble.</span></em></p>
The show is divided into sections which all valiantly attempt to define “cute”. But the word is resistant to definition.
Hui-Ying Kerr, Associate Lecturer, Fashion Communication and Promotion, Nottingham Trent University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/215206
2023-10-10T15:22:09Z
2023-10-10T15:22:09Z
Philip Guston: controversial delayed Tate show asks ‘what would it be like to be evil?’
<p>American painter <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/whats-on/tate-modern/philip-guston">Philip Guston’s</a> (1913-1980) work was filled with creative innovation. But the paintings he is best known for are the series of cartoonish hooded figures begun in the late 1960s.</p>
<p>Guston called these painted characters “<a href="https://www.artnews.com/feature/philip-gustons-kkk-paintings-history-meaning-1234572056/">hoods</a>”. They represented members of Ku Klux Klan (<a href="https://www.britannica.com/topic/Ku-Klux-Klan">KKK</a>), an organisation that had haunted him since childhood. Painting these figures, Guston wanted to explore the idea of evil. “What would it be like to be evil?” he asked himself.</p>
<p>In Tate Modern’s vast Guston retrospective, which runs until February 25, the “hoods” occupy just one room out of 11. But Guston’s nuanced engagement with racialised evil caused a contentious three-year delay in the exhibition opening. </p>
<p>Produced in collaboration with three major US museums (the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, the National Gallery of Art, Washington and the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston), the London showing of Guston’s retrospective was originally slated for 2020.</p>
<p>In the atmosphere following the <a href="https://theconversation.com/george-floyd-why-the-sight-of-these-brave-exhausted-protesters-gives-me-hope-139804">murder of African American George Floyd</a> by a white police officer in Minneapolis, <a href="https://news.artnet.com/art-world/postponed-philip-guston-show-will-now-open-2022-museums-say-1919119">Tate announced that</a> the show would be postponed until “we think that the powerful message of social and racial justice that is at the centre of Philip Guston’s work can be more clearly interpreted”.</p>
<p>Tate was accused of <a href="https://artreview.com/patronising-postponement-of-philip-guston-retrospective-causes-outcry/">patronising its visitors</a>. The exhibition’s curator Mark Godfrey <a href="https://news.artnet.com/art-world/mark-godfrey-leaving-tate-1950948">condemned the decision and resigned</a>. Rumours swirled about Tate’s <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2020/sep/26/sense-or-censorship-row-over-klan-images-in-tates-postponed-show">alleged intolerance</a> of internal dissent.</p>
<p>Tate director Maria Balshaw <a href="https://www.theartnewspaper.com/2023/10/03/postponed-philip-guston-survey-finally-opens-at-tate-modern#">now claims</a> that the delay allowed time for additional research into Guston’s depictions of the KKK. This is borne out in the exhibition, which begins by establishing key facts about Guston and his artistic commitment to condemning racism.</p>
<h2>Guston’s early work</h2>
<p>Born Philip Goldstein, Guston – whose later name change masked his Jewish identity – was the son of immigrants who had fled persecution in present day Ukraine. His family settled in the US as the KKK and racialised violence were on the rise. </p>
<p>Guston’s childhood was <a href="https://www.spectator.co.uk/article/in-defence-of-my-father-philip-guston">financially constrained and marred by family tragedies</a>. Largely self-taught, he worked through his fears by drawing “conspiracies and flogging and cruelty and evil” and demonstrated a prodigious artistic talent. This is evidenced in the exhibition through early works including <a href="https://ocula.com/art-galleries/hauser-wirth/artworks/philip-guston/mother-and-child/">Mother and Child</a> (1930), painted when he was just 17.</p>
<p>From here the exhibition proceeds chronologically. We accompany Guston through his experiments, first with surrealism, then with political murals.</p>
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<img alt="black and white photo of Philip Guston working on a mural with a group of children looking on." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/552591/original/file-20231006-27-dto2px.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/552591/original/file-20231006-27-dto2px.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=448&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/552591/original/file-20231006-27-dto2px.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=448&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/552591/original/file-20231006-27-dto2px.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=448&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/552591/original/file-20231006-27-dto2px.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=562&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/552591/original/file-20231006-27-dto2px.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=562&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/552591/original/file-20231006-27-dto2px.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=562&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
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<span class="caption">Philip Guston working on a mural with a group of children looking on (1940).</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.aaa.si.edu">Archives of American Art</a></span>
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<p>Footage specially shot for Tate’s exhibition shows <a href="http://omeka.wustl.edu/omeka/items/show/14352">The Struggle Against Terrorism</a> (1934-35) a monumental, collaboratively made protest mural that Guston painted in Mexico. </p>
<p>In the 1950s, encouraged by his high school friend and fellow artist, <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Jackson-Pollock">Jackson Pollock</a> as well as <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/willem-de-kooning-1433">Willem de Kooning</a> and <a href="https://www.nga.gov/features/mark-rothko.html">Mark Rothko</a>, Guston began painting abstract compositions. In 1962, he received his first major retrospective at New York’s Guggenheim Museum which included several paintings shown in the Tate exhibition, such as <a href="https://emuseum.mfah.org/objects/19024/passage">Passage</a> (1957-58).</p>
<h2>‘What if I died?’</h2>
<p>The global political turmoil of the late 1960s – addressed by the work of a younger generation of emergent “contemporary” artists – marked the end of a line for Guston’s generation. Pollock died in 1956, killed in an <a href="https://www.grunge.com/939772/the-tragic-real-life-story-of-jackson-pollock/">alcohol-fuelled car crash</a>. Rothko <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/1970/02/26/archives/mark-rothko-artist-a-suicide-here-at-66-mark-rothko-abstract.html">took his own life</a> in 1970. De Kooning <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/153331750201700512">succumbed gradually to dementia and isolation</a>. Guston began again.</p>
<p>“What if I died?” Guston mused, perhaps thinking of these friends. “What would I paint if I came back?” </p>
<p>From the late 1960s, he abandoned abstraction, restricted his palette to mostly pink and black and began to work on the “hoods”. As younger artists <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/outlook/the-art-of-the-photograph-the-photograph-as-art/2021/04/15/5668ef7e-626f-11eb-afbe-9a11a127d146_story.html">fixated on photographic mass media</a>, Guston invoked the comic strip <a href="https://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/the-gender-fluidity-of-krazy-kat">Krazy Kat</a>. He borrowed its strong black outlines and simplified forms to depict the Klansmen. </p>
<p>A mob of them cruise in a ludicrously cartoonish vehicle in <a href="https://www.artsy.net/artwork/philip-guston-city-limits">City Limits</a> (1969). A single “hood” meditatively smokes and paints a self-portrait in <a href="https://www.artsy.net/artwork/philip-guston-the-studio">The Studio</a> (1969). The “hoods” inhabit a sickly, empty city painted in <a href="https://cdn.jewishboston.com/uploads/2022/06/09_City-729x486.jpg">City</a> (1968) like unctuous tiers of strawberry blancmange, or a repulsive mountain of tumbling pink flesh.</p>
<h2>Introducing the ‘hoods’</h2>
<p>First exhibited in in 1970, the “hoods” had a hostile reception. Discouraged, Guston stopped painting for over a year. He spent the time travelling and finally settled in upstate New York, where he worked in seclusion until his death.</p>
<p>In spite – or maybe because – of the crisis incited by the “hoods” critical rejection, the paintings Guston made next are a tremendous synthesis of his preceding work.</p>
<p>Powerful colours return, along with forms that are recognisable, but dreamlike and strange. In one room, his large canvases are juxtaposed with ink drawings made in collaboration with his partner, the poet and painter <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Musa_McKim">Musa McKim</a> (1908-1992). </p>
<p>McKim composed words around which Guston drew: “I thought I would never write anything again”, says one. “Then I put on my cold wristwatch.”</p>
<p>The final room in the exhibition is filled with work done at night and dominated by the colour black. <a href="https://www.artic.edu/artworks/90583/couple-in-bed">Couple in Bed</a> (1977), painted after McKim suffered a stroke, shows the pair apparently asleep. Guston clings to McKim, clutching his paintbrushes and still wearing his “cold wristwatch”.</p>
<p>After seeing Guston’s Tate retrospective, I led an undergraduate seminar analysing the New Right’s political rhetoric. The discussion turned to memes and how their crude comic simplifications serve far-right agendas well.</p>
<p>The exchange made me think back to Guston’s <a href="https://ocula.com/art-galleries/hauser-wirth/artworks/philip-guston/blackboard/">Blackboard</a> (1969) a painting of three hooded Klansmen on a schoolroom board. Did Guston mean to show the educational apparatus that engenders racism? Or was this a prompt to think about the interpretive frameworks that get placed around controversial works of art, including his own? </p>
<p>I’d like to think it was both. Guston wanted to pass on tools that we could use to take apart everything – form, colour, identity, politics – and to help us put it back together, in an improved form.</p>
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<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
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<p><em>Looking for something good? Cut through the noise with a carefully curated selection of the latest releases, live events and exhibitions, straight to your inbox every fortnight, on Fridays. <a href="https://theconversation.com/uk/newsletters/something-good-156">Sign up here</a>.</em></p>
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<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Clare Carolin does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Guston’s complex engagement with racialised evil caused a contentious three-year delay in the exhibition opening.
Clare Carolin, Senior Lecturer, Art and Public Engagement, King's College London
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/214415
2023-09-27T11:32:06Z
2023-09-27T11:32:06Z
Marina Abramović retrospective celebrates the grand dame of performance art – but questions the genre’s future
<p>In 1974, <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Marina-Abramovic">Marina Abramović</a> performed a career-defining work at a small experimental gallery in Naples, Italy. The Serbian artist stood naked next to a table on which she had arranged 72 objects associated with pleasure and pain. They included a bunch of grapes, a jar of honey, a feather, a whip, chains, a scalpel and a gun. </p>
<p>Accompanying text instructed the audience: “There are 72 objects on the table that one can use on me as desired. I am the object.” The performance, entitled <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/abramovic-rhythm-0-t14875">Rhythm 0</a>, lasted for six hours, during which Abramović was tickled, cut, written on and chained. Everything was documented by photographers, whose presence she had arranged. When someone held the (allegedly loaded) gun to the artist’s neck, the performance ended.</p>
<p>Half a century later, Abramović is the celebrated grand dame of live, performance, or body art. In this avant garde practice, the artist’s body takes the place of the object as the means of expression. She is also the first woman in the Royal Academy of Arts’ history to have <a href="https://www.royalacademy.org.uk/exhibition/marina-abramovic">a solo retrospective</a> in its main galleries.</p>
<p>On entering Abramović’s retrospective, I was instructed not to photograph the performers. I hadn’t planned to take pictures, but this request struck me as strange. Photographic documentation is as integral to performance art as a wall is to a Renaissance fresco, or an acoustic echo is to a choral mass.</p>
<p>Everything I already knew about Abramović’s work was based on photographs. If photography was now forbidden – and the reenactment of works like Rhythm 0 was presumably ruled out by high levels of risk – what did this say about the changed, or changing, condition of performance art?</p>
<p>The exhibition begins not with live reenactment, but with extensive recordings of <a href="https://www.moma.org/learn/moma_learning/marina-abramovic-marina-abramovic-the-artist-is-present-2010/">The Artist is Present</a>, a performance first staged at New York’s Museum of Modern Art in 2010. Abramović invited audience members to sit opposite her at a table and to stare into her eyes for as long as they wanted while the procedure was filmed.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xlf68X2qEpM?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Ulay attends a performance of The Artist is Present.</span></figcaption>
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<p>From here, the exhibition moves roughly chronologically through Abramović’s career. Rhythm 0 appears next, represented by the unsettling arrangement of threatening and seductive objects and a looping slideshow of the original 1974 performance. </p>
<p>Adjacent to this are black-and-white photos of a performance in which Abramović prostrates herself inside the flaming five-pointed communist star. And a large format colour picture of her 1997 Venice Biennale performance of <a href="https://www.moma.org/audio/playlist/243/3126">Balkan Baroque</a>, where for days on end she scrubbed blood and sinew from a pile of grisly cow bones.</p>
<p>From 1976 to 1988, Abramović collaborated with her lover, the Dutch artist <a href="https://www.artnews.com/art-news/news/ulay-performance-artist-dead-1202679604/">Ulay</a>. The RA show presents slides and videos of the works they made together that explored relationship trust dynamics. The best of these crystalise the tensions and vulnerabilities of intimacy into strikingly memorable image sequences, such as <a href="https://www.moma.org/audio/playlist/243/3120">Rest Energy</a> (1980), in which Ulay holds an arrow pointing directly at Abramović’s heart.</p>
<h2>The limits of re-staging</h2>
<p>Accessing the next gallery involves negotiating the narrow space between a man and a woman, both naked. They are avatars for Ulay and Abramović in the 1977 performance <a href="https://www.wikiart.org/en/marina-abramovic/imponderabilia">Imponderbilia</a>. The work has been re-staged to neutralise its impact, so that instead of being compelled to enter the personal space of the blank-faced performers, visitors can take an alternative route that avoids them. </p>
<p>Intending to photograph the silhouetted profiles the pair cast on the floor, I reached for my phone, only to be admonished by a security guard. They explained that not photographing performers also meant not photographing their shadows.</p>
<p>This absurd interaction reinforced the limits of re-staged performance art. The point reasserted itself with the re-staged work <a href="https://www.moma.org/audio/playlist/243/3132">Nude with Skeleton</a>. As I stepped closer to discover whether Abramović’s double was a live performer, a waxwork, or some kind of deepfake, another guard stepped purposefully into my line of vision, repeating the move when I sidestepped to look around them.</p>
<p>Throughout this substantial exhibition, Abramović’s desire to commune with her audience is stressed. But in practice, this intention is undermined by protocols of performer protection which distort the conditions of immediacy on which these works originally relied.</p>
<h2>Transitory objects</h2>
<p>When the audience is allowed to engage, their experience is mediated through a series of what Abramović calls “transitory objects”. These are made from materials associated with healing that you might expect to encounter in a wellness spa: crystals, green onyx, chamomile flowers. </p>
<p>Abramović claims these objects induce feelings of transcendence when they are stepped into, lain on or leaned upon. The objects are theatrically lit so that anyone interacting with them becomes part of the exhibition spectacle.</p>
<p>As I lay on a copper bed with my head awkwardly resting on a green onyx pillow, I prayed – not for transcendence, but that no one would sneakily take my picture and post it on social media. From this uncomfortable 21st-century position, I contemplated the possibility that the traumatic fallout of being threatened in 1974 by an audience member with a loaded gun had defined the subsequent course of Abramović’s work.</p>
<p>Despite this exhibition’s emphasis on care, transcendence and participation, Abramović’s work is defined by the apparent need to control her audience’s experiences while celebrating her own. It makes sense then that she has consistently distanced herself from the collective efforts of feminism. It also seems fitting that with her individualistic narrative, Abramović is the first women artist to have a solo exhibition at an institution that – for the past three and half centuries – has reserved this honour only for men. </p>
<hr>
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<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
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<p><em>Looking for something good? Cut through the noise with a carefully curated selection of the latest releases, live events and exhibitions, straight to your inbox every fortnight, on Fridays. <a href="https://theconversation.com/uk/newsletters/something-good-156">Sign up here</a>.</em></p>
<hr><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/214415/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Clare Carolin does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Abramović is the first woman in the Royal Academy of Arts’ history to have a solo retrospective in its main galleries.
Clare Carolin, Senior Lecturer, Art and Public Engagement, King's College London
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/214017
2023-09-26T13:46:28Z
2023-09-26T13:46:28Z
The rich history of black British fashion is explored in an exciting new exhibition
<p>The story of black people is often told through a narrow lens, explained curator Andrew Ibi, at the private viewing of his new exhibition at Somerset House. Looking to widen that lens, <a href="https://www.somersethouse.org.uk/whats-on/the-missing-thread">The Missing Thread</a> tells the rich history of black British Fashion. </p>
<p>With designs by <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/society/2023/may/02/i-wanted-success-and-i-got-it-quickly-how-bruce-oldfield-went-from-foster-care-to-fashion-royalty">Bruce Oldfield</a>, <a href="https://www.ozwaldboateng.co.uk/">Ozwald Boateng</a>, <a href="https://www.biancasaunders.com">Bianca Saunders</a>, <a href="https://saulnash.co.uk/">Saul Nash</a> and the late <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/fashion/2019/jan/06/joe-casely-hayford-obituary">Joe Casely-Hayford</a>, the show presents a fusion of black British culture through displays on fashion, music and art from the 1970s to the present.</p>
<p>The Missing Thread is a careful and honest curation of black identity and displacement that tells stories of creativity and resilience. The exhibition begins with “Home”, an area filled with photography, artwork and fashion representing what it meant to be black and British in the 1970s and 1980s. </p>
<p>Generally speaking, home is considered a place of shelter, recovery and nourishment – but the black immigrant population in Britain often found home to be a place of struggle, racism and lack of opportunity. The pride and disappointment of the black experience in Britain is honoured through work by artists such as <a href="https://www.phf.org.uk/artist/vanley-burke/">Vanley Burke</a>, <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artists/charlie-phillips-obe-10634">Charlie Phillips</a> and <a href="https://kenlockphotography.com/">Neil Kenlock</a>. </p>
<h2>Designing a life</h2>
<p>Next is “Tailoring”, a room that depicts the expertise and craft of the black community. At the private viewing I attended, curator Harris Elliot explained that “tailoring is not just about the suit, but armour. This room is a statement of our protection, our identity and the struggles for blacks coming to this country”. </p>
<p>The ability to blend traditional heritage, trade and craft passed down through generations through tailoring formed a sense of community for black Britons. Here, we see designs from tailors and designers <a href="https://charlieallen.co.uk/">Charlie Allen</a>, <a href="http://www.ninivah.com/">Nineveh Khomo</a> and Bruce Oldfield.</p>
<p>But through the next corridor, in the “Performance” room, the atmosphere changes. You can smell the nostalgia of a different time, when music and pop culture formed black identities and gave us a sense of pride and confidence. The room is designed as a stage because, in a sense, the black community feels as if we are “always performing”, says Harris. </p>
<p>In this room, speakers stand seven feet high, with images representing 1980s hip-hop style and artists including <a href="http://www.bluesandsoul.com/feature/619/mc_duke_the_originator">MC Duke</a> and <a href="https://www.skinmusic.com/">Skin</a>, the lead vocalist for Brit-rock band <a href="https://skunkanansie.com/">Skunk Anansie</a>. You feel as though you have walked into a rave. This is fitting for the introduction to the next room, “Nightlife”.</p>
<p>“Nightlife” provides an look into the club culture of the 1980s. And the inclusion of an active nail salon behind the performance stage makes this space so exciting. Hair and nails are essential to the black cultural experience. Not only for beauty and adornment but for creating a space for socialising, safety and relaxation. </p>
<p>The many styles and expressions of black women dressing up for a night out adorn the salon’s walls. You feel the freedom, the connections and the friendships created in this beauty establishment when black women needed to escape from the hardships of everyday life. Club life was a safe escape for black Britons to be embraced by black traditions, culture and community – and it remains so today. </p>
<p>Runway fashion was not accessible to black people until recent years. Re-imagined secondhand clothing, patchwork and symbolic embellishments were the mainstay of black British style.</p>
<p>As you exit the nightlife and weave your way around the stage, with a stop by <a href="https://nicholasdaley.net/">Nicholas Daley’s</a> music and textile installation, the show navigates you to an exquisite display of work, an encore of Joe Casely-Hayford’s one-off pieces that pushed the boundaries of fashion and style. He was a true pioneer of his time and his <a href="https://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/fashion/news/in-the-blackwhiterockfashion-world-joe-caselyhayford-has-gone-from-leather-for-u2-s-bono-to-pure-new-couture-roger-tredre-met-him-1472776.html">work with Bono</a> ends the show.</p>
<p>The Missing Thread highlights black culture’s contributions to art, fashion and music by highlighting its resiliency, resourcefulness and self expression.</p>
<hr>
<figure class="align-left ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/536131/original/file-20230706-17-460x2d.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
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<p><em>Looking for something good? Cut through the noise with a carefully curated selection of the latest releases, live events and exhibitions, straight to your inbox every fortnight, on Fridays. <a href="https://theconversation.com/uk/newsletters/something-good-156">Sign up here</a>.</em></p>
<hr><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/214017/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Sharon Hughes does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
The Missing Thread is a careful and honest curation of black identity and displacement.
Sharon Hughes, Senior Lecturer, School of Arts and Creative Industries, University of East London
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/201429
2023-03-14T16:05:37Z
2023-03-14T16:05:37Z
Sasha Huber’s You Name It: Swiss-Haitian artist renegotiates colonial history in activist exhibition
<p>In 2008, <a href="http://www.sashahuber.com/">Sasha Huber</a>, a Swiss-Haitian multimedia visual artist based in Finland, began a project to challenge the problematic legacy of Swiss-American glaciologist and natural scientist <a href="https://www.thecrimson.com/article/2021/3/18/louis-agassiz-scrut/">Louis Agassiz (1807-1873)</a>. </p>
<p>Agassiz was a devout creationist who lectured on his belief in racial segregation, defended slavery and propagated the unfounded idea that races were different species. These racist ideas have been dignified and normalised through the commemorative naming of seven species and more than 80 places. Astonishingly, these include one on the <a href="http://wenamethestars.inkleby.com/feature/4839">surface of the moon</a>, another <a href="https://wenamethestars.inkleby.com/feature/81">on Mars</a> and his audacious self-naming of a mountain in Switzerland – “Agassizhorn”.</p>
<p>A solo exhibition titled <a href="https://autograph.org.uk/exhibitions/sasha-huber-you-name-it">You Name It</a> – which brings together a selection of Huber’s art works that act as challenges to historical, systematic, scientific racism – has been at the <a href="https://autograph.org.uk/exhibitions/sasha-huber-you-name-it">Autograph</a> gallery in London since November 2022. </p>
<p>The exhibition has been curated around the question: <a href="https://autograph.org.uk/exhibitions/sasha-huber-you-name-it">Who and what do we memorialise and how?</a> Conceived as a touring show, its first manifestation was in <a href="https://www.kunstinstituutmelly.nl/en/experience/17-sasha-huber-a-solo-exhibition">Rotterdam</a> in 2021, where it was simply billed as Sasha Huber: a Solo Exhibition. It then moved to <a href="https://www.thepowerplant.org/whats-on/exhibitions/you-name-it">The Power Plant</a> in Toronto in 2022, where it acquired its current title.</p>
<p>Since November 2022, the show has been based at Autograph, whose director, <a href="https://www.worldphoto.org/node/398">Mark Sealy</a>, has long been concerned with western photographic practice being “<a href="https://lwbooks.co.uk/product/decolonising-the-camera-photography-in-racial-time">used as a tool for creating Eurocentric and violent regimes</a>”. This abiding concern is evident in this exhibition.</p>
<p>In 1850, Agassiz commissioned the studio portraitist <a href="http://historiccamera.com/cgi-bin/librarium2/pm.cgi?action=app_display&app=datasheet&app_id=3617">Joseph T. Zealy</a> to make a set of <a href="http://www.daguerreobase.org/en/about-this-project">daguerreotypes</a> of enslaved people on the Edgehill plantation in South Carolina. This included a Congolese man, Renty Taylor, and his daughter Delia, as well as five others. </p>
<p>Agassiz used the images to support <a href="https://eps.harvard.edu/louis-agassiz">his theory of the inferiority of certain ethnic groups</a>. The subjects were required to pose naked for three full-length views: front, rear and side. These are thought to be the first photographs of enslaved people.</p>
<p>Huber’s engagement with Agassiz began when she was invited by historian and activist Hans Fässler to join the “<a href="https://blackcentraleurope.com/sources/1989-today/from-agassizhorn-to-rentyhorn-2008/">Demounting Louis Agassiz”</a> campaign. In 2008, Huber undertook a symbolic renaming of Agassizhorn. Accessing the mountain top by helicopter, she marked the summit with a plaque bearing a new place name, Rentyhorn, honouring the enslaved man pictured by Zealy. A film of <a href="http://www.sashahuber.com/?cat=5">this renaming</a> anchors the exhibition.</p>
<p>Many other “reparative interventions” – Huber’s term – have followed. They take different forms, including places marked by colonial history far away from Switzerland. In each case Huber takes care to ensure that the project is devised with sensitivity to the given location or issue being addressed, drawing on indigenous knowledge and customs.</p>
<p>For example, Huber describes how in <a href="https://www.cntraveler.com/story/why-referring-to-new-zealand-as-aotearoa-is-a-meaningful-step-for-travelers">Aotearoa</a> (the Maori name for New Zealand) she worked with “Maori people in the area” on an intervention to “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=732n08fZDik&t=450s">symbolically un-name and cleanse</a>” the so-called Agassiz Glacier for a film titled: <a href="https://www.av-arkki.fi/works/karakia-the-resetting-ceremony/">Karakia The Resetting Ceremony</a> (2015).</p>
<h2>Creating “pain-things”</h2>
<p>Huber has also created numerous pieces using her signature “<a href="http://www.sashahuber.com/?cat=10010&lang=fi&mstr=10009">shooting back</a>” technique, in which “metal staples [are] ‘shot’ onto wooden boards” using a semiautomatic staple gun. This produces images and textured surfaces to represent key perpetrators and artefacts associated with colonial atrocities.</p>
<p>In one example, <a href="https://autograph.org.uk/content/images/editorimages/a%20-%20new%20structure/exhibitions/2022/sasha%20huber/tailoring-freedom.jpg">Tailoring Freedom – Renty and Delia</a> (2021), Huber has combined “shooting back” with new photographs based on the original daguerreotypes taken by J.T Zealy. </p>
<p>These are some of the most poignant photographic portraits I have ever seen. The figures seem to look back at us from across the far distance of time and place. Now “dressed” in carefully researched attire, Huber has afforded both father and daughter the dignity lost when the original photographs were made.</p>
<p>At first, Huber used this as a “weapon” of resistance, however, more recently the technique has taken a more restorative turn: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>My shooting of staples has sought to enact a stitching of colonial wounds. It was a way for me to make visible and tend to those wounds. I started to call my works <a href="https://autograph.org.uk/blog/tailoring-freedom-bindi-vora-in-conversation-with-sasha-huber/">‘pain-things’</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>You Name It includes two new pieces of work commissioned through Autograph’s “Stranger in the Village” project. The African American novelist <a href="https://nmaahc.si.edu/explore/stories/baldwin-switzerland">James Baldwin’s</a> essay of the same name explores his distressing experiences in an all-white village in Switzerland in the early 1950s.</p>
<p>Baldwin encountered such a high level of curiosity in himself as a person of African descent – not least in his skin colour – that it left him feeling isolated and alienated. The essay, which investigated the racialised body, marked a turning point in his writing.</p>
<p>These new pieces by Huber, continue her exploration of memorialisation. <a href="https://autograph.org.uk/commissions/sasha-huber">The Firsts by Tilo Frey</a> was made in tribute to the Cameroonian-Swiss politician Tilo Frey (1923-2008), who campaigned for women’s rights and suffrage in Switzerland. </p>
<p>The other honours <a href="https://autograph.org.uk/commissions/sasha-huber-khadija-saye">Khadija Saye’s You Are Missed</a>, an “artist, activist and carer”, who died with her mother as victims of the Grenfell Tower fire, London, in 2017. They will join <a href="https://autograph.org.uk/projects-research/amplify">Autograph’s collection</a> with its “unique focus on black experiences and politics of representation”.</p>
<p>Huber’s art is startling for many reasons. Grounded in thorough research and motivated by a commitment to “reparative intervention”, she succeeds in forcibly addressing the legacies of western colonialism. At the same time her art – which can be understood as a form of <a href="http://www.sashahuber.com/?cat=10095&lang=fi&mstr=37">activism</a> – constitutes a positive renegotiation of this history. </p>
<p>As Huber’s partner, Petri Saarikko, <a href="http://www.sashahuber.com/">has said</a> of her work: “You’re lifting rocks from the past to build a bridge for the future.”</p>
<p><em><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=732n08fZDik&t=450s">You Name It</a> is showing at <a href="https://autograph.org.uk/exhibitions/sasha-huber-you-name-it">Autograph</a> London until 25 March 2023 before moving to Turku Art Museum in Finland from June-September 2023.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/201429/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Darcy White does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Sasha Huber’s work often involves renaming colonial landmarks, including a mountain in Switzerland.
Darcy White, Senior Lecturer in Visual Culture, Sheffield Hallam University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/197457
2023-01-26T13:33:25Z
2023-01-26T13:33:25Z
A major new exhibition in Nairobi reveals the history of East African art traditions
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/506434/original/file-20230125-16-fwa05m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Untitled by Ugandan artist Peter Mulindwa.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">James Muriuki courtesy Nairobi Contemporary Art Institute</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><a href="https://www.ncai254.com/exhibition-mwili-akili-na-roho">Mwili, Akili na Roho</a> (Body, Mind and Spirit) – on in Nairobi, Kenya – is a major international exhibition presenting East African painters who are key players in the modernist art of the region. <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/art-terms/m/modernism">Modernism</a> in the fine arts refers to a period of experimentation from the late 1800s to the mid 1900s, a break from the realism of the past and a search for new forms of expression.</p>
<p>The exhibition features a group of artists from different generations who vary in backgrounds, as well as in the themes and forms of their art. They represent 50 years of East African art – from 1950 to 2000. They are: <a href="https://lakelandarts.org.uk/items/sam-joseph-ntiro/">Sam Joseph Ntiro</a> (1923-1990), <a href="https://www.businessdailyafrica.com/bd/lifestyle/art/elimo-njau-father-of-many-artists-clocks-90-3934134">Elimo Njau</a> (1932-), <a href="https://asaphngethe.com">Asaph Ng’ethe Macua</a> (1930-), <a href="https://www.africancontemporary.com/Jak%20Katarikawe.htm">Jak Katarikawe</a> (1940-2018), <a href="https://contemporaryand.com/magazines/theresa-musoke-a-lifetime-dedicated-to-art-in-east-africa/">Theresa Musoke</a> (1942-), <a href="https://makerereartgallery.wordpress.com/2017/06/08/object-of-the-month-2/">Peter Mulindwa</a> (1943-), <a href="https://www.frieze.com/article/sane-wadu-nairobi-contemporary-art-institute-2022-review">Sane Wadu</a> (1954-), <a href="https://www.businessdailyafrica.com/bd/lifestyle/society/artist-paints-his-way-to-big-cash-with-return-of-gallery-1983182">John Njenga</a> (1966-1997), <a href="https://www.urbanafricans.com/documentaries/chelenge-van-rampelberg/">Chelenge van Rampelberg</a> (1961-) and <a href="http://www.redhillartgallery.com/meek-gichugu.html">Meek Gichugu</a> (1968-). </p>
<p>Together they form an important cross-section of <a href="https://www.tate.org.uk/art/art-terms/f/figurative-art">figurative</a> paintings from Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania. Figurative art draws from the real world, especially human figures.</p>
<p>While modernism is most commonly associated with the western world – think Pablo Picasso, Henri Matisse or Marc Chagal – these African modernist artists often critique western stereotypes about “primitive” colonised peoples at the same time as they yearn to recover pre-colonial modes of experience. This is one of the aspects that makes the exhibition so powerful. But it contains many more themes to consider that remain relevant today.</p>
<h2>A growing showcase</h2>
<p>The first showcase of Mwili, Akili na Roho <a href="https://www.hausderkunst.de/en/blog/mwiliakilinaroho">took place</a> in Germany in 2020. It was part of the larger context of a solo exhibition by its originator, the celebrated Kenyan-British artist <a href="https://www.royalacademy.org.uk/article/michael-armitage-beginners-guide">Michael Armitage</a>. Armitage is the founder of Nairobi Contemporary Art Institute – where the exhibition is currently on show. In 2021, Mwili, Akili na Roho moved to London as a continuation of <a href="https://www.royalacademy.org.uk/exhibition/michael-armitage">Michael Armitage: Paradise Edict</a>.</p>
<p>This third iteration in Nairobi expands on the first two. The initial exhibition had seven artists (with the exclusion of Njenga from Kenya, Mulindwa from Uganda and Ntiro from Tanzania). The Nairobi edition boasts a total of 54 artworks, presenting additional works from collections around the world. Notably, artworks are also borrowed from the artists’ own collections.</p>
<p>The exhibition focuses entirely on painting as one of the most prominent mediums of expression in art, representing a sort of history of the painting of East Africa. It’s an entry point for a <a href="https://contemporaryand.com/exhibition/mwili-akili-na-roho-group-show/">deeper engagement</a> with this history, and the enduring influence of creative ideas and art institutions from the region.</p>
<h2>Faith and religion</h2>
<p>For example, the idea of faith and religion is represented by works such as Ntiro’s Agony in the Garden (1950), an African representation of the story of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane before his crucifixion. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/506528/original/file-20230126-20410-y3svci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A darkened landscape where a black man in white robes stands on a rock in prayer, his arms outstretched and two men in red traditional African robes sleep under a bush." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/506528/original/file-20230126-20410-y3svci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/506528/original/file-20230126-20410-y3svci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=482&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/506528/original/file-20230126-20410-y3svci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=482&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/506528/original/file-20230126-20410-y3svci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=482&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/506528/original/file-20230126-20410-y3svci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=605&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/506528/original/file-20230126-20410-y3svci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=605&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/506528/original/file-20230126-20410-y3svci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=605&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Agony in the Garden by Sam Ntiro.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">James Muriuki courtesy Nairobi Contemporary Art Institute</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In the 1980s, Wadu took a different approach to the same subject. He paints himself as Jesus in Walking on the Water and in Give us Our Daily Bread. He tells his personal story of faith through his paintings. He attributes his success in life to God, having had tuberculosis as a young man but healing as a result of his faith.</p>
<p>There are also artists who have approached religion in the form of African mythology about humanity. Mulindwa did a great deal of research into the myths of the <a href="https://www.britannica.com/topic/Toro-people">Toro people</a> of Uganda, which influenced his art.</p>
<h2>Land and politics</h2>
<p>Katarikawe’s works feature cattle as symbols of life, borrowing directly from his and other people’s everyday lives. Nature and landscapes also feature prominently.</p>
<p>Ideas about land and politics offer social commentary throughout, about colonialism and the theft of the land.</p>
<p>Landscapes are also touched on by artists such as Musoke, who sought refuge in Kenya, leaving Uganda during the reign of dictator <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Idi-Amin">Idi Amin</a>. Mulindwa’s large, chaotic landscapes depict a subtle social commentary on the oppression in Uganda. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/506529/original/file-20230126-20-9qcbfg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A simple painting of three people walking over rocks through a landscape." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/506529/original/file-20230126-20-9qcbfg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/506529/original/file-20230126-20-9qcbfg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=460&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/506529/original/file-20230126-20-9qcbfg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=460&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/506529/original/file-20230126-20-9qcbfg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=460&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/506529/original/file-20230126-20-9qcbfg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=578&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/506529/original/file-20230126-20-9qcbfg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=578&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/506529/original/file-20230126-20-9qcbfg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=578&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">As People Walk Before Gouache by Jak Katarikawe.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">James Muriuki courtesy Nairobi Contemporary Art Institute</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>East African art structures</h2>
<p>It is useful, when looking at the exhibition, to also reflect on the artists’ backgrounds. Five were educated at <a href="https://www.mak.ac.ug">Makerere University</a> in Uganda, creating a school of thought of huge significance in East Africa. </p>
<p>These interconnected backgrounds allow reflection on the art structures and spaces that have existed in East Africa. After independence in the region, there was a short period when Makerere University, the University of Dar es Salaam (Tanzania) and the University of Nairobi (Kenya) were part of a single art school, <a href="https://90.mak.ac.ug/timeline/margaret-trowell-school-industrial-and-fine-arts-mtsifa-opens">Margaret Trowell School of Industrial and Fine Art</a>. There was an exchange of knowledge and influences that can be traced in the body of works in the exhibition.</p>
<p>The other five did not receive any formal training in art. Among them, Njau was the founder of the <a href="https://www.facebook.com/PaaYaPaaArtsCentre/">Paa ya Paa Arts Centre</a> in Nairobi and Musoke taught art at universities for about 25 years. Wadu was one of the founding members of the Ng’echa Arts Collective in Kenya (established in 1955 and commonly referred as the “village of artists”) and rose to prominence at <a href="https://www.theafricareport.com/6578/kenya-nairobis-great-art-heist/">Gallery Watatu</a> in Nairobi, where Gichugu had his first solo exhibition.</p>
<p>So, the exhibition also demonstrates how visual art can be used as a tool to educate about history. </p>
<h2>Creating a new space</h2>
<p>As much as the Nairobi contemporary art scene is vibrant, with galleries selling and showcasing work, there is no museum or other space dedicated to tracking the history of the region’s art, recording it, and building content that can be viewed and reviewed over time. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/the-importance-of-remembering-kenyan-artist-rosemary-karuga-155777">The importance of remembering Kenyan artist Rosemary Karuga</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>The Nairobi Contemporary Art Institute has rightfully claimed this space and Mwili, Akili na Roho is an example of some important choices the gallery is making in furthering the art of the region. The exhibition is educative and – importantly – is open to schools and universities in Kenya for students to learn more.</p>
<p><em>Mwili, Akili na Roho will run at the Nairobi Contemporary Art Institute until 18 February 2023.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/197457/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Anne Mwiti does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Mwili, Akili na Roho represents 50 years of art from Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania – from 1950 to 2000.
Anne Mwiti, Lecturer, Kenyatta University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/194278
2022-12-02T16:27:41Z
2022-12-02T16:27:41Z
What David Hockney’s new exhibition can teach us about finding beauty and joy this winter
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/496995/original/file-20221123-22-1g258k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=13%2C8%2C1484%2C853&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Hockney's 25th of June 2022, Looking at the Flowers (Framed).
</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.annelyjudafineart.co.uk/exhibitions/352-david-hockney-20-flowers-and-some-bigger-pictures/overview/">Annely Juda Fine Art</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>David Hockney’s new exhibition finds beauty in the most local of places: the home. His new series, <a href="https://www.annelyjudafineart.co.uk/exhibitions/352-david-hockney-20-flowers-and-some-bigger-pictures/works/">20 Flowers and Some Bigger Pictures</a>, is about the pleasure of looking intensely at what is in front of us. </p>
<p>At home in <a href="https://en.normandie-tourisme.fr/david-hockney-normandy/">Normandy</a> during lockdown in 2021, Hockney turned <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Bigger-Message-Conversations-David-Hockney/dp/0500238871">what he describes as</a> his ability to “see things clearer and clearer”, into drawing the 3D delicacy of flowers in a vase on the flat surface of his iPad.</p>
<p>One of Britain’s most significant 20th-century artists, Hockney was born in Bradford in 1937. He became fashionable in the swinging London of the 1960s, holding status as an exotic northerner against the capital’s urbane backcloth. After a visit to southern California in 1964, he became popularly associated with this period with his homoerotic stylised <a href="https://www.christies.com/features/David-Hockney-Portrait-of-an-Artist-Pool-with-Two-Figures-9372-3.aspx">swimming pool paintings</a>. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/497013/original/file-20221123-16-gxhs5s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Swimming pool with swimmer and hills in background with a man standing watch." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/497013/original/file-20221123-16-gxhs5s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/497013/original/file-20221123-16-gxhs5s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=425&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/497013/original/file-20221123-16-gxhs5s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=425&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/497013/original/file-20221123-16-gxhs5s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=425&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/497013/original/file-20221123-16-gxhs5s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=534&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/497013/original/file-20221123-16-gxhs5s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=534&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/497013/original/file-20221123-16-gxhs5s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=534&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Portrait of an Artist (Pool with Two Figures), which sold for US$90.3 million in November 2018 to become one of the most expensive works of art by a living artist ever sold at auction.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.christies.com/features/David-Hockney-Portrait-of-an-Artist-Pool-with-Two-Figures-9372-3.aspx">Christies</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Still artistically prolific at 85, sartorially elegant and with dry humour, he recently declared he was “<a href="https://observer.com/2021/11/david-hockney-is-sick-of-wellness-culture-and-still-loves-cigarettes-just-like-you/">bored with wellbeing</a>” instead defending the right to pleasure – in his case, smoking cigarettes. Hockney has been based in Normandy since 2020, choosing to live in northern France for the quality of light in the region and as a peaceful place to work. </p>
<h2>Art and upheaval</h2>
<p>Hockney spent much of the COVID lockdown in near isolation in his 17th-century country home in Normandy. He used the time to watch and record the changing seasons on his iPad, with much of his work from this time offering inspiration for his latest exhibition. </p>
<p>This can be seen in 30th May 2020, From the Studio, one of the larger works in his new exhibition, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k5jC1ZHv2UM">20 Flowers and Some Bigger Pictures exhibition</a>. This piece clearly demonstrates Hockney’s ability to see texture, colour and form within the four walls of the home and the surrounding space of the garden and outbuildings.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/knFxFVI3HQs?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
</figure>
<p>Hockney’s works in 20 Flowers mark a return to his obsession with the act of looking. His centrepiece for the exhibition, 25th of June 2022, Looking at the Flowers (Framed), is a <a href="https://www.latimes.com/entertainment/arts/la-et-cm-david-hockney-review-20190314-story.html">photographic drawing</a> of himself times two, looking at a wall filled with his framed still lifes. </p>
<p>From a series of individual photographs, Hockney constructs a seamless panorama that defies the natural parameters of time and space. This relates to Hockney’s disappointment with photography, a medium he has <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2022/oct/08/david-hockney-new-5-metre-digital-artwork-self-portrait">spoken about many times</a> as being limited to only capturing an instant in time from a single point of view. </p>
<p>For Hackney, the artist’s eye holds something more special. A celebrated <a href="https://www.bl.uk/people/david-hockney">draftsman</a> who has been trained to look, <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Bigger-Message-Conversations-David-Hockney/dp/0500238871">Hockney argues</a> that “we see with memory” and with our emotions. Indeed, artists have the potential to document how places and objects affect us and move us emotionally.</p>
<h2>Hockney’s north</h2>
<p>Hockney’s body of work has always maintained affection for visual beauty in place – whether at home or in landscapes. His 2012 series, <a href="https://www.royalacademy.org.uk/exhibition/david-hockney-a-bigger-picture">A Bigger Picture</a>, peeled open a part of Yorkshire <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/Issues-Regional-Identity-Honour-Marshall/dp/0719050286">relatively unknown</a>, even to northerners: the East Wolds, which are low hills spread across the East Riding of Yorkshire and north Yorkshire. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Painting of trees in a wood in bright colours." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/497000/original/file-20221123-16-ztb31l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/497000/original/file-20221123-16-ztb31l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=225&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/497000/original/file-20221123-16-ztb31l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=225&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/497000/original/file-20221123-16-ztb31l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=225&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/497000/original/file-20221123-16-ztb31l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=283&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/497000/original/file-20221123-16-ztb31l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=283&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/497000/original/file-20221123-16-ztb31l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=283&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">David Hockney, The Arrival of Spring in Woldgate, East Yorkshire in 2011.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.guggenheim.org/exhibition/david-hockney-a-bigger-picture">David Hockney/Jonathan Wilkinson</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In 1997 Hockney moved back to the Yorkshire coast when his friend Jonathan Silver was dying of cancer. Drives to Bradford took him through the small villages dotted through the rolling Wolds. </p>
<p>My first view of these paintings was on TV in 2010, when I watched Bruno Wollheim’s documentary <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1768919/">David Hockney: A Bigger Picture</a> and saw the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ln1eQjsPoX4">suite of paintings</a> called <a href="https://www.visiteastyorkshire.co.uk/information/product-catch-all/woldgate-woods-hockney-location-p1354581">Woldgate Woods</a> unfolding the changing seasons in crisp high definition. I found myself in my lounge, incredibly moved by the exquisite atmosphere of woods from May to December. It was then that <a href="https://eprints.leedsbeckett.ac.uk/id/eprint/3893/">I decided to research</a> how other people from Yorkshire responded to this series of works. </p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/sH__5axdUQA?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
</figure>
<p>Historically landscape beauty in art has more usually been associated with the <a href="https://manchesteruniversitypress.co.uk/9780719051784/">home counties in the south of England</a> than with Yorkshire. But what my research found was that people used Hockney’s paintings to transform their north from somewhere often portrayed as dour and grimy into a place of <a href="https://eprints.leedsbeckett.ac.uk/id/eprint/3893/">untapped beauty</a>. Delighted by his prodigal return from the US as a “Bradford lad”, they saw him as a cultural ambassador promoting the north’s place in the galleries of the metropolitan centre. </p>
<p>Importantly, I found that many people held an appreciation of curating Hockney’s prints within their own homes, rather than seeing his work in a gallery setting. Woven into the routine of moving through corridors and rooms, his prints could be walked past, looked at and engaged with by their owners and other family members in the relaxed and intimate space of warm, domestic familiarity. </p>
<p>In this way, Hockney’s works acted like a form of art kinship within the home. And I believe that these new works can be used by viewers in the same way. </p>
<p>The artist has in the past spoken about the act of observing his first still life, “it looked very beautiful to me. Other people commented on it, it seemed to jump off the wall.” In his creations, I feel Hockney is asking us to look and see the detail. He may even be asking us to draw and paint it ourselves. Either way, his fresh, vibrant drawings offer beauty to help us cope in difficult times.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/194278/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Lisa Taylor does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Hockney’s 20 Flowers and Some Bigger Pictures depict joy in the humdrum of domesticity.
Lisa Taylor, Head of Media, Leeds Beckett University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/183484
2022-05-20T15:34:13Z
2022-05-20T15:34:13Z
Nigeria’s Dilomprizulike: artist who mesmerizes and befuddles in equal measure
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/464470/original/file-20220520-26-41uwvp.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Dilomprizulike chooses garbage as his main material. His inspiration is from his father.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Dilomprizulike WaitingForBus AfricaRemix installation</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Nigerian artist and lecturer Dilomprizulike, who curated, among other things, the <a href="https://www.instituteforpublicart.org/case-studies/the-junkyard-museum-of-awkward-things/">Junkyard Museum of Awkward Things in Lagos</a>, wages a continuous battle on two fronts. First, as an easily misunderstood human being and then as an artist making perplexingly noncommercial art.</p>
<p>The Alliance Francaise Lagos/Mike Adenuga Centre, is <a href="https://z-p3-upload.facebook.com/af.lagos/posts/5377584925620171">hosting a showing of his works entitled</a>, “Waiting for Bus”. This was a concept first premiered during the globally acclaimed “Africa Remix” exhibition held between <a href="https://contemporaryand.com/magazines/africa-remix/">2004 and 2007</a>. It’s his second exhibition at the Alliance Francaise after his initial show at the venue in 2004.</p>
<p>I first encountered Dilomprizuke’s works at an art gallery on Victoria Island, Lagos, almost 30 years ago.</p>
<p>Between 1994 and 2018 he lived in Germany making art, surviving as a dreadlocked, strange looking African within a skeptical sociocultural milieu. Somehow he managed to thrive, finessing his way, often unwelcomed, through numerous exhibitions and art residencies across Europe and farther afield in Israel and the US.</p>
<p>Dilomprizulike selects garbage as his primary material. His foundational inspiration for choosing this method was provided by his father. As an inquisitive boy, he watched his father in their home in a village in eastern Nigeria restore broken household utensils such as pots, pans and buckets and make them useable again.</p>
<p>His other major source of inspiration as an artist stems from <a href="https://zeitzmocaa.museum/artists/el-anatsui/">El Anatsui</a>, the Ghanaian master artist who taught him at Nsukka and with whom he apprenticed for two years.</p>
<p>Since finding his métier as an artist, Dilomprizulike’s startling vision has both mesmerised and befuddled art critics and audiences by equal turns.</p>
<h2>Creative space</h2>
<p>Dilomprizulike trained and worked as an artist at the universities of Nsukka and Benin in Nigeria. He then went on to study at the University of Dundee in Scotland where he earned a Masters in Fine Art degree.</p>
<p>Following his global travels he returned to Nigeria in 2018 and embarked on another engrossing project. He acquired undeveloped property just beyond the Chevron Estate on Lekki Peninsula in Lagos. This ambitious project comprises three distinct phases. It serves as a residential abode, an art academy for budding artists and a museum of junk art.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/464472/original/file-20220520-15-ksjw6n.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Art of a man made from garbage." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/464472/original/file-20220520-15-ksjw6n.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/464472/original/file-20220520-15-ksjw6n.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/464472/original/file-20220520-15-ksjw6n.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/464472/original/file-20220520-15-ksjw6n.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/464472/original/file-20220520-15-ksjw6n.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/464472/original/file-20220520-15-ksjw6n.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/464472/original/file-20220520-15-ksjw6n.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The Junkman from Afrika.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Author supplied</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The property itself is located on a pristine stretch of land bordering the Atlantic ocean. Visible from his densely vegetated compound are crashing ocean waves washing over clusters of makeshift huts sheltering “area boys” – social miscreants drawn from Nigeria’s vast pool of the unemployed.</p>
<p>Dilomprizulike is a vegan. Nevertheless he breeds chickens and goats in his yard. In the dense thicket of trees above, families of monkeys chatter swinging from branch to branch. Some even venture into his kitchen to steal eggs and other edibles.</p>
<p>In a way, Dilomprizulike seems to be living the artist’s ultimate dream; sequestrated on a remote location and comforted by the pleasures of solitude and the pursuit of jarring creativity.</p>
<p>Indeed the awkwardness of making art from junk – from discarded truck spare parts to mere scrap metal – can be quite a stretch for most people. </p>
<h2>Art as social commentary</h2>
<p>Dilomprizulike’s art works as informed sociopolitical commentary on various kinds of material culture and the people who make, use and misuse manufactured products. It is not simply about making do with junk. It also involves a much larger aspiration of identifying strands of multifaceted history in order to discover deeper meaning within discarded objects. A way of putting it is: awakening the hidden life in inanimate objects.</p>
<p>Discovering artistic potential in junk also serves as a sociopolitical critique of today’s ultra-materialist culture. It compels us to re-consider issues of recycling, environmental dystopia, urban waste management and the consequences of climate change. In producing so much junk how are we able to estimate the after-effects? What are the environmental costs of such industrial scale proliferation of waste materials? </p>
<p>These are the sort of conceptual issues Dilomprizulike’s idiosyncratic art urges us to confront.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/464473/original/file-20220520-18-zgizf1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Man standing with goggles on his head and a shirt" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/464473/original/file-20220520-18-zgizf1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/464473/original/file-20220520-18-zgizf1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/464473/original/file-20220520-18-zgizf1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/464473/original/file-20220520-18-zgizf1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/464473/original/file-20220520-18-zgizf1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/464473/original/file-20220520-18-zgizf1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/464473/original/file-20220520-18-zgizf1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Dilomprizulike trained and worked as an artist at the universities of Nsukka and Benin in Nigeria.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Author supplied</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Those are the immediate questions raised by Dilomprizulike’s aesthetic vision. But there are other deeper issues that lie beneath the surface. His art practice has been forged via immersive studies in anthropology, philosophy, theories of art and African history amongst other disciplines.</p>
<p>As such, his sculptures and installations articulate multiple narratives about the vagaries of different material cultures. Not only do we manufacture all sorts of products and objects, they in turn are able to shape our destinies in more ways than we could ever imagine. Indeed they serve as historical repositories of tactile presence and encoded memories. They are subject to be activated by usage, misuse and re-invention. </p>
<p>Consequently, they are not just things-in-themselves but also things-for-themselves. </p>
<p>Dilomprizulike’s task as an artist, <a href="https://africanah.org/thejunkmanfromafrica-also-known-as-dilomprizulike/">in his words</a>, is</p>
<blockquote>
<p>to create a concept that combines traces of socio-psychological elements of society with anthropological-cum- historical values.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>His installations capture this shifting sense of materiality with the same resilience, vibrancy and gift of drama through which he carefully nurtured his singular artistic vision. </p>
<p>It is remarkable to observe how little his artistic philosophy has changed. As a boy his father taught him to value seemingly inconsequential objects while under El Anatsui’s tutelage he learnt to discover beauty in the unexpected. </p>
<p>Dilomprizulike’s testament argues that material cultures are not static and frozen entities but bear embedded narratives that shape our lives and our environment.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/183484/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Sanya Osha does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Dilomprizulike’s startling vision has both mesmerised and befuddled art critics and audiences by equal turns.
Sanya Osha, Senior Research Fellow, Institute for Humanities in Africa, University of Cape Town
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/160268
2021-11-10T04:21:56Z
2021-11-10T04:21:56Z
Oil, wood, bark, exploitation: a new exhibition explores human relations with the Eucalyptus
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430709/original/file-20211108-69725-7j3red.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Collection of timber samples from the Powerhouse Museum’s historic collection, 1886-1932. </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Zan Wimberley</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>The Eucalyptus tree smells like minty life. Its branches bend and wrap like human arms, its scribbly or papery bark cries out to be touched and it emits a blue, oily haze. It would be hard to find an Australian who hasn’t sat beneath its shady canopy, tugged at its leaves to squeak out a tune, or used its oil to minimise a congested cold.</p>
<p>Eucalyptusdom, a multi-sensory exhibition of museum collection objects and new artworks at Sydney’s Museum of Applied Arts and Sciences, is a testament to the utilitarian and cultural life of the tree.</p>
<p>Plant science tells us that <a href="https://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/the-whispering-trees-180968084/">trees emit chemicals</a> and gases to communicate with one another, that they spread their roots across astonishing distances and share nutrients via mycelium that spread information to other trees, often from a mother tree to smaller saplings. This adds to cultural and philosophical knowledge that connects with the animism and independent agency of the tree.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/you-dont-have-to-be-barking-to-think-trees-are-like-us-38232">You don't have to be barking to think trees are like us</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430707/original/file-20211108-25-1yplrxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430707/original/file-20211108-25-1yplrxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430707/original/file-20211108-25-1yplrxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=466&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430707/original/file-20211108-25-1yplrxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=466&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430707/original/file-20211108-25-1yplrxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=466&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430707/original/file-20211108-25-1yplrxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=586&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430707/original/file-20211108-25-1yplrxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=586&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430707/original/file-20211108-25-1yplrxb.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=586&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Hand-coloured photographic transparency, one of eight depicting various aspects of research and industry related to Eucalyptus oil distillation in Australia, circa 1880–1960.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Powerhouse Collection</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>While this exhibition celebrates human relations with the Eucalyptus, rather than the tree’s own nonhuman life, it does other things such as walking the tightrope towards decolonising the museum’s collection.</p>
<p>This is important work. It refers to (re)telling stories of Aboriginal culture and often means admitting the truth about how museum objects were collected, classified, named and curatorially interpreted, sometimes in culturally insensitive ways.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430704/original/file-20211108-10010-rp96b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430704/original/file-20211108-10010-rp96b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430704/original/file-20211108-10010-rp96b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=411&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430704/original/file-20211108-10010-rp96b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=411&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430704/original/file-20211108-10010-rp96b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=411&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430704/original/file-20211108-10010-rp96b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=517&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430704/original/file-20211108-10010-rp96b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=517&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430704/original/file-20211108-10010-rp96b5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=517&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Mittji by Wukun Wanambi, commissioned for the exhibition Eucalyptusdom, acquired 2021.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Zan Wimberley</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The exhibition also includes three important Australian cultural figures: the poetic writer Ashley Hay who has <a href="https://www.newsouthbooks.com.au/books/gum-131849/">written a book called Gum</a>, the great artist <a href="https://profiles.uts.edu.au/Jonathan.Jones">Jonathan Jones</a>, and revered Australian architect <a href="https://www.ozetecture.org/richard-leplastrier-projects">Richard Lepastrier AO</a>. </p>
<p>Lepastrier co-designed the exhibition and Hay has contributed literary writings to replace exhibition labels, which have long been criticised for their didactic, androcentric and eurocentric tone. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430703/original/file-20211108-9947-15hujws.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430703/original/file-20211108-9947-15hujws.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430703/original/file-20211108-9947-15hujws.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430703/original/file-20211108-9947-15hujws.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430703/original/file-20211108-9947-15hujws.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430703/original/file-20211108-9947-15hujws.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430703/original/file-20211108-9947-15hujws.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430703/original/file-20211108-9947-15hujws.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">View of Eucalyptusdom, showing the exhibition’s architectural design, developed in collaboration between Richard Leplastrier AO, Jack Gillmer (Worimi, Biripi Nations) of SJB, Adam Haddow of SJB and Vania Contreras, spatial designer.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Zan Wimberley</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>And then there is Jones, who has created yet another installation to stop viewers in their tracks. It’s in a side room of the exhibition, which has the unfortunate effect of seeming like an afterthought, but reverberates with his subtle and finessed (re)presentation of Australian Indigenous history. </p>
<p>On the walls hang eight ink drawings: thick with representations of ceremonial smoke and explained as sentinels. In the centre of the room is a pile of traditional tools, more like a pyre, made from mandang (wood), alongside piles of gum leaves. Jones, a Wiradjuri and Kamilaroi artist, collaborated with Wiradjuri man, Dr Uncle Stan Grant, to create this work, which includes a sound component.</p>
<p>The pyre is bleached and pale and connects to guardian ancestor Dharramalin, who is central to men’s business. The soundscape presents as the ancestor voice, a roar of thunder and animalistic, aggressive power.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/renewable-jet-fuel-could-be-growing-on-australias-iconic-gum-trees-59377">Renewable jet fuel could be growing on Australia's iconic gum trees</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>Other commissioned Indigenous artworks and soundscapes in this exhibition, include textiles and wearable garments (one made of bark), alongside objects such as jars of eucalyptus sap, tapestry and video portraits.</p>
<p>There are also glass plate photographs of settlers felling eucalyptus trees; more than 100 eucalyptus wood specimens from the 1800s collected by the museum and various botanists; painted porcelain plates depicting eucalypts and letters and receipts regarding economic botany from London’s Kew Gardens. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430706/original/file-20211108-9947-1pafxme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430706/original/file-20211108-9947-1pafxme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430706/original/file-20211108-9947-1pafxme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430706/original/file-20211108-9947-1pafxme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430706/original/file-20211108-9947-1pafxme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430706/original/file-20211108-9947-1pafxme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430706/original/file-20211108-9947-1pafxme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430706/original/file-20211108-9947-1pafxme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Porcelain plates, designed by Marian Ellis Rowan, Melbourne, made by.
Worcester Royal Porcelain Company Ltd, 1910-14.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Powerhouse Collection</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>These historically fascinating objects draw a story of settler culture but also lay bare the absence of Indigenous stories therein.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/mountain-ash-has-a-regal-presence-the-tallest-flowering-plant-in-the-world-96021">Mountain ash has a regal presence: the tallest flowering plant in the world</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Decolonising plants</h2>
<p>This exhibition presents current and ongoing discussions in “botanical aesthetics”, where plant or tree stories from the settler past sit in (dis)harmony with Indigenous truths and cultural knowledge.</p>
<p>This extends to a wider debate about decolonising plants: understanding the institutional practices that informed and still exist in herbaria, such as following <a href="https://www.britannica.com/science/taxonomy/Classification-since-Linnaeus">Linnaean naming systems</a> (Latin and common names) without acknowledging Indigenous names.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430705/original/file-20211108-19-1lwb6np.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430705/original/file-20211108-19-1lwb6np.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430705/original/file-20211108-19-1lwb6np.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=387&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430705/original/file-20211108-19-1lwb6np.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=387&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430705/original/file-20211108-19-1lwb6np.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=387&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430705/original/file-20211108-19-1lwb6np.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=486&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430705/original/file-20211108-19-1lwb6np.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=486&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430705/original/file-20211108-19-1lwb6np.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=486&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Collection of timber samples from the Museum’s historic collection, 1886-1932.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Zan Wimberley</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>It reminds audiences of the absence of information regarding the Indigenous botanical collectors who guided the colonial botanists to their rare and bountiful specimens. It refers to the imperial colonial history of malevolent and strident plant collecting that wrought damage to lands and peoples across the world.</p>
<p>Eucalyptusdom is a theatre of colonial collecting but also an introduction to exciting Indigenous artworks. It works as an instruction on how to decolonise plants, in this case the Eucalyptus tree.</p>
<p>While it doesn’t completely escape the subtle dangers of re-colonising the objects and artworks – there is not much dialogue or critique between them – nevertheless, it is a heady and immersive vegetal experience.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430712/original/file-20211108-23-qd59dw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430712/original/file-20211108-23-qd59dw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430712/original/file-20211108-23-qd59dw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=386&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430712/original/file-20211108-23-qd59dw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=386&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430712/original/file-20211108-23-qd59dw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=386&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430712/original/file-20211108-23-qd59dw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=485&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430712/original/file-20211108-23-qd59dw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=485&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430712/original/file-20211108-23-qd59dw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=485&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">View of Eucalyptusdom showing commissioned work, Let Me Pass Onto You by Vera Hong in background and a collection of carved timber objects from the Museum’s historic collection in the foreground.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Zan Wimberley</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Economic botany and colonial botanical curiosity are marked in the exhibition by a cabinet of glass jars containing barks and kinos (a gum-like oozing substance from the tree). These were collected under the direction of Joseph Maiden, director of Sydney’s Royal Botanical Gardens in the late 19th century.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430734/original/file-20211108-9517-1neo1n3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430734/original/file-20211108-9517-1neo1n3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/430734/original/file-20211108-9517-1neo1n3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430734/original/file-20211108-9517-1neo1n3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430734/original/file-20211108-9517-1neo1n3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430734/original/file-20211108-9517-1neo1n3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430734/original/file-20211108-9517-1neo1n3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/430734/original/file-20211108-9517-1neo1n3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Timber Court, Australian Flora, Technological Museum, Harris Street, Ultimo c1908.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Powerhouse Collection</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/photos-from-the-field-capturing-the-grandeur-and-heartbreak-of-tasmanias-giant-trees-144743">Photos from the field: capturing the grandeur and heartbreak of Tasmania's giant trees</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>Such specimens are the perfect reminder of the problems of decolonising collections because they are exquisite objects of aesthetic desire. I don’t know anyone who would want them destroyed or locked away. They feed a human (mostly western) desire to gather, to sort, to order and to name.</p>
<p>The joy of ordering objects is a way of ordering thoughts, for some of us. However, collecting has a violent colonial history and it still feels uncomfortable to view them alongside new Indigenous artworks that work to redress that violence.</p>
<p>This discomfort is perhaps the exhibition’s greatest strength. It reminds those of us who are tree-lovers and/or plant-mad that we have responsibilities to respect the Eucalyptus and to acknowledge that Indigenous people always knew this tree.</p>
<p><em>Eucalyptusdom is at The Powerhouse until May 2022.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/160268/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Prudence Gibson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Eucalyptusdom is a testament to the utilitarian and cultural life of a remarkable tree.
Prudence Gibson, Author and Research Fellow, UNSW Sydney
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/159704
2021-04-27T04:28:11Z
2021-04-27T04:28:11Z
Yearning for touch — a photo essay
<p>In late November, I led a participatory performance, <a href="https://www.sydneyoperahouse.com/events/past-events/Antidote/2020/cherine-fahd.html">A Proxy for a Thousand Eyes</a>, at the Sydney Opera House. Among the performers were three videographers and two photographers. Their role was to record a loosely choreographed routine of touching between myself and the participants who joined me at the specially designed, Covid-safe screens. </p>
<p>The pandemic has highlighted the desire and need for physical contact and the integral role touch plays in socialisation and well-being. COVID-19 has not only forced us to be physically apart but to perceive bodies — both our own and others — as risky. </p>
<p>Despite the risks, I was commissioned by the Sydney Opera House to respond creatively to the pandemic. My approach focused on social distancing and its alienating impact on communal gathering. Shielded by vinyl plastic, complete with the ritual of hand sanitising, I persuaded 50 people to act as my touching playmates on the day. Some were friends and acquaintances. Many were strangers. </p>
<p>Each participant was separated from me by a sheet of plastic. I stood on one side and they stood on the other. Despite the squeaking and slippery sensation of the plastic, I made sure the palms of our hands connected, our fingers and faces conjoined, the tips of our noses and lips caressed. </p>
<p>At the heart of this work is the desire to feel good. In a year of great uncertainty and grief, creativity has an enormous role to play in articulating the unspeakable, the unthinkable and what is often suppressed in traumatic times. </p>
<p>I wanted first and foremost for the participants to feel safe, to feel cared for and to trust me. And in return, to touch me so we could be together and safely apart. </p>
<p>The photographs and footage revealed the most tender encounters. An intimate and playful game of surrender is now a ten-minute video piece portraying touching as a form of public yearning.</p>
<p><em>Cherine Fahd’s ten-minute video piece Play Proximus will feature in Returning: Chapter 1 on <a href="https://stream.sydneyoperahouse.com/digital-originals/videos/coming-soon-to-stream">Stream</a>, part of Sydney Opera House’s new digital commissions launching on 30 April 2021 co-presented with the Japan Foundation Sydney.</em></p>
<p><em>An essay reflecting on this project will appear in Dystopian and Utopian Impulses in Art Making: The World We Want, edited by Grace McQuilten and Daniel Palmer, to be published by Intellect in 2022.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/159704/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Cherine Fahd does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
At a time of pandemic, an extraordinary photographic project unfolded between sheets of clear plastic.
Cherine Fahd, Associate Professor, School of Design, University of Technology Sydney
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/153920
2021-02-08T15:00:34Z
2021-02-08T15:00:34Z
#GallerySoWhite: a digital exhibition exposing racism in contemporary art spaces
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382465/original/file-20210204-16-xlf7wo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=60%2C0%2C6720%2C4456&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Anonymous accounts of racism in gallery spaces criticise the industry for failing to tackle systemic discrimination</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/back-view-portrait-two-art-gallery-1831863697">SeventyFour/Shutterstock</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Art institutions are facing a reckoning over colonial histories and racist legacies. Though the issues aren’t new, calls to unpack the British art museum and heritage sector’s <a href="https://gal-dem.com/you-can-only-hide-the-histories-of-stolen-art-for-so-long/">ties to colonialism</a> have increased significantly over the past decade. As a result, institutions like the <a href="https://www.museumsassociation.org/campaigns/decolonising-museums/">Museum Association</a>, <a href="https://www.prm.ox.ac.uk/critical-changes">Pitts Rivers</a> and <a href="https://www.bristolmuseums.org.uk/tag/decolonisation/">Bristol Museums</a> have begun to explore what it means to “decolonise” – the practise of exposing and undoing systems that reproduce colonial legacies – a museum.</p>
<p>Many of these projects include investigations into how items in museum collections were acquired and how they are interpreted and displayed. In some cases, this involves reviewing the processes of returning looted artefacts from the <a href="https://www.theartnewspaper.com/analysis/demands-to-restitute-artefacts-plundered-from-africa-blm">colonial era</a>. </p>
<p>Contemporary art galleries, however, appear to be absent from these discussions and actions. My research aims to tackle racism within English public contemporary art galleries. As part of it, I asked artists, curators and gallery workers to share their experiences with me for <a href="https://www.instagram.com/gallerysowhite/">#GallerySoWhite</a>, a <a href="https://www.blackgallerina.com/gallerysowhite">digital exhibition</a> highlighting people’s experiences of institutional racism in English contemporary art galleries. What I found was alarming. </p>
<h2>Dismantling the white cube</h2>
<p>If you asked someone living in the west to imagine the inside of a contemporary art gallery, most would picture a timeless, minimalist, white-walled, cube-shaped space with no historical context. The concept of “decolonisation” might not seem relevant at first. </p>
<p>However, if you look at <a href="https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-white-cube-dominate-art">the history</a> of these white cube galleries, you will find that the overwhelming whiteness of these spaces – both in terms of the walls themselves and the people they are catered towards – is not something that has occurred by chance. Many of them rely on approaches that specifically elevate western art and culture <a href="https://www.on-curating.org/issue-22-43/the-global-white-cube.html#.YBfNmS2cY_W">above others</a>.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/from-africa-to-peckham-how-we-decolonise-culture-by-rehumanising-people-126860">From Africa to Peckham: how we decolonise culture by rehumanising people</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>Over the last few decades contemporary galleries have attempted to address cultural diversity issues through surface-level diversity and inclusion initiatives that <a href="https://www.artsprofessional.co.uk/news/workforce-diversity-wont-be-factor-arts-council-ratings">focus on programming</a> and <a href="https://www.voice-online.co.uk/entertainment/arts-culture/2020/06/16/tate-making-a-statement-isnt-enough/">optics</a>. Projects like these have been around for decades, yet they have not helped to majorly improve the <a href="https://www.artsprofessional.co.uk/magazine/article/we-need-collectivity-against-structural-and-institutional-racism-cultural-sector">representation and treatment</a> of people of colour. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Black text on pink background reads: ‘There is absolutely no understanding of the steps to improving racial diversity at team level, just empty rhetoric in mission statements and visioning strategy reports’" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382459/original/file-20210204-22-rwj49a.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382459/original/file-20210204-22-rwj49a.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382459/original/file-20210204-22-rwj49a.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382459/original/file-20210204-22-rwj49a.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382459/original/file-20210204-22-rwj49a.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382459/original/file-20210204-22-rwj49a.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382459/original/file-20210204-22-rwj49a.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">According to many employees, not enough is being done to tackle structural racism in contemporary art spaces.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.instagram.com/gallerysowhite/">@gallerysowhite</a>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Amplifying marginalised voices</h2>
<p>One anonymous testimony I received as part of my research, from a gallery employee in the south-east of England, shows how challenging it can be to work in these environments:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I tried to help create relationships with local communities and organisations from marginalised backgrounds, but the efforts were not welcomed by the director and it was all seen as secondary to the hobnobbing with the white rich potential benefactors, artists and arts sector.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Another anonymous submission from a person who worked in a London gallery reads: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>Where interacting with galleries becomes exploitative is when you look at the number of Black and brown people on zero hours contracts or working freelance. From curators to gallery assistants, being Black in the art world means that you would have to come to terms with, and participate in, your own precarity. It is demoralising.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>These are just a few of many testimonies I received that provide a glimpse into the hostile environments within many white cubes across the country. Participants completed an anonymous online survey where they were asked to share information about their experiences. It’s fascinating to see how many similar stories have been submitted. Overall, they show how urgently contemporary galleries need to confront the legacies of discrimination and racism.</p>
<p>The inspiration behind using social media to collect and present research came from observing how the art world responded to 2020 <a href="https://blacklivesmatter.com">Black Lives Matter</a> protests. In attempts to show their commitment to anti-racism, a number of galleries posted black squares and <a href="https://www.thetetley.org/whats-on/black-lives-matter">statements</a> on <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/CBTIB_GFMrs/">social media</a>.</p>
<p>Not long after, people took to social media to <a href="https://twitter.com/ifeanyiawachie/status/1272503482633895937">share examples of racism</a> that they had experienced within these galleries. These online exchanges revealed how easily institutions can perform diversity while maintaining discrimination. </p>
<p>Social media plays an important role in providing platforms for marginalised communities, but working in the arts can be precarious. More people may be speaking up, yet going public about racism is not something that everyone can do without facing repercussions. </p>
<p><div data-react-class="InstagramEmbed" data-react-props="{"url":"https://www.instagram.com/p/CKuC0O2hCgy/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link","accessToken":"127105130696839|b4b75090c9688d81dfd245afe6052f20"}"></div></p>
<p>That’s why some people prefer to share through anonymous platforms like <a href="https://www.instagram.com/changethemuseum/">@changethemusuem</a>, an Instagram account that shares insider stories about museums in the US. In a similar respect, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/gallerysowhite/">#GallerySoWhite</a> aims to give people who have worked in these spaces in England a chance to share their experiences with the world.</p>
<p>Public spaces like galleries shouldn’t simply provide for small, privileged pools of people. To tackle institutional racism, they need to look beyond tokenism and diversity projects and embrace conversations about decolonisation. Only once these issues have been addressed can we experience the kind of long-lasting change that the art sector needs.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/153920/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Susuana Amoah is affiliated with Black Curators Collective and Free Black University. </span></em></p>
Anonymous accounts show how urgently contemporary galleries need to confront legacies of discrimination
Susuana Amoah, PhD Candidate in Art, Goldsmiths, University of London
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/150067
2020-12-01T01:02:59Z
2020-12-01T01:02:59Z
Born to be wild — revelling in the design and desire of the motorcycle
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/371879/original/file-20201130-14-1py0f7r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=220%2C101%2C1621%2C1198&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Majestic c.1929 Collection: Bobby Haas and Haas Moto Museum</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">© Haas Moto Galleries LLC. Photographer: Grant Schwingle</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: <a href="https://www.qagoma.qld.gov.au/whats-on/exhibitions/themotorcycle">The Motorcycle — Art, Design, Desire</a> at Queensland Art Gallery of Modern Art</em></p>
<p>Motorcycles are such a guy thing, right? Think Steve McQueen in <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0057115/?ref_=ttmi_tt">The Great Escape</a>, Arthur Fonzarelli in television’s <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0070992/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1">Happy Days</a> and Daniel Craig’s <a href="https://www.imdb.com/list/ls014854639/">James Bond</a>. All blokes, exuding controlled coolness, astride impressively loud, throbbing engines. </p>
<p>Yet in Motorcycles — Design, Art, Desire, this summer’s blockbuster exhibition at Queensland Art Gallery of Modern Art (QAGoMA), there is a mean red motorcycle that was ridden by the fastest Australian woman on two wheels, Kim Krebs. </p>
<p>How fast did she go? <a href="https://www.dlra.org.au/profiles/495.htm">The numbers</a> are hard to get your head around: 244 miles per hour. That’s <em>miles</em>. In kilometres that is a tick under 400 per hour. Think of the legal limit you can drive along the highway and multiply it by four … and she is still attempting to go even faster. </p>
<p>Kreb’s record breaking ride is one of a hundred motorcycles in the exhibition, drawn from collections all over the world by curators Charles M. Falco and Ultan Guilfoyle.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/371901/original/file-20201130-13-1jhs9dp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Very fast blue and pink motorbike" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/371901/original/file-20201130-13-1jhs9dp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/371901/original/file-20201130-13-1jhs9dp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=420&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371901/original/file-20201130-13-1jhs9dp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=420&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371901/original/file-20201130-13-1jhs9dp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=420&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371901/original/file-20201130-13-1jhs9dp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=528&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371901/original/file-20201130-13-1jhs9dp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=528&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371901/original/file-20201130-13-1jhs9dp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=528&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The need for speed in blue and pink. The 1991 Britten V1000 motorcycle. Britten Motorcycle Company Ltd, Christchurch.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Collection: Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/celebrating-the-feminist-holden-80054">Celebrating the feminist Holden</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Motorcycles? In an art gallery?</h2>
<p>This is a niche category exhibition that follows similar QAGoMA shows such as the fashion house Valentino Retrospective, Past/Present/Future (2010), California Design: Living in a Modern Way (2013-14) and Marvel: Creating the Cinematic Universe in 2017. </p>
<p>The Marvel exhibition drew over <a href="https://www.qagoma.qld.gov.au/__data/assets/pdf_file/0004/172228/Annual_Report-_2017-18.pdf">a quarter of a million visitors</a> (I confess I had season tickets and still miss seeing Hulkbuster each week) clearly indicating such shows, however singular, have broad appeal. </p>
<p>QAGoMA director Chris Saines says the gallery runs with a broad definition of what constitutes modern culture. Accordingly, people who ordinarily would not visit art galleries beat a path to this one for specialised exhibitions. Niche shows appeal to specific demographics, who have a rusted on dedication to their passion. </p>
<p>With the opening of Queensland’s borders following coronavirus restrictions perfectly coinciding with this exhibition, there will surely be a steady stream of two-wheeled devotees making their way to Brisbane. </p>
<p>But this show will also educate and inform those with an interest in design, modern history, popular culture, and art, who are willing to learn something new, and like me, may start to see motorcycles in a different way.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/what-evolution-and-motorcycles-have-in-common-lets-take-a-ride-across-australia-95880">What evolution and motorcycles have in common: let's take a ride across Australia</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>From original steampunk to future motors</h2>
<p>Encompassing early models from the Victorian era (bicycles with an engine strapped to them, very steampunk), through the mid-20th century’s chrome muscle machines, to sleek concept bikes of the future powered by electricity, this exhibition covers the motorbike’s 150-year history. </p>
<p>All the big names are here: Norton, Triumph, BSA, Ducati, Honda, Kawasaki. There are also a number of bespoke style designers, including Australia’s Deus Ex Machina, whose ultracool Drover’s Dog (2009) accommodates a surfboard on its side.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/371889/original/file-20201130-14-gak51v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Motorbike with surfboard strapped to side." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/371889/original/file-20201130-14-gak51v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/371889/original/file-20201130-14-gak51v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371889/original/file-20201130-14-gak51v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371889/original/file-20201130-14-gak51v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371889/original/file-20201130-14-gak51v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371889/original/file-20201130-14-gak51v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371889/original/file-20201130-14-gak51v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">From the road to the surf. The Drover’s Dog (2009) by Deux Ex Machina is an Australian bespoke design.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Joseph Mildren/Deus Ex Machina</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Exhibition designer Michael O’Sullivan has used the gallery’s expansive ground floor to great effect. The angular architecture reflects and amplifies the stars of the show, setting this exhibition apart from a mere motor show exposition. </p>
<p>Each item is treated like a fine art object, gleaming chrome lit to perfection, positioned just so. Information panels inform the curious lay person and digital projection screens show great motorcycle movie moments to seal the deal. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Handsome man on motorcycle from 1960s movies" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/371868/original/file-20201130-23-1c5ssro.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/371868/original/file-20201130-23-1c5ssro.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=569&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371868/original/file-20201130-23-1c5ssro.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=569&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371868/original/file-20201130-23-1c5ssro.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=569&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371868/original/file-20201130-23-1c5ssro.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=715&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371868/original/file-20201130-23-1c5ssro.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=715&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371868/original/file-20201130-23-1c5ssro.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=715&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Steve McQueen revs up for his 1963 Great Escape.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0057115/mediaviewer/rm4146496768/">IMDB</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>There are of course elements within the design of the motorcycles that reflect fine art values of their era, most notably German <a href="https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/bauh/hd_bauh.htm">Bauhaus</a> and <a href="https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/dsgn2/hd_dsgn2.htm">Art Deco</a> influences, when motorcycles morphed from the simple functionality of economical transportation to aesthetically pleasing status symbols.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/explainer-who-owns-the-copyright-to-your-tattoo-142825">Explainer: who owns the copyright to your tattoo?</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Slow riders and low riders</h2>
<p>The oldest known motorcycle, and the first that exhibition visitors see, was developed by Frenchman Louis-Guillaume Perreaux. Steam-powered, the 1871 model had a top speed of 14 kilometres per hour and being mainly made of timber, would not have been a comfortable ride.</p>
<p>Contrast this with the cruiser motorcycles a century later, most notably by Harley-Davidson, when riders reclined on customised bikes, such as the almost impossibly elongated Chopper, just like the one ridden by Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda in <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0064276/?ref_=nv_sr_srsg_0">Easy Rider</a> (1969).</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/371887/original/file-20201130-13-aohz94.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Antique motocycle" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/371887/original/file-20201130-13-aohz94.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/371887/original/file-20201130-13-aohz94.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371887/original/file-20201130-13-aohz94.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371887/original/file-20201130-13-aohz94.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371887/original/file-20201130-13-aohz94.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371887/original/file-20201130-13-aohz94.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/371887/original/file-20201130-13-aohz94.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Louis-Guillaume Perreaux Vélocipède à vapeur c.1870 Département des Hauts-de-Seine.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Musée du Domaine départemental de SceauxPhotograph: Olivier Ravoire</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>On the eve of the exhibition, land racer Krebs described what it feels like to ride in excess of 200 miles per hour. She spoke of feeling a kind of serenity, as she travels so fast across the salt plains that the roar of her turbo-charged engine is left far behind her.</p>
<p>“What are you aiming for?” a journalist asked her. </p>
<p>“I am aiming for forever”, she replied.</p>
<p>Just like something an artist would say.</p>
<p><em><a href="https://www.qagoma.qld.gov.au/whats-on/exhibitions/themotorcycle">The Motorcycle — Art, Design, Desire</a> is showing at QAGOMA until 26 April 2021.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/150067/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Alasdair Macintyre does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
An exhibition of 100 motorcycles celebrates them as revved up works of art, worthy of our desire.
Alasdair Macintyre, Associate lecturer visual arts, artist, PhD candidate, Australian Catholic University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/148341
2020-11-11T19:19:23Z
2020-11-11T19:19:23Z
Streeton: an optimistic celebration of the golden boy of Australian art
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368447/original/file-20201110-18-1alpa7a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Arthur Streeton The vanishing forest 1934, oil on canvas, 122.5 x 122.5 cm.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">On loan to the Art Gallery of Ballarat from the Estate of Margery Pierce</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: Streeton, Art Gallery of New South Wales.</em></p>
<p>The Art Gallery of New South Wales has launched its summer season with a large, optimistic reconsideration of one of Australian art’s most favoured sons.</p>
<p>Curator Wayne Tunnicliffe has indicated that his decision to name the exhibition simply <a href="https://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/exhibitions/streeton/">Streeton</a>, without any subtitles, was part of his strategy to emphasise Streeton’s importance to Australian art and culture.</p>
<p>This assessment is hardly new. Lionel Lindsay, in <a href="https://trove.nla.gov.au/work/2879746?keyword=%22The%20Art%20of%20Arthur%20Streeton%22%201919">The Art of Arthur Streeton</a> of 1919 called him “our national painter”.</p>
<p>In <a href="http://library.ag.nsw.gov.au/cgibin/spydus.exe/FULL/OPAC/BIBENQ/5409/42630,3">1923</a> when Streeton’s <a href="https://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/explore/collection/work/3060/">The Purple Noon’s Transparent Might</a> was first exhibited in London, Lindsay wrote, </p>
<blockquote>
<p>Streeton has painted the light and colour of Australia with such truth and beauty that his service to our country must ever remain the equivalent of Constable’s to England.</p>
</blockquote>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368436/original/file-20201110-18-pyex7z.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368436/original/file-20201110-18-pyex7z.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368436/original/file-20201110-18-pyex7z.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=603&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368436/original/file-20201110-18-pyex7z.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=603&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368436/original/file-20201110-18-pyex7z.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=603&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368436/original/file-20201110-18-pyex7z.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=758&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368436/original/file-20201110-18-pyex7z.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=758&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368436/original/file-20201110-18-pyex7z.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=758&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Arthur Streeton, The Purple Noon’s Transparent Might 1896 oil on canvas, 123 x 123 cm National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne,
purchased 1896.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Six years later, in <a href="https://search.sl.nsw.gov.au/permalink/f/1ocrdrt/SLNSW_ALMA2199655580002626">1929</a>, James S. MacDonald, the then director of the AGNSW, claimed Streeton </p>
<blockquote>
<p>has shown us our land as no one else has done, and is still our best exemplar of the craft and mystery of painting as applied to landscape. </p>
</blockquote>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368437/original/file-20201110-24-y8xr14.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368437/original/file-20201110-24-y8xr14.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368437/original/file-20201110-24-y8xr14.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=852&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368437/original/file-20201110-24-y8xr14.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=852&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368437/original/file-20201110-24-y8xr14.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=852&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368437/original/file-20201110-24-y8xr14.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1070&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368437/original/file-20201110-24-y8xr14.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1070&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368437/original/file-20201110-24-y8xr14.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1070&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Nora Streeton, Arthur Streeton with palette in Venice 1908.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Private collection</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In 1931, as a way of lifting spirits in the Great Depression, the cash-strapped gallery gave Streeton the first ever survey exhibition of work by a living Australian artist.</p>
<p>In the years between the two world wars, Streeton’s characteristic paintings of blue tinged bush, golden fields, and clear Australian skies spoke of a country that had never seen war. His work was easily seen as characteristic of Australian smug insularity. </p>
<p>Most are pure landscapes but some show stocky soldier settlers attempting to tame the land by culling trees. Others show cattle grazing in newly cleared land. In The Land of the Golden Fleece (1926) a flock of sheep confidently graze in a valley sheltered by the Grampians.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368439/original/file-20201110-15-15pa2gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368439/original/file-20201110-15-15pa2gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368439/original/file-20201110-15-15pa2gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=382&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368439/original/file-20201110-15-15pa2gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=382&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368439/original/file-20201110-15-15pa2gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=382&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368439/original/file-20201110-15-15pa2gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=481&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368439/original/file-20201110-15-15pa2gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=481&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368439/original/file-20201110-15-15pa2gm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=481&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Arthur Streeton Land of the Golden Fleece 1926.
oil on canvas, 92.3 x 146 cm Private collection, Sydney.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: Jenni Carter, AGNSW</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>It is not surprising this painting so effectively encapsulates the sentiment of the conservative establishment: a label on the frame indicates it is the proud possession of one of Australia’s gentleman’s clubs.</p>
<h2>Conservatives and conservation</h2>
<p>Streeton’s art is also a reminder that conservatives once cared about conservation. He was a passionate advocate for the need to conserve the Australian bush against the timber industry.</p>
<p>Silvan Dam of 1939 is a celebration of the tree clad landscape near his home in the Dandenongs. But in Silvan Dam and Donna Buang, AD 2000, painted the following year, the same subject becomes an apocalyptic vision condemning the then state government’s proposed logging of the forest. Stark, bleached, tree trunks stand against bare rock and denuded mountains.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368445/original/file-20201110-14-1cq42rn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368445/original/file-20201110-14-1cq42rn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368445/original/file-20201110-14-1cq42rn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=397&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368445/original/file-20201110-14-1cq42rn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=397&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368445/original/file-20201110-14-1cq42rn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=397&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368445/original/file-20201110-14-1cq42rn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=499&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368445/original/file-20201110-14-1cq42rn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=499&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368445/original/file-20201110-14-1cq42rn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=499&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Arthur Streeton Cremorne Pastoral 1895, oil on canvas, 91.5 x 137.2 cm, Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney, purchased 1895.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: Jenni Carter, AGNSW</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Streeton’s advocacy for nature over industry was not new. In 1895, when living in Sydney, he painted Cremorne Pastoral, an exquisite landscape of a grassy hill framed by graceful trees and Sydney Harbour as a political response to a proposed coal mine. </p>
<p>It is one of many harbour subjects painted in his Sydney years. As the AGNSW is directly opposite Sirius Cove, where Streeton lived in the 1890s, the bias towards this subject matter is understandable. The camp where Streeton, Roberts and others lived during the 1890s recession was built by the Brasch brothers who were active patrons of the arts.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368454/original/file-20201110-16-183jqps.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368454/original/file-20201110-16-183jqps.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368454/original/file-20201110-16-183jqps.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=787&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368454/original/file-20201110-16-183jqps.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=787&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368454/original/file-20201110-16-183jqps.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=787&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368454/original/file-20201110-16-183jqps.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=989&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368454/original/file-20201110-16-183jqps.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=989&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368454/original/file-20201110-16-183jqps.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=989&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Arthur Streeton From my Camp (Sirius Cove) 1896, oil on plywood, 28 x 21.5 cm, Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney, bequest of Mrs Elizabeth Finley 1979.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: Jenni Carter, AGNSW</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Reuben Brasch supplied the artists with discarded varnished cedar panels from his department store. Their dark tones and elongated shape encouraged Streeton to become more experimental in his composition. </p>
<p>The colours of the harbour of his paintings in this period are almost dazzling in their intense blue of the water and gold of the Sydney sandstone, with flashes of gum tree green. </p>
<p>A further room shows his second Sydney period, after his return from spending some years in England. These are virtuoso pieces, but lack the experimental flair of the earlier works. </p>
<p>His paintings of Coogee Beach, a subject previously painted by <a href="https://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/collection/works/9078/">Tom Roberts</a> and <a href="https://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/explore/collection/work/5161/">Charles Conder</a>, deserve a close look as a reminder of how Sydney’s magnificent beaches have been so degraded.</p>
<h2>Lack of context</h2>
<p>If there is one problem I have with this exhibition, and indeed with all celebrations of the life of a single artist, it is the lack of context. From the beginning, Streeton was praised simply because he was an Australian, born with a natural talent developed with little formal teaching.</p>
<p>But this is not quite true. While he attended evening classes with <a href="https://www.daao.org.au/bio/frederick-mccubbin/biography/">Frederick McCubbin </a> at the National Gallery School in Melbourne, the young artist met the academically trained <a href="https://www.daao.org.au/bio/tom-roberts/biography/">Tom Roberts</a> and the sophisticated adventurer <a href="https://www.daao.org.au/bio/charles-conder/biography/">Charles Conder</a>. </p>
<p>Streeton’s art developed during his relationship with these more experienced artists. He painted alongside them at Box Hill and Eaglemont. The exhibition includes his Settler’s Camp (1888), a less than successful homage to Tom Roberts’ <a href="https://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/explore/collection/work/2888/">The Artists’ Camp</a> (1886). Streeton was, however, a fast learner, and by the time he participated in the <a href="https://www.nma.gov.au/defining-moments/resources/9-by-5-exhibition">9 by 5 Impressions exhibition</a>, was their equal.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368457/original/file-20201110-15-50q3xn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368457/original/file-20201110-15-50q3xn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368457/original/file-20201110-15-50q3xn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=458&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368457/original/file-20201110-15-50q3xn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=458&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368457/original/file-20201110-15-50q3xn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=458&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368457/original/file-20201110-15-50q3xn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=576&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368457/original/file-20201110-15-50q3xn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=576&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368457/original/file-20201110-15-50q3xn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=576&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Arthur Streeton Settler’s Camp 1888 oil on canvas, 86.5 x 112.5 cm Private collection, Jugiong, NSW.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: Brenton McGeachie for AGNSW</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The wall of Streeton’s paintings from that most radical of all Australian art exhibitions is a joy. Conder’s influence can be seen in many of Streeton’s earlier paintings, especially in his Symbolist works and in The Railway Station, Redfern (1893), a painting that successfully quotes <a href="https://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/collection/works/829/">Departure of the Orient – Circular Quay</a> (1888). </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368461/original/file-20201110-17-imxd4k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368461/original/file-20201110-17-imxd4k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/368461/original/file-20201110-17-imxd4k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=393&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368461/original/file-20201110-17-imxd4k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=393&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368461/original/file-20201110-17-imxd4k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=393&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368461/original/file-20201110-17-imxd4k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=494&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368461/original/file-20201110-17-imxd4k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=494&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/368461/original/file-20201110-17-imxd4k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=494&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Arthur Streeton The Railway Station, Redfern 1893 oil on canvas, 40.8 x 61 cm.
Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney, gift of Lady Denison 1942.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: Jenni Carter, AGNSW</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>‘Smike’</h2>
<p>The clearest indication of Streeton’s position in the early hierarchy of these brothers of the brush lies in the nickname bestowed on him by the dogmatic Roberts (aka “Bulldog”). Streeton was called “Smike”, after <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/967/967-h/967-h.htm">Nicholas Nickleby</a>’s amiable but feeble-minded acolyte. </p>
<p>Arthur Streeton’s later career serves as a repudiation of that assessment. Travel broadened his perspective. He relished the exoticism of Egypt, where magical architecture took the place of gum trees. After initially being intimidated by the sophistication, class system and muted light of England, he did eventually achieve modest success in the centre of the empire. </p>
<p>At the end of World War I, he returned to Australia for real fame and fortune. In 1937, he became the only one of the artists who painted at Heidelberg to be honoured with a knighthood.</p>
<p>The last Arthur Streeton exhibition, curated by Geoffrey Smith for the National Gallery of Victoria in 1995, was shown in other state galleries. This much larger exhibition will not travel. </p>
<p>It is, however, on view throughout summer until February 14 2021. It is well worth the effort of an interstate trip for those newly liberated from quarantine.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/148341/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Joanna Mendelssohn has in the past received funding from The Australian Research Council.</span></em></p>
A major new exhibition presents a nuanced view of Arthur Streeton who, in his lifetime, was praised as being the artist ‘who has shown us our land as no one else has done’.
Joanna Mendelssohn, Principal Fellow (Hon), Victorian College of the Arts, University of Melbourne. Editor in Chief, Design and Art of Australia Online, The University of Melbourne
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/121774
2019-08-27T13:42:47Z
2019-08-27T13:42:47Z
‘Invasion’: an exhibition that presents an artist’s healing touch
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/289420/original/file-20190826-8889-1j3gqtj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=135%2C135%2C2673%2C2974&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Untitled. 2015. Pen and Ink on Paper. 60 x 71 cm.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://ernstvanderwal.com/found-ongoing-drawing-project/">Ernst van der Wal</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Some people disparage beautiful art because it seems to deny the painful complexity of life. They feel it is just sentimental and it leaves them with a sense that something is lacking. But for other viewers, beautiful art can also provide hope and healing.</p>
<p>The difference in responses to beauty might be related to the medium of the artwork. Invasion, a forthcoming exhibition of work by the South African artist <a href="https://ernstvanderwal.com/">Ernst van der Wal</a>, seems to resist or overcome this difference. Where the photographer assumes the authority to look and objectify, Van der Wal uses the slow, gentle, personal craft of drawing and redrawing, carving and woodturning to validate the human need to be seen – and healed. </p>
<p>In the mid-1930s the German-Jewish intellectual, Walter Benjamin, <a href="https://web.mit.edu/allanmc/www/benjamin.pdf">asked</a> how the photographer compares with the painter. He turned to the analogy of healing to answer the question. </p>
<p>The magician, he argued, heals by the laying on of hands. There is distance between the magician and the patient but the gesture is personal and tactile. It involves looking each other in the eye. This healing is “auratic” or visceral and is likened to the painter’s communication with the canvas – and eventually the viewer – through the body, the laying on of hands. </p>
<p>The surgeon, in contrast, uses a scalpel to cut so as to heal. There is no confrontation with the patient. The surgeon, for Benjamin, is not unlike the photographer, whose images mechanically fragment and objectify the subject. </p>
<h2>Resisting the unwanted presence</h2>
<p>Van der Wal’s exhibition draws attention to the modern sense of entitlement to look. It is especially powerful in South Africa, where looking is so often asymmetrical: some have the privilege of looking or being looked at while others feel invaded by the look. </p>
<p>But invasion is not just about looking. Whether it’s medical, military or scientific, invasion alludes to the control or authority of an unwanted presence. And the drive to invade or breach a barrier is an impulse that humans share with other species. </p>
<p>The exhibition, staged in a gallery in Stellenbosch, is in two rooms. In the first, large drawings hang against the walls. They reference photographs that were printed in medical textbooks and scientific journals from the 1940s and 1950s that used halftone dots as printing technique. </p>
<p>These images were blown up from roughly 5cm to one metre in height, and redrawn by hand using pen and ink, as well as the careful application, erasure, scratching and reapplication of charcoal dust onto Fabriano paper. Through quiet, time-consuming and careful labour, Van der Wal counteracts the mechanical reproduction of the camera that has so infected our consciousness. His slow, careful and intimate work also counteracts the alienating impact of capitalism on the arts. </p>
<p>The drawings are a powerful combination of portraits and landscapes. Some of the portraits are of medical patients, with the trace of the surgeon represented through, for instance, a hand on a chest in lieu of a cardiac impulse. </p>
<p>In other drawings, Van der Wal portrays planets whose surfaces are erased and mutilated through scraping. There are also monumental drawings of the HI virus, an invasive force drawn with an underlying grid pattern that reminds us of the early acronym given to the virus: <a href="https://www.avert.org/professionals/history-hiv-aids/overview">GRID</a>, or gay-related immune deficiency.</p>
<p>These viral landscapes are indistinguishable from the drawings of galaxies. In a nod to the Orphism of <a href="https://www.theartstory.org/artist/delaunay-robert/">Robert Delaunay</a> and Guillaume <a href="https://www.britannica.com/art/Orphism">Apollinaire</a>, Modernists who in the early 20th century were obsessed with abstracted, circular forms, Van der Wal renders the inner, microscopic world of the body and the outer realm of space as equally abstract in structure and open to human scrutiny. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/289421/original/file-20190826-8868-165ijdt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/289421/original/file-20190826-8868-165ijdt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=837&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/289421/original/file-20190826-8868-165ijdt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=837&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/289421/original/file-20190826-8868-165ijdt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=837&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/289421/original/file-20190826-8868-165ijdt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1051&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/289421/original/file-20190826-8868-165ijdt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1051&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/289421/original/file-20190826-8868-165ijdt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1051&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Ernst van der Wal. Untitled. 2015. Pen and Ink on Paper. 80 x 90 cm.</span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The drawings have a childlike yet sophisticated quality. There is an element of chaos – the juxtaposition refuses tidy resolution, the hybrid images merge and clash. They can’t be placed precisely in historical time. </p>
<p>An exhibition of drawings of viruses and galaxies may sound impersonal but together the effect is both of sadness and an almost comic delight at the odd pairings. Scientific fact is tempered by memory and an almost gossipy intimacy. The political argument regarding the prevalence of invasive forces is delivered with a gentle nudge. </p>
<p>The second room contains an installation of wooden sea urchins, inspired by <em><a href="http://www.marinespecies.org/aphia.php?p=taxdetails&id=513606">Tetrapygus niger</a></em>, an invasive species of urchin that was unintentionally introduced to the west coast of South Africa with oyster spat imported for aquaculture since at least the early 21st century. This species is a voracious kelp grazer and is capable of converting healthy underwater kelp forests into barren landscapes. They look like the HI virus. </p>
<p>But unlike the drawings, which appear to reference photographs, and subsequently feel familiar and intimate, the installation of carved, wooden urchins provokes a kind of <a href="https://globalshakespeares.mit.edu/glossary/distancing-effect/">Verfremdungseffekt</a> or sense of estrangement in the viewer. </p>
<p>This technique affords the viewer the distance to critically appraise the moral dilemma of Van der Wal’s urchins: they are beautiful but memorialise a destructive force. They sadden, but their aesthetic sophistication is also a spectre interlaced with optimism since they remind us of the vibrancy and vitality of nature. </p>
<h2>Vulnerability and surrender</h2>
<p>The care taken by the artist, his attention to detail, provides a kind of hope. The viewer may, in other words, interpret these artworks and their own responses to the difficult subject of invasion in multiple ways. But, the observer may also find that in negotiating the dual identities of aesthete and political agent, the skin of conscience is peeled back to reveal the vulnerability and surrender that results from viewing all good art. </p>
<p><em>Ernst van der Wal’s exhibition is on at SMAC in Stellenbosch from 10 October-29 November 2019.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/121774/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Stella Viljoen does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Beautiful art can provide hope and healing.
Stella Viljoen, Associate Professor of Visual Studies, Stellenbosch University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/116157
2019-05-01T05:19:40Z
2019-05-01T05:19:40Z
The essential Duchamp: an exotic radical who rejected the establishment
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/271935/original/file-20190501-39923-126g5bg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Marcel Duchamp, 'From or by Marcel Duchamp or Rrose Sélavy (Box in a valise)' 1935-41, 1963-65 (contents); Series F, 1966 edition, mixed media, 41.3 x 38.4 x 9.5 cm Philadelphia Museum of Art, gift of Mme Marcel Duchamp, 1994-43-1.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">© Association Marcel Duchamp/ADAGP. Copyright Agency, 2019</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>In 1912, a young Cubist painter, Marcel Duchamp, entered his painting, <a href="https://www.philamuseum.org/collections/permanent/51449.html">Nude Descending a Staircase (No. 2)</a> in the Salon des Indépendants in Paris. This was the preferred venue for exhibiting radical art, as it never rejected anything submitted for display.</p>
<p>Nude Descending a Staircase is a masterly study in tonality and geometry, its edgy movements layering into multiple versions of the androgynous form in rapid motion.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/explainer-cubism-32553">Explainer: cubism</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/271872/original/file-20190430-136790-1wryf6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/271872/original/file-20190430-136790-1wryf6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/271872/original/file-20190430-136790-1wryf6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=981&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271872/original/file-20190430-136790-1wryf6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=981&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271872/original/file-20190430-136790-1wryf6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=981&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271872/original/file-20190430-136790-1wryf6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1233&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271872/original/file-20190430-136790-1wryf6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1233&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271872/original/file-20190430-136790-1wryf6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1233&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Marcel Duchamp, ‘Nude descending a staircase (no 2)’ 1912, oil on canvas, 147 x 89.2 cm Philadelphia Museum of Art, the Louise and Walter Arensberg Collection, 1950-134-59.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© Association Marcel Duchamp/ADAGP. Copyright Agency, 2019</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The dogmatic Cubists saw nudes as being horizontal and passive, not vertical and mobile. They were disconcerted by the way Duchamp had painted a circular pattern of dots to indicate rhythmic movement and saw the large printed title at the bottom of the front of the painting as vulgar.</p>
<p>Having negotiated the previous year to run their own hanging committee, they demanded that Duchamp change the painting. He refused and withdrew it from the exhibition.</p>
<p>Although Nude Descending a Staircase was subsequently exhibited elsewhere, the scandal of this historic rejection marked him as an artist who would clash with established beliefs, whatever the situation.</p>
<p>This and many other works are currently on view at the Art Gallery of New South Wales in The essential Duchamp, a comprehensive survey of the artist who, more than any other, changed the direction of art in the 20th century – and beyond.</p>
<p>With the exception of his paintings they are not the first originals, nor are they unique. They are however from the largest single collection of Duchamp’s work in the collection of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, much of which was donated by his longstanding patrons Louise and Walter Arensberg.</p>
<p>There is nothing unusual about artists stretching the barriers of received wisdom and moving across different styles. However Duchamp did more than this – he rejected the profession of artist. He subsequently trained as a librarian and worked in the Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève, which fed his passion for archives.</p>
<figure class="align-right ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/271918/original/file-20190501-142955-1qus3gq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/271918/original/file-20190501-142955-1qus3gq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=899&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271918/original/file-20190501-142955-1qus3gq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=899&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271918/original/file-20190501-142955-1qus3gq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=899&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271918/original/file-20190501-142955-1qus3gq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1130&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271918/original/file-20190501-142955-1qus3gq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1130&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271918/original/file-20190501-142955-1qus3gq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1130&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Marcel Duchamp, ‘Bicycle wheel’ 1964 (replica of 1913 original)
wheel, painted wood, 59.7 x 64.8 cm Philadelphia Museum of Art, gift of Galleria Schwarz d'Arte, Milan, 1964-175-1.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© Association Marcel Duchamp/ADAGP. Copyright Agency, 2019</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>As Duchamp explained in a 1956 <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DzwADsrOEJk">interview</a> with the curator James Johnson Sweeney: “There are two kinds of artists: the artist that deals with society, is integrated into society, and the other artist, the completely freelance artist, who has no obligations.” Duchamp relished his lack of obligation.</p>
<p>In 1913, on a whim and for the pleasure of seeing the moving spokes, he screwed a large bicycle wheel onto a kitchen stool. At about the same time he also bought a metal <a href="https://www.philamuseum.org/collections/permanent/92377.html">rack for drying bottles</a>. </p>
<p>Two years later, having relocated from wartime Paris to New York “to escape from leading the artistic life”, he asked his sister, Suzanne Duchamp, to send these items as, “I have bought various objects in the same taste and I treat them as ‘ready-mades’.”</p>
<p>Suzanne had already cleared his Paris studio of such detritus, but as the concept of ready-made denied the existence of an “original”, this was no problem. Her brother saw these works as “a consequence from the dehumanisation of the work of art”.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/heres-looking-at-marcel-duchamps-bicycle-wheel-1913-98846">Here’s looking at: Marcel Duchamp’s Bicycle Wheel 1913</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>Presenting mass produced works as art seemed a logical act to undertake in the USA, which had pioneered mass production. Duchamp’s status as an exotic radical meant that his first ready-mades, exhibited in New York in 1916, did not cause a sensation.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/271873/original/file-20190430-136810-10e9ikq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/271873/original/file-20190430-136810-10e9ikq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/271873/original/file-20190430-136810-10e9ikq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=899&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271873/original/file-20190430-136810-10e9ikq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=899&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271873/original/file-20190430-136810-10e9ikq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=899&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271873/original/file-20190430-136810-10e9ikq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1130&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271873/original/file-20190430-136810-10e9ikq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1130&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271873/original/file-20190430-136810-10e9ikq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1130&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Marcel Duchamp, ‘Fountain’ 1950 (replica of 1917 original) porcelain urinal, 30.5 x 38.1 x 45.7 cm Philadelphia Museum of Art, 125th Anniversary Acquisition, gift (by exchange) of Mrs Herbert Cameron Morris, 1998-74-1.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© Association Marcel Duchamp/ADAGP. Copyright Agency, 2018</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In April 1917 a new group, The Society of Independent Artists, held its first exhibition in New York. Walter Arensberg was the fledgling society’s managing director and Duchamp became chairman of the hanging committee. In the spirit of openness it was agreed that any artist who paid the membership fee could exhibit two works, to be hung alphabetically. </p>
<p>Duchamp arranged to have a ready-made, <a href="https://www.philamuseum.org/collections/permanent/92488.html">Fountain</a>, submitted by “R. Mutt”. The name was a play on the J. L. Mott Iron Works where Duchamp had purchased the urinal. </p>
<p>The committee rejected Fountain, claiming it was not art. Duchamp and Arensberg resigned in protest. They took Fountain to Alfred Steiglitz, whose photograph of the work was then reproduced on the cover of the avant garde magazine, The Blind Man.</p>
<p>Beatrice Wood, a friend of Duchamp, wrote that the maker of Fountain was irrelevant: “[Duchamp] CHOSE it. He took an ordinary article of life, placed it so that its useful significance disappeared under the new title and point of view – created a thought for that object.” Fountain became the most notorious ready-made in the history of art.</p>
<h2>Art and logic</h2>
<p>The artist did not differentiate between completed work and the ideas, notes and associated ephemera, so these too are on display in the exhibition. The many mechanical reproductions of Nude Descending a Staircase, always in a slightly different context, are a reminder that Duchamp remained fascinated by mechanical processes. </p>
<p>A video of the work that became a major obsession, <a href="https://www.philamuseum.org/collections/permanent/54149.html">The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even (The Large Glass)</a>, is screened onto the wall, a conceit the artist would have appreciated.</p>
<p>This complex exploration of art and logic, which uses a window-like frame to draw viewers into its complexity, continues to mystify and intrigue viewers. It is in Philadelphia as a permanent installation, embedded in concrete. In 1923 after declaring it to be “definitively unfinished”, Duchamp announced he was abandoning art for chess. Some years later, after the work’s glass panels were broken in transit, he put the shattered pieces together, and declared it complete.</p>
<p>He said, “I didn’t want to pin myself down to one little circle, and I tried at least to be as universal as I could. That is why I took up chess.” Chess was to remain a lifelong obsession but Duchamp’s claim to have abandoned art was, of course, untrue. </p>
<p>He reappeared in drag as the poet and artist <a href="https://www.philamuseum.org/collections/permanent/56973.html">Rrose Sélavy</a> who created word games, puzzles, poetry and a distinctively designed perfume bottle, Belle Haleine: Eau de Voilette. The artist would not be confined.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/271874/original/file-20190430-136777-1yawbj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/271874/original/file-20190430-136777-1yawbj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/271874/original/file-20190430-136777-1yawbj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=791&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271874/original/file-20190430-136777-1yawbj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=791&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271874/original/file-20190430-136777-1yawbj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=791&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271874/original/file-20190430-136777-1yawbj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=994&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271874/original/file-20190430-136777-1yawbj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=994&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/271874/original/file-20190430-136777-1yawbj7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=994&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Man Ray, ‘Duchamp as Rrose Selavy’ 1921–26 gelatin silver print, 17.8 x 13.3 cm. Philadelphia Museum of Art, gift of Jacqueline, Paul and Peter Matisse in memory of their mother Alexina Duchamp, 13-1972-9(763a,b).</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© Man Ray Trust/ADAGP. Copyright Agency, 2019</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Duchamp’s art and iconoclasm echoes throughout the generations. It triggered the self-mockery of Pop art, the harsh purity of Op art, the intellectual rigour of Conceptualism. In 1967 the <a href="https://www.aucklandartgallery.com/page/marcel-duchamp-the-mary-sisler-collection">Auckland City Art Gallery</a> negotiated an exhibition by Duchamp from a private collection. This exhibition empowered a new generation of artists, critics and curators in both New Zealand and Australia.</p>
<p>When he considered the nature of art and fame, Duchamp told the curator Sweeney of how his dentist had failed to bank a cheque used to pay his account, preferring instead to collect the artefact with its famous signature. </p>
<p>Duchamp bought the cheque back from the dentist and added it to his own collection. In the end, an artist’s reputation depends more on those who see the art than those who make it. </p>
<hr>
<p><em><a href="https://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/exhibitions/essential-duchamp/">The essential Duchamp</a>, organised by the <a href="https://www.philamuseum.org/collections/results.html?searchTxt=marcel+duchamp+collection&bS..">Philadelphia Museum of Art</a>, is on view at the Art Gallery of New South Wales until August 11.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/116157/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Joanna Mendelssohn has in the past received funding from the Australian Research Council.</span></em></p>
Some 50 years after his death, a major exhibition at the Art Gallery of New South Wales shows why the work of Marcel Duchamp continues to challenge the very idea of what art may be.
Joanna Mendelssohn, Honorary Associate Professor, Art & Design: UNSW Australia. Editor in Chief, Design and Art of Australia Online, UNSW Sydney
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/114427
2019-04-18T05:55:41Z
2019-04-18T05:55:41Z
In Abdul-Rahman Abdullah’s Pretty Beach, a fever of stingrays becomes a meditation on suffering
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266754/original/file-20190401-177190-1nkbuis.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Abdul-Rahman Abdullah, Pretty Beach, 2019, installation view, The National 2019: New Australian Art, Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, Sydney, painted wood, silver plate ball chain, crystals, audio, image courtesy the artist and Museum of Contemporary Art Australia.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">© the artist, photograph: Jacquie Manning.</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>In our Here’s looking at series, experts explain prominent works of art.</em></p>
<p>Abdul-Rahman Abdullah’s fever of stingrays glide menacingly beneath a crystal sea. The installation <a href="https://www.the-national.com.au/artists/abdul-rahman-abdullah/pretty-beach/">Pretty Beach</a> is instantly engaging; the seductive quality of the craftsmanship drawing you in close enough to hear the story the artist wants to tell. It is a story about growing up as a Muslim in Australia, being seen as different and coming to terms with fear and pain. It documents the changing patterns of his life. </p>
<p>His slippery, grey, swarming stingrays – currently displayed at the Museum of Contemporary Art, as part of the major exhibition The National – are a meditation on the suicide of his grandfather, who died ten years ago. He lived in a rambling home on the idyllic waterfront of Pretty Beach, on the Central Coast of New South Wales.</p>
<p>As the artist explains: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>I remember standing out on the jetty as a kid watching groups of stingrays glide beneath me, tracing arcs through the shallow water. The rain drifted in like a soft curtain drawing across the bay, obliterating the rays from view as the surface of the water crumpled above them. I ran inside.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>That memory is ensnared with brilliant effect in this work to capture the fear and anguish he felt on his grandfather’s death.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266748/original/file-20190401-177196-nil5wo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266748/original/file-20190401-177196-nil5wo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266748/original/file-20190401-177196-nil5wo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266748/original/file-20190401-177196-nil5wo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266748/original/file-20190401-177196-nil5wo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266748/original/file-20190401-177196-nil5wo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266748/original/file-20190401-177196-nil5wo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266748/original/file-20190401-177196-nil5wo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Abdul-Rahman Abdullah, Pretty Beach, 2019, installation view, The National 2019: New Australian Art, Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, Sydney, painted wood, silver plate ball chain, crystals, audio, image courtesy the artist and Museum of Contemporary Art Australia.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© the artist, photograph: Jacquie Manning.</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The installation is centred around 11 swarming Estuary Stingrays, which glide beneath a sea of sparkling crystals, suspended on 1800 strands of ball chain. These strands mimic that cloud burst of rain activating the ocean’s surface with a flickering light. </p>
<p>The number 11 is significant in Sufi Muslim thinking because it represents the idea of meeting your creator, thus echoing the artist’s fear as a young boy. Acknowledging that fear of death, our movement through and around the installation triggers the shimmering of his crystal sea, placing us both actually and imaginatively within that space of revelation, terror and insight.</p>
<p>The installation creates a mystical environment of rain, sea and menacing depths. Surrounding walls are etched with a delicate drawing of shadows cast by the ball chain that creates a slowly pulsating shroud. Gallery lights ignite individual crystals as you move around the circular sea, first a white glow, then yellow, green and red. This luminous field holds your attention, while the stingrays congregate beneath in an elegant arabesque.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/the-national-is-a-time-capsule-of-new-australian-art-in-uncertain-times-114589">The National is a time capsule of new Australian art in uncertain times</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266750/original/file-20190401-177167-1tew3g7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266750/original/file-20190401-177167-1tew3g7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266750/original/file-20190401-177167-1tew3g7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266750/original/file-20190401-177167-1tew3g7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266750/original/file-20190401-177167-1tew3g7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266750/original/file-20190401-177167-1tew3g7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266750/original/file-20190401-177167-1tew3g7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266750/original/file-20190401-177167-1tew3g7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Abdul-Rahman Abdullah, Pretty Beach, 2019, installation view, The National 2019: New Australian Art, Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, Sydney, painted wood, silver plate ball chain, crystals, audio, image courtesy the artist and Museum of Contemporary Art Australia.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© the artist, photograph: Jacquie Manning</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Abdullah is one of three brothers, who all drew and made visual responses to their world from an early age, adapting and appropriating from aspects of their Asian and Western heritage. Their Muslim faith has been influential in shaping their practice, and each has framed that experience within their work. </p>
<p>For Abdullah:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>being a Muslim will always be a core aspect of my identity, it’s inescapable, and I’m very comfortable with that. Since 9/11 Islam was in the public realm, and we were the bad guys […] For me this polarisation of Muslim identity directly informs my practice, it’s really important for me to explore my own experience as an artefact of social change.</p>
</blockquote>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/267733/original/file-20190405-123419-1wwj0qp.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/267733/original/file-20190405-123419-1wwj0qp.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/267733/original/file-20190405-123419-1wwj0qp.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/267733/original/file-20190405-123419-1wwj0qp.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/267733/original/file-20190405-123419-1wwj0qp.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/267733/original/file-20190405-123419-1wwj0qp.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/267733/original/file-20190405-123419-1wwj0qp.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/267733/original/file-20190405-123419-1wwj0qp.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Abdul-Rahman Abdullah, ‘I’ve Been Assured That You’re Going to Heaven My Friend’, resin, satin.
750mm x 380mm x 1800mm (2013).</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Image courtesy and © the artist</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Embedded in family life and memories and intertwined with narratives from the Quran, his works induce a dreamlike musing on the power of objects and animals to evoke meaning.</p>
<p>His 2013 image of a lamb trussed for ritual slaughter by his father, a vivid memory from his childhood, is given the reassuring title I’ve Been Assured That You’re Going To Heaven My Friend, its execution undertaken with an air of sanctity that is seamlessly blended with blood, shit and meat. </p>
<p>Ritual and religion are entwined, the sacrificial lamb standing for all those innocents who make the ultimate sacrifice for others, willingly or not.</p>
<p>Prior to becoming an artist, Abdullah spent some years designing and building animal enclosures and sculptures at Perth Zoo. Animals have come to form an integral part of his practice – he is interested in the ideas about identity that animals allow him to explore. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266746/original/file-20190401-177167-16mufze.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266746/original/file-20190401-177167-16mufze.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266746/original/file-20190401-177167-16mufze.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266746/original/file-20190401-177167-16mufze.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266746/original/file-20190401-177167-16mufze.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266746/original/file-20190401-177167-16mufze.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266746/original/file-20190401-177167-16mufze.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266746/original/file-20190401-177167-16mufze.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Abdul-Rahman Abdullah, Pretty Beach, 2019, installation view, The National 2019: New Australian Art, Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, Sydney, painted wood, silver plate ball chain, crystals, audio, image courtesy the artist and Museum of Contemporary Art Australia.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© the artist, photograph: Jacquie Manning</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Delving deep into his memories of childhood, Abdullah creates experiences that involve the viewer physically, moving in and around objects in a particular space to heighten the alternative sense of reality he generates through his skillful re-interpretation of his animal subjects. </p>
<p>The artist’s grandfather took his life in 2009, after years of suffering. Pretty Beach provokes us all to confront our sense of mortality – and to ponder how that knowledge might shape our lives.</p>
<hr>
<p><em><a href="https://www.the-national.com.au/artists/abdul-rahman-abdullah/pretty-beach/">Abdul-Rahman Abdullah’s Pretty Beach</a> is on at the Museum of Contemporary Art Australia until June 23.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/114427/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Ted Snell does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Abdul-Rahman Abdullah’s installation Pretty Beach tells a story from the artist’s childhood to explore mortality and grief.
Ted Snell, Professor, Chief Cultural Officer, Cultural Precinct, The University of Western Australia
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/115446
2019-04-17T02:54:46Z
2019-04-17T02:54:46Z
Alexander Calder: Radical Inventor is a tribute to living, breathing works of art
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269209/original/file-20190415-76853-pjfjnm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Installation view of Alexander Calder: Radical Inventor on display at NGV International from 5 April – 4 August 2019 © 2019 Calder Foundation, New York / Copyright Agency, Australia.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Brooke Holm</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>“This is no ordinary painting – it is a living picture that moves!” So says one of the “For kids” labels in the National Gallery of Victoria’s impressive exhibition, Alexander Calder: Radical Inventor. </p>
<p>The exhibition is an elegant testimony to the living, breathing work of art, charting Calder’s atypical path into the modernist canon. It is also great fun, curated with care and a sense of play by the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts and the NGV.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269192/original/file-20190415-76859-wy8pqr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269192/original/file-20190415-76859-wy8pqr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269192/original/file-20190415-76859-wy8pqr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=789&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269192/original/file-20190415-76859-wy8pqr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=789&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269192/original/file-20190415-76859-wy8pqr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=789&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269192/original/file-20190415-76859-wy8pqr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=992&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269192/original/file-20190415-76859-wy8pqr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=992&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269192/original/file-20190415-76859-wy8pqr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=992&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Alexander Calder, American 1898–1976, Belt buckle about 1935, brass wire, 21.9 × 10.6 × 4.1 cm, Whitney Museum of American Art, New York; Gift of Mrs. Marcel Duchamp in memory of the artist. Accession number: 77.21a-b.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© 2018 Calder Foundation, New York / Copyright Agency, Australia</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Calder (1898-1976) was born into an American family of established artists. Both his parents received formal art training and practised: Calder’s mother Nanette set up an easel in the corner of the living room, while his father Alexander operated a professional sculpture studio.</p>
<p>Calder’s career bridged both domestic and the professional, as the NGV galleries compellingly narrate, moving from intimate, domestic objects (including spoons, jewellery and, significantly, toys) to scale models for the monumental works that occupy urban spaces across the world.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269213/original/file-20190415-76856-8jqyi7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269213/original/file-20190415-76856-8jqyi7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269213/original/file-20190415-76856-8jqyi7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=819&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269213/original/file-20190415-76856-8jqyi7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=819&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269213/original/file-20190415-76856-8jqyi7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=819&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269213/original/file-20190415-76856-8jqyi7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1029&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269213/original/file-20190415-76856-8jqyi7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1029&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269213/original/file-20190415-76856-8jqyi7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1029&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Alexander Calder, American 1898–1976, Hair comb c. 1940, gilded brass, 28.9 x 17.8 x 3.9 cm, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington, D.C.; Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Calder, Accession number: 1968.7.4.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© 2018 Calder Foundation, New York / Copyright Agency, Australia</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The exhibition starts with a self-portrait in his “workshop” and two gifts to his parents from the eight year old Calder: a rocking duck and a dog. Both are tenderly made from single sheets of brass, fitting in the palm of the hand.</p>
<p>Witty, efficient, emotive and in motion, they signpost the concerns underpinning a career that generated 22,000 works over six decades, received over 250 commissions, and exhibited on five continents.</p>
<p>Despite an early affinity with the art world, Calder chose to study science and graduated as a mechanical engineer in 1919. After trying various jobs, he joined the famous Art Students League in New York in 1923 where he studied until 1925, by which time he was working as a freelance illustrator. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269193/original/file-20190415-76843-3a03cl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269193/original/file-20190415-76843-3a03cl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269193/original/file-20190415-76843-3a03cl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269193/original/file-20190415-76843-3a03cl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269193/original/file-20190415-76843-3a03cl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269193/original/file-20190415-76843-3a03cl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269193/original/file-20190415-76843-3a03cl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269193/original/file-20190415-76843-3a03cl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Alexander Calder, 1898–1976, Molluscs 1955, oil on canvas. © 2018 Calder Foundation, New York / SODRAC, Montréal.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: Calder Foundation, New York / Art Resource, New York</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>He developed a portable “drawing table”, which allowed him to capture fast moving scenes through fluid drawings in ink and pencil, including animals at the New York Zoo and what was to become a key motif, the circus. Invention, speed and sinuous line became the vocabulary for his emerging artistic identity.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269194/original/file-20190415-76859-6rkm3k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269194/original/file-20190415-76859-6rkm3k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269194/original/file-20190415-76859-6rkm3k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=750&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269194/original/file-20190415-76859-6rkm3k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=750&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269194/original/file-20190415-76859-6rkm3k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=750&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269194/original/file-20190415-76859-6rkm3k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=943&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269194/original/file-20190415-76859-6rkm3k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=943&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269194/original/file-20190415-76859-6rkm3k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=943&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">George Hoyningen-Huene / Condé Nast via Getty Images, Calder with Cirque Calder (1926–31), Paris 1930, black and white photograph.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© 2018 Calder Foundation, New York / Copyright Agency, Australia</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The obvious joy Calder took in his practice overflows in the Cirque Calder works.
Using found objects, scraps and discarded materials, this ongoing project presented a miniature circus for family and friends, growing to over 300 items, including 69 miniature figures and animals. </p>
<p>This work is presented as still objects in the exhibitions as well as in footage of Calder himself bringing the circus to life, recorded by Hans Curlis (1929), Herbert Matter (1950) and Jean Painleve (1955).</p>
<p>During Calder’s years in Paris in the late 1920s, guests at these performances included some of the most famous names in European modernism, such as Jean-Paul Sartre (who wrote a 1946 catalogue essay for Calder), Jean Arp, and Marcel Duchamp. These artists fostered Calder’s work, recognising the irreverent, radical ideas that he brought to art making at the time.</p>
<p>The now commonly used term “mobile” (meaning both moving object and motive in French) was first invented by Duchamp during a studio visit in 1931 to describe Calder’s balanced, agile forms; while Jean Arp coincided the term “stabile” to differentiate Calder’s static forms.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269204/original/file-20190415-76831-1hrx81h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269204/original/file-20190415-76831-1hrx81h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269204/original/file-20190415-76831-1hrx81h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=465&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269204/original/file-20190415-76831-1hrx81h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=465&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269204/original/file-20190415-76831-1hrx81h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=465&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269204/original/file-20190415-76831-1hrx81h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=584&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269204/original/file-20190415-76831-1hrx81h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=584&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269204/original/file-20190415-76831-1hrx81h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=584&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Alexander Calder, American 1898–1976, Gamma 1947, painted sheet metal and steel wire.
147.3 x 213.3 x 91.4 cm. Collection of Jon Shirley.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© 2018 Calder Foundation, New York / Copyright Agency, Australia</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This exhibition originated at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, but the NGV makes masterful use of its gallery spaces in this iteration. We move from intimate spaces where shelves and alcoves display the delicate early toys and domestic works at eye height, to transition spaces with stacked asymmetric plinths and double-height galleries in the penultimate space, in which major suspended mobiles hover above the viewer’s body. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269201/original/file-20190415-76837-o2tn2i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269201/original/file-20190415-76837-o2tn2i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269201/original/file-20190415-76837-o2tn2i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=427&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269201/original/file-20190415-76837-o2tn2i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=427&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269201/original/file-20190415-76837-o2tn2i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=427&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269201/original/file-20190415-76837-o2tn2i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=536&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269201/original/file-20190415-76837-o2tn2i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=536&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269201/original/file-20190415-76837-o2tn2i.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=536&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Alexander Calder, American 1898–1976, Triple Gong 1951, Painted steel, painted wire, and brass, 78.7 x 172.7 cm, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.; Gift of Mr. And Mrs. Klaus G. Perls, Accession number: 1996.120.27.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© 2018 Calder Foundation, New York / Copyright Agency, Australia</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Looking up at the dramatic white, red and black forms gliding overhead, we seem to be suspended ourselves, somehow floating as if underwater. At its best, Calder’s work disrupts our usual perception of gravity, somehow inverting floor and ceiling as the baseline for orientation. </p>
<p>One disappointment is that the work does not culminate with the full-scale public commissions; in Montreal these would have been a given. Arguably Calder’s most famous commission was for Expo 67, held in Montreal, where his <a href="https://artpublic.ville.montreal.qc.ca/en/oeuvre/trois-disques/">Trois Disques</a> (1967) formed the centrepiece then, and is again the focal point of a current urban redesign.</p>
<p>Australia is home to Calder’s major work Crossed Blades (1967), commissioned by Harry Seidler for Sydney’s Australia Square, referenced through a maquette in the exhibition. The final room resonates with this absence, presenting studies for a number of late, large scale commissions that can only point towards the culmination of his vision. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269214/original/file-20190415-76850-1gmnj8s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269214/original/file-20190415-76850-1gmnj8s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/269214/original/file-20190415-76850-1gmnj8s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=430&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269214/original/file-20190415-76850-1gmnj8s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=430&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269214/original/file-20190415-76850-1gmnj8s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=430&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269214/original/file-20190415-76850-1gmnj8s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=540&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269214/original/file-20190415-76850-1gmnj8s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=540&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/269214/original/file-20190415-76850-1gmnj8s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=540&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Alexander Calder, American 1898–1976, Fish 1944, metal, paint, wire, plastic, wood, glass, and ceramic, 41.3 x 122.2 x 11.4 cm, Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C.; Gift of Joseph H. Hirshhorn, 1972 Accession number: 66.785.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© 2018 Calder Foundation, New York / SODRAC, Montréal</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Any sense of lack is quickly displaced by the delight of the NGV Kids Room. Returning to the deep sense of play running throughout the exhibition, we design and make our own animals from sheet material; or create a public sculpture out of found objects through touch-screen bricolage. There is, of course, a selfie-site, and a beanbag corner where parents can retreat, listening to the music of the Paris Jazz Age. </p>
<p>The exhibition finishes with the same values with which it began. As Georges Mounin suggests in the handsome catalogue accompanying the exhibition: “[Calder] gets us to look at his ‘mobiles’ with the same sense of silent wonder, the same rapt attention, the same outwardly invisible joy that we experience as children”.</p>
<p><em>Alexander Calder: Radical Inventor is on at the National Gallery of Victoria until August 4.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/115446/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>RMIT has a memorandum of understanding with the National Gallery of Victoria.</span></em></p>
A new exhibition charting Alexander Calder’s atypical path into the modernist art canon is elegant, dramatic and great fun.
Kit Wise, Professor of Fine Art and Dean, RMIT School of Art, RMIT University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/114589
2019-04-02T01:13:04Z
2019-04-02T01:13:04Z
The National is a time capsule of new Australian art in uncertain times
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266756/original/file-20190401-177178-z2at14.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Sam Cranstoun, Utopia, The National, Carriageworks.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Zan Wimberley</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><a href="https://www.the-national.com.au/">The National</a> is an ambitious name for any exhibition of contemporary Australian art. In this case it is justified by the inclusion of artists from every state and territory. The bald statistics of the media release note that over 60% of the 70 artists are women, and over one third are Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islanders.</p>
<p>Their biographies reveal a broad range of age, geographic and cultural backgrounds showing modern, multicultural Australia at work. It is the result of a very conscious curatorial decision to show what is new, and what concerns artists at the end of the second decade of the 21st century.</p>
<p>In both size and subtext, this differs from the two other regular surveys of contemporary Australian art – the National Gallery of Victoria’s <a href="https://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/melbournenow/">Melbourne Now</a> and the Art Gallery of South Australia’s <a href="http://adelaidebiennial.com.au/2018/">Adelaide Biennial</a>. Despite spreading over two generously sized venues, Melbourne Now has always projected a decidedly local focus – it may include artists from other locations and even other countries – but the city is the hero. Adelaide’s Biennial has always been constrained by the relatively small size of the Art Gallery of SA.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266980/original/file-20190402-177199-s6jvm1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266980/original/file-20190402-177199-s6jvm1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266980/original/file-20190402-177199-s6jvm1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=395&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266980/original/file-20190402-177199-s6jvm1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=395&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266980/original/file-20190402-177199-s6jvm1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=395&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266980/original/file-20190402-177199-s6jvm1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=496&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266980/original/file-20190402-177199-s6jvm1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=496&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266980/original/file-20190402-177199-s6jvm1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=496&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Sally M. Nangala Mulda, Town Camp Anywhere 2018–19 Acrylic on canvas, acrylic on paper, dimensions variable. Courtesy the artist and Tangentyere Artists, Mparntwe (Alice Springs)</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© the artist and Tangentyere Artists Photo: AGNSW, Mim Stirling</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The National casually stretches between three reasonably large locations – Carriageworks, Museum of Contemporary Art and Art Gallery of New South Wales, but in its scope it draws the whole country into its extended embrace. </p>
<p>Each venue has a slightly different flavour. The old industrial space of Carriageworks is the place for the over the top performance by Pope Alice (aka Luke Roberts and entourage) as well as Mark Shorter’s (literally) dark performance piece, <a href="https://www.the-national.com.au/artists/mark-shorter/song-for-von-guerard/">Song for von Guérard</a>. At the MCA, curators Anna Davis and Clothilde Bullen explored what they call the “third space”, an overlapping between cultures and gender to produce a greater visual diversity.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266758/original/file-20190401-177187-i5bcxt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266758/original/file-20190401-177187-i5bcxt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266758/original/file-20190401-177187-i5bcxt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266758/original/file-20190401-177187-i5bcxt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266758/original/file-20190401-177187-i5bcxt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266758/original/file-20190401-177187-i5bcxt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266758/original/file-20190401-177187-i5bcxt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266758/original/file-20190401-177187-i5bcxt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Mark Shorter, Song for von Guerard, at Carriageworks.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Zan Wimberley</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In her catalogue essay, AGNSW curator Isobel Parker Philip likens The National to a black box flight recorder that captures the moment even as the plane falls to its doom. She sees our present time as being “a moment steeped in uncertainty and precariousness”. </p>
<p>Rather than seeing exhibitions of contemporary art as an ever recording black box, it’s probably more appropriate to see them as a time capsule – where the contents are laid out for inspection to show the future what we were.</p>
<p>All three venues have works that explore the nature of history and recovering memories that were either willingly or unwillingly repressed. At the entrance of Carrriageworks, Sam Cranstoun’s ironic <a href="https://www.the-national.com.au/artists/sam-cranstoun/utopia/">Utopia</a> sign is a visual quotation of Ken Done’s triumphalist <a href="http://www.kendone.com.au/news.php?s=expo-88s-30th-anniversary">Australia</a> sign, which welcomed visitors to Brisbane’s World Expo 1988. That year-long celebration marked the end of the repressive Bjelke-Petersen era and the launching of modern Queensland.</p>
<p>On occasion, Utopia is partly obscured by Tom Mùller’s <a href="https://www.the-national.com.au/artists/tom-muller/ghost-line/">Ghost Line</a>, which steams a foggy reminder of the steam trains that once called the current site of Carriageworks their home. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266757/original/file-20190401-177196-3x1z6c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266757/original/file-20190401-177196-3x1z6c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266757/original/file-20190401-177196-3x1z6c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=387&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266757/original/file-20190401-177196-3x1z6c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=387&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266757/original/file-20190401-177196-3x1z6c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=387&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266757/original/file-20190401-177196-3x1z6c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=487&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266757/original/file-20190401-177196-3x1z6c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=487&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266757/original/file-20190401-177196-3x1z6c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=487&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Tom Muller, Ghost Line, The National, Carriageworks.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Zan Wimberley</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Inside, Cherine Fahd’s <a href="https://www.the-national.com.au/artists/cherine-fahd/apokryphos/">Akrókryhos</a> recovers family photographs recording the funeral of her grandfather, who died young. The works at Carriageworks are more abrasive than those at the AGNSW. There, the first works visitors see are Andrew Hazewinkel’s <a href="https://www.the-national.com.au/artists/andrew-hazewinkel/the-ongoing-remains/">12 Figures after Niccolò</a>, where antique heads reveal themselves to be masks, failing to conceal underlying collective anxiety.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-images-of-mourning-and-the-power-of-acknowledging-grief-112129">Friday essay: images of mourning and the power of acknowledging grief</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266949/original/file-20190401-177171-13l32cx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266949/original/file-20190401-177171-13l32cx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266949/original/file-20190401-177171-13l32cx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266949/original/file-20190401-177171-13l32cx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266949/original/file-20190401-177171-13l32cx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266949/original/file-20190401-177171-13l32cx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266949/original/file-20190401-177171-13l32cx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266949/original/file-20190401-177171-13l32cx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Andrew Hazewinkel, Part 1, The Emissaries: Keepers of Our Stories from The Ongoing Remains, (3 parts) 2019. Powdered pigment, gypsum cement, mild steel, 20 sculptures: bust 46 x 21x 22 cm, base 122 x 38 x 33 cm, individual figure, 168 x 38 x 33 cm; installation dimensions variable. Courtesy the artist and Reading Room, Melbourne © the artist.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: AGNSW, Mim Stirling</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Other works are quieter as they give a slow reveal of distress. <a href="https://www.the-national.com.au/artists/peta-clancy/undercurrent/">Peta Clancy</a>’s giant photographic <a href="https://theconversation.com/peta-clancy-brings-a-hidden-victorian-massacre-to-the-surface-with-undercurrent-113350">Undercurrents</a> only gradually reveals itself to be the echo of an old massacre at Dja Dja Wurrung country. This large, understated work is installed adjacent to Sally M. Nangala Mulda’s bleakly humorous paintings of <a href="https://www.the-national.com.au/artists/sally-m-nangala-mulda/town-camp-anywhere/">Town Camp Anywhere</a>. It gives a certain continuity to the legacy of displacement.</p>
<p>At the MCA, the late Mumu Mike Williams’ giant painting, <a href="https://www.the-national.com.au/artists/mumu-mike-williams/kamantaku-tjukurpa-wiya-the-government-doesnt-have-tjukurpa/">Kamantaku Tjukurpa wiya (The Government doesn’t have Tjukurpa)</a>, gives an uncompromising critique of the legacy of colonisation and the connection of the Anangu people to country. The canvas it is painted on is government issue mail bags. It maps the water holes where people still remember how they were given flour – laced with arsenic. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266759/original/file-20190401-177175-1irybfs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266759/original/file-20190401-177175-1irybfs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266759/original/file-20190401-177175-1irybfs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266759/original/file-20190401-177175-1irybfs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266759/original/file-20190401-177175-1irybfs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266759/original/file-20190401-177175-1irybfs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266759/original/file-20190401-177175-1irybfs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266759/original/file-20190401-177175-1irybfs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Installation view of the National at MCA featuring Mike Williams’ Kamantaku Tjukurpa wiya (The Government doesn’t have Tjukurpa).</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jacquie Manning</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>It is partnered in the exhibition with Abdul Rahman-Abdullah’s exquisite ode to memories of childhood, <a href="https://www.the-national.com.au/artists/abdul-rahman-abdullah/pretty-beach/">Pretty Beach</a>. Here sculptures of stingrays and suspended crystals evoke a seascape loved by a dead relative, and so honour him.
Mourning can be a complex emotion. Hannah Brontë’s <a href="https://www.the-national.com.au/artists/hannah-bront%C3%AB/heala/">Heala </a>screens her video onto the floor of a luminous, orange-draped room. She draws the viewer into her world, as “Orange is the first colour that you see in the womb. Light from outside through your eyelids.” </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266760/original/file-20190401-177190-1sdeyfm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266760/original/file-20190401-177190-1sdeyfm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266760/original/file-20190401-177190-1sdeyfm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266760/original/file-20190401-177190-1sdeyfm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266760/original/file-20190401-177190-1sdeyfm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266760/original/file-20190401-177190-1sdeyfm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266760/original/file-20190401-177190-1sdeyfm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266760/original/file-20190401-177190-1sdeyfm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Hannah Bronte’s Heala at the National, MCA.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jacquie Manning</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Women move, float and sing their way through pregnancy and loss to the rhythm of the most enticing rap, its beat quoting the beat of the artist’s own heart.</p>
<p>Not all new artists are young. <a href="https://www.the-national.com.au/artists/daisy-japulija/billabongs/">Daisy Japulija</a>, Sonia Kurarra, Tjigila Nada Rawlins & Ms Uhl collectively paint a vision of the colours and rhythms of country caught in light – all painted on perspex panels. It comes as a surprise to find that the artists are all residents of the Guwardi Ngadu aged residential care facility. Nothing is as it seems.</p>
<p><em>The Nation is on Art Gallery of New South Wales until 21 July 2019, and at Carriageworks and the MCA until 23 June 2019.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/114589/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Joanna Mendelssohn has in the past received funding from The Australian Research Council.</span></em></p>
The ambitiously named exhibition, The National: New Australian Art, lives up to its title as a visual examination of Australia in an age of uncertainty.
Joanna Mendelssohn, Honorary Associate Professor, Art & Design: UNSW Australia. Editor in Chief, Design and Art of Australia Online, UNSW Sydney
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/113350
2019-03-26T01:19:35Z
2019-03-26T01:19:35Z
Peta Clancy brings a hidden Victorian massacre to the surface with Undercurrent
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/263832/original/file-20190314-28499-1szqhy0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Peta Clancy, Undercurrent 1, from the series Undercurrent, 2018-19, inkjet pigment print, W120 x H85cm each image approx.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Courtesy the artist</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: Peta Clancy, Undercurrent, Koorie Heritage Trust</em></p>
<hr>
<p>The slaughter of Australian soldiers at Gallipoli in 1915 is claimed by many to be a key factor in the building of our national identity. However, warfare on our own soil has been concealed beneath a code of secrecy and silence.</p>
<p>Peta Clancy’s Undercurrent exhibition at the Koorie Heritage Trust in Melbourne’s Federation Square aims to bring this hidden history to the surface, exploring the frontier wars and massacres that characterised Australia’s colonisation into the early 20th century. </p>
<p>Comprising eight large, inkjet pigment prints and a 30-metre wallpaper installation, shot on 4 x 5 colour negative film, the exhibition seduces with familiar bush landscape views, then disrupts through slippages in time, space and context.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/264280/original/file-20190318-28499-1s5ffi6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/264280/original/file-20190318-28499-1s5ffi6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/264280/original/file-20190318-28499-1s5ffi6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=407&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/264280/original/file-20190318-28499-1s5ffi6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=407&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/264280/original/file-20190318-28499-1s5ffi6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=407&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/264280/original/file-20190318-28499-1s5ffi6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=512&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/264280/original/file-20190318-28499-1s5ffi6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=512&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/264280/original/file-20190318-28499-1s5ffi6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=512&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The exhibition seduces with familiar bush landscape views, then disrupts through slippages in time, space and context.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Christian Capurro</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Massacres and massacre sites have a long history of being concealed, especially after the 1838 <a href="https://www.nma.gov.au/defining-moments/resources/myall-creek-massacre">Myall Creek massacre</a>, in which at least 28 unarmed Indigenous people were killed by colonists.</p>
<p>Seven white men were found guilty of murder and hanged following this massacre. The punishment was intended as a message that these atrocities would not be legally condoned. But rather than acting as a deterrent, this led only to greater concealment of massacres and massacre sites.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/how-can-we-achieve-reconciliation-myall-creek-offers-valuable-answers-60198">How can we achieve reconciliation? Myall Creek offers valuable answers</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>In 1988, the year of the extravagant Australian Bicentennial celebrations, Bruce Elder’s <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1401798.Blood_on_the_Wattle">Blood On the Wattle</a> documented 26 frontier massacres Australia-wide. In the same year, the Koorie Heritage Trust compiled a Victorian <a href="https://cv.vic.gov.au/stories/aboriginal-culture/indigenous-stories-about-war-and-invasion/massacre-map/">Massacre Map</a> showing the locations of known killings of Aborigines by Europeans between 1836 and 1853. </p>
<p>Far from comprehensive, the Massacre Map was published in 1991 and was an initial step in illuminating this hidden aspect of Australian colonial history. The publication of the digital map, <a href="https://c21ch.newcastle.edu.au/colonialmassacres/introduction.php">Colonial Frontier Massacres in Central and Eastern Australia 1788-1930</a>, by the University of Newcastle in 2017, further raised awareness of this issue in the national consciousness.</p>
<p>Australian artist and Monash University academic Peta Clancy first encountered the 1991 Massacre Map in 2016. She was researching her maternal lineage, connected to the Indigenous Bangerang people, traditional occupants of much of north-Eastern Victoria and areas of southern New South Wales, and photographing threatened butterflies and moths at Museum Victoria and the CSIRO in Canberra. </p>
<p>As her research progressed, her vision of the landscape was transformed by this undercurrent of hidden violence. Clancy sought a Cultural Heritage Permit to visit the massacre sites. In 2018, she undertook a 12-month residency at the Koorie Heritage Trust, collaborating with Dja Dja Wurrung Elders and community to create an artistic response to massacres on Dja Dja Wurrung Country.</p>
<p>Clancy had initially planned to visit every massacre site on the 1991 map, however, over time, her focus narrowed to <a href="http://www.djadjawurrung.com.au/">Dja Dja Wurrung Country</a> in central Victoria. She visited sites with Traditional Owners, becoming particularly drawn to the metaphoric potentials of an 1870s massacre site known to the community. This site on the bank of the Loddon River had been flooded when a weir was constructed between 1889 and 1891, diverting the course of the river.</p>
<p>There is little detail on the massacre itself provided in the exhibition, perhaps out of respect to the community, but Clancy has developed her response to it through extensive collaboration with Dja Dja Wurrung people.</p>
<p>Victoria’s lush waterways and river beds, the sites of Aboriginal habitation where food and water were abundant, were also the most attractive spots for white settlement. The now underwater massacre site, near a popular tourist spot with caravan park, has a split existence as a place of ignorant bliss and concealed sorrow.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/264284/original/file-20190318-28492-1thece8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/264284/original/file-20190318-28492-1thece8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/264284/original/file-20190318-28492-1thece8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=262&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/264284/original/file-20190318-28492-1thece8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=262&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/264284/original/file-20190318-28492-1thece8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=262&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/264284/original/file-20190318-28492-1thece8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=329&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/264284/original/file-20190318-28492-1thece8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=329&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/264284/original/file-20190318-28492-1thece8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=329&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Clancy focused her exhibtion on an 1870s massacre site on Victoria’s Loddon River.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Christian Capurro</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Clancy’s working methodology reveals the dual nature of the site. Beginning by taking conventional landscape shots there, she returned months later with these printed and attached to custom frames. Cutting into the original photos to reveal the landscape behind, she then re-photographed the scene through the frame, creating a genuine capture of the juxtaposed double images. </p>
<p>Comfortable viewing of the familiar landscape is disrupted by contrasts in focus, exposure and colour, with water sometimes appearing to threaten to engulf the treeline. Clancy highlights the existence of two worlds on the one site: earth and sky, past and present, mythic and historic, Indigenous and settler, oblivious joy and hidden violence.</p>
<p>Although looking at the same landscape, the happy holidaymakers and the Dja Dja Wurrung community experience wildly divergent perspectives – a dissociative response to past trauma which is too painful and thus hidden from consciousness. Reconciliation can only occur when both realities are brought to the surface and acknowledged as part of the history of the site.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/264279/original/file-20190318-28492-aylz03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/264279/original/file-20190318-28492-aylz03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/264279/original/file-20190318-28492-aylz03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=872&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/264279/original/file-20190318-28492-aylz03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=872&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/264279/original/file-20190318-28492-aylz03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=872&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/264279/original/file-20190318-28492-aylz03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1095&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/264279/original/file-20190318-28492-aylz03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1095&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/264279/original/file-20190318-28492-aylz03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1095&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Clancy’s work exposes two worlds coexisting on the massacre site.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Christian Capurro</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Can a reviewer of European origin and other non-Indigenous observers make the attempt to alter our perspectives on the Australian landscape and admit another world view? Can we allow the possibility that shame over the massacres and denial of the truth continue to affect the present? </p>
<p>The land itself has been defiled. The ancestors denied an honourable death and those who carried murderous deeds to the grave haunt our collective present as well as our past.</p>
<p>Clancy sees the manual cutting of the photographic image as analogous to scarring. Although the images are rendered whole again, the scar line remains visible. </p>
<p>Despite signalling violence, Clancy views scarring in positive terms. “It is not the actual cut, which has healed,” she says, “but a reminder of the violence of the incision”. </p>
<p>Scarring is a sign of healing. Clancy reminds us of the trauma as a prerequisite for this healing to occur.</p>
<hr>
<p><em><a href="http://koorieheritagetrust.com.au/exhibitions/coming-soon-undercurrent/">Undercurrent</a> is on display in the Yarra Building in Melbourne’s Federation Square until April 28.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/113350/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Anita Pisch does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
There is a long history of cultural silence on the frontier wars that characterised Australia’s colonisation. Peta Clancy’s exhibition invites us to see this history in the Victorian landscape.
Anita Pisch, Honorary Lecturer, School of Literature, Languages and Linguistics, Australian National University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/112943
2019-03-05T19:15:52Z
2019-03-05T19:15:52Z
A noisy, passionate show from an artist in a hurry, Quilty has just one emotional pitch
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262006/original/file-20190304-92298-o46hjs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Installation view: Quilty featuring Pancreatitis (Kenny), The Last Supper (Bottom Feeder) and Farewell virginity by Ben Quilty, Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide, 2019.
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: Grant Handcock. </span></span></figcaption></figure><p>At 45, it is no longer a question of whether <a href="http://www.benquilty.com">Ben Quilty</a> is the next big thing in Australian art, but of how big will he get – a Storrier, a Whiteley or a Nolan?</p>
<p><a href="http://www.agsa.sa.gov.au/whats-on/exhibitions/quilty/">Quilty</a> is a large exhibition of monumental paintings, selected by the curator Lisa Slade, mainly from work made by the artist over the past six years. After its inaugural showing at the Art Gallery of South Australia, as part of the Adelaide Festival, it will tour to the state galleries in Brisbane and Sydney.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262077/original/file-20190305-92295-1nh3jyw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262077/original/file-20190305-92295-1nh3jyw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262077/original/file-20190305-92295-1nh3jyw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=653&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262077/original/file-20190305-92295-1nh3jyw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=653&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262077/original/file-20190305-92295-1nh3jyw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=653&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262077/original/file-20190305-92295-1nh3jyw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=820&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262077/original/file-20190305-92295-1nh3jyw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=820&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262077/original/file-20190305-92295-1nh3jyw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=820&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Ben Quilty, Australia, born 1973, Self-portrait after Afghanistan, 2012, Southern Highlands, New South Wales, oil on linen, 130.0 x 120.0 cm.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Private collection, Sydney, Courtesy the artist, photo: Mim Stirling. L/BQ/9-1</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>To call it a survey show may be a bit of a misnomer for apart from a couple of early Torana paintings – Quilty’s emblems of masculinity personified in a car – most of the show consists of huge slabs of paint. Some commemorate the artist’s service as an official war artist in Afghanistan, others his ultimately futile campaign to save the lives of Bali Nine pair Andrew Chan and Myuran Sukumaran.
There are refugees and the life vests on Lesbos, Aboriginal massacre sites, Trump and the Last Supper as well as portraits of himself, his family and friends.</p>
<p>Missing are Quilty’s smaller and more intimate paintings, drawings and prints. Quilty is a remarkably prolific artist and the curatorial choice was made to focus on his more recent, “public manifesto” pieces. As the artist explained to me, “I left it completely up to the curator – the selection, the hang, everything”.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262007/original/file-20190304-92283-ttkhkf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262007/original/file-20190304-92283-ttkhkf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262007/original/file-20190304-92283-ttkhkf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262007/original/file-20190304-92283-ttkhkf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262007/original/file-20190304-92283-ttkhkf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262007/original/file-20190304-92283-ttkhkf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=565&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262007/original/file-20190304-92283-ttkhkf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=565&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262007/original/file-20190304-92283-ttkhkf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=565&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Installation view: Quilty featuring Self Portrait, the executioner and Myuran by Ben Quilty, Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide, 2019.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: Grant Handcock.</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/myuran-sukumarans-artistic-voice-is-raw-premature-and-unsettling-71216">Myuran Sukumaran's artistic voice is raw, premature and unsettling</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>Quilty outlines the narrative of the exhibition, </p>
<blockquote>
<p>My work is about working out how to live in this world, it’s about compassion and empathy but also anger and resistance. Through it I hope to push compassion to the front of national debate.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It is a very “noisy” exhibition, where the works scream at you from the walls, proclaiming the urgency, passion and raw emotion of the narrative content, as well as the energy and exuberance of the young artist wishing to demonstrate his mastery of a painter’s bag of tricks. </p>
<p>Thick sensuous slabs of oil paint, endless <a href="http://www.rorschach.com/index.php?id=2">Rorschach blots</a> and the juxtapositioning of negative and positive spaces are some of Quilty’s favourite formal strategies. There is a prevailing sameness of medium and technique that runs throughout this exhibition.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262005/original/file-20190304-92301-13q1fp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262005/original/file-20190304-92301-13q1fp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262005/original/file-20190304-92301-13q1fp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=385&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262005/original/file-20190304-92301-13q1fp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=385&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262005/original/file-20190304-92301-13q1fp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=385&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262005/original/file-20190304-92301-13q1fp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=484&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262005/original/file-20190304-92301-13q1fp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=484&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262005/original/file-20190304-92301-13q1fp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=484&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Installation view: Quilty featuring Irin Irinji and Fairy Bower Rorschach, Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide, 2019.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">photo: Grant Handcock.</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p><a href="http://www.ngv.vic.gov.au/johnbrack/">John Brack</a>, arguably the finest painter Australia has produced, related to me the experience of visiting the Louvre in Paris and being overwhelmed by the great halls of masterpieces all screaming at the viewer, “look at me, I’m a genius”. Finally Brack took refuge with the ancient Egyptians and Assyrians and the silence and eternal validity of their work. The “en masse” emotional pitch of Quilty’s exhibition, after a while, loses its ability to shock.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262078/original/file-20190305-92286-bqlo60.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262078/original/file-20190305-92286-bqlo60.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262078/original/file-20190305-92286-bqlo60.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=637&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262078/original/file-20190305-92286-bqlo60.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=637&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262078/original/file-20190305-92286-bqlo60.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=637&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262078/original/file-20190305-92286-bqlo60.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262078/original/file-20190305-92286-bqlo60.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262078/original/file-20190305-92286-bqlo60.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Ben Quilty, Australia, born 1973, Captain Kate Porter, After Afghanistan, 2012, Southern Highlands, New South Wales, oil on linen, 180.0 x 170.0 cm.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Donated through the Australian Government's Cultural Gifts Program Collection of Queensland Art Gallery / Gallery of Modern Art, Courtesy the artist, photo: Mim Storling. L/BQ/4-1</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Quilty ascribes to the philosophy that the artist is the conscience of society and it is up to the artist to take a stand and lead on issues that matter. In his case, these include the plight of refugees, global warming and the environment, the unfinished business of recognising Australia’s Aboriginal heritage and the bloodshed of the colonial period, and the mounting anxiety associated with living in the “post-truth” age.</p>
<p>Quilty’s Last Supper series of paintings had their origins in the unexpected victory of President Donald Trump in 2016. They are basically eschatological images dealing with a gathering of drunken, evil elders around a festive table set to mark the end of the world. While a grotesque image of a large man with a blonde wig may be discernible in some of the paintings, an attempt is made at universality, rather than specificity.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262084/original/file-20190305-92292-15lufu8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262084/original/file-20190305-92292-15lufu8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262084/original/file-20190305-92292-15lufu8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=460&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262084/original/file-20190305-92292-15lufu8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=460&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262084/original/file-20190305-92292-15lufu8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=460&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262084/original/file-20190305-92292-15lufu8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=578&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262084/original/file-20190305-92292-15lufu8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=578&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262084/original/file-20190305-92292-15lufu8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=578&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Ben Quilty, Australia, born 1973, The Last Supper, 2016, Southern Highlands, New South Wales, oil on linen, 204.0 x 267.0 cm.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Private collection, Courtesy the artist.</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>These are possibly some of the more abstracted images in the exhibition where contorted masses of flesh and bone writhe as if some sort of surrealist anatomical monstrosity. </p>
<p>As the series progresses chronologically, the early thematic literalness is progressively abandoned as increasingly Quilty seeks to create an image of universal anxiety. These are some of the more successful paintings by the artist to date.</p>
<p>Quilty is an artist who appears to be always in a hurry. Passion and urgency inherent in the subject matter, perhaps may require a more distilled and deliberate technical resolution to increase the effectiveness as paintings. It is difficult to doubt the artist’s sincerity and commitment to the causes he champions, but one can question the technical resolution of some of the pieces.</p>
<p>If 15 years ago, images of a backyard Torana could be painted with gusto in thick impasto as a measure for male testosterone levels, the abandoned orange life vests of 2016, washed up on the island of Lesbos and presented as emblems of human sacrifice could, perhaps, call for an alternative artistic strategy. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262079/original/file-20190305-92301-1as8hm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262079/original/file-20190305-92301-1as8hm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/262079/original/file-20190305-92301-1as8hm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=705&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262079/original/file-20190305-92301-1as8hm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=705&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262079/original/file-20190305-92301-1as8hm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=705&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262079/original/file-20190305-92301-1as8hm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=887&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262079/original/file-20190305-92301-1as8hm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=887&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/262079/original/file-20190305-92301-1as8hm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=887&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Ben Quilty, Australia, born 1973, Omid Ali Avaz, 2016, Southern Highlands, New South Wales, oil on linen, 130.0 x 110.0 cm; Gift of Paul Walker and Patricia Mason in memory of Omid Ali Avaz through the Art Gallery of South Australia Contemporary Collectors 2018. Donated through the Australian Government’s Cultural Gift Program, Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide, Courtesy the artist.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: Brenton McGeachie. 20183P84</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Rembrandt, Vincent van Gogh and Chaim Soutine could all empower an inanimate object with the profound power of a spiritual icon. In Quilty’s huge series of life vests, the materiality of the object is perfectly conveyed in paint, but it is left to the beholder to value add to the experience through their imagination.</p>
<p>Quilty is an interesting phenomenon in the Australian art scene, my hope is that he will not be eaten up by the Sydney art machine, as has been so frequently the case for artists in the past. The hope is that he will be allowed, and will allow himself, to explore and find his true potential as an artist.</p>
<p><em>Quilty, Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide March 2 – June 2, touring to Queensland Art Gallery + Gallery of Modern Art, Brisbane 29 Jun - 13 Oct 2019 and Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney 9 Nov 2019 - 2 Feb 2020.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/112943/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Sasha Grishin does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Ben Quilty is the next big thing in Australian art. Will he be allowed - and will he allow himself - to explore and find his true potential as an artist?
Sasha Grishin, Adjunct Professor of Art History, Australian National University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/111988
2019-02-20T00:44:04Z
2019-02-20T00:44:04Z
Heaven and Earth in Chinese Art is an exercise in spectacle
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259434/original/file-20190218-56204-1zh2c7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Song dynasty 960–1279 Feng Dayou (active mid 12th century) 'Taiye lotus pond', album leaf, colours on silk
23.8 x 25.1 cm. National Palace Museum, Taipei
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: © National Palace Museum, Taipei</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Review: Heaven and Earth in Chinese Art, Treasures from the National Palace Museum, Taipei, Art Gallery of New South Wales.</em></p>
<p>The exhibition <a href="https://www.artgallery.nsw.gov.au/exhibitions/heaven-and-earth-chinese-art/?gclid=EAIaIQobChMIy6bovbSy4AIVgSQrCh0GCgouEAAYASAAEgJa9fD_BwE">Heaven and Earth in Chinese Art, Treasures from the National Palace Museum, Taipei</a>, is the first major loan to Australia from this repository of what have become the canonical art works of Chinese culture. It deserves to be seen by all those interested in Chinese art, and hopefully will be the precursor for many such loans in the future.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259429/original/file-20190218-56226-ptjpji.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259429/original/file-20190218-56226-ptjpji.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259429/original/file-20190218-56226-ptjpji.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=1556&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259429/original/file-20190218-56226-ptjpji.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=1556&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259429/original/file-20190218-56226-ptjpji.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=1556&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259429/original/file-20190218-56226-ptjpji.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1955&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259429/original/file-20190218-56226-ptjpji.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1955&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259429/original/file-20190218-56226-ptjpji.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1955&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Ming dynasty 1368–1644 Attributed to Qiu Ying (c1494–1552), ‘After Zhao Boju’s painting on alchemy’, hanging scroll, ink and colours on paper 131.1 x 49.6 cm, National Palace Museum, Taipei.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: © National Palace Museum, Taipei</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Perhaps it will also prod the National Palace Museum in Beijing to do a major loan exhibition, in the same way that Sydney has already been blessed with major loans from other mainland Chinese provincial museums. The great ecumene of Chinese culture and its artefacts is too broad and its products too interesting and significant to let them stay entrapped within one exclusive political domain or another.</p>
<p>We can view exhibitions in terms of their spectacle, the variously pleasing or unappealing aesthetic qualities of the works displayed, or in terms of an art tendency or cultural world represented by the kinds of works shown. Art works are also markers for a flow in cultural material between different countries, and one can think about why such a work was shown in this country or not, as the case may be.</p>
<p>This Sydney exhibition forms part of a broad spectrum of National Palace Museum Taipei excursions abroad beginning in 1961 with the Smithsonian Museum and including later the Metropolitan Museum of New York.</p>
<p>Ordinary viewers and specialist scholars may quibble about so many masterworks of Chinese art not seen in this exhibition. For instance, paintings from the Northern and Southern Song dynasties now in Taipei, such as Fan Kuan (ca. 950 to ca.1031) <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fan_Kuan">Travellers among mountains and streams</a>, will not now be allowed to go overseas because of conservation considerations. The Australian viewer may hunger after such actual works but even in Taipei, many of these have a very restricted display schedule of about a month once every two or three years. </p>
<p>Apart from the question of how works appear or do not, there is the matter of how any given exhibition was generated. The current one was subject of a Loan Agreement in 2018 and is therefore the product of long and complex cultural diplomatic contacts much beyond curatorial decisions.</p>
<p>The works shown are organised in the following categories: Heaven and Earth; Seasons; Places; Landscape; Humanity. They were chosen to introduce works to a broad and often unfamiliar or uneducated audience, for whom explication of fuller art historical meaning could have been daunting.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259432/original/file-20190218-56229-8ci7a2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259432/original/file-20190218-56229-8ci7a2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259432/original/file-20190218-56229-8ci7a2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=910&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259432/original/file-20190218-56229-8ci7a2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=910&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259432/original/file-20190218-56229-8ci7a2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=910&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259432/original/file-20190218-56229-8ci7a2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1143&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259432/original/file-20190218-56229-8ci7a2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1143&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259432/original/file-20190218-56229-8ci7a2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1143&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Yuan dynasty 1279–1368 Four abridged phrases from ‘Detailed ceremonials’ hanging scroll, ink on paper 56.5 x 25.9 cm.
National Palace Museum, Taipei</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: © National Palace Museum, Taipei</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>An opening and very carefully calibrated presentation of calligraphies manages to show without pedagogic introduction the main types of calligraphic form via some well-known examples. These are carefully drawn against various types of production, format and author. Specialists might find it difficult to encounter first the Yuan dynasty (1279-1368) piece Four abridged phrases from Detailed Ceremonials, followed by the Song Emperor Huizong (reigned, 1101-25), Poem on peonies in regular script. </p>
<p>Still, what might be called the limpid rigidity of his scripts actually can prepare the untutored viewer for the wider range of graphic forms in the older Song stele rubbing of 18 scripts of Mengying (active after the 900s). This set of mannerisms has long antecedents in China, including the Bound tablets for the shan sacrifice of the Tang Emperor Xuanzong of 725, shown elsewhere in the exhibition. </p>
<p>The visitor can thus in a few paces, and via works some of which are “national treasures”, see much of the historical range of written production and re-production with its attendant graphic sensibility through calligraphy, relief printing, and carving.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259433/original/file-20190218-56208-4noup3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259433/original/file-20190218-56208-4noup3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259433/original/file-20190218-56208-4noup3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=429&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259433/original/file-20190218-56208-4noup3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=429&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259433/original/file-20190218-56208-4noup3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=429&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259433/original/file-20190218-56208-4noup3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=539&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259433/original/file-20190218-56208-4noup3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=539&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259433/original/file-20190218-56208-4noup3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=539&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Song dynasty 960–1279, Emperor Huizong (1082–1135; (reign 1101–25), ‘Poem on peonies in.
regular script’, album leaf, ink on paper, 34.8 x 53.3 cm
National Palace Museum, Taipei.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: © National Palace Museum, Taipei</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>There are several art historically significant paintings in the exhibition. One is attributed to Mi Fu (1051-1107) but is given as a 17th century copy after a work by Mi Fu’s son Mi Youren, and carries the encomium of Emperor Qian Long (reg. 1731-1796), a horizontal handscroll Cloudy Mountains with self-written inscription.</p>
<p>The sketchy tonality and brushwork with apparently not much ink contrast, apparently casually, even rather carelessly applied, became one of a core set of styles that was later to define the painting of literati landscape.</p>
<p>One other type of work here displayed is Southern Sung album paintings. Later research established in many cases that these were done for female members of the imperial court and even, in some cases, by female painters. These albums are very dark in their surviving state and turned flat on their side as here displayed are not easily seen by the viewer.</p>
<p>They are important, such as Taiye Lotus Pond by Feng Dayou (active mid-12th century), Viewing a Waterfall by Xia Gui (act.1180-c1230) and Evening stroll by Lamplight by Ma Lin (c.1195-1264). </p>
<p>These ostensibly highly professional paintings also displayed values of “realistic” drawing sought in the Song academic manner that became the genealogical base for the alternative, non-literati trajectory of ink painting in the late Ming, such as Parting at Jinchang by Tang Yin(1470-1524). </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259428/original/file-20190218-56220-kweaxg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259428/original/file-20190218-56220-kweaxg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259428/original/file-20190218-56220-kweaxg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259428/original/file-20190218-56220-kweaxg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259428/original/file-20190218-56220-kweaxg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259428/original/file-20190218-56220-kweaxg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=711&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259428/original/file-20190218-56220-kweaxg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=711&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259428/original/file-20190218-56220-kweaxg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=711&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Song dynasty 960–1279, Xia Gui (active 1180–c1230), ‘Viewing a waterfall’, album leaf, ink and colour on silk, 24.7 x 25.7 cm.
National Palace Museum, Taipei</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: © National Palace Museum, Taipei</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The Song album paintings displayed a poetic visualization of a domestic life which was neither that of the lonely, politically exiled recluse, or the grand, cosmographic, landscape panorama.</p>
<p>In terms of the presentation of paintings in this exhibition, one could get involved over the minutiae of attribution. (Is the Viewing Geese at the Orchid Painting by Qian Xuan (1239-1301) the original work in a series of later historical transmissions or is it in some way a later Ming variation? And the green and blue landscape Viewing the Spring given to Zhao Mengfu (1254-1322) may or may not be by him.) </p>
<p>Exhibitions of paintings seem of necessity to include ceramic and bronze pieces that hint at the domestic decoration of everyday life. These utensils and various kinds of display draw from domestic celebration of guests, formal ancestral ritual, and court ceremonial life.</p>
<p>Unfortunately these linkages require some commitment to discern in the rather haphazard collection of ceramics and bronze displayed here, despite the presence of rare ceramic pieces that are unquestionably major art historical monuments.</p>
<p>These include the monochrome Song Celadon warming bowl in the shape of a lotus blossom (960-1279) or the Jin-Yuan Dish with sky-blue glaze and purple splashes (ca 115-1368). These are very splendid but into what kind and period of imperial, scholarly, or plebeian taste they may fit is quite unclear. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259436/original/file-20190218-56208-1suem2g.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259436/original/file-20190218-56208-1suem2g.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259436/original/file-20190218-56208-1suem2g.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259436/original/file-20190218-56208-1suem2g.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259436/original/file-20190218-56208-1suem2g.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259436/original/file-20190218-56208-1suem2g.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259436/original/file-20190218-56208-1suem2g.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259436/original/file-20190218-56208-1suem2g.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Northern Song, late 1000s–early 1100s Song dynasty 960–1279 ‘Celadon warming bowl in shape of a lotus blossom’ porcelain, ru ware, 10.4 x 16.2 cm (rim diam) National Palace Museum, Taipei.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: © National Palace Museum, Taipei</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The relationship with later cloisonné enamels of the 18th century also shown remains a bit too close to a display of accumulated consumer treasure for appreciative viewing.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259435/original/file-20190218-56229-13z8l37.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259435/original/file-20190218-56229-13z8l37.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/259435/original/file-20190218-56229-13z8l37.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=362&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259435/original/file-20190218-56229-13z8l37.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=362&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259435/original/file-20190218-56229-13z8l37.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=362&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259435/original/file-20190218-56229-13z8l37.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=455&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259435/original/file-20190218-56229-13z8l37.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=455&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/259435/original/file-20190218-56229-13z8l37.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=455&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Qing dynasty 1644–1911, ‘In celebration of the.
Amitabha Buddha’ (detail), National Palace Museum, Taipei.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo: © National Palace Museum, Taipei</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Indeed the problem of all introductory exhibitions, (even when referring to a canonical collection), is that the supposed status of works may provide the all-fulfilling meaning for the viewer rather than access via cosmographic, historical, conceptual or other kinds of interpretation. These will require much more thorough expostulation, and narrower selection of works by type, series, or period. </p>
<p>Display spectacle is what actual museums now require before all else. With a little insight and patience, and detailed if occasionally circumlocutory catalogue notes, this exhibition has well provided it.</p>
<p><em>Heaven and Earth in Chinese Art, Treasures from the National Palace Museum, Taipei is at the AGNSW until May 5.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/111988/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>John Clark does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
The first major loan to Australia from a repository of canonical art works of Chinese culture deserves to be seen by all those interested in Chinese art.
John Clark, Professor Emeritus, Asian Art History, University of Sydney
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/108502
2018-12-12T00:03:13Z
2018-12-12T00:03:13Z
Honouring the dead: Alex Seton’s stark, moving protest sculptures carved from marble
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/249882/original/file-20181211-76986-1o3bujl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Detail from Alex Seton's A Durable Solution? - a series of memorial plaques naming the 12 men who have died under our 'care'.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Sullivan & Strumpf</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Alex Seton’s sculpture A Durable Solution? is <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2018/dec/07/marble-tombstones-at-labor-conference-reminder-of-alps-role-in-offshore-detention">concentrating the minds</a> of some delegates as they approach this weekend’s ALP national conference in Adelaide. It is the key work in <a href="https://allwecantsee.com/">All We Can’t See</a>, an exhibition in the foyer of the Adelaide Convention Centre. </p>
<p>No delegate will be able to avoid this visual response to the Nauru Files, the records of life on that island first exposed by <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/news/series/nauru-files">The Guardian</a>. With exquisite timing, the show’s opening reception will be held at the centre on Sunday, the evening before the Labor Party debates its refugee policy. </p>
<p>Seton has a carved series of stark, minimalist memorial plaques, naming the <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/ng-interactive/2018/jun/20/deaths-in-offshore-detention-the-faces-of-the-people-who-have-died-in-australias-care">12 men who have died</a> under our “care” on Nauru and Manus Island. There is no compromise, no gloss. The white Carrara marble, the same material used by Michelangelo, has been pared back, muted. Its surface is bereft of texture, the only incisions are the names of the dead and the dates they died.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/249885/original/file-20181211-76965-f7c2j6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/249885/original/file-20181211-76965-f7c2j6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/249885/original/file-20181211-76965-f7c2j6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249885/original/file-20181211-76965-f7c2j6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249885/original/file-20181211-76965-f7c2j6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249885/original/file-20181211-76965-f7c2j6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249885/original/file-20181211-76965-f7c2j6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249885/original/file-20181211-76965-f7c2j6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Detail from Alex Seton, A Durable Solution?</span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>A Durable Solution? is the third time this relatively young artist has made work that can be described as a collective memorial. Even though each of these sculptural installations commemorate the lives of a specific group of people, they also focus on the individual, to allow private grief. Seton has described his approach to memorials as “capturing those moments that are a test of our humanity”.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/249886/original/file-20181211-76986-gkw817.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/249886/original/file-20181211-76986-gkw817.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/249886/original/file-20181211-76986-gkw817.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249886/original/file-20181211-76986-gkw817.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249886/original/file-20181211-76986-gkw817.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249886/original/file-20181211-76986-gkw817.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249886/original/file-20181211-76986-gkw817.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249886/original/file-20181211-76986-gkw817.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Alex Seton: Insert Grievance Here (2011).</span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>He came to memorials via his series of sculptures of flags. Seton is an artist passionate about one material, marble. While this may be the great classic stone for monuments, it is very unfashionable in the 21st century. But his childhood home was near the Wombeyan Caves Marble Quarry, and he was fascinated by those rough blocks of veined rock that could be transformed beyond recognition.</p>
<p>So while studying a Bachelor of Art Theory degree, Seton began to carve. His passion for the precise craft of manufacture melded with his understanding of subtext and symbol. He learnt to carve stone so that it was easily mistaken for fabric. He looked at the ultimate symbolic use of cloth – in flags.</p>
<h2>Carving folded flags</h2>
<p>Flags may be ironic, but more often they are patriotic. They are the symbols soldiers fight under, and when they are killed a flag will drape their coffin. Seton is the same age as some of the young soldiers who first died in Australia’s longest war in Afghanistan. As part of coming to terms with the deaths from his generation, he began to carve folded Australian flags to honour the dead – one for each soldier. </p>
<p>These are made of pink, pearl marble from Chillagoe in north Queensland. Its flush suggests flesh and blood. Each is “bound” with a cloth halyard, creating confusion as to where the stone may begin. Twenty-three flags were first exhibited in Lismore and Brisbane. More have been added with each death. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/249883/original/file-20181211-76962-1q15vzz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/249883/original/file-20181211-76962-1q15vzz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/249883/original/file-20181211-76962-1q15vzz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249883/original/file-20181211-76962-1q15vzz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249883/original/file-20181211-76962-1q15vzz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249883/original/file-20181211-76962-1q15vzz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249883/original/file-20181211-76962-1q15vzz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249883/original/file-20181211-76962-1q15vzz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Alex Seton, As of Today, marble with halyard.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Sullivan + Strumpf</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The title of these works, As of Today, reminds the viewer that more deaths may be on the way. The Australian War Memorial purchased the flags, with a commission to add more when necessary. There are now 42. Seton has <a href="https://www.awm.gov.au/visit/exhibitions/seton/statement">said</a>, </p>
<blockquote>
<p>Initially I thought this work was about us – how easily we forget – but it is not about us at all. It is about those who gave their lives and whose memory we now preserve.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>At the same time as the Australian War Memorial was preparing to show his work, Seton was completing a rather different memorial. Dark Heart, at the 2014 Adelaide Biennial, can be described as a dive into the <a href="https://theconversation.com/the-2014-adelaide-biennial-contemporary-art-as-it-was-meant-to-be-23033">dark night of the national soul</a>. Much of the art was confronting, pricking the national conscience as a Jeremiad against the follies of modern Australia. </p>
<p>Now owned by the Art Gallery of South Australia, Someone Died Trying To Have a Life Like Mine was made in response to a particular incident in the sorry history of the many boat people who have died at sea. </p>
<p>In May 2013, 28 empty lifejackets were found washed ashore on Cocos Island. There is no official record of who the voyagers may have been, but one jacket contained a small amount of Iranian money. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/249884/original/file-20181211-76980-18m4cxj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/249884/original/file-20181211-76980-18m4cxj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/249884/original/file-20181211-76980-18m4cxj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249884/original/file-20181211-76980-18m4cxj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249884/original/file-20181211-76980-18m4cxj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249884/original/file-20181211-76980-18m4cxj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249884/original/file-20181211-76980-18m4cxj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/249884/original/file-20181211-76980-18m4cxj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Alex Seton Someone Died Trying to Have a Life Like Mine, Wombeyan marble, polyester webbing, stainless steel, varied dimensions.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Adelaide Biennial</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Seton began his work to honour these dead, and to give an answer to the question many ask – why set off in an unseaworthy boat across hostile waters? The answer is that these people want what we take for granted, a life like ours.</p>
<p>Each carved jacket manages to quote elements of the western canon of art. One is burst open like Michaelangelo’s <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dying_Slave">Dying Slave</a>. Two are together, as intimate as a quattrocento Madonna and Child. Others are placed in an arc, like flying angels.</p>
<p>The power of Someone Died Trying to Have a Life Like Mine comes from its evocation of empathy, the realisation that the people Seton is commemorating were like us. They wanted to walk in our shoes, so we are drawn to don their lifejackets.</p>
<p>It is this empathetic approach to honouring the dead that gives Alex Seton’s memorials their power. He moves beyond the studied factionalism of party politics and asks the viewer to consider the shared humanity of those who have died.</p>
<p>It does not matter whether they are soldiers or asylum seekers, lost at sea or imprisoned on land. They are us, and we are them.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/108502/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Joanna Mendelssohn has in the past received funding from The Australian Research Council. Many years ago she taught Alex Seton at the College of Fine Arts, UNSW.</span></em></p>
Alex Seton’s sculpture A Durable Solution? dominates the protest exhibition at the forthcoming ALP national conference. He has also created an official memorial to Australian soldiers killed in Afghanistan
Joanna Mendelssohn, Honorary Associate Professor, Art & Design: UNSW Australia. Editor in Chief, Design and Art of Australia Online, UNSW Sydney
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/96718
2018-09-16T20:16:27Z
2018-09-16T20:16:27Z
An artist’s surreal view of Australia – created from satellite data captured 700km above Earth
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/233665/original/file-20180827-75981-h6vbep.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Infrared and visible light satellite data is recoloured to produce striking images of Australia. </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Grayson Cooke </span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>There are more than <a href="https://www.pixalytics.com/sats-orbiting-the-earth-2018/">4,800 satellites</a> orbiting Earth. They bristle with sensors – trained towards Earth and into space – recording and transmitting many different wavelengths of electromagnetic radiation. </p>
<p>Governments and media corporations rely on the data these satellites collect. But artists use it too, as a new way to image and view the Earth. </p>
<p>I work with <a href="http://www.ga.gov.au/home">Geoscience Australia</a> and the “<a href="http://www.ga.gov.au/about/projects/geographic/digital-earth-australia">Digital Earth Australia</a>” platform to produce time-lapse images and video of Australian landforms using satellite data. </p>
<p>My Open Air project, produced through a collaboration with Australian painter <a href="https://www.emmawalker.com.au/">Emma Walker</a> and the music of <a href="http://www.thenecks.com/">The Necks</a>, features macro-photography of Emma Walker’s paintings set against time-lapse satellite imagery of Australia. </p>
<p>Open Air will be <a href="https://www.nfsa.gov.au/events/open-air">launched</a> in Canberra on September 20, 2018. </p>
<figure>
<iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/235270150" width="500" height="281" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="" mozallowfullscreen="" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Trailer: Open Air – showing Lake Gairdner in South Australia with turquoise desert, red salt lakes and pink clouds (Grayson Cooke 2017).</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/curious-kids-how-do-satellites-get-back-to-earth-82447">Curious Kids: How do satellites get back to Earth?</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Open access to satellite data</h2>
<p>We see satellites as moving pin-pricks in the night sky, or occasionally – as with the recent return to Earth of the Chinese <a href="https://theconversation.com/chinas-falling-space-station-highlights-the-problem-of-space-junk-crashing-to-earth-93295">Tiangong space station</a> – as streaks of light. And most us would have heard about satellite data being used for surveillance, for GPS tracking and for media broadcasting. </p>
<p>But artists can divert satellite data away from a purely instrumental approach. They can apply it to produce new ways of seeing, understanding and <em>feeling</em> the Earth. </p>
<p>Of course satellites are expensive to launch and maintain. The main players are either powerful corporate providers like <a href="http://www.intelsat.com/">Intelsat</a>, enormous public sector agencies like <a href="https://www.nasa.gov/">NASA</a> and the European Space Agency (<a href="https://www.esa.int/ESA'">ESA</a>), or <a href="https://www.planet.com/">private sector startups</a> with links to these groups.</p>
<p>Luckily, many of these agencies make their data freely available to the public. </p>
<p>The NASA/US Geological Survey <a href="https://landsat.usgs.gov/">Landsat program</a> makes 40 years of Earth imaging data available through <a href="https://earthexplorer.usgs.gov/">Earth Explorer</a>. The ESA provides data from their Sentinel satellites to users of the <a href="https://scihub.copernicus.eu/dhus/#/home">Copernicus Open Access Hub</a>. </p>
<p>In Australia, Geoscience Australia‘s <a href="http://www.ga.gov.au/dea">Digital Earth Australia</a> platform provides researchers and the public with access to Australian satellite data from a range of agencies.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235516/original/file-20180910-18990-1haj8z9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235516/original/file-20180910-18990-1haj8z9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235516/original/file-20180910-18990-1haj8z9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=477&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235516/original/file-20180910-18990-1haj8z9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=477&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235516/original/file-20180910-18990-1haj8z9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=477&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235516/original/file-20180910-18990-1haj8z9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=599&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235516/original/file-20180910-18990-1haj8z9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=599&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235516/original/file-20180910-18990-1haj8z9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=599&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Landsat 8 image acquired in Australia in May 2013 over Cambridge Gulf and the Ord River estuary in Western Australia. Visible light bands highlight the different types of water within the estuary. Shortwave and near infrared bands highlight the mangroves and vegetation on the land.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Geoscience Australia</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Understanding and processing the data</h2>
<p>Making satellite imaging data accessible, though, is not the same thing as making it usable. There is considerable technical know-how required to process satellite data.</p>
<p>The Landsat and Sentinel satellites are used by scientists and the private sector to monitor environmental change over time, using what is known as “remote sensing”. They travel in the <a href="https://www.nasa.gov/audience/forstudents/5-8/features/nasa-knows/what-is-orbit-58.html">low Earth orbit</a> range, around <a href="https://landsat.usgs.gov/landsat-8-mission">700km above the Earth</a> and circle the Earth in around 90 minutes. After numerous orbits, they return to the exact same spot every 16 days. </p>
<p>Landsat and Sentinel satellites are equipped with sensors that record reflected electromagnetic radiation in a <a href="https://landsat.gsfc.nasa.gov/landsat-8/landsat-8-overview/">range of wavelengths</a>. Some of these wavelengths fall within the visible light part of the spectrum (between 390-700 nanometers). In that sense, satellites image the Earth in a way comparable to a digital camera. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235484/original/file-20180909-18990-s2j4vc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235484/original/file-20180909-18990-s2j4vc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235484/original/file-20180909-18990-s2j4vc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=416&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235484/original/file-20180909-18990-s2j4vc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=416&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235484/original/file-20180909-18990-s2j4vc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=416&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235484/original/file-20180909-18990-s2j4vc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=523&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235484/original/file-20180909-18990-s2j4vc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=523&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235484/original/file-20180909-18990-s2j4vc.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=523&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">This image shows the percentage of time since 1987 that water was observed by the Landsat satellites on the floodplain around Burketown and Normanton in northern Queensland. The water frequency is shown in a colour scale from red to blue, with areas of persistent water observations shown in blue colouring, and areas of very infrequent water observation shown in red colouring.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Geoscience Australia</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/a-sports-car-and-a-glitter-ball-are-now-in-space-what-does-that-say-about-us-as-humans-91156">A sports car and a glitter ball are now in space – what does that say about us as humans?</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>But the satellites also record other wavelengths, particularly in the near and shortwave infrared range. Vegetation, water and geological formations reflect and absorb infrared light differently to visible light. Recording these wavelengths allows scientists to track, for instance, changes in vegetation density or <a href="http://www.ga.gov.au/scientific-topics/hazards/flood/wofs">surface water location</a> that indicate drought, flood or fire.</p>
<p>A single satellite image is made up of numerous bands recording data in very specific wavelengths. Getting a full-colour image requires processing in a <a href="https://qgis.org/en/site/">GIS application</a> to combine them, and assign the bands to either red, green or blue in an output image. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/219154/original/file-20180516-155616-zlm9yx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/219154/original/file-20180516-155616-zlm9yx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/219154/original/file-20180516-155616-zlm9yx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/219154/original/file-20180516-155616-zlm9yx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/219154/original/file-20180516-155616-zlm9yx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/219154/original/file-20180516-155616-zlm9yx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/219154/original/file-20180516-155616-zlm9yx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/219154/original/file-20180516-155616-zlm9yx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Images collected over 12 months at the Gulf of Carpentaria - 2016.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Grayson Cooke</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Bringing creativity to the data</h2>
<p>This is where creativity can enter the picture. Being able to create false colour images that combine infrared and visible light in different ways allows me to produce beautifully surreal images of Australian landforms. </p>
<p>The image below shows the variance in environmental conditions over 12 months in 2016 at the Stirling Range National Park in WA.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/219547/original/file-20180518-140786-no7x6b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/219547/original/file-20180518-140786-no7x6b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/219547/original/file-20180518-140786-no7x6b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/219547/original/file-20180518-140786-no7x6b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/219547/original/file-20180518-140786-no7x6b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/219547/original/file-20180518-140786-no7x6b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/219547/original/file-20180518-140786-no7x6b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/219547/original/file-20180518-140786-no7x6b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A false colour image of Stirling Range National Park created by combining data relating to infrared and visible light.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Grayson Cooke</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Because geoscientists need clear images of the earth’s surface to analyse, they filter clouds from the data. I chose to take the opposite approach, highlighting the incredible array of meteorological conditions experienced by the country. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235485/original/file-20180909-90568-18jcb89.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235485/original/file-20180909-90568-18jcb89.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235485/original/file-20180909-90568-18jcb89.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=200&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235485/original/file-20180909-90568-18jcb89.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=200&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235485/original/file-20180909-90568-18jcb89.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=200&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235485/original/file-20180909-90568-18jcb89.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=252&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235485/original/file-20180909-90568-18jcb89.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=252&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235485/original/file-20180909-90568-18jcb89.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=252&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Clouds passing over the Eyre Peninsula in 2016.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Grayson Cooke</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>There are many other artists working with satellite data. Clement Valla’s <a href="http://www.postcards-from-google-earth.com/">Postcards from Google Earth</a> focuses on glitches in Google’s mapping algorithm, and bio-artist <a href="http://suzanneanker.com/artwork/?wppa-album=21&wppa-cover=0&wppa-occur=1">Suzanne Anker</a> uses satellite imaging to produce extruded 3D environments in petri dishes. </p>
<p>Working with the Nevada Museum of Art, photographer Trevor Paglen will launch the <a href="http://www.orbitalreflector.com/">Orbital Reflector</a> satellite as an inflatable, visible sculpture, a prompt for wonder and reflection.</p>
<p>Artists place satellite data and usage in new contexts. They question surveillance practices and expose scientific tools and representations to new audiences outside science and the private sector. </p>
<p>The thousands of satellites winging their way around the Earth represent power and possibility, a chance to look again at the intersection between humankind and a changing planet. </p>
<hr>
<p><em>“Open Air” will be officially launched at the <a href="https://www.nfsa.gov.au/events/open-air">National Film and Sound Archive</a> in Canberra on September 20. It will also screen at the <a href="https://spectra.org.au/">Spectra</a> conference in Adelaide in October.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/96718/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Grayson Cooke's creative work has been undertaken with the assistance of resources from Geoscience Australia and the National Computational Infrastructure (NCI), which is supported by the Australian Government.</span></em></p>
The Open Air project features satellite data interpreted and coloured to produce beautiful, surreal images of Australian landforms.
Grayson Cooke, Associate Professor, Deputy Head of School (Research), Southern Cross University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/102375
2018-09-14T10:34:44Z
2018-09-14T10:34:44Z
Delacroix at the Met: A retrospective that evokes today’s turmoil
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/236247/original/file-20180913-177935-lwivej.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Eugène Delacroix's 'Self-Portrait in a Green Vest' (1837).</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/83/Eug%C3%A8ne_Delacroix_-_Self-Portrait_-_WGA6192.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>I’m an art historian and professor who studies and teaches French Romantic art. So when I was in France this past summer, I made sure to see <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/museums/in-paris-a-major-delacroix-exhibition-that-continues-to-explore-his-genius/2018/04/12/0d754b62-3d6c-11e8-8d53-eba0ed2371cc_story.html?utm_term=.831a1d2be02d">the Louvre’s retrospective exhibition</a> of French Romantic painter Eugène Delacroix. </p>
<p>In the galleries, I listened in on the other viewers discussing his paintings. Yes, they talked about their beauty and vibrant colors. But they also spoke of the images they depicted – scenes of tyranny and political upheaval, of resistance, chaos and refugees. They may just as well have been speaking of our present moment. </p>
<p>Now the Delacroix <a href="https://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2018/delacroix">exhibition</a> is coming to the United States. It opens Sept. 17, at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art and will run through Jan. 6, 2019. </p>
<p>The exhibition will have a special resonance for those trying to make sense of the uncertainties and challenges we face today.</p>
<p>If you only know Delacroix from his iconic 1830 work “<a href="https://www.louvre.fr/en/oeuvre-notices/july-28-liberty-leading-people">Liberty Leading the People</a>” – in which a symbolic woman representing liberty celebrates the three glorious days of the Revolution of 1830 – you might think he was a political revolutionary. He was not.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235848/original/file-20180911-144455-ktyybr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235848/original/file-20180911-144455-ktyybr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=475&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235848/original/file-20180911-144455-ktyybr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=475&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235848/original/file-20180911-144455-ktyybr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=475&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235848/original/file-20180911-144455-ktyybr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=597&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235848/original/file-20180911-144455-ktyybr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=597&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235848/original/file-20180911-144455-ktyybr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=597&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Eugène Delacroix’s ‘Liberty Leading the People’ (1830).</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Eug%C3%A8ne_Delacroix_-_La_libert%C3%A9_guidant_le_peuple.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Instead, the artist was a conservative man facing what he called “<a href="http://www.assemblee-nationale.fr/14/evenements/delacroix.asp">the century of unbelievable things</a>.” During his lifetime, he experienced war, two revolutions on his doorstep and encounters with Islamic cultures that challenged and entranced him. The exhibition shows us a man trying to comprehend what is happening to his world.</p>
<h2>A star is born</h2>
<p>Born in 1798, <a href="https://press.princeton.edu/titles/14143.html">Delacroix</a> was a privileged child of the Napoleonic age. As a young student, he honed his skills by drawing in schoolbooks and sketchbooks. </p>
<p>But by the time Delacroix was 16 years old, both of his parents had died, and the family’s money dried up. Delacroix, realizing he would have to rely on his painting to make a living, enrolled in the prestigious Ecole des Beaux-Arts in Paris while also studying in the studio of <a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/gao/9781884446054.article.T035432">Pierre Guerin</a>, where he befriended influential painter <a href="https://www.nga.gov/collection/artist-info.1334.html">Theodore Gericault</a>. </p>
<p>He was considered an early leader of the new <a href="https://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/roma/hd_roma.htm">Romantic style</a>, an approach to painting that expressed passions through dramatic colors and loose, fluid brushstrokes. </p>
<p>While today he’s known as “the great Romantic,” Delacroix rejected that title. Instead, he styled himself as a painter who continued the glorious <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/3333655?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents">Classic tradition of French art</a>; in his work, he often depicted Classical and historical subjects that were the bedrock of that approach.</p>
<p>He made his debut in the Paris Salon exhibition with the dramatic 1822 work “<a href="https://www.louvre.fr/en/oeuvre-notices/barque-dante">Barque of Dante</a>,” an image of Dante and Virgil crossing into Hell that earned him widespread praise. </p>
<p>But Delacroix’s paintings of the <a href="https://yalebooks.yale.edu/book/9780300045321/french-images-greek-war-independence-1821-1830">Greek War of Independence</a> – an early 1820s conflict between the Greeks and their Ottoman occupiers – catapulted him to fame. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235850/original/file-20180911-144488-brjwo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235850/original/file-20180911-144488-brjwo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235850/original/file-20180911-144488-brjwo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=903&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235850/original/file-20180911-144488-brjwo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=903&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235850/original/file-20180911-144488-brjwo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=903&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235850/original/file-20180911-144488-brjwo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1135&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235850/original/file-20180911-144488-brjwo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1135&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235850/original/file-20180911-144488-brjwo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1135&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">In ‘Greece on the Ruins of Missolonghi,’ Delacroix uses a pale female figure to symbolize Greece.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greece_on_the_Ruins_of_Missolonghi#/media/File:Eug%C3%A8ne_Ferdinand_Victor_Delacroix_017.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Delacroix, like many in his circle, supported the Greeks in their struggle against the oppressive Ottoman Empire. While “<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/66/Eug%C3%A8ne_Delacroix_-_Le_Massacre_de_Scio.jpg/300px-Eug%C3%A8ne_Delacroix_-_Le_Massacre_de_Scio.jpg">The Massacre at Chios</a>” (1824), dedicated to the brutal deaths of the Greeks on that island, will remain at the Louvre, the celebrated “Greece on the Ruins of Missolonghi” (1826), an image of tragic defeat, travels to the New York exhibition. Delacroix began the painting shortly after the citizens of Missolonghi attempted to liberate their city only to be massacred by the Ottoman Turks in 1825.</p>
<p>In “Greece on the Ruins of Missolonghi,” Delacroix embodied Greece as a single allegorical figure. Pale-skinned and clothed in traditional garments of white and blue – with her body lowered on one knee upon the fallen marble blocks – she recalls the Virgin Mary. Shrouded in darkness behind her, there’s a Turk – dark-skinned, turbaned and dressed in menacing hues of red. </p>
<p>At this point in his life, Delacroix had never traveled to the Ottoman Empire or anywhere else in the Islamic world; he only knew of it from the stories, objects and images he encountered in Paris. People in his circle wrote about the Oriental world of the Turks and North Africa as “the other,” at best, and barbaric at worst. In the painter’s hands, the Islamic world is cast as the infidel, while Christian Greece is represented with the imagery of the Virgin. It is a classic clash of West and East, liberty and oppression. </p>
<p>In Europe and America today, these old conflicts are playing out again with similar language and imagery being deployed. This binary relationship runs so deep in Western culture that it seems like a permanent fixture of our politics. </p>
<h2>An artist broadens his horizon</h2>
<p>In Delacroix’s art that simple binary never quite applied. Instead of seeing a border between the two worlds, it was as if he wanted to slip between them time and again. Though he was on the side of the Greeks two centuries ago, he was also fascinated by the glamour and violence he associated with the Islamic world. </p>
<p>In 1832, Delacroix, who seldom traveled, embarked for North Africa as part of a <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/1552652?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents">diplomatic mission to Algeria and Morocco</a>. The voyage came about purely by chance when the ambassador, Count Charles de Mornay, sought a diverting traveling companion and artist to accompany him on the mission. Delacroix left within a month of receiving the invitation for the voyage. </p>
<p>The lure of the exotic Islamic world that Delacroix only knew through paintings and drawings was too much to resist. It changed the man and his art.</p>
<p>Little prepared him for North Africa and the beauty he found there. To Delacroix, all was soft and liquid in the light. </p>
<p>“I am dizzy,” he wrote his friend <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/1552652?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents">Pierret</a>. “I am like a man who is dreaming.” </p>
<p>The artist’s small sketchbooks from North Africa, which will be featured in the Met exhibition, offer an intimate glimpse of the scenes and people that captivated him. He would return to these subjects repeatedly throughout his career.</p>
<p>A star of the New York exhibition, “The Women of Algiers in Their Apartment” (1834), brings viewers into Delacroix’s North African world. Years later, the journalist Phillipe Burty reported in his magazine article “Eugene Delacroix a Algers” that Delacroix had received permission to enter the private women’s quarter of an Algerian home with the help of an Algerian acquaintance. Even male family members needed permission to enter the “harem,” so Delacroix’s access would have been an extraordinary event. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235878/original/file-20180911-144461-1oy1zci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235878/original/file-20180911-144461-1oy1zci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/235878/original/file-20180911-144461-1oy1zci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=473&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235878/original/file-20180911-144461-1oy1zci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=473&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235878/original/file-20180911-144461-1oy1zci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=473&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235878/original/file-20180911-144461-1oy1zci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=594&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235878/original/file-20180911-144461-1oy1zci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=594&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/235878/original/file-20180911-144461-1oy1zci.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=594&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Delacroix returned from his trip to North Africa inspired. He would go on to paint ‘The Women of Algiers in Their Apartment’ (1834).</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/gandalfsgallery/9892248346">Gandalf's Gallery</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The story may or may not be true, especially since Delacroix painted the piece in his Paris studio. Working from sketches, memory and Parisian models wearing the clothing he brought back from Algeria, Delacroix created what art historian <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2017/11/01/obituaries/linda-nochlin-groundbreaking-feminist-art-historian-is-dead-at-86.html">Linda Nochlin</a> once called an “<a href="http://blogs.getty.edu/iris/rethinking-orientalism-again/">imaginary Orient</a>” – a world that may meld truth with fiction, but reveals much about its author. </p>
<p>Like many of us, Delacroix didn’t spend every moment obsessed with politics and conflict. He lived a rich life, and the exhibition shows the full scope of his work. <a href="http://www.19thc-artworldwide.org/autumn12/obrien-reviews-eugene-delacroix-journal-by-hannoosh">His famous journal</a> reveals a man about town, who immersed himself in literature and life. From the 1830s, the Met exhibition brings us paintings as varied as “<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/ad/Young_tiger_playing_with_its_mother.jpg">Young Tiger Playing with Its Mother</a>” (1830) and “<a href="https://imgcs.artprintimages.com/img/print/print/eugene-delacroix-medee-furieuse-or-medea-kills-her-children-1838_a-l-2590501-8880731.jpg?w=550&h=550">Medea About to Kill Her Children</a>” (1838). </p>
<p>During the <a href="https://www.britannica.com/event/Revolutions-of-1848">Revolution of 1848</a>, instead of creating a new “Liberty Leading the People,” the moderate Delacroix produced the vibrant “Basket of Flowers” (1848–49). </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/236252/original/file-20180913-177935-1sgy3tu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/236252/original/file-20180913-177935-1sgy3tu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/236252/original/file-20180913-177935-1sgy3tu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=436&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/236252/original/file-20180913-177935-1sgy3tu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=436&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/236252/original/file-20180913-177935-1sgy3tu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=436&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/236252/original/file-20180913-177935-1sgy3tu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=548&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/236252/original/file-20180913-177935-1sgy3tu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=548&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/236252/original/file-20180913-177935-1sgy3tu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=548&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Eugene Delacroix’s ‘Basket of Flowers’ (1848-49).</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:WLA_metmuseum_Basket_of_Flowers_by_Eugene_Delacroix.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In focusing on natural beauty, it would seem as though the political warfare roiling the streets of Paris was the last thing on Delacroix’s mind.</p>
<p>Delcroix’s most famous paintings, like “Greece on the Ruins of Missolonghi” and “Liberty Leading the People,” arose out of the turmoil of the 19th century and evoke the uncertainties of our present day. </p>
<p>But “Basket of Flowers” may also say something important about finding beauty and equilibrium in the midst of chaos.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/102375/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Claire Black McCoy does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Through his art and his travels, 19th-century French Romantic painter Eugène Delacroix sought to understand the chaos of an era he called ‘the century of unbelievable things.’
Claire Black McCoy, Professor of Art History, Columbus State University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/94026
2018-03-27T19:09:40Z
2018-03-27T19:09:40Z
With affection and humour, Patricia Piccinini probes the boundaries of human and other
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/212098/original/file-20180327-188604-1ir6dlw.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Patricia Piccinini,
Kindred 2017, Silicone, fibreglass, hair, Ed. 1 of 3, 103 x 95 x 128cm
Courtesy the artist, Tolarno Galleries, Melbourne; Roslyn Oxley9 Gallery, Sydney; and Hosfelt Gallery, San Francisco.
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Natasha Harth, QAGOMA. </span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Patricia Piccinini’s sculptures are deeply disquieting.
Walking through Curious Affection, her new solo exhibition at Brisbane’s <a href="https://www.qagoma.qld.gov.au/whats-on/exhibitions/patricia-piccinini-curious-affection">Gallery of Modern Art</a>, is akin to entering a science laboratory full of DNA experiments. Made from silicone, fiberglass and even human hair, her sculptures are breathtakingly lifelike, however, we can’t be sure what life they are like. The artist creates an exuberant parallel universe where transgenic experiments flourish and human evolution has given way to genetic engineering and DNA splicing.</p>
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<span class="caption">Patricia Piccinini.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Phoebe Powell</span></span>
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<p>Curious Affection is a timely and welcome recognition of Piccinini’s enormous contribution to Australian art reaching back to the mid-1990s. Working across a variety of mediums including photography, video and drawing, she is perhaps best known for her hyperreal sculptures.</p>
<p>As a genre, hyperrealism depends on the skill of the artist to create the illusion of reality. To be truly successful, it must convince the spectator of its realness. Piccinini acknowledges this demand, but with a delightful twist. The excruciating attention to detail deliberately solicits our desire to look, only to generate unease, as her sculptures are imbued with a fascinating otherness. Part human, part animal, the works are uncannily familiar, but also alarmingly other.</p>
<p>With more than 70 works on display, the entire ground floor has been handed over to Piccinini, a first for an Australian artist. The flamboyant exuberance of GOMA’s soaring atrium is utilised and the visitor is welcomed by an enormous inflatable sculpture, Pneutopia (2018).</p>
<p>With echoes of Piccinini’s <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Skywhale#/media/File:The_Skywhale_before_its_second_Canberra_Flight_May_2013.jpg">Sky Whale</a> (2013), commissioned by the ACT Government as part of its centenary celebrations, Pneutopia moves with air currents circulating in the atrium, as if it were softly inhaling and exhaling. This is Piccinini fully unleashed, at her theatrical best.</p>
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<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Patricia Piccinini, Australia VIC b.1965 Pneutopia 2018. Ripstop nylon, shed, air. Courtesy the artist, Tolarno Galleries, Melbourne; Roslyn Oxley9 Gallery, Sydney; and Hosfelt Gallery, San Francisco.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Natasha Harth, QAGOMA.</span></span>
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<p>The artist has created a parallel universe for us to engage with her most recent installations commissioned especially for the exhibition. The sheer power of endless repetition comes to the fore, as the spectator is engulfed by 3000 biomorphic flowers, standing tall on metre-long stems. The ivory white of the flowers glows eerily against the dark gallery space.</p>
<p>Titled The Field (2018), these uterine shaped ceramic forms, complete with ovaries and fallopian tubes, reach back in history, evoking ancient fertility figures such as the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venus_of_Willendorf">Venus of Willendorf</a>. Sensitive to movement, the flowers sway tenderly, quietly acknowledging the viewer’s physical presence.</p>
<p>A pathway has been forged through the field as the visitor meanders through this teeming world brimming with abundant fecundity. The architectural flexibility of GOMA’s gallery spaces is exploited, as Piccinini creates viewing platforms as vistas from which to survey the work from above. The theme of fertility and reproduction is continued in Kindred (2018).</p>
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<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Patricia Piccinini Australia VIC b.1965 Kindred 2017, Silicone, fibreglass, hair Ed. 1 of 3.
103 x 95 x 128cm</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Courtesy the artist, Tolarno Galleries, Melbourne; Roslyn Oxley9 Gallery, Sydney; and Hosfelt Gallery, San Francisco.</span></span>
</figcaption>
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<p>An orangutan-like mother gently holds her two babies. Forms are fluid here, as Piccinini probes the boundaries demarking artificial from natural, human from the posthuman. She leaves us with no easy answers, suggesting the borders are unstable, mutable and in flux.</p>
<p>The experience of looking down and through is accentuated with The Grotto (2018) where scores of suspended forms line the walls of a cave-like space. Neither bats or fungi, but perhaps somewhere in between, the installation reminds us of Piccinini’s enduring concerns: the shared interconnection between species. The installations are replete with their own unique soundscapes, creating an additional layer to this immersive, self-contained world.</p>
<p>In one corner rests a vintage caravan. On closer inspection, the viewer is recast as voyeur. Peering through the caravan’s window, we are met with two human-like forms interjoined in an intimate embrace. </p>
<p>This relationship is rendered compassionately and tenderly by the artist. Piccinini is staging a confrontation that is not always easy or benign for the spectator and it is this disquiet that she is asking us to confront and examine.</p>
<p>Keen Piccinini followers will not be disappointed in the exhibition’s scope. Pivotal works from throughout her career including The Young Family (2002) are on display. Part pig, part human, the mother suckles her offspring. Her excess flesh sags and wrinkles and we are left to uneasily contemplate her babies’ future.</p>
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<span class="caption">Patricia Piccinini Australia VIC b.1965, The Young Family 2002.
Silicone, polyurethane, leather, plywood, human hair 80 x 150 x 110cm
Bendigo Art Gallery Collection, Bendigo. RHS Abbott Bequest Fund 2003</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Courtesy the artist</span></span>
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<p>Inspired by advances in genetically modified pigs to generate replacement organs for humans, we are reminded that Piccinini has always been at the forefront of debates concerning the possibilities of science, technology and DNA cloning. She does so, however, with a warm affection and sense of humour, eschewing the hysterical anxiety frequently accompanying these scientific developments.</p>
<p>Beyond the astonishing level of detail achieved by working with silicon and fibreglass, there is an ethics at work here. Piccinini is asking us not to avert our gaze from the other, and in doing so, to develop empathy and understanding through the encounter.</p>
<p><em>Patricia Piccinini: Curious Affection is at Brisbane’s <a href="https://www.qagoma.qld.gov.au/whats-on/exhibitions/patricia-piccinini-curious-affection">Gallery of Modern Art</a> until 5 August 2018.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/94026/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Chari Larsson does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Part human, part animal, Patricia Piccinini’s sculptures are uncannily familiar, yet alarmingly other. A major new exhibition creates a parallel universe in which viewers can encounter her work.
Chari Larsson, Lecturer of art history, Griffith University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.