The Blackmail » Art

First Show

tristan — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 02:49:39 +0000

Text: Melissa Loughnan Images: KALIMANRAWLINS

“Some people wanted champagne and caviar when they should have had beer and hot dogs.” – Dwight Eisenhower

KALIMANRAWLINS is the latest commercial gallery to open in Melbourne. Unlike any other pre-existing gallery in Australia, the space has been converted from a 1950s industrial garage, with a slick steel and glass door opening onto pristine white walls and a ply-lined ceiling designed by ROOM11. The space is also equipped with a library, large stock room and office. The gallery is positioned in South Yarra, just opposite the recently opened Tristian Koenig Gallery on Ellis Street.

KALIMANRAWLINS also tastes like no other gallery — with a menu almost in exact contrast to the famous sausages-in-bread and Grolsch beers of Richmond’s recently closed Hell Gallery. Both directors, Jarrod Rawlins and Vasili Kaliman, have extensive histories in commercial art dealing through other partnerships and solo enterprises in Melbourne and Sydney, through Uplands Gallery and Kaliman Gallery respectively.

Their opening exhibition, simply titled First Show, was an introductory survey of their stable of artists that yielded some sensitive aesthetic comparisons — such as the juxtaposition of Robert Hunter’s Untitled 9/2010, a gentle, layered, predominantly white geometric painting, with an intricately detailed (or ‘modified’) orange ping pong ball from Matt Hinkley (Untitled, 2011).

KALIMANRAWLINS represents a roll-call of early-career to established Australian and international artists including Daniel Boyd, Jon Campbell, Steve Carr, Jon Cattapan, Nadine Christensen, Simon Denny, James Deutsher, Tony Garifalakis, Diena Georgetti, David Griggs, Matt Hinkley, Robert Hunter, Anna Kristensen, Amanda Marburg, Moya McKenna, Tim McMonagle, Manuel Ocampo, Séraphine Pick, Tony Schwensen, Renee So, Glenn Sorensen, Michelle Ussher and Ronnie van Hout — with further announcements to come.

Melissa Loughnan caught up with Vasili and Jarrod to discuss the opening of their new space and upcoming projects.

Melissa Loughnan: Can you give me some background on KALIMANRAWLINS: why you decided to open a gallery together, your shared interests and motivations, your artists, and on the gallery space itself?

Jarrod Rawlins & Vasili Kaliman: KALIMANRAWLINS came about when we were having lunch at a mutual friends’ sheep station in Central Victoria. The whole lunch had this super-entrepreneurial vibe to it (along with very, very nice caviar) with other people making all these really interesting conversations about certain aspects of the art industry in Australia, and it just came to us that opening a partnership was a really good and obvious idea. It had to be that obvious otherwise it wouldn’t have got off the ground. Our shared interests and motivations are obviously running galleries and presenting great artwork. We are both really interested in the history of private galleries around the world, how they operate, and the role they play in the art world.

ML: How would you define your roles at the gallery: do you have distinctly different responsibilities/skills, or is everything shared?

JR & VK: We do have different roles. Jarrod looks after things like tracking down the right wines for our dinners, ordering caviar, stuff like that. Vasili looks after IT and communications. The rest of the things seem to just fall in place. After you combine the experience the two of us have at running a gallery, and working with people like Olivia Barrett, things just fall into place. It leaves a lot of spare time for reading and listening to music. When you eat pate and drink champagne everyday for lunch it starts to become a really nice lifestyle.

ML: Will the new space still have the capacity to host experimental group exhibitions, such as the Espresso Yourself exhibitions that were characteristic of the Uplands program?

JR & VK: Yes, you will definitely see some great, fun, smart group shows. This part of the program is very important to us.

ML: What was your reasoning behind opening in South Yarra?

JR & VK: South Yarra is almost half way between the Simon Johnson store at Chadstone and the Simon Johnson store in Toorak Village, so it makes getting the caviar a lot easier than being on the North side of the river. And Vasili has such a big sneaker collection that requires regular feeding and there are good sneaker shops around here. Also, we like South Yarra, we liked the building, it suited our purposes.

ML: Are any aspects of your gallery fit out modelled on existing Australian or international galleries?

JR & VK: No. The gallery was done by an amazing group of architects called ROOM11. We started with a blank piece of paper, we brought nothing to the process in terms of what we knew or had seen. It was important for us to work closely with the architects and builders to accommodate the needs of a gallery, but we had no pre-existing ideas.

ML: Could you tell me about some of the exhibitions you have coming up at KALIMANRAWLINS?

JR&VK: No. Anticipation is a wonderful thing.

Image credits:

Simon Denny, Supported Video Aquarium Equivalent with School of Fish and Coral Double, 2011, wood, metal, aquarium backdrop, plexiglass with protective plastic, screenprint, television casing, fluorescent lamps, faux aquarium-rock, 161 x 111 x 31cm

Moya McKenna, Lick, 2011, oil on canvas, 41 x 56cm

James Deutsher, Sonny and Isabelle (Prologue: Rita), 2011, steel, chrome, powder coating, wool, bone, digital print on silk, mint, 202 x 96 x 66cm

Glenn Sorensen, Will She (For Clarice Beckett), 2011, oil on linen, 30 x 40cm

Séraphine Pick, Untitled, 2011, oil on canvas, 50 x 40cm

Robert Hunter, Untitled 9/2010, 2010, acrylic on board, 122 x 244 cm

Matt Hinkley, Untitled, 2011, modified ping pong ball, diameter: 3.3 cm

Images courtesy of KALIMANRAWLINS

Next story: Balancing Act – Note To Self

Gang Colours

tristan — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 00:42:38 +0000

Text: Fleur Mitchell Images: Gang Atelier

Gang Atelier is the creation of Mitch Brown and Sarah Grieve. And it’s dangerous. A few minutes of browsing their beautiful online store and you will want to own Every. Single. Thing. After recognising the lack of international specialist titles with a visual slant in the Australian retail space, they have stepped in to fill the gap. Now we have Gang Atelier, crisis averted.

The store is thoughtfully and tightly curated, with items sourced from around the globe. Bringing together a selection of books, magazines and prints from amazing independent publishers like Picturebox and Libraryman. It’s all killer and no filler.

Fleur Mitchell spoke to Mitch Brown about creative partnerships, the demise of the local bookstore and partaking in a little crystal ball gazing…

Fleur Mitchell: Tell me about Gang Atelier, how was the idea born?

Mitch Brown: Initially it was a reaction to the hole we felt existed in the offerings at local bookstores, but rather than complain to each other about what was missing, we decided it was just as easy to bring it here ourselves, and share all the things we love about international visual culture with a local audience.

FM: So aside from the store itself, Gang Atelier is also a creative studio? Tell me about that side of things.

MB: Having worked together for a brief time as designers and art directors at a prominent Sydney music label, it became clear then how essential good relationships are in the creative process… Sarah and I worked well together, and felt a creative partnership was a good idea, so G.A. became a way for us to create design projects with our favourite artists and not necessarily be dictated by commerciality – rather, focusing on successful collaborations with conceptual fulfillment.

FM: What are the kind of titles are you stocking and why?

MB: We have a huge admiration for independent publishers; Brooklyn’s Picturebox are always blowing us away, Libraryman make beautiful books with no detail spared, while we are very proud to introduce the cheerful and perfectly crafted titles of Sam de Groot’s imprint True True True, all the way from the Netherlands. Those projects are driven by individuals with absolute conviction in presenting beautiful work in a handsome package.

As much as we want to present books, we’re hardly limited to that. Artist edition photographs and prints, music and lifestyle products will all come into the store as we progress.

FM: Due to increasing competition online, we’ve recently seen the collapse of major bookstore chains like Borders and small, independent stores are finding it difficult too. What are your thoughts about this shift, having just launched an online store with a focus on books?

MB: Yeah, this is something we’ve been mindful of from the very conception of our project. We, as much as anyone, appreciate the local bookstores who offer specialty books, especially in art and design (speaking mostly about places like Melbourne’s Metropolis, and Sydney’s Published Art) — places we have spent a lot of time and money over the years…

Without ever wanting to take business away from these institutions, our goal was simply to offer things that (as far as we understand) nobody else has. Unique titles that we love, and other stores have no time for.

Being confined to an online presence (at least for the immediate future), we’re fortunate to be able to keep the operation modest, and focus on curating a broad selection of books and objects that are close to our hearts.

FM: It must be fun picking items that you love and sharing them with other people. Do you enjoy searching for new things for the store?

MB: Absolutely, discovering new projects and publishers is essential in presenting fresh material, and it’s the most rewarding part of the process. The main objective of the store is to give these titles a place to fit into whatever the amorphous state of bookstores is these days.

Like a lot of my friends, I’m a self confessed visual culture addict, so putting that research and interest into a new venture only validates my obsession.

FM: How did you and Sarah find the time to get it off the ground, were there many late nights? How long have you been working on this project?

MB: It has been a very long but rewarding process: curating the stock, designing the site, working with our developer, etcetera. Awesome to realise it, and planning upcoming G.A. projects — all while juggling full-time jobs — has been tricky. I guess if you want something bad enough you just make it happen though, right?

FM: The site design itself is beautiful, simple and clean. How important do you think the design of the online space is? Some online stores are really hard to navigate and it seems to take away from the whole experience, it’s just not as enjoyable. What were you thinking about when designing it?

MB: Thank you. As long as it’s functional and people receive their orders correctly, then we’re happy!

FM: Gazing into a crystal ball, where would you like to see Gang Atelier in a few years time?

MB: Much of the same. Hopefully still grateful for the experience. After being forced from Sydney due to extortionate real estate prices, G.A. settles into the Blue Mountains with a 360 degree mountain-view office and crystal cave in the backyard.

Download Dreamtime’s Love Song mix exclusive for Gang Atelier

Next story: Ten Inches – DJ Nozaki

Videosmith

tristan — Sun, 03 Jul 2011 22:13:52 +0000

Text: Amelia Stein Images: Sam Smith

Recently, Sam Smith screened a single-channel video of his new work Cameraman at the Art Gallery of New South Wales. The video also exists in two-channel form, which was being played at the same time in another room in the gallery.

Cameraman was shot over two weeks in Berlin and takes place between the Cameraman’s apartment, an artist’s studio and a cinema. The original version splits the screen, moving its audience between these locations, as another film is shot and plaster models of lenses made. As the communication of space and structure becomes clearer, linear time is discarded.

It is apt that, at a particular point, two versions of Cameraman were running concurrently in the AGNSW. As Smith explains in our interview, his intention with the one-channel version was not simply to re-purpose the existing work or tighten the narrative, but to create something entirely new through editing. This means new spaces opened within the same footage, and new possibilities for the film and for film as a medium.

Millie Stein: I would argue that video is not just a medium for you, but a concern and a theme. What do you think of this idea?

Sam Smith: I am interested in exploring what video and especially cinematic language offers when broken down and combined in new ways. Up until this year I had worked exclusively with digital video and a primary concern was with the qualities of special effects and how the apparatus of digital video operated as a tool to transform and distort. With Cameraman (2011) I shot part of the work on 16mm film which corresponded to a more detailed investigation of the language of editing and the physical qualities of cinema in contrast with the form of sculpture.

There are fundamentally two things operating with video: time and space. I think of video as being three-dimensional and the act of making images is about constructing space. And then you have film editing which is time-based.

MS: Can you tell me a bit more about how you approach editing, when considering this idea of film as three-dimensional, even sculptural?

SS: With the case of multi-channel works that I’ve made the spaces between and around the screens become a factor in the edit. This includes the physical gap in the installation and the void as it relates to the work’s narrative or architecture. The former relates more to how I would like to direct the movement of the audience and the later is to do with the three-dimensionality of the screen-space. With Cameraman (a two-channel installation) I was very aware when editing of how the characters moved between the two screens. I see it as two windows to the landscape of the video. Sometimes a single shot is presented across both but predominately they are used to draw together narrative and spatial elements. During a large part of the work the two screens are also separated visually with 16mm film footage appearing on the left channel and digital on the right. In this way you could say there is also a temporal gap between the screens created by the media.

MS: I saw Cameraman both as two-channel and single-channel. Is it possible to say if one worked ‘better’ in terms of that idea of creating impossible space? or were there different intentions for both?

SS: There were different intentions for the two versions and therefore they employ alternate shots and edits. I label the single-channel edit as the cinema version and it was specifically made for only that environment. Because Cameraman uses film theatres as key locations I was interested to introduce the work back into that universe. The idea of impossible space is linked to both versions but whereas the cinema version must rely on montage, the gallery edit can play with space across screens to physically direct narrative in a conceptual way.

MS: A lot of your work contains scenes that could potentially stand alone as stills. Can you explain the importance of giving motion to these images?

SS: This is an interesting point. For me it comes back to the idea of montage, or the grouping together of single images or shots into a sequence. In Cameraman, part of the work depicts the construction of plaster cast static forms using a hand-held, documentary style of shooting. Perhaps a way to see the translation of static to moving images might be to think about the process of animating a sculpture. I’m interested in the spatial advantages of montage also. The ability to create alternate architectures and impossible spaces through linking two or more filmic locations. Cameraman uses this device more than once in order to present a fluid idea of space.

MS: As well as time and space, I would say that action/narrative is a third possibility or component of video. How important is narrative to your work?

SS: I like the idea of narrative being described as action as it minimises the notion of story and highlights movement instead. In the past the importance of narrative has fluctuated but in Cameraman it was part of the production methodology. For the first time I wrote a script and shot the greater portion of the work during a dedicated two weeks. In this way the production mimicked a small scale film shoot. It was my intention to do so, but then to lose this focus in the edit and look at an expanded idea of narrative and form during the post-production and install.

Images 1-7:
Cameraman (2011)
4K and Super 16mm film
transferred to HD video, stereo, colour, 16:9
31:14 minutes
Courtesy the artist and GRANTPIRRIE, Sydney

Image 8:
Into The Void (2009)
Single channel HD video
Stereo, colour, 1080p, 16:9
5:50 minutes
Courtesy the artist and GRANTPIRRIE, Sydney

Image 9:
Permutation Set (2010)
4 channel HD video installation
Stereo, colour, 1080p, 16:9
20 seconds times 16,777,216 permutations
Courtesy the artist and GRANTPIRRIE, Sydney

Sam Smith

Next story: Berlin Calling – Benjamin Lichtenstein

Le Cercle

tristan — Sun, 03 Jul 2011 12:26:09 +0000

Text: Joseph Allen Shea Images: Benjamin Deberdt & Mark Gonzales

Le Cercle is the book I have always wanted to make but never knew it. It is the perfect conjoining of ideas and artistic practice, the works bridging time and space (the boards made in California, photographs taken in Paris and printed in Sydney then shipped to and from New York City for Mark to add his drawings. Finally the book was designed and printed in Sydney), marrying relationships young and old as well ideas that would not been conceived by one individual. It is the spin of a successful collaboration across several mediums. The unbroken ring that unites several ideas but only one conclusion.

I have been working with Mark Gonzales for four years but only last week shared coffee for the very first time. I met Benjamin Deberdt seven years ago and we became great friends but only last week realised our first art project together. After my return from Paris for the European launch of Le Cercle and the artworks inclusion in new Paris museum La Gaîté Lyrique, Benjamin and I spent some time over email trying to sum up what had happened.

Sydney – June 27, 2011/ 9.45PM Eastern Standard Time
Paris – June 27, 2011 / 1.45PM Central European Summer Time

Joseph Allen Shea: How and when did you first meet Mark Gonzales?

Benjamin Deberdt: I was thinking about it the other day… I first saw him skating the sundial spot in Paris, La Vague, with Ron Chatman, Stéphane Larance and Alex Wise. He was riding the first Blind board I had ever seen. And I’m guessing we actually met the first time I was in NYC, around 1995-6. I remember him setting up a one night exhibition at Aaron Rose’s apartment.

JAS: How did the collaboration come about?

BD: Very spontaniously, I’d say. Mark came to Paris to film the Circle Board performance for an exhibition he had in mind for Franklin Parrasch Gallery, NYC. I organised for Ludovic Azémar to film it, and I tagged along to witness it, and to document it also, ’cause that’d be something you would not want to miss. Then, months later, you and I agreed that it’d be nice to put those photos out there, in some way. And Mark must have liked the idea as he did a wonderful job at making my photographs more interesting! Nothing was planned, really, and it just happened quite naturally.

JAS: What is the circle board?

BD: It’s a very dangerous rolling device. Some people want you to believe it’s made of nine skateboards attached to form a wheel of sorts, but don’t believe them. There’s more to it!

JAS: When watching Mark ride the circle board, how much do you see as skateboarding and how much do you see as art? Is there any reason to differentiate?

BD: I don’t really think about it like that. I know that just riding that thing is more than difficult; then manipulating it with such grace is a whole other thing! As for artistic value, doesn’t it come with the 500 page book you are supposed to put out with every art piece, nowadays? In that case, no, it just appears in front of you…

JAS: Do you know much about the other skate performances Mark has done?

BD: I remember getting photos of the Mönchengladbach museum performance in an envelope sent by Cherryl Dunn. This is when I was running Sugar magazine. I did not quite get it until I saw the video a while later. Then, it all made sense, and it was so beautiful. To this day it may be one of the most inspiring documents of skateboarding. To me, at least!

JAS: The works that make up the book have just opened in an exhibit at La Gaîté Lyrique in Paris. Can you explain the other works that were displayed alongside your work?

BD: Some of them, yes, some others I would not dare it! Let’s say that the exhibition does quite a good job at making you excited about skateboarding, wether you are a “lifer”, or if you’re just taking your eight-year-old kid there.

JAS: How have the skate communities responded to the book? How have the art communities and/or general public responded?

BD: I dunno. What are the sales status!? My family really liked it!

JAS: Can you tell us a little bit about you photographic background? Including how you got started?

BD: I’m coming from a tightly run and selective photographic school: The Thomas Campbell Visual Institute. It was hard to get in, and I still haven’t found my way out.

JAS: How do you see the future of skateboarding publishing turning out?

BD: It could be grim, but as the major magazines seem very stale and absolutely sure of what “the kids” want and need, it feels more like local media is flourishing, adding excitement and relevance again. Perhaps this is the way forward. Do look up things like Grey in London, Dank in Oslo, Anzeige in Berlin or PWBC on the web. Paper doesn’t necessarily make you relevant!

JAS: What’s the next print run for Benjamin Deberdt?

BD: My mémoirs! Or zines.

JAS: Now that Mark has moved to France, how is he getting along as a Parisian?

BD: He has lived here before, a while back. I’m sure he’s doing just fine! What’s funny is that everybody you bump into, nowadays, mentions a Gonz sighting!

JAS: Mark has become a sort of enigma or skate royalty. It was interesting to see how people reacted to him being in Paris. Why do think he’s gained such a reverence?

BD: I’d say, no matter what marketing plans try to tell us, we do not have many legends, especially those that transcend generations. Mark is one of the only ones. He in his own league, he also has a natural stature that commands respect. Thinking about that exhibition way back, in NYC, I clearly remember him explaining to Steven Cales, nonetheless, that he could walk any neighborhood, and nothing would happen to him, claiming: “It’s in my eyes!” I’m not making that up…

JAS: Isn’t skateboarding just for kids?

BD: I’m sure kids would love us to leave them alone with our EMB fantasies and Brooklyn Banks stories!

Le Cercle, printed by Blood & Thunder, is available now in limited run through Izrock Pressings.

P.A.M Store, Izrock Pressings and The Blackmail invite you to the Sydney launch of Le Circle, with a display of prints and projected works from the book and refreshments provided by Grolsch.

Thursday July 14, 6-8pm
P.A.M Store
20 Burton St
Darlinghurst, Sydney

Next story: The Hong Song – Dan Hong

Punch Buggy

tristan — Sun, 03 Jul 2011 11:06:33 +0000

Text: Sunday Ganim Images: Saskia Folk

Melbourne native Saskia Folk, is a hunter and gatherer of metalwork stripped from cars in the central desert of Australia, and is not to be mistaken for a rev-head. Sunday Ganim catches up with her to talk about her new works in the lead up to her upcoming show Panel Work at Scott Livesey Galleries, Melbourne.

Sunday Ganim: I know you were living up out of Alice Springs leading up to the creation of this series, how did you come to be up there?

Saskia Folk: I travelled through the centre back in 2000 and yearned to return with a purpose. I was familiar with community life but wanted to experience it for myself and learn more about Aboriginal Art. Papunya Tula Artists founded the Western Desert Art movement and is held in high regard. So I approached them with my resume, met the manager and the rest is history.

SG: Where were you based?

SF: I would go out bush for two weeks and then come back and spend a week in the gallery in town. Most of my time was spent between Kintore (530km west of Alice) and Kiwirrkura (770km west of Alice). In Alice I lived in a classic caravan in my mate’s backyard, in true trailer trash style! In Kintore we shared a house that was attached to the Art Centre, right in the heart of the community. And in Kiwirrkura, the most remote community in Australia the quietest, a simple demountable was an ample dwelling in the white fella end of town.

SG: What day-to-day things did you do for the Papunya Tula artists when you were there?

SF: I made a lot of cups of tea, stretched canvas, mixed paints, transcribed the stories behind the paintings, wrote a heap of cheques, tended to the needs of the Elders and their families, joked around and ran around like a headless chook.

SG: What got you interested in the abandoned cars?

SF: In our spare time at Papunya Tula we would rummage the tips in search of treasure. Initially I found metal objects, pilfered car badges and reworked them into art. Another Papunya Tula worker and I made a fence out of car bonnets, to create some privacy for our yard and it all evolved from there.

SG: Tell me about your process, how do you tackle cutting the panels from the cars in the desert?

SF: Initially I used a hacksaw, but it was tough going… There was a car door that I was determined to remove that nearly broke me. I tried every means to remove it with no luck. That’s when I decided to get a cordless angle grinder. It does the job but the batteries run out quick. With four batteries I get about two hours of cutting. Then I would cart them back to Alice and clean them up and fine tune the size and shape that I wanted.

SG: What are you drawn to in each panel that you choose to cut out – is it the colour, wear, dents, rust, shape, the firebombing?

SF: There has to be some kind of variation in the panel. Each panel I select must have at least one of the characteristics you have mentioned. I am not interested in flat colour or new shiny paint jobs. The process of deterioration is what fascinates me.

SG: The long exposure to the elements seems to play such a large part in shaping the changes in these cars, are you amazed by the force of nature and the effects it has on the cars?

SF: Totally. The desert is quite unique in that respect. In wetter parts of Australia the vehicles would be totally devoid of character. But here in the desert the process slows dramatically, the colours fade and crack differently and rust is slower to take over. The side of the car most exposed to the elements may be completely rusted out, but walk around it and find bursts of colour and texture.

SG: Where do you find these cars, do they find you?

SF: They are scattered all over the desert. I would drive 1400km a fortnight for work along a dusty road and see them pop up over the horizon. If I saw one I like the look of I’d get out of the car and walk around it, inspecting every piece of it. We would go out hunting on the weekends and come across them, I guess while mob were looking for goanna, I was looking for cars. The communities would house graveyards of abandoned cars. They weren’t that hard to find but the good ones worthy of removing a panel were diamonds in the rough. Kind of like a game of punch buggy.

SG: I know that some of these cars have been there for a few decades. Do you see the cars as an extension of the landscape?

SF: The cars are part of the landscape and reflect the history. Aboriginal people have inhabited the land out there for 40,000 years, they left their mark on the land with carvings. The cars left out there reflect a history of the last 60 years, where they went, in what cars (particularly Holden’s and Ford’s), who owned them and so on.

SG: Does driving around in the desert finding the panels, affect your connection to the landscape?

SF: I keep falling in love with it more. It’s hard to describe my connection to the desert. It is an amazing place that is constantly changing in the most subtle ways. I get excited being on the open road, it’s an adventure and finding panels is part of it. Now that I am going further afield, I am discovering new places and marvelling at how much the landscape varies.

SG: One thing I notice about you, is that you are always drawn to people, interesting people or stories that people have, are you attracted to these vehicles in a similar way – if the car has an interesting story behind it does that make you seek out a panel from it?

SF: There are certain cars I won’t touch, especially ones with graffiti on them. They are iconic landmarks. There is a classic one where one car is on top of another and sprayed on it is “to cars bin puckin” (two cars been fucking). Cars like that or really old amazing ones I just photograph instead.

SG: You’re a trained photographer, is the photographers instinct for a good shot, the same as the feeling you get in your gut when you find just the right panel?

SF: Nah it’s even better… For me finding panels is like a scavenger hunt, you get that giddy feeling when you find the treasure.

SG: I find it interesting that these cars are driven until they basically stop running, then are abandoned and left to deteriorate. Then you come along and begin your work with something that has been deemed as rubbish. For as long as I’ve known you, you have always created things from second hand and used stuff, what attracts you to the idea of generating something fresh from something discarded?

SF: I like the challenge. Plus out in the desert you don’t have much choice, there aren’t any art shops to buy materials, so it forces you to be resourceful. I get more satisfaction in finding the beauty in something someone else sees as junk and reworking it into a new form.

SG: Also, a while back we talked once about the way in which the aboriginal people view the landscape, particularly the ground, to see what animal tracks were around. Then later we watched a doco and there was an aboriginal man saying he remembered seeing the first car tracks on the ground and how seeing these continuous tracks really blew his mind – is that something you ever think about when cutting the panels?

SF: Anangu taught me how to look at the ground around me to decipher what animals are around. It is their primary hunting technique. Because a majority of the ground is sand it is possible to track an animal by following the marks it makes when it moves. When Aboriginals saw car tracks for the first time they couldn’t work out what it was. It’s hard to imagine. When I get out of my car to check something out or even just have a pee I check the ground for markings. Then at least you know if there is a snake around!

SG: Any good car stories?

SF: Shit. Where to begin. In the two years I was out in the desert I saw some classic stuff. Guys driving around in cars that you would have given up on years ago blaring the same song over and over, beaten up beyond repair. Cars jammed packed with people, 14 was my record. I got bogged sideways with two wheels in the air and had to ditch the car. Helped so many people out of hairy situations in the middle of nowhere. I could go on for ages.

Panel Work opens on Friday August 12 at Scott Livesey Galleries, Melbourne

Saskia Folk

Next story: Henge Beat – Total Control

One Basket

tristan — Sun, 03 Jul 2011 11:01:02 +0000

Text: Fleur Mitchell Images: Greedy Hen

Greedy Hen is power duo Katherine Brickman and Kate Mitchell. Two insanely creative women who produce everything from video art, tour posters and album cover – and that’s only the beginning. No matter what the medium, their work is distinctive and instantly recognisable. Greedy Hen is defined by a subtle balance of naivety and old world weirdness, coupled with a darkly humorous, witchy vibe. It’s sort of like Victorian decoupage turned upside down and back to front, with a home spun, handmade touch that is present in everything they create.

Greedy Hen took time out to let Fleur Mitchell pick their brains and talk about, amongst other things, super-fiction, dream projects and the power of teamwork.

Fleur Mitchell: First off, how did you guys come to meet and form Greedy Hen?

Greedy Hen: We met years ago studying art. We then, quite organically, started working together kicking ideas around over a game of ping pong to see how far we could push an idea and then see if we could pull it off. Magically we always do!

FM: The creative output of Greedy Hen spans so many different forms from music clips to decoupaging plaster casts. What other creative mediums do you want to explore?

GH: We like exploring new mediums, seeing how ideas can manifest. It’s the most exciting thing, not being restricted or pigeon holed by a particular medium. That’s how we like to roll. Probably more explorations into different types of handmade animation, film techniques, we’d also like to experiment with printing onto fabrics, wearable art, and eventually we really want to look at making an epic Greedy Hen art book. We sometimes get worried that we won’t be able to do all the things we want to do within our lifetime.

FM: Greedy Hen has a really recognisable, yet unique style. How would you describe your aesthetic?

GH: Our work is tactile, messy, mixed media. Our backgrounds are in fine arts and so the way we look at things, the way we talk about things conceptually is informed by that. We’re just a couple of artists that happen to do a whole lot of things and get excited about a number of different mediums. we don’t like to limit ourselves with boundaries; we make art, we illustrate, we work in graphic design, we direct music videos, we make gig visuals, we make objects, we collage. Basically we cover so many different areas it seems a little archaic and stuffy to put ourselves into a box.

But the great thing we’ve discovered about all this kingdom crossing is that for some reason, because we made it with our hands, it will always look like a Greedy Hen work no matter what medium. If we cooked a spaghetti everyone would know it was a Greedy Hen spaghetti just by the feeling it has. Like a very beautiful, slightly sinister, funny bolognaise.

FM: Your work perfectly blends a twee old world innocence with a darker, all knowing and humorous element. Do you enjoy the interplay between the two?

GH: We like when an image has more to it. When things look familiar like an old folk tale, but there’s something else going on that you can’t quite put your finger on. Imagery that you can sit with for a while trying to work out, but never actually come to a conclusion. We also love uncomfortable Andy Kaufman style humour. So our art work in a way blends all these things together and that interplay is what we find forever interesting and challenging.

FM: Tell me about your recent exhibition at Lamington Drive Gallery Greedy Hen: Debut Album. You guys created a fictional band and all the trappings (except the sounds) that go along with it. What was the creative trigger that led you to create that work?

GH: Well the basic premise of the show is a Super-Fiction: What would Greedy Hen be like if we were a band? At our studio we make a lot of album artwork, tour posters, and direct music clips for a variety of bands and musicians so we thought we’d see what it would look like if the tables were turned and we were our own heroes.

Visually, the show is predominately art prints. We made an album cover, wrote a track list of 10 songs, then we created an artwork for each of those 10 songs. The album launch is touring so we’ll have two more shows after the Melbourne exhibition, and as we go on the show is evolving.

We’re filming a music film clip of our hit single, pressing vinyl records with no grooves, and all the other visual cues that go along with an album launch, radio interviews, tour posters, etc. But there is no sound or music what so ever. We leave the void to the viewer to fill in. So that’s the general conceptual vibe.

FM: Other than Greedy Hen (of course), what band do you wish you could have been/be a member of?

GH: Kate wants to actually be Johnny Cash. Katherine wants to actually be Jonathan Richman.

FM: How do you go from the seed of an idea to it being fully realised? What’s your creative process like?

GH: In a behind the scenes way we work like a tag team, Kate is the building blocks and Katherine is the fine details obsessive-compulsive finesse! Kate is the brain and Katherine is the eyes. Kate works best in the mornings and Katherine excels in the evening. You see? team effort wins the race! Kate usually ’feels’ something and Katherine has a ‘clear vision’ of what it is. Then we bounce ideas around like ping pong, until it’s on it’s way. We work best when a client lets us run loose and we’re free to move in whatever direction we want. Or better still when there’s no client and it’s an art project.

FM: Is it challenging working as a duo or does it have advantages? ?

GH: It’s like going on a choose your own adventure with someone else. You might end up in quicksand or on the secret level and you’ve got someone else there along for the ride.

FM: What themes, ideas and golden nuggets of goodness are you into at the moment?

GH: We’ve always been quite inspired by quirky nuances in the everyday like fogged up eye glasses, blue ink stains in the pocket of business man’s shirt, 60 cents under the couch, broken glass on the footpath looking like diamonds, dogs looking like their owners….

FM: What would your dream creative project be?

GH: Greedy Hen’s dream projects would be publishing a book and seeing the completion of a Greedy Hen clothing (and objects) range called ‘Adventure Club’. Kate’s dream project would be looking after an island. Katherine’s dream project would be swinging in a hammock on Kate’s island.

FM: What are you working on at the moment?

GH: We are working on a ‘live animation’ set with an overhead projector for the Oxford Art Factory Free Fall program, which is curated by John Douglas. We have the show coming up at Chalk Horse Gallery and we’re also chiseling away at putting together our art book opus.

Greedy Hen: Debut Album opens at Chalk Horse Gallery on Thursday September 29

Greedy Hen

Next story: Against The World – Dan Du Bern

Against The World

tristan — Sun, 03 Jul 2011 11:00:23 +0000

Text: Melissa Loughnan Images: Daniel du Bern

Daniel du Bern is an artist who has lived across Australia and New Zealand, having received his formal training in New Zealand at Massey University, Wellington. His largely conceptual practice is motivated by politics, architecture, urban environments and art historical canons. Moving between painting, collage, sculpture and installation, his work is distinctly ‘defiant’ — concerned with appropriation, manipulation, negation, and industrial and architectural methodologies. Melissa Loughnan recently caught up with Daniel to discuss his practice and upcoming projects.

Melissa Loughnan: Can you explain the thought processes behind your last solo exhibition, Contra Mundum, held at Y3K gallery last year?

Daniel du Bern: Literally translating as ‘against the world’, the meaning of Contra Mundum is to defy everything; or to defy faith/belief. I was drawn to this term and it became something of a maxim for me. This concept of absolute defiance is certainly something that I would consider a cornerstone within the thinking behind my art (and my desire to make). When I think about making in art the notion of creation bears little or no relevance; instead it is ideas of appropriation and manipulation that I am primarily concerned with.

Speaking generally, the true irony is that newness celebrated in art is seldom or never actually original. It can’t be. For when it is this, it is shunned or overlooked, quite simply because it is incomprehensible (as it stands outside of one’s field of understanding). Instead what we consider new are subtle and novel manipulations and reconfigurations of forms, which we understand as constituting art (be they physical or conceptual). My practice is no different from this; I am just doing it self-consciously. Put simply Contra mundum is concerned with two things – first, negation, and second, making and work.

For a number of years now I have been making work, which deliberately mimics various canonical signifiers that we associate with abstract (or non-objective) painting and installation, but uses them to slightly different ends. For instance I have previously made monochromatic paintings that are illustrations of political flags, or more recently colour field paintings that are based on the white painted windows of vacant shop-fronts. Contra Mundum is less of a clear-cut representation but their appearance nevertheless make clear reference to processes of industrial fabrication. (Also, newspapers are important in this work.)

ML: Can you expand on the importance of newspapers in Contra Mundum, and in your work more generally?

DDB: I find newspaper to be a fascinating object. While its primary purpose we know to be the distribution of editorial news and advertising via text and image, it is also, simultaneously, an object of ultimate disposability, and the paper upon which these words are printed have been set to countless tasks. A main function is of course as providing protection to other objects (or surfaces) through wrapping, covering, masking. So when I look at newspapers they are both of these things – paper and news. Information, waste and utility. It’s inherent simultaneity that I am drawn to, and I deliberately use it as a signifier of such.

ML: Your work often has a political undertone. How has your interest in politics influenced your practice?

DDB: There are politics in everyone’s work should you choose to see them. Work is often considered to be ‘political’ if it provides a viewpoint that stands outside of the norm, be it left or right wing; or if it appears dogmatic or polemical. It is definitely true that much of my earlier work had political edge. I think it is less clear of the work that I’ve made in the past three to four years.

The politics are still there but in a more oblique, less cut-and-dry way. I guess my work has mellowed, as I have changed the manner in which I choose to conduct myself with regards to politics (but this is not to say that my political views have necessarily mellowed). Look, I guess what I’m really saying is that I decided a while back that if you really want to bang a drum you’re better off buying yourself a soapbox or joining a political party. Political art often seems little more than an exercise of either preaching to the converted or wasted breath.

Art is a matter of asking questions rather than making statements. It is about engaging people and encouraging them to think, to consider those things around them, to stimulate thought and enquiry. And it is because of this reason alone that ‘political art’ seems so often to fall down.

ML: In Antonio Hardt and Michael Negri’s now-canonical book Empire (2000), they refer to the stubborn, unflinching character of Bartleby the Scrivener (from Herman Melville’s book Bartleby, the Scrivener: A Story of Wall Street) as a positive figurehead of the political ‘multitude’ precisely because of his defiance of or resistance to everything: refusal to write, work, obey etc. What are you resisting in your work? Or is it the concept of resistance more broadly that you are interested? — i.e. do you see defiance as a bigger abstract concern than aesthetics?

DDB: Yes, I think that the concept of resistance is more important that actually resisting something in particular, that is if we are talking about art specifically. My reason for thinking this is based upon my understanding of how art functions. I feel that art should function to confront, and to solicit a reaction. Now this is not to say that I don’t have my own beliefs or political persuasions or that I wish to make light of persecuted oppressed peoples, but they are simply not relevant to the art. Persuasive and decisive language sits in the political realm. Art on the other hand remains obtuse and esoteric. Art shouldn’t be about dogma. Art should be about openness and the individual. It is a philosophical and intellectual pursuit and thus it should be treated as such. Aesthetics are a vehicle for the convenience of ideas and nothing more. It provides the mesh through we can collectively perceive things and communicate intersubjectively.

ML: You’re currently developing new work for a group exhibition at Utopian Slumps, Impossible Objects II, opening on July 21. Can you describe the work you will be exhibiting?

DDB: I’ll be making work that is quite similar to Contra mundum and related works. Glass, abandoned buildings, modernism and detritus.

Dan Du Bern

Bleem Weaver

tristan — Wed, 01 Jun 2011 00:02:57 +0000

Text: Adriana Giuffrida Images: Brianna Lee Martin

There is no doubt that it’s getting colder during the winter months, and this creates all kinds of desires to rug up in whatever you can. So what more could one really want than an exquisite handmade wool scarf or blanket made for this exact purpose?

Brianna Martin has knitted herself a nice little niche with her incredible woven wonders. Following on from an interest in all things crafty, Brianna learned the skill of weaving. Her pieces are created by hand and fashioned with Australian wool. The vibrancy of her designs coupled with subtle patterns and textures make each scarf a piece of art, and a must for these chilly times.

Adriana Guiffrida caught up with Brianna to discuss her love for colour and a new exhibition at Mr. Kitley in Melbourne.

Adriana Guiffrida: Tell me about your journey into weaving, how did you discover your talent in this area?

Brianna Martin: I’ve always enjoyed sewing and crafts. I used to do cross-stitch and sew little tops and bags when I was younger because my Mum did. That led me to studying pattern making and sewing, then a few years ago I learned to weave. I’ve never considered myself an overly patient person, but when it comes to weaving – which takes a lot of patience – I just have it. I’m really passionate about weaving and I believe that if you enjoy something it will show in your work.

AG: What is your favourite thing about weaving?

BM: I love being able to use all the colours I want, and in any combination that I choose. I use almost all the colours of the rainbow and I like putting together combinations that usually might not mesh. I just have a lot of fun with it.

AG: In fashion, there is a tendency to ask about the inspiration for a collection. Do you find that the inspirations are different with a textile medium such as weaving?

BM: I think, for everybody, both fashion designers and artists, inspiration is different. For me, inspiration comes from everywhere. I’m constantly writing down colour combinations that I see, whether it’s a stripy tie on TV to three cars lined up in a car park. I’m also really inspired by books. I’ve got lots on crafts, Mexican homewares and weaving, of course. I’m also a huge Disney fan. I get lots of ideas and inspiration from fun and colourful animations.

AG: Within your current range of scarves, there is an incredible mix of textures, colour and patterns. Do you map out what you are going to do with each piece, or do you go with the flow and just see what happens next?

BM: I do a bit of both. The way I thread my loom in combination with the way I move my feet on the peddles determines what pattern comes out. Sometimes I thread it one way and stick to the pattern, other times I’ll change my feet, which will weave a different pattern over it. It’s fun to see what happens. A lot of my work has changes in it because the pattern gets repetitive, so I switch half way through and it always seems to turn out great.

AG: Each piece is vastly different, even down to the finishing of the tassel on a scarf. With that level of investment in the smallest details, do you ever find it hard to part with a piece after you’ve created it?

BM: It is hard sometimes. But I know when I sell a piece that the person must love and appreciate it as much as me, which is lovely. Plus I couldn’t possibly keep everything I liked. I’d have a wardrobe full of wool.

AG: You have made scarves, bags and blankets and more recently shrugs. Are there any other areas you would like to explore?

BM: My work has definitely evolved since my last exhibition, so I’m just excited to see where it takes me.

AG: Tell me about your exhibition Mr. Kitly.

BM: My exhibition at the gorgeous Mr Kitly gallery is very colourful. All of my work is displayed on logs and hung from branches. The combination of the colours in the weaving with the natural wood looks really nice. I’ve got scarves, neck warmers, jackets, bags and a big blanket showing in the space.

AG: Your flyer for the show is quite a family affair. Your Dad, on the far left, has a very proud look on his eye. How did this come about?

BM: My beautiful friend Francesca was writing a piece on my work and needed a few pictures taken. She had the idea to take a shot, with whoever was in the house at the time wearing a scarf. It turned out great so, a few weeks later, I rounded up the whole family, wrapped them in my new work and did a shoot for my flyer. It’s fun and shows that anyone can wear my stuff, including my awesome Dad!

AG: What is next for Bleem Weaver?

BM: I’m heading to my parents’ house in Foster for a nice relaxing time. It’s so beautiful and peaceful, there is a waterfall and an amazing view of Wilson’s Prom. It’s pretty special. I don’t plan on seeing any wool for a few days.

Brianna Lee Martin

Next story: RU Serial? – Serial Space

RU Serial?

tristan — Wed, 01 Jun 2011 00:02:06 +0000

Text: Amelia Stein Images: Lucy Parakhina

I’ve been to Serial Space three times. The most recent was to interview Kate Blackmore for this article and eat Indian food. Downstairs, poet Nick Keys was attempting to deliver a lecture on techne ghosts as part of a Dorkbot evening. He was struggling, bouncing a ball around to try to remember a metaphor. The rows of chairs that lined the room were full. The crowd was waiting, but they were also being patient. More than anything, they were being supportive. Eventually Keys picked up his train of thought and launched into an insightful and genuine lecture while I finished my palak paneer.

The time before that, the place was full of pink and red streamers and a giant paper heart was exerting a near-centrifugal force from the centre of the room. Two teams, seated at tables covered in red cloth, rose one by one to debate the merits of polyamory. Again, the rows of chairs that lined the room were full. The debaters yelled, shook with nerves and insulted the opposing team. They wielded copies of The Ethical Slut and frantically took notes as the crowd cheered and booed.

Then there was the first time, when I went to deliver something to a friend. The gate was open, leading to the courtyard, leading to the door. There was no sign, no exhibition, no gallery manager – just white walls, a concrete floor and a staircase. The space was empty. There was no evidence that anything had ever happened, or would ever happen, here.

Of these experiences, it is actually the last one – blankness – that has the most to say about Serial Space’s success. As much structurally as it is in nature, Serial Space is profoundly unprepossessing. It is a receptive and open platform for the values – experimentation, fluidity – of those who choose to invest, and so has the potential to fill and transform with whatever energy and initiative people throw at it.

The ideals of spontaneity and adventurousness underscore not only the diversity of events held, but also the way the events are scheduled (never more than a few in advance). Likewise, there is no rule about how often the roster of directors must change, or what is required in order to be involved.

“[Serial Space’s directors] are from really different backgrounds,” says co-director Kate Blackmore, “which I guess is why the programming is so diverse. Pia [Van Gelder] is an electronic artist and she runs Dorkbot – she’s the Overlord of Sydney – and we have regular events here, so that brings a very specific crowd. Tom Smith is more interested in experimental sound sort of stuff. Frances Barrett and I are in Brown Council, so we’re interested in bringing performance and live forms to the space. Marion [Tubbs] is doing her PhD and she’s interested in assemblage as an art form. She brings an academic, theoretical side to the programming and started Serial/in/Theory when she came on board.”

“Tom Smith recently said in an interview for Das Superpaper that ‘running Serial Space is very much a form of praxis, a way of putting our ideas and interests at the forefront of what we actually do with our time.’ We’re living our ideas about life and art merging. It’s a really creative environment to be in and doesn’t feel like we’re working when we’re running an event. It’s a very vibrant space and it’s constantly being reinvigorated by new people, new audiences. It’s a real community here, and I’ve never really experienced anything like that before.”

What Serial Space and its directors aim to provide to both artists and audiences is exactly this: an authentic experience. Most recently, they’ve been able to strengthen this exchange with two annual grant-facilitated residencies, where artists can spend three weeks developing new work in the space.

For a less unified body, this commitment to staying open could spell disorganisation at best and disharmony at worst. But somehow, for Serial Space, their flexibility has engendered absolute trust and enthusiasm from audiences and artists alike.

The clear through-line for all that Serial Space offers is the desire to bring creative output to audiences in ways that might not otherwise exist. Much of what Serial Space gets behind is art that would potentially have a hard time finding an audience anywhere else, because of its experimental or indefinable nature. Similarly, the door is always open for those who are interested in original ideas in whatever form they may take.

“With certain events, like the debate series, we want that to appeal to a really large audience,” says Blackmore. “They’re not unique social interactions. We’re interested in bringing a whole lot of people together to have a discussion in that context. We don’t want it to just be an art debate by an art crowd for an art crowd. We want everyone to be there listening to two different perspectives on an argument.“

“I love to see people in the space and to see the space active. I think that is so important. To me, that means it’s working and that we’re appealing to people who are interested and engaged with what we’re putting on. Sometimes we do have really small audiences and that doesn’t really matter. It’s not really a priority to ‘sell tickets’ – but it’s amazing when there’s heaps of people in the space and it’s alive.”

Serial Space

Next story: Sunshine Folds – Dark Bells

After The Renaissance

tristan — Wed, 01 Jun 2011 00:00:05 +0000

Text: Ivan Ruhle Images: David Capra

On September the 15th 2011, I flew to Europe in order to walk around and see the sites. On my first day in the continent I met an artist named David Capra. I soon discovered that David was from Sydney also. This coincidental regional bond was soon replaced with a greater, more meaningful solidarity based on shared interests such as the illustrator Saul Steinberg and the delight and melancholy of community work. I was also interested in David’s art, he told me that he was interested in prophecy and mysticism, topics I do not understand, and he made images and objects that were an uncanny combination of gentleness and contained chaos.

Now it is September the 27th and Mr Capra and I have traveled to Nizza Monferrato in Northern Italy where we will visit with his family while staying at their ancestral vineyard.

The following conversation occurred after breakfast.

Ivan Ruhle: You and I can see the building clearly, as we’re standing in front of it, but I was wondering if you could describe your family’s vineyard for the readers.

David Capra: Well, it’s called the l’Annunziata (The Annunciation). It’s a little like Italy’s version of the Tara plantation in Gone with the Wind, isn’t it? These tall white columns appear fat and overgrown from all the fine cheese and wine it’s been consuming. Can you see the cherubim painted crudely on the frieze going all around the building? Well, these look like Disney characters now (my nonna tells me that got them touched up in the 80s) yet, they were initially painted in the fine tradition of the old Italian masters. The little garden used to be kept by my Zia who was usually found here with her cat sitting on her lap. Sadly, she nor the cat won’t be found here today, which I will explain later.

IR: I was struck by the classicism of the vineyard’s homestead and those big, bulbous Doric columns that frame the balconies. This made me think of your sculpture, which often feature what seem like half-remembered classical features. I was wondering if your time in Italy has had an impact on your imagination?

DC: Yes, certainly did. What stayed with me most was how much of Italy felt the need to yield to the decorative. I wasn’t prepared for the extent of it; even plain walls in Geneva are painted to resemble classical relief features, like a theme park, almost to justify its existence. I really enjoyed this and would find it quite funny, especially when they were imbued with the spiritual, say a saint’s hip bone displayed in an ornate glass construction. I guess my work is a mixture of my own off-centre humor and my need to make things ornamental.

IR: I was interested to learn that scholars think the Ancient Greeks first built all their temples from wood. Eventually there was a transition where the wood was exchanged for stone. This is referred to as petrification as though the wooden temples were literally petrifying. Your sculpture often combines solid, prefigured elements such as vases and figurines with soft, mutable materials. Is it important to you that your materials remain open to change?

DC: Really, I did not know this! A recent work I made was formed out of a decorative base taken from a souvenir of a Greek mythical character. It was given to me by my nonna in two parts so I could repair it with my good super glue. She doesn’t know as yet that they formed the basis of two works. I fashioned plasticine on top of this small plinth. It resembled a floral bouquet, and for me, was like making tangible the weight of a mystical exchange. Last time I was in Italy, I stayed in a Franciscan monastery (I knew one of the monks there. My great-grandmother had paid for his ordination 50 years ago) where I witnessed a meditative approach to working with objects. My work embraces craft practices in a similar way. My work does undergo a transformation: once finished, they may fall apart or gather dust. I see my sculptures acting as props, always taking on a new and different function, made to serve an imaginary purpose.

IR: You mention that your sculptures serve as props for an imaginary purpose. I was wondering what this purpose might be?

DC: It does depend on the object, I have been making watercolours of late and cutting them into small banners and flags. I spin with them in my performances. I also made ‘Prayers for Sausage Dog’, covered in plasticine gems, which is made to spin, having no real function at all. It is evident a conflict exists between the artist and the work I create; I often feel pressure to make work that serves a purpose. Often I work with materials I find completely unappealing so they don’t get in the way too much. ‘Victory Helmet’ was made of a large paper floral bouquet stuck onto a bike helmet. This was bought by a collector who has told me they put on my head covering when feeling heavy and parade up and down the house proclaiming victorious declarations. I like imagining my work becoming a natural part of someone’s day, in a crazed sort of way.

IR: One thing that has struck me about Nizza Monferrato is that it is a real working person’s village. The vineyards come right to the very edge of the town centre. What do you think the working class hero Gene Kelley would have done while he was here?

DC: Well, I could imagine him being employed by my Zia to pick the grapes, swinging around the poles and later followed by a tap routine handing out gelatos in the town square to the children. My dances usually act more as spiritual warfare in the form of improvised inspired intercessory and prophetic dance, yet I do take notes from Mr Kelly frequently. Last time I was here I undertook a dance that seemed to start off a chain of events- events that cover me with a blanket of guilt, making me feel queasy. It started like this: I was below in the vineyard house late at night watching something on television and a musical interlude lead me to do this wild dance while everyone was asleep. Except the family cat, who got such a fright that it ran out the window. Days passed and the cat still hadn’t been found, until someone went for a walk and found it dead by a footpath. It was not acquainted to the night and I fear it died because it felt it couldn’t face my exuberant body movements. A few months later my Zia died, I hope not from loneliness, as that cat was her closest companion. I do hope my family don’t read this.

IR: We’ve been eating big, three course, espresso capped lunches since we arrived here in Nizza Monferrato, and it’s about lunchtime right now. I know that dancing is important to the way you make art. Do you think that, similar to lunch, there is a specific time of the day that people should dance?

DC: I think I should make it clear I am not a professional dancer, yet I think people should dance every chance they have. Back at home I have just moved into a new studio, an open-plan office space, still with dividers in place. There is not much privacy, so I am not sure how comfortable I will be dancing in front of the other artists. It is something I do quite a bit in the studio to keep my energy levels up, build momentum and process my thoughts. Kermit the Frog says, “I’ve got a dream too, but it’s about singing and dancing and making people happy. That’s the kind of dream that gets better the more people you share it with.” I find that so simple and delightful. It really resonates with me.

IR: You told me before you came over to Europe that you were working on a project in Five-Dock. Could you reveal more?

DC: It’s a 25 meter permanent work on the facade of Five Dock library. My own motifs were laser cut onto holographic material and dispersed across the windows. It was really strange seeing doodlings I made in notebooks be reproduced on that scale. The designs are delicate, yet quite eccentric. Some resemble airborne floral machines, gemstones, invented languages and billowing union jakes. They seem to cause people to daydream, as you naturally shift your vision between the windows, animating the view outside.

IR: Could you imagine staging a similar project in Italy, which as you have
pointed out, is a great tapestry of ornamentation and public art?

DC: I think Italy’s sites have so much potential for artists to work with yet it is difficult to make things happen here and contemporary practices are not widely supported. Imagine working within the catacombs or the Villa Borghese, the incredible home of the Borghese family filled with Bernini’s white marble work? Or imagine performing in the Vatican? I think if I had the chance I would do something along those lines. I am about to curate a project with Parramatta Artists Studios, where contemporary artists (including myself) are designing ecclesiastical banners to be displayed in churches in Parramatta. I am particularly looking forward to working with the church craft group.

IR: We’ve encountered quite a few saints on our travels. I would be interested to know your thoughts on the more mystical aspects of sainthood.

DC: When I was staying at the monastery last time, I kept asking myself what a saint would look like today. I would sit and read from their library of accounts of Saint Francis doing a naked jig before the Pope, saints flying in the air or escaping padlocked cells. I was hoping I would encounter something similar, yet was a little disappointed. (I have one memory of bidding everyone good night at the monastery and spotted that they were all watching CSI dubbed in Italian). I have been doing research and have found brilliant stories of missionaries dodging bullets and being rescued by angels disguised as truckies wearing flannelette in four-wheel drives, just like a Touched By An Angel episode. Or the 1920s Christian missionary Sadhu Sundar Singh, who is said to have met a 300 year-old man who lived in a cave at the foothills of the Himalayas, who spent his time in states of ecstasy, interceding for the world through prayer and having his food delivered, serviced by angels. Some believe Sadhu went to go live in this cave too as his body has never been found. I have also been hearing about this ecstatic lady in Indonesia who was asked to not take communion anymore as a she would make such a spectacle each service, people were coming far and wide to see her. The priest told her she could only sit quietly in the back seat. In one service the communion bread flew out of the Priest’s grip and landed in her mouth where she was sitting at the other end of the church.

David Capra

Next story: Icy Poles And Sausage Rolls – Brett Redman