Peter Drew Arts

Origins of The Face

2012-01-03T04:18:00.000-08:00

About a year ago I was playing around with the idea of combining a renaissance portrait with a nepalese style depiction of Gautama Buddha. After a few attempts I realised that the image might need a third, more contemporary element. Once I'd chosen a technique I decided to document the process. Recently I rediscovered these images which show the development of The Face.

SPACE INVADERS - Australia's first street art survey exhibition

2011-10-14T07:03:00.000-07:00

Around this time ten years ago the World Trade Centre had just come down, the ‘war on terror’ was about to begin and contemporary art still had nothing to say. In the same year that Martin Creed’s ‘Work No.227’ won the Turner Prize (a piece consisting of nothing more than a light turning off and on) it’s not surprising that a new generation of artists began turning away from a gallery system made impotent by conceptualism. The alternative was to embrace the medium of the street itself.

As stencil art exploded throughout the laneways of Melbourne it quickly found its way online where street artists from around the world were sharing ideas, exchanging techniques and building an audience. By cutting out the middleman, artists had direct contact with a new audience who shared their concerns. No curator could exclude their images for being unfashionably political, accessible and unpretentious. But now, 10 years on, street art couldn’t be more fashionable. As institutions scramble to catch up with the artists it seems that both parties are ready to benefit from some critical engagement.

Space Invaders is the first attempt by any Australian institution to go beyond the token gesture and present a broad survey of this thing called street art. Beginning in 2001 when the NGV realised that something important was happening right under their noses, an appeal was issued for stencil artists to print their images on paper, archival paper. So, with the magic word of the institution, what had been ephemeral became collectable and what had been ‘counter cultural’ became, simply, ‘cultural.’ Or so you might think.

When large institutions moved to embrace modern art in the 1930s it was only after modernism had been left to fend for, develop, and prove itself for a number of decades. In this way modern art had defined itself by its opposition to the status quo. So when museums moved to enshrine what began as a collection of avant-garde or ‘counter cultural’ movements, modern art quickly became the official culture of its time.
But as the contradiction of modern art as a state-sponsored avant-garde became apparent, its integrity quickly eroded. By the time postmodernism presented an alternative that embraced meaninglessness itself there wasn’t much meaning left in modernism to put up a fight. So with that, kitsch became cool, bilge became art and, once again, counter culture became the official culture of its time. And so the cycle goes.

Like any culture worth its place in history street art seems destined to run its course in a similar fashion. But for the time being its newfound alliance with institutions presents the opportunity to clarify and strengthen the strategies with which street art is moving beyond the tired spectre of postmodernism.

Space Invaders, curated by Jaklyn Babington, breaks down the diverse history of street art with an informed clarity. With catalogue contributions from Roger Butler, Eloise Peace, Alison Young and Din Heagney the exhibition offers a glimpse at a history of competing agendas that goes beyond street art’s mainstream popularity over the last 10 years.

What began as the easy political provocation and pop cultural appropriation of stencil art quickly became invigorated as it collided with the tribal aestheticism of graffiti culture. This strange amalgam found its strongest incarnation in Everfresh; a crew of seven core members whose varying styles came together out of a sense of camaraderie and a desire for fame. Since its formation in 2003 the Everfresh brand of masculine, neo-pop imagery has emanated from Fitzroy with the brash aggression of a teenage boy’s ghetto blaster. So unrelenting was their assault on the streets of Australia that the crew has established itself as a stand-alone authority in the world of street art. Its members are beholden to no institution except their own.

But as the initial crazy of stencil art began to wane when confronted with the aesthetic dead ends of its mechanical process, artists like those of the Everfresh crew were able to draw energy from their graffiti roots that place an essential value upon skill and style. When the world of contemporary art had all but done away with the notion that an artist should actually make their own work, street artists were opting for freehand aerosol as a medium which relied on skills that couldn’t be faked.

More recently the importance of drawing has re-emerged as the cornerstone of image making in the practices of many street artists. Prominent among this trend are Miso and Ghost Patrol whose imagery finds resonance in its departure from the contemporary world. Rather than competing with popular culture like earlier forms of street art, these artists present a kind of passive nostalgia chic that offers relief from the realities of adulthood in the 21st century. More than empty escapism, such work attempts to revive the delicacies of craft that celebrate the value of an individual’s own labour. The deliberate fragility of their hand drawn paste-ups contrasts sharply with the city’s walls upon which they are sacrificed, revealing the hard truth of our absolute impermanence.

But the artist who has tied all these threads together with the most gusto is Anthony Lister. Famous for his depictions of superheros, Lister parodies popular culture’s enduring tendency towards idolatry in this secular age. He does this with a confidence that’s palpable well before the mechanics of his images are understood. But it’s Lister’s loose, figurative line work and touches of abstraction that connect his images to traditions of painting that require skill, intelligence and imagination. Like the work of Miso and Ghost Patrol it’s this ‘return to the hand’, in the words of Jaklyn Babington, which offers its audience the feeling of authenticity that it desires above all else.

It seems that half a century of postmodernism has created a hunger for authenticity so great that it has become the one uniting factor of a street art movement that’s often divided in every other facet. So what’s perhaps most pleasing about Space Invaders is its ethical consideration for an artistic movement that has, until now, thrived in its opposition to the status quo. In this sense, Space Invaders presents an observation of what’s happening outside the gallery walls and consciously avoids superseding the original medium of the street. Whether future surveys of Australian street art will be so conscientious we can only hope. But from an artistic movement that values ‘the real’ above all else, any museum that attempts to ‘own’ street art will be rightfully met with derision. As a medium that presents a direct link between artists and their audience, street art creates a type of artistic freedom that’s historically unprecedented and, if left unmolested, is just getting started.

- This article was originally published in the Melbourne Review, October 2011 -

The good, the bad and the ugly

2011-07-10T18:19:00.000-07:00

New murals and street art galleries are popping up all over the CBD. Peter Drew reports on the artists’ battle in the war against grey.

So far, an initiative to bring colour to the streets, co-opted by groups of artists and the Adelaide City Council, only concerns properties owned by the Council. As the advantages for attracting consumer interest become obvious it’s expected that private enterprises will soon catch the buzz. But as the council rolls out its scheme to embrace street culture as a ready-made tourist attraction and miracle of urban renewal, the reality is proving less predictable.

One of the key sites located on York Street (parallel to Rundle) was closed down due to a fear of paint fumes and tagging. Originally designated as an “Open Street Art Gallery” where work could be added at any time, the site was set to become a constantly changing collaboration between all kinds of artists. But when it was realised that paint fumes and tagging could be a part of street art, panic set in. As Adelaide City Council’s Public Arts officer Janice Lally said, “It’s been a challenge but we’re getting there”.

Graffiti presents a point of collision between two of the great principles of Western civilisation: the sanctity of private property and the freedom of expression. Drawing its power from this tension, graffiti creates a space for much that has been marginalised in the contemporary world. Tribalism, political agitation and art all thrive in the multifaceted world of graffiti. But with so many competing agendas, factions are bound to form. The two most prominent factions are “graff” (hip hop based graffiti) and “street art”.

Like the “mods” and the “rockers” of the early 1960s, street art and graff clash in ways that don’t make much sense to outsiders. Much like the sub-cultural clashes of previous generations, we can generalise based on class distinction but that would be a crude misunderstanding. Some equate graff to working class and street art to middle class. Exemplifying this point is Banksy, the ultimate poster boy of street art who, as it turns out, isn’t the new Che Guevara but just a former private school boy named Robin Gunningham. For a more useful understanding of the two groups we need to look at their individual structures and the values that they uphold.

Graff is almost like an aesthetic sport where the aim of the game is to paint your name as much as possible while displaying individual style and skill. More than any other art form, graff is intensely physical as “writers” (graffiti artists) traverse the landscape in search of ever more outlandish places to paint. This task of “getting up” can be as much about the quantity as it is about quality of the work.
“Respect” is the culture’s one true currency. Generated from within the community, graffiti writers put most value in the respect of other graffiti writers. The more respect you have, the more your respect is worth. Without respect you are a “toy”. Win enough respect and you become a “king”.

Contrast this with the structure of street art and the tension becomes obvious. Born out of a punk/DIY aesthetic, street art seeks engagement and sometimes approval from the wider community. Where graff centres on the use of freehand aerosol to display the nom de plume of the artist, street art enjoys the use of any medium or subject matter you can think of. While its conceptual drive might make street art more open, it also has the potential to dilute its value. For instance, if you can cut out any image found on the internet, stick it to someone else’s wall and call it “street art” what’s really so special about that?

It’s the value placed in style and technique that gives graff its greatest strength. But, for a culture that exists outside of the law, the task of enforcing values can be difficult. While previous generations solved this problem through various forms of intimidation, this option is, thankfully, becoming less tenable as the culture matures and moves towards legitimacy. These days, senior graffiti writers are often involved in outreach programs that focus on using the art form to help “at risk” youth by giving them a positive outlet. Together with legal murals that exist somewhere between Graff and Street Art, these figures are creating positions for the younger generation to aspire to.

Ultimately the authority of senior graffiti artists comes down to the fraternity of an intensely masculine culture. In this way, the Graff hierarchy appeals to the tribal instincts that the contemporary world seems intent on eradicating. There will always be a secret hunger at the centre of the male psyche that can only be answered by the respect of other men. Fathers, brothers and peers all play this role and when one falters, the others take up the slack. So males form packs and go to extraordinary lengths to win that token of manhood; respect.

Street art, on the other hand, allows more scope for femininity. Take “knit graffiti” for example, which involves installing knitted fabrics onto signposts, or any other public object (image by Vera Ada). There’s just nothing intimidating about a parking meter wrapped in rainbow coloured wool. But, more generally, street art’s feminine appeal comes through its openness to all kinds of subject matter beyond the things that guys paint to impress their mates. That said, it’s priceless whenever a woman takes to the wall with results that leave the boys feeling sheepish. All the tough-guy bravado starts to look a bit silly.

Each faction has its strengths and weaknesses from which the other will always have something to learn. Graff can remind street art of the fundamental value of style, technique and the strength of fraternity. Street art can remind graff that public engagement is nothing to fear. After all, a good audience likes to be challenged but they also expect the artist to keep challenging themselves. This means embracing change and breaking free from your own restrictions. Ultimately, the two sides are tied together by their love of freedom.

In other cities the division is less pronounced. As more and more artists find ways to bridge the divide, it sometimes appears that “street art” is just a linguistic twist, a marketing ploy by the world’s smartest graffiti artists in an effort to sell coffee table books so they can keep doing what they love. It takes time for any group of artists to win the freedom that recognition
can afford.
In the grand scheme of things the reversal of the York Street project is just a minor hiccup in Adelaide’s otherwise exciting venture into street culture. But it does stand as a quick lesson that you can’t let something run wild and expect to tame it at the same time. Thankfully there are other options and positive examples to boot. First and foremost being the East facing wall of the Morphett Street bridge where the phrase “Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But Words Will Always Save Me” greets oncoming traffic. The Typographic mural by ABOVE, Ankles, Chris Edser and Tristan Kerr demonstrates how street art can be applied in a controlled way to enliven public space.

In precious few cities around the world the right ingredients have combined to produce a lasting culture where genuinely new ideas have taken hold. One key ingredient is the kind of public ambivalence that only comes out of very large cities. While such a casual attitude toward public space seems unlikely in Adelaide, we might be able to substitute ambivalence with an informed sense of acceptance. After all, the city belongs to all of us. Getting into street art and graff starts with just a little extra observation of what’s happening on the streets. Before you know it, you’ll be checking out the walls to see who’s getting up.

- This article was originally published in The Adelaide Review in July 2011 -

Discovering Parkour

2011-07-01T01:17:00.000-07:00

The subversive pleasure of parkour is gaining disciples all over the world, even here in Adelaide. Why has this French craze that treats the urban environment like a playground become so alluring?

Parkour isn’t just about climbing things. It’s a discipline, like martial arts, that began in Lisses on the outskirts of Paris in the early nineties. Parkour has now spawned thousands of independent communities worldwide. While some groups have been training for years, others are just being discovered as their videos emerge online. One such community, boasting some 50 members, exists right here in Adelaide.

Put simply, Parkour is using your body to get from A to B in the most efficient way possible. While that definition is ‘correct’ it does little to capture Parkour’s popular image of the superhuman, urban ninja. If you’ve seen a few action films over the past ten years, chances are you’ve seen some Parkour. Remember that bad guy who was a little too good at escaping through an urban environment? Parkour. But for the people who actually train in Parkour it’s something more authentic that becomes a part of their daily routine.

Every Sunday a group of thirty or so Parkour enthusiasts, or traceur, meet at the rotunda by the Torrens. Newcomers are taken through the basics by instructors while the more experienced members warm up on the concrete jungle gym that is The Adelaide Festival Centre. As the afternoon passes into the night the posse of shirtless, urban acrobats pull stunts that even experienced gymnasts wouldn’t dare attempt at any of their favourite spots around the city.

The group’s longest serving member and state representative of the Australian Parkour Association is Travis Ranson, aged 20. He explains that although Parkour has existed on Adelaide’s fringe for about five years, it’s now becoming more accepted and popular, “and that’s not a bad thing. There will always be some people who give it a try because it’s fashionable. They’re attracted by the image of it but they never last. You’ve got to love actually doing it. Luckily for us, it’s really easy to get into.”

But with its cool-sounding French name and underground status, Parkour has all the right ingredients to becoming the latest urban lifestyle accessory; a ticket to instant street cred. But the philosophy which forms the foundation of Parkour protects the discipline from becoming nothing more than a fad.

Every year the Australian Parkour Association knocks back sponsorship offers from the major soft drink labels who want to buy a piece of their cool. “You don’t need soft drinks or fancy equipment to do Parkour,” explains Travis. “That completely misses the point of what we’re about.”

So what is Parkour about? Well, it isn’t competitive so it’s not technically a sport, which helps it to retain that sense of play that’s become strangely absent from the world of professional sport. For those who want to compete there is “Free-Running”, an offshoot of Parkour that involves showy flips, championships and plenty of corporate merchandise. Parkour’s motto, “be strong to be useful,” rules this out.

“Flips look cool but they’re useless so they don’t come into Parkour,” explains Travis. “Parkour is about helping people, not beating them in competition. It’s about using your body to beat your own goals.”

For those who really get into Parkour it can begin to alter your perception of the urban environment. “It’s the sense of freedom it brings,” explains Travis. “People talk about “Parkour vision”. It’s when the city starts to look more like a playground than a restrictive place of work.”

That sense of identity sets traceurs apart and grants access to a global community that shares Parkour videos online. Watch a few of these videos and you begin to notice that each region develops its own techniques and style of movement.

Australian Parkour is on its way. “We’re really the first people to take it seriously in Adelaide so it’s encouraging to know that we’re breaking new ground. That’s one of the reasons we make the videos so we can look back and see how far we’ve come.”
It also gives newcomers something to aspire to. As a fresh batch of eager traceurs gather at the rotunda each week there’s a palpable sense of expectation that they’ll become urban ninjas in no time. In reality it takes years of training to build up the strength and technique required to pull off what the instructors can do.

Travis gets a lot of inquiries from parents who want to get their kids active and away from video games. While they’re always welcomed, Travis explains that kids don’t really need classes. “Kids have a way of naturally making up their own Parkour without realising. It’s a pity that, at some point, it becomes socially unacceptable. If kids are discouraged in that way they can start to loose touch with their experimental psyche.”

While it might come naturally to kids, Parkour, with its goal-directed philosophy, is a discipline. As traceurs share information and techniques, friendships grow and the support network strengthens. “The community has a sort of collective conscience,” says Travis. “Although instructors can point younger traceurs down a path of avoiding dangers and mistakes, the truth is, we are all at the frontier here. Parkour is still being discovered.”

- This article was originally published in the in the Adelaide Review inJuly, 2011 -

FELTspace Gold

2011-06-15T10:22:00.000-07:00

When FELTspace opened in 2008 it was with an optimistic air of professionalism that had previously been missing from Adelaide's emerging contemporary arts scene. With a focus of community involvement, that initial spirit gained momentum and proved to be contagious as it spread into other start-up institutions and the practices of individual artists. Now, three years on, the FELTspace GOLD book and accompanying exhibition represent an important coming of age for an Artist Run Initiative (ARI) with newfound authority.

At first glance GOLD is a triumph. With the contributions of four arts writers it documents an impressive range of work that spans a wide variety of disciplines. So accomplished are its production values that it could easily be the catalogue of a major Biennial. It’s only when we consider the larger history of the ARI as an institution that GOLD’s appearance becomes strange.

When ARIs first swept the globe they were sparked by the legend of The Young British Artists (YBAs) and their ability to court media attention with their innovative entrepreneurship. Ultimately, the tale of those cunning Thatcherites outlines the advantage gained by artists who set themselves apart from the conventional avenues of ascension. When this is achieved a new audience can be attracted to contemporary art and, with it, comes true independence and autonomy for the artists.

Now, twenty years on, some of the entrepreneurial spirit has disappeared as the ARIs have been consumed by government funding bodies hungry for 'grass roots’ authenticity. The homogenising force of private sector commercialism was scorned in favour of the homogenising force of government involvement and subsidy. The reward was the supposedly infallible pretence of being avant-garde.

While a few ARIs maintain an anti-establishment stance, the loudest have come to reflect the aspirations of their parent institutions. Of this type, FELTspace GOLD is a prime example.

I make this claim based on the fact that FELTspace GOLD is perfect; it’s the perfect summation of everything that a survey catalogue should be, which makes it, inadvertently, redundant. With its humorous title you could even be forgiven for wondering whether it’s a parody of its form.

Choosing to follow the traditional avenues of ascension in this way seems a little subservient when the alternatives are so obvious. In this age of new media when, for the first time in history, artists have little need for intermediaries to reach an audience, why would an ARI choose to publish a large and glossy catalogue of their achievements? The answer seems to be that FELTspace is in pursuit of an audience that already exists rather than forging ahead to find its own.

This is confirmed if we consider the central claim of the publication. FELTspace GOLD presents a "survey of the brightest emerging talent in South Australia" which is a group that includes the FELT committee and the authors. This claim might have been a little easier to accept if the almost identical claims made by CACSA’s The New New weren’t still ringing in our ears. With almost identical claims made by two South Australian art institutions within the space of a few months we must conclude that FELT’s claim is either a challenge or a case of mimicry.

But even if it were a challenge, FELTspace GOLD, in following the standards of larger institutions, has missed an opportunity to establish its own standards. Ultimately this is a failure to recognise its real power as an alternative rather than as an adjunct to something larger. This current direction actually reinforces the notion of a hierarchy in which ARIs, like FELT, are just the first rung on a straight and narrow ladder rather than a force of their own. The only real drawback to this approach is that it does less for the artists than an ARI otherwise could.

But as a young artist copies the style of the masters there must, hopefully, come a time that the pupil finds their own path and does something new. This must also be true for institutions. In this time where “professional” is often just a byword for “conventional” I’d like to see FELT’s optimism flower into something truly radical. Better yet, something radically unprofessional. Perhaps the committee behind the curtain at FELTspace are already planning a brilliant subversion of the established standards of contemporary art, which they have, admittedly, mastered. Perhaps FELTspace GOLD is that brilliant subversion, albeit a very subtle one. I hope so.

- This Article was originally publishing in Artlink Magazine, vol 31 no 2, 2011 -

An inteview with Patricia Picinnini

2011-05-05T01:18:00.000-07:00

I spoke with Patricia Piccinini on the eve of her major retrospective exhibition "Once upon a time..." at the Art Gallery of South Australia.

What’s the meaning of the exhibition’s title Once Upon a Time…?

Nick Mitzevich, the Art Gallery’s Director, actually came up with that but I liked it because my work is quite mythical. Myths conect people to ideas in an emotional way. So I liked the title.

The exhibition has a large focus on active involvement with The Lab for children as well as Lectures and Workshops for Adults. Is that a conscious effort to break down some of the barriers between the art and the audience?

That’s more the gallery’s initiative but I support it because my work is more discursive than didactic. If part of the conversation the audience has with my artwork continues with them creating something themselves, that’s wonderful for me.

I’ve heard that some of your work has been integrated into the gallery’s Permanent collection?

It’s actually something I’ve done for my last two exhibitions in Perth and Tasmania. It’s really interesting for me to place the works in a different context because it creates a new way of seeing them and really animates the work. It also encorages different readings of the surounding work in the permanent collection.

Do you think that connection between your work and the work people will find in the permanent collection needs to be reinforced?

I think my work is immediately appealing because it’s got this incredible surface. Superficially they’re quite spectacular. But if people are interested then they’ll come into the work and get more out of it.

I guess everything needs to have a hook?

Yeah, and often my hook is this… “I feel therefore I think.” It’s a very contemporary idea and I really use the mechanism of employing empathy in the viewer.

Is that why children feature so prominently in your work?

Yeah, it is related because it’s easier to empathise with a child than it is with an adult because adults are responsible for their decisions. Children are more vulnerable and they bring out the best in us. When I place a child in a context it evokes an impulse to protect that child and that sets up an atmosphere to view the whole work. It also evokes the notion of the future because children are the ones who are going to inherit the consequences of our actions.

How do children react to your work?

They get the humour, which a lot of adults miss. But they also have a surprisingly sophisticated understanding of the big issues. Often it’s parents who want to shield children from the work. But my work isn’t violent or aggressive in anyway. There’s a lot of sympathy for the creatures.

Your work is very much about the idea and you’ve said that you are not driven by an interest in the process. Do you encourage the audience to be curious about the process behind your work?

Not really. I only need the process to be as good as it can be so it’s a good vehicle for my idea. And that’s very liberating for me because it mean that I can make a film or a sculpture or anything inbetween. All I have to do is find the right people to work with.

Some people seem quite stuck on the idea of art as the product of one individual. But the leading work of our time seems to be the product of a whole community of talented individuals. Why then, do people cling to the idea of the one creator?

Because that the artist’s role has been with us since the Renaissance. That was a time when it made scene for artists to assert themselves as being inspired, as being, somehow, closer to God. But I don’t think that idea has very much currency today, especially as a woman. That kind of authority was never afforded to us.

I set myself up, not as an authority, but as a participant in this culture. I’m as interested and confounded by it all as everybody else. The ideas I’m interested in aren’t just my concerns; they’re the communities concerns. I see my works as a kind of reflection of what’s happening today.

The work Eulogy is being shown here for the first time. It depicts a man cradling a Blobfish, a creature that actually exists and is in danger of extinction. What made you choose this new direction?

Usually I make up things. It comes from my imagination. I sit down and think “if I was a natural force of evolution where would I go?” But…I’ve done that for years now.
So, along comes the Blobfish, this unassuming little creature, meeking out an existence for itself 800 meters below the surface. They’re perfectly adapted to their habitat but they’re being wiped out by crabbing trawlers. Now, everybody knows about endangered Gorillas and Polar Bears because they’re familiar but what about the Blobfish, they’re beautiful too.

So, the piece is kind of a celebration of the Blobfish. There’s no irony in it to hide behind which means I need to be strong. It’s actually really hard when people don’t like my works because I love them.

You must be feeling exposed with such a large show about to be judged en masse?

Yeah, a little bit. But it’s actually the best chance I’ve ever had to show all the layers of my work rather than just showing one aspect. Every artist dreams about having a show like this one. There’s almost 80 works! I mean, that’s everything I’ve done for 15 years…it’s a big deal for me.

(This interview was originally published in May 2011 issue of The Adelaide Review)

The Dumpster Biennale

2011-02-28T20:23:00.000-08:00

20th February 2011
Magazine Gallery, Adelaide

It’s fun to satirise contemporary art. There’s something about the self obsessed way in which it constantly questions its own value that makes you wish it would just cheer up and salvage a little dignity? So what better force to kick contemporary art in the pants than the affable enigma that is street art?

Based around the unique concept of mailing out replica-wooded dumpsters for street artists to customise, the Dumpster Biennale has quickly gained a reputation beyond our shores. This year the exhibition features dumpsters from 30 international, national and local artists.

“We needed an object that was internationally recognisable,” says their designer Timothy Grisbrook about shoebox-sized creations. “The dumpster seemed a perfect choice because it confronts our notion of what makes an object valuable. Even worthless objects can become valuable through the skills and imagination of an artist.”

The exhibition is the main event of this year’s Street Dreams festival, which is dedicated to celebrating all things ‘street art.’ Run by local volunteers during the Fringe, the festival includes street art tours, exhibitions, mural painting and technical workshops. It’s part of a long-term vision to develop the local appreciation of street art and build connections between artists nationally and internationally.

I asked Adelaide based street artist Ankles what he thought of moving street art into the gallery. “We’ve turned dumpsters into objects that are of value. Whether or not it’s labelled ‘art’ is kind of boring - that word doesn’t hold much value to me,” he replied. “Street art doesn’t need art galleries, it’s the other way around.”

Maybe he’s got a point. While blockbuster exhibitions of European masters will always attract the grey tide they also come at a steep cost. Street art exhibitions, like The Nation Gallery’s show titled ‘Space Invaders’, are comparatively cheap to put on. For the big galleries It’s a smart way of securing the loyalty of a younger audience who’s patronage will extend far into the 21st Century. It’s also a way of favouring home grown culture instead of pandering to archaic notions of euro centric cultural dominance.

But the real appeal of street art is something much simpler - it’s the allure of authenticity. There’s something in that image of the street artist as outlaw-rebel that offers some welcomed relief from the tired pretences of the contemporary art establishment. After all, leading contemporary artists need buckets of diamonds, dozens of skilled technicians and intimidating galleries to make their creations seem valuable. The humble street artist can perform the same feat using their own skills, the cheapest of materials and an ordinary wall or even a dumpster. Refreshing, isn’t it.

First published in The Adelaide Review, Feb 2011

The Street Art Diaries

2011-02-09T06:34:00.000-08:00

Making street art is easily the healthiest addiction I’ve ever had. Like most
addictions, making street art only really endangers the individual and
offers virtually nothing in terms of personal gain. On the up side, there’s
an indescribably rewarding feeling that comes from giving anonymously and
climbing things does keep you quite fit.

However, as I discovered whilst honeymooning in Berlin, even the best of
addictions can become troublesome, given the right circumstances. The
trouble began with the fact that Berlin is to street artists what Las Vegas
is to problem gamblers. All the best have graced the wall of the German
capital and the joy of discovering their gifts is only matched by the joy of
leaving your own.

Often I was struck with disbelief as I came face to face with the original
of an image I’d seen reproduced countless times before. The experience,
often described as the aura of the original, is exactly the same as one
experiences when confronted by a famous painting. I set about collecting
this experience with a ravenous appetite.

But the impulse to collect only fuelled the desire to create and before long
I had lapsed, leaving a trail of stencils, paste-ups and pieces from
Kreuzberg to Mitte. Some of my work would be painted over in a matter of
days by the next artist to make their contribution to the ever-changing
wallpaper of the streets. In Berlin, it seems, change is quick, relentless
and it arrives without permission.

I never once felt in danger. In fact, my wife’s tolerance of my habit seemed
more heroic than my own efforts. In this sense, Berlin is an incredibly
liberal, friendly place and the greatest threat I encountered was an excess
of curiosity from passers by. Tourists posed for pictures and other artists
stopped to exchange details. Hostility seemed out of the question.

London was different. At first I was shocked by the mass of CCTV that covers
the cityscape with discomforting ubiquity. However, I soon found myself
inspired that, despite London’s Orwellian designs, amazing street art
prevails. Suddenly Banksy’s feats seemed all the more astounding and I went
in search of his work so that I might learn from the master. Noticing that
many of his remaining pieces were placed well above street level I set about
following his example.

Of course there were moments that I asked myself “why am I sticking up this
poster on this ugly Shoreditch rooftop? Surely I should be gawking at Big
Ben or queuing for the London Eye? Shouldn’t I have grown out of climbing
things?”

The truth is that climbing things never stops being fun. In fact, the more
aware you become of the pointlessness of climbing things, the more fun it
becomes. It’s a great metaphor for ambition in that there’s no meaning to it
beyond the pleasure of striving. All street art, whether it involves
climbing or not, captures that poetic sense of pointless striving by the
very fact that it’s impermanence is assured.

With its inevitable destruction, every piece of street art achieves its
transition into history and is, at last, complete. Finally, all that remains
are photos that circulate the Internet. Some of Banksy’s most recognisable
images only lasted on a wall for a number of hours but they’ll exist forever
online.

Of course other pieces by the world’s most famous street artist have become
tourist attractions that city councils protect from further vandalism. On one
such piece I spotted a fake council notice that had been stencilled on the
wall by another artist “Vandals caught vandalising this vandalism will be
prosecuted.” ‘Good point’ I thought and promptly added a stencil of my own.

STREET DREAMS

2010-12-03T19:54:00.000-08:00

On a beautiful afternoon in Adelaide during April this year a group of six street artists came out of artistic obscurity to paint two large murals on the pavement of Rundle Street, arguably the city's busiest cultural hotspot. But after months of negotiations, application forms and a day’s painting, the artists had their murals destroyed less than 12 hours after they were completed by the same council that had approved and paid for them. Why? Because the council simply failed to tell the workers who clean the streets that the murals weren’t graffiti.

It’s a story that’s repeated time and again in varying forms and contained within it are some valuable lessons for any underground artists who are considering sticking their neck out above the surface. In short, gaining legitimacy can just as easily mean losing the freedom, authenticity and dynamism that only the underground can provide.

But the Rundle Street blunder has really just been a small stumbling block in a larger flourishing of Adelaide’s street art culture over the last year. From tags and pieces to stencils, paste-ups, stickers, knit graffiti and any other weird medium - it’s all there with characteristics emerging that distinguish Adelaide from the street art styles of other cities. After all, every city is different and while Melbourne has its city laneways as tourist 'attractions’, Adelaide’s street art still exists well within the underground.

‘That’s something I love about Adelaide. The game is still fresh,’ says Simon Loffler who’s one of the organisers of Adelaide’s biggest urban art festival Street Dreams. ‘We’d obviously love to have our own designated street art laneways like Melbourne,’ he continues ‘but not at the price of losing what’s individual to this city. Basically, we’re getting there the hard way.’

Beginning as the ST5K festival in 2006, Street Dreams has grown from a small group of artists who meet regularly to make street art into an expansive creative community. This year the festival went over five days in March with hundreds participating in street art tours, open-air exhibitions, mural painting and workshops in street art techniques. ‘We’re keeping things going through the year but we’ve come to realise that the (street art) community needs a flagship event,’ says Loffler.

'Street Dreams' is a good example of how the growth of global street art is largely due to the strength in community that exists between the artists. But, as well as being for the artists to celebrate their talents, the festival gives the wider audience a chance to jump behind the scenes. It’s a difficult balancing act for underground cultures to maintain the authenticity of a tight-knit community whilst letting the audience in so that the culture can grow. The task seems doubly difficult for street art which has always had a conflicted relationship with its audience.

Leading the last festival’s street tours was the curator of Sydney’s May Lane Gallery, Chris Tamm. With over 20 years of participation in street art culture Tamm stands as a larger-than-life character who can talk non-stop on the topic for days. I asked him what sets Adelaide’s street art apart from other capital cities. ‘Adelaide’s definitely the capital for bike graffiti,’ says Tamm, ‘but more generally I think the Adelaide street art scene is ahead of other cities in the way the community organises itself using the internet.’

Tamm is referring to the worldwide explosion of street art content on social networking sites where artists trade images and gather feedback from an audience that has, until now, been excluded from the community. But specifically for Adelaide’s street art culture, social networking sites are an excellent way of playing on the city’s natural strength. Ask anyone from Adelaide what sets it apart from other cities and they will tell you it’s the web of connections between people. For underground culture this is especially true, perhaps nowhere more prominently than the growing alliance between artist run initiatives and street art.

Two ARIs that demonstrate this are Format and the TwoPercent Collective. After growing steadily from its roots as a DIY festival, Format has come to dominate the Adelaide emerging arts scene with its large and multipurpose venue making events like 'Street Dreams' possible. With a focus on urban renewal, Format is taking the lessons of Renew Newcastle and Melbourne’s laneways and applying them to Adelaide.

The TwoPercent Collective, which takes its name from the fact that only 2% of art school graduates go on to practice as artists, is more focussed on building the careers of its members. However one of its many exhibiting practices is to hold ‘flash shows’ in which gallery style works are exhibited on the walls of laneways for one night only. Guests are invited on the day and when complaints are raised everyone disappears, in a flash.

Such ingenuity isn’t necessary in cities where street art is no longer persecuted. Perhaps that’s why Melbourne street art has begun to decline, arguably since the council mooted plans to have the laneways heritage-listed. In this sense, street art is punk at its core and while council approval can make things easier in the short term it only sterilises the medium in the long run.

I put this notion to Ankles, the Adelaide-based street artist who organised the Rundle Street mural and copped the blunder that ensued. ‘Authenticity is a huge part of it for me and while it’s great that the council is now chasing us to make up for their mistake, we’ve still got to play a delicate balancing act. We’ve got to keep it about the artists and the art. If it just becomes another council initiative it won’t actually do much for Adelaide’s street culture.’

It’s an interesting point that sheds some light on why street art has such widespread, popular appeal. There’s obviously something liberating about a living culture that bypasses institutions, curators and all their obscurantist text. While institutional contemporary art sinks ever further into its esoteric puddle of post-modern relativism, street art seems to skip over that mess without breaking stride. That leaves just the artists, the audience and the exchange between the two. In short, the community and the art. What else do you need?

-This article was published in the Winter edition of Artlink Magazine-
http://www.artlink.com.au/articles/3412/street-dreams/

KATE GAGLIARDI

2010-10-27T06:35:00.001-07:00

Just Between Us
Solo exhibition by Kate Gagliardi
Magazine Gallery
Oct 13

Kate Gagliardi is a natural artist. Compelled to create as the rest of us are compelled to eat she constantly sketches the images that pass before her eyes and through her mind. You won’t find a contrived concept or stale formula here. Gagliardi’s finished works are the intuitive expression of her fascinations and, as such, they are best appreciated intuitively. Thankfully, this task isn't difficult; Kate’s talent is plain to see.

Although she’s still in her final year of study Gagliardi’s works have already been showing up around Adelaide and interstate in the form of group exhibitions, published illustrations and street art. Now her first solo exhibition, Just Between Us at Magazine Gallery, gives us the first full glimpse of what she has to offer.

Illustration is her obvious strength and forms the starting point for much of her work. Female faces and figures feature prominently. Depicted in a naturalistic line of striking clarity Gagliardi’s women all display some kind of fantastical adornment that conveys a sense of otherworldly power. The emergence of animals in her new work follows the trend in art that seeks to covet the natural world as its fragility become ever more apparent.

As the title of exhibition suggests, there’s intimacy to Gagliardi’s work that only reveals itself on close inspection. The combination of pencil, watercolours and rice paper convey a feeling of delicacy and those with an eye for detail will appreciate the line work that’s left uncovered or only slightly obscured.

But ultimately the intimacy of the work is born out of Gagliardi’s own relationship with her craft. Each work is the result of hours spent in exploration of materials and refinement of style.

This wouldn’t be so interesting if it weren’t for the fact that so much art over the last 50 years has been created without any trace of the artist’s hand. From Andy Warhol to Jeff Koons, Damien Hirst there isn’t a stroke of skill between them. Yes their work is expensive and entertaining but so are most Hollywood blockbusters.

At the end of the day (or century more to the point) nothing beats the skill and vision of an individual artist whose work is the product of their own hands. When art shows the ‘hand of the artist’ it brings meaning to their physical striving. Such works reflect the meaning of all human striving.

Of course, the reoccurring formula of contemporary art is to substitute human striving for irony which is often used to pose the question of whether there is, in fact, any meaning to human striving. Such works demand that we laugh at the meaninglessness of it all or else be laughed at. It's a kind of nihilistic laziness that becomes tiresome pretty quickly even if it is covered in diamonds worth $100 million. After a while such works leave you empty and wondering why we elected such talentless misanthropes as our cultural leaders.

For a new generation of artists the proverbial rubber band seems to have snapped back in the other direction. Not surprisingly this new movement has emerged outside the establishment of contemporary art from two distinct streams of visual creativity, namely, graphic design and street art. This new breed of artist uphold a respect for their craft that belongs outside the post-modern era. Perhaps the best example of the melding of these two streams is the work of Anthony Lister who Gagliardi credits as an influence.

Coming from a street art background, Lister’s paintings subvert popular superhero characters from graphic novels and, in doing so, work to attack our tendency towards idolatry. What sets Lister’s work apart from others of his ilk is his ability to sign post his images with the techniques of fine art figuration, linking his work to a tradition that is centuries old.

Both Gagliardi’s and Lister's work presents human figures in a super human, fantastical light. These images, like so much of the cultural output of our time, answer our desire to affirm a belief in some supernatural aspect of life; to uphold something sacred, beyond the grasp of rational reductionism. Such work has become impossible within the established order of contemporary art that has been sterilised by critical thought.

But art is nothing without an audience and this new breed of artist are being met with a new generation of art collectors who are immune to shock tactics and bored with the notion of ‘is this art.’ Tomorrow’s art collector want beautiful images that whispers secrets to them rather than craftless objects that shout questions at us all. Riddance to the entertaining but impersonal blockbuster exhibitions of large institutions. Tomorrow’s collector prefers the personal growth of individual artists.

Although it’s a first for Adelaide, Magazine gallery follows thousands of others like it around the world. This low cost exhibition spaces places no limitations on how young artists present their work but avoids the non-commercial pretenses of artist run initiatives. Galleries like Magazine offer emerging artists a chance to build an audience and sell their work.

Just Between Us has achieved just that. Gagliardi’s works has developed in leaps and bounds over the last year and it seems the perfect time to let others in on her journey. Gagliardi’s work will develop further as she discovers greater depth of subject matter through which to open a dialogue with artists of the past. But artistic maturity of that kind can’t be rushed. The path of the natural artist is essentially one of self-discovery that persistently challenges the creator to delve deeper into their fascinations. It’s also a journey that holds great rewards for a patient audience.

http://ok-gag.blogspot.com/

JAMES COCHRAN ON THE STREETS OF LONDON

2010-10-14T09:24:00.000-07:00

There's nothing like the suprise joy of bumping into a old friend in a foreign city. So you can imagine my delight while exploring London's East end to find myself face to face with a large piece of street art by Adelaide's own James Cochran. The 2.5 Meter high image of a bearded pilgrim was depicted with thousands of layered dripping aerosol dots that is Cochrans unmistakable style. Like much of Bricklane's street art the image is the constant target of the camera phones that quickly snap up whatever's new from London's greatest underground tourist attraction.

It's funny to think that James Cochran, or Jimmy C as he has been known, was once one of Adelaide's most notorious graffiti writers. With a pseudonym (not to be mentioned) high on the list of SA police's graffiti task force during the 1980s Cochran gave up graffiti for the studio and the world of fine art. Since then his style of aerosol based pointillism has gained recognition from Melbourne to Paris for its amalgamation of French impressionism with Aboriginal dot painting. To my knowledge he hadn't painted anything on the streets for a long time so I was excited to track him down to find out why now, why London and why he gave it up all those years ago.

After bumping into James as an opening we meet over coffee at an East end bar. "The Graffiti world was like a second family" explained Cochran who was kicked out of home at 16 "but it just wasn't sustainable as a way of life." It was this belief that led Cochran to art school only to discover that in the postmodern era where 'painting is dead' he was going to have to teach himself. So by day James Cochran was taught how to think about art and by night Jimmy C went out and made art on the street. It wasn't until Cochran visited Europe in 1995 that he discovered the old masters and found within himself a respect that was lacking in what he'd been taught.

Ask Cochran about Caravagio and he'll display a warmth and excitement that's totally unbecoming of a contemporary artist. In fact, James' whole personality is far too open. Rather than obscuring his intentions in convoluted art speak Cochran is all the more enigmatic for the exuberance with which he races through his ideas. It's easy to understand why such a character finished study only to turn to rural based art projects such as mural painting in remote aboriginal communities. It was through collaborating with local aboriginal artists that Cochran developed his drip painting technique that he was then able to combine with his knowledge of the Western tradition of painting. But after 10 years of community projects Cochran gave in to the pull of the studio and exhibiting paintings. Within 2 years his work would be exhibited at the Point Ephemere in Paris.

In the years since Cochran turned his back on his former life, the world of graffiti has developed a social conscience and reemerged more powerful than ever in the form of street art. It's that sense of social consciousness that's attracted Cochran back. "It's always been present in my work from when i was doing community projects until recently but i did feel an expectation to play that element down within the world of contemporary fine art" he explains. This willingness to engage with the world around it offers some explanation for why street art has found such a widespread appeal. But that's not the only reason why artists find street art so appealing. While the world of contemporary art becomes ever more stratified as institutions and curators tighten their hold, more and more artists are turning to street art as a means of circumventing the establishment.

But for Cochran the initial reasons seem more personal. "I came to London just to shake things up a bit in my art practice" he explains "but I found things just weren't feeling right in the studio." Given this it doesn't seem surprising that the ex-graffiti writer should take a break from the static world of contemporary art in favor of the fluidity of the street. In the weeks following its completion, images of Cochrans work will be viewed by thousands, photographed, uploaded, passed around, commented on, discussed, and (perhaps best of all) responded to with yet more street art. "It's a way of giving something to the place that you're in" says Cochran.

You might be asking 'why then should London be so lucky?' Well, there's no real mystery to that question. There's a long history of Australian artists needing to gain recognition overseas before we feel secure in honoring them back home. However, in Cochran's case, London is about reaching a wider audience. In his words "what happens on the island stays on the island." It's a fact that only really means that Australian artists need to try a little harder if they want to get onto the world stage. Often 'trying a little harder' translates to 'extended international travel.' But just as often Australian artists who take a piece of homegrown culture abroad also manage to smuggle something back on their return. I'm expecting Cochran to be one of the latter.

http://www.akajimmyc.com/

TOO MANY BROMLEYS

2010-05-25T22:36:00.000-07:00

At the start of this year painter David Bromley was dropped by both his Sydney and Melbourne galleries. While some might find this surprising, considering the strength of Bromley’s brand, others could have seen it coming a mile away. It’s the same old story and the lesson is clear: Don’t treat your art like a commodity.

For the last 10 or so years Bromley’s output has fit into two categories of painting. The first category are paintings of children who seem to inhabit an idealic, 1950s dream world. These paintings bare a striking resemblance to several illustrations of the British boys magazine Boys Own Paper that were often contributed anonymously, blurring the question of copyright. The second category are nudes painted in black outline over decorative colour combinations, applied boldly for dramatic effect. So often have I seen these paintings in the front windows of almost every gallery around town that I decided to do a quick survey. After a few enquirers I managed to turn up 36 Bromley for sale around Adelaide plus another 4 on Ebay. When you multiply this figure by the quantity of paintings you’d expect to find in all the capital cities around the country it begins to look like a severe glut in the market for Bromleys. From the perspective of the galleries that represent Bromley such glut or ‘bubble’ presents a big problem.

“We could no longer guarantee exclusivity,” said Tim Olsen of Tim Olsen Galleries, Sydney. He continued “there was just no point in us continuing to represent David when anyone could buy his work around the corner at discounted prices”. While David himself was apparently unable to account for how this market situation came about it’s pretty easy to fill in the blanks if you take a closer look at his studio practice.

We say ‘studio’ because David Bromley is an artist but the term ‘factory’ is a more truthful description of the production line of workers who do the majority of Bromley’s actual painting. If you’re lucky the artist himself might have flicked the switch on the projector and traced out the actual design of any given nude but why should he even bother? With such a mechanical process why not just pay someone else to do the actual work? Warhol did it so why can’t Bromley?

There are several serious problems with this attitude towards painting. Perhaps the most obvious is that a mechanical process is very easy to duplicate which leads to fakes and no means of proving authenticity. But even if fakes don’t flood the market the artist’s own production line probably will unless the artist deliberately limits production, defeating the purpose of having a production line in the first place.

But the real problem with mass produced art is that it dilutes the meaning and substance of the work. As Tim Olsen puts it “There is always art when there’s never enough but there is no art when there’s too much”. Sure, pop-artists did it back in the 60s but that was a contemporary comment on the rise of mass production throughout the western world. To make pop art in 2010 is just indulging in nostalgia that’s going nowhere. In this sense, mass-produced art has nothing to do with self-expression and, as history shows us, soulless art just doesn’t last. So, knowing all this, why would any artist choose to treat their art like a commodity? There is only one answer: money.

“It’s true he’s commercially orientated” adds Olsen “and there was a time when that was good for the gallery but there’s got to be a cut off point.” One wonders why Bromley didn’t enforce that cut off point himself. Some artists, if they’re lucky, are faced with a moment of decision when they realise they’ve found something that the audience really loves. The question arises: ‘Do I give them what they want or do I continue forever searching for what satisfy’s me?’

For the artist, the temptations of wealth and stability are just as great as its’ dangers are hidden. As soon as the artist begins to follow the desires of their audience the roles are reversed and the art suffers. The problem is that truly great art can only come out of searching. The artist must always keep moving, changing and growing or else the art becomes stale and dies.

But at first it must have felt more like a flourishing than the beginning of the end. As the children and nude series were growing in popularity it must have become harder and harder for Bromley to move on from the themes that had made him a success. Surrounded by collectors eager to buy and galleries eager to sell, why wouldn’t he think he was onto a good thing? He would have been crazy to not focus in on why those themes really worked and pushed them for all they were worth.

The problem is that once an audience starts to consider Bromley’s commercial motivations they begin to see the children series as a patronising attempt to illicit nostalgia from comfortable baby boomers and the nudes seem tailor made for cashed-up bankers. In short, tits and tots comes across like a formula, a marketing strategy designed to provoke its target audience into opening their wallets. It’s almost tempting to tip your hat to him as if he’s duped them. But the truth is that he’s working for them. He’s painting their paintings, not his own.

When you combine this with a market flooded with discounted paintings it probably wasn’t hard for the galleries to admit that they’ve had a good run but it’s time to pull the plug. But where Tim Olsen can bailout of ‘Bromley Inc’ with phrases like ‘I’ve not only lost an artist, I’ve also lost a friend,’ the escape for the artist himself is not so easy.

In light of such brutality one can’t help admiring the courage of artists who choose to engage with the market rather than shelter behind the esoteric and elitist rhetoric of institutional art. But that admiration can evaporate if it appears that the market has consumed the artist and the direction of their art.

However for artists like David Bromley there is always a second chance, an opportunity to reinvent oneself; to stop pandering to the audience and return to that internal spark. Such a move takes courage and it takes a special kind of audience to recognise and respect that courage. Whether Bromley’s attracted such an audience is questionable. But the real question is whether Bromley’s still got the spark.

Some still think so. “I am concerned but to a lesser extent because I’ve lived with it for a longer time” Says Sam Hill Smith of Hill Smith Gallery, Adelaide. He continues, “The truth is that David is still searching. He just needs to decide what he really wants.” Hearing this, it’s tempting to assume that it all started from good intentions that got lost somewhere along the way. At the end of the day it’s in the hands of David Bromley and he might yet have a trick or two up his sleeve.

Banksy's Exit Through The Gift Shop

2010-05-20T22:20:00.000-07:00

“People either love me or they hate me, or they don’t really care,” admits Banksy, the mystery figure whose iconic street art has made his name more recognisable than any other contemporary artist of our time. His new film Exit Through the Gift Shop is sure to satisfy all three levels of appreciation.

In the brief history of graffiti culture the documentary has played a pivotal role in disseminating ideas. None more significantly than 1984‘s Stylewars which views like an instruction manual for a culture built around the heady mix of Hip-hop, break dancing and aerosol based graffiti. Bootlegged and passed along an endless chain of underground connection, Stylewars circled the globe. Before long, New York style graffiti was appearing in every city in the Western world.

But this insular subculture in which the non-refundable currency of ‘respect’ was awarded for displays of finesse and daring was limited by its own restrictions and doomed to stagnation. Inevitably some graffiti writers began to tire of writing their names in ever more elaborate styles and garish colour combinations. Some hit upon the idea of shifting the subject matter of their art to something other than their own name. Street art was born.

By this time the Internet was in full swing and a few key artists would be able to ride the international wave of fascination that ensued. But none did so with a brand as strong as Banksy’s. His mainly black and white stencils conveyed none of the ‘style’ so prized by the previous generation of graffiti artists. In its place was a message, often political, always irreverent, clear and immediately effective. Banksy was a new kind of rebel, seemingly tailor made, for a new kind of youth who found little expression in the sexual rebellion exhausted by their parents generation.

The new front line was the sanctity of private property upheld by a painfully superficial society, obsessed with lifestyle and oblivious to its own terminal malaise. But for every one of Banksy’s images that convey a profound message with beautiful simplicity there are several more that seem no less superficial than the society that they set out to ape. But more than anything it’s his taste for hype that threatens the authenticity that forms the bread and butter of Banksy’s myth.

Exit Through The Gift Shop is a masterpiece in myth maintenance. Rather than making a film about himself Banksy has made a film about another street artist, Mr Brain Wash. A latecomer in the game, Mr Brain Wash mimicked the hype and branding methods of his idols with such skill that it threatened to expose the superficiality of the whole movement. The story is intended to make us think twice about authenticity but it's obvious that Banksy’s been wondering about his own authenticity. In this sense, those who love him will be pleased to discover that Banksy understands why he’s loved and that he’s not about to give the game away any time soon.

BEFORE AND AFTER SCIENCE

2010-04-08T07:58:00.001-07:00

BEFORE AND AFTER SCIENCE
Feb 27 – May 2
Art Gallery of South Australia

After the success of the 2008 Adelaide Biennial of Australian Art Handle with Care, there has been much anticipation awaiting it successor Before and After Science. So it is not without some reservation that I admit my overall disappointment. I’d like to put it down to the fact that no exhibition could really do justice to the theme of science and the irreversible effects it’s had on art but that isn’t the whole truth. The fact is, while some of the art works might be strong individually, that strength is lost in the company of works that really don’t hold there own and often fail to connect with the theme by more than the most tenuous strands.

But perhaps the great irony of Before and After Science is that, through its very failure, it might actually present an excellent, if not unwitting, comment on the effect that science has had on art. As you walk from one cold, white room to the next and examine yet another interesting object that questions life far more than it affirms life’s value, one could be forgiven for longing after art that shows some more unity or even dogmatic certainty.

But unity and certainty can be ridiculed by a contemporary world that worships the question mark above all other icons. That’s why so much contemporary art is so painfully light. It’s a defence mechanism that amounts to having as little tangible substance as possible so that there’s simply nothing there to criticise or attack.

Can we really blame science and the unstoppable rise of rational thought for backing contemporary art into this absurdly esoteric corner? It’s tempting to say yes for the sake of finding some poignancy in Before and After Science. But unfortunately the Adelaide Biennial’s failure cannot be redeemed by irony because it actually comes down some obvious problems with contemporary curatorial practice.

Firstly, don’t have an exhibition of contemporary art in an institution that carries the authority of historically significant art. All it serves to do is state “This art is good and important” rather than “Do you think this art is good and or important?” When most contemporary works are destined for the dustbin of history it’s almost cheating to presume the authority to fast track certain works past the trials of public scrutiny and put them strait into a museum. In short, Adelaide needs its own contemporary art centre, at lease, one that isn’t hidden somewhere in the suburbs.

But the main failing of Before and After Science is symptomatic of something much larger. When future generations look back at this period of art history in which the supposedly subversive, the ambiguous and, above all, the esoteric have become so enshrined within the established art institutions that they begin to appear common place, quite boring and often completely idiotic they will, no doubt, ask ‘why?’ The answer will come blaring back ‘it was the curators and the institutions! They’re the ones who preferenced works that had an ever-increasing dependence upon the surrounding text and, therefore, an ever increasing dependence upon curators and the institutions.’ In this sense, postmodernism has exhausted its usefulness as a force for positive change. It exists now, only as a tool of oppression by which the stakeholders who commentate can maintain a dominant position of influence over those who actually create the art.

But even if you do buy the catalogue for the Adelaide Biennial or are privileged enough to receive an explanatory tour from one of the curators you might still find it questionable that Michelle Nikou’s darkened room, hung with shapes of glow-in-the-dark plastic, possess some mystical or occult meaning, some intuitive spark. It’s not because you don’t ‘get it’ that such works seems absurd, it’s because they are absurd. But unlike the works of Dada that had the good grace to acknowledge and embrace their absurdity, today’s contemporary works, that are so indebted to the Duchamp’s example, are embarrassingly unaware of their own absurdity.

But if you invest enough of yourself in the curatorial ‘art speak’ that encases institutions like the Adelaide Biennial there will come a point where you won’t care if there’s actually any substance within the work itself. With the right attitude, anyone can join the flock of those who worship the question mark. You’ll enter shows like Before and After Science, identify the key questions and feel the reward of uncertainty wash over you.

But as you stand before the enormous, mostly white, painting by 12 Martumili women you may find that your Po-Mo fix is suddenly interrupted. It’s a work that draws on such a rich and affirmative tradition that it unwittingly serves to mock the surrounding conceptual follies with the power of its certainty. Works like that of the Martumili artists remind us of art’s potential to answer our enduring need to affirm and unite rather than question and divide. It’s a need that’s gone grossly unanswered by the art of recent decades because such works are generally filtered out by curators who feel redundant in the face of art that communicates on its own behalf. Such communication occurs directly between the artist and their audience and, long after the curators have ‘de-installed’ the oddities of the day, that age-old connection will still be there with all the force of a lightning bolt.

SMALL

2010-04-08T07:45:00.000-07:00

SMALL

Small is a group exhibition of contemporary art featuring selected small works for the home to be held at Magazine, 1 Clubhouse Lane, off Hindley. This is the 4th exhibition from Twopercent, the Adelaide based artist collective committed to creating opportunities for emerging artists to exhibit and sell their work, free from gallery commissions.

Small explores the notion of the artwork as an object of desire and the compulsion to posses and collect. The 16 featured artists were asked to contribute works smaller than 60cm square. Artists were asked to consider the artwork’s place within the home rather than the gallery. Whether this meant challenging or accepting the notion of art within the home was left completely to the artist’s discretion.

In a sense, Small reflects the curatorial practices of the 19th Century salon exhibitions where each work should be viewed independently from the next. Therefore, the object of the works featured is not to live in the gallery but to live in the home.

This event is also the launch of "Magazine" as a new versatile space in Adelaide for young industrious citizens and is part of the Renew Adelaide initiative. Basically it's an exhibition space for creative projects on Clubhouse Ln in East Hindley. The aim of Magazine is to provide the opportunity for local creative types – artists, film makers, fashion designers, graphic designers, zinesters, musicians and merry makers – to have an affordable storefront presence for their work. If you have top-shelf work but no way to get it to the people, Magazine is the place to host your next exhibition/ pop-up store/ budget-arse film.