Someone's left the water running. In the bath, the sink, the toilet too. The bathroom is flooded. So much so it threatens to set adrift, the floor pitching with a sickening tilt. Beneath a single lightbulb in a darkened corner a domestic bathroom is exposed as a victim of its own incapacity. Come alive by mysterious means, or perhaps as the result of human carelessness, this familiar, homely scene is now threatening and distorted. Tidiness, order and safety are lost as the self-made sanctuary of the home is thrown into chaos. In a nation where water is a rare commodity, this dramatic outpouring smacks of decadence. Water, with its dual power to give life and take it away, is ultimately one of nature's most uncontrollable forces. Here the bathroom, that symbol of modernity and feat of human engineering, is overcome, unable to manage the torrents surging through it. It is as though this human system has been reclaimed by nature, reverting to the organic forms it emulates: the river, the waterfall. We have appropriated nature and, in turn, it appropriates us. A piece of suburbia transformed into a wild landscape. On the fringe and in the darkness a canary keeps a lonely watch, his tiny figure dutifully monitoring the danger of our situation. His persistent, joyful song is in direct contrast to his fragility and disposability, bringing to mind all small creatures who are matters for the human cause. Two maps presented on the wall offer similar comfort, these deep expanses, Indian Blue #2 and Pacific Blue #2 are in fact meticulous representations of the open sea. To map the oceans seems an attempt to order the inorderable, a well-intentioned yet futile task, yet for all their seeming absurdity, the regimented grid lines offer clarity and consolation. To a traveller lost they become a whispered promise of survival, a suggestion that there are those who have gone before. The maps, as romanticised objects, conjure idealistic notions of exploration and survival, of conquering the unknown. As much as it may represent our shortcomings, the bathroom floats in precarious balance; a fragile offer of survival against the present catastrophe. It is at once our hope and our undoing.
Essay by Yolande Norris.
Image: Nicholas Folland, installation detail, 2009.
"Deadman Monologue is an adaptation of Nikolai Gogol's short story The Portrait of 1842. In this work a man describes himself entering the room and laying down on his bed. Settling in under the sheets he begins to bemoan the world. Then, with a surly attitude, the deadman tells the awful tale of his ruin. As he narrates the tale of the cursed portrait and the moral dilemmas of being a painter, his absurdist invective unveils the misappropriation of art under capitalism."
Image: Lily Hibberd, installation detail, 2009.
Since the earliest days of white settlement in Australia, the landscape represented hardship and mystery, fear and awe. With no regard for the existence Indigenous Australians had taken over 40 000 years to perfect, the settlers saw a wilderness to be dominated and "civilised", an awful distance to be reconciled, and a misguided hope of replicating something of the old country they'd left behind. Modern times find little changed. The built environments of metropolitan Australia offer a promise of safety and security - the "easy life". The citizen, sealed within his air-conditioned high rise apartment, is oblivious to the realities of his own vulnerability in what remains our most awkward relationship with one of the world's most unforgiving environments. The city is an illusion of triumph and a symbol of dominance, yet Mother Nature is ever-present, strange and unpredictable. Boderlife explores this uneasy association, highlighting an endless struggle for dominance over nature and the struggle for life within it.
from Yolande Norris' essay. Borderline features the work of Julia Boyd, Rachael Freeman, Rose Montebello, Tess Stewart-Moore, and r e a.
Image: installation view, 2009; photograph by Brenton McGeachie.
"The works mine the hard, masculine language and stereotypes of truckin’ culture, juxtaposed against the shiny feminine fineries and scrollwork that lavishly adorn these highway giants. It is through the naming and personalizing of their machines with names like ‘Foxy Lady’ and ‘Steel Cowboy’ that the staunch trucker expresses his presence, or often a theatrical opposing persona, with his truck’s appearance and dressage. Wallwork takes a sincere yet satirical approach to the worship of these Prime Movers with detailed pin striping, cheeky badges, lustrous chrome and hand painted customized identities. Interiors too become sumptuously upholstered throne rooms, providing a home away from home and allowing the trucker to loftily observe his automotive subjects or entice them back into the inner sanctum. The trucker is the king and the machine is his queen. The highways are their kingdom. We are all mere jesters!"
Image: Daniel Wallwork, 2009, installation view.
Image: Alex Asch, 2009, installation view.
In Terminus, Geoff Farquhar-Still creates two large piles - one made of 1500 concrete lightbulb, the other made of 3500 concrete matchbox cars. While at first appearing as light fun, maybe even nostalgic, it become darker when themes of mass consumption and destruction appear, turning these piles into funerary mounds. Overlaid is video footage of a dead bird in rain, filed with maggots - one life ends and another begins. These piles of mass destruction combine with the video - reminding that planet earth is the bird and humans are the maggots, killing through consumption. There is a voyeuristic joy as we gather speed to the abyss, much like the LED light show of slot-cars racing on the wall, it is like the dark comfort of a movie theatre.
Image: Geoff Farquhar-Still, 2009, installation view.
In Maloney's Bodies In Trouble, painting and archival inkjet prints are used to demonstrate self-conscious connections between process and concept. Full of fragmentation and layering, the different mediums inform each other while remaining autonomous in form and content. Characterised by Maloney's imperative use of black, the works insist that there is no one way of looking which will contain every pictorial possibility - the works may be black and white, but the reading is not this simple. For Maloney, black evokes visual and conceptual complexity, sensuality and depth, as well as being imbued with the associative properties that strengthen his primary metaphor of the work of art as an expression of human experience. The overtness and frenetic obsessiveness of the surface activity is unstoppable - a sort of vortex into which both viewer and maker are consumed. Viewers cannot expect to remain static receptors of images - for Maloney the success of each work demands active engagement from his viewers on a range of levels. Maloney's abstract and expressive language in the paintings turns to realism in the digital prints - exploring male homosexuality and the use of photographic image as a technological tool of subversion, incisive comment and political and social change. Maloney's nudes reveal an objective intimacy that is revelatory of a distanced and intellectual treatment of his subject, yet simeltaneously does not deny the sensual aspect of the nude. Process, as always with the artist, is an integral and encompassing aspect of his conceptual, thematic and aesthetic concerns. The layered structures of the paintings are given digital equivalents in these embracingly coercive pictures. The paintings and digital prints are eloquent and powerful statements about the role of art as commentator and agitator.
Peter Maloney, 2010, installation detail.
"Showing in the Cube gallery is Damaged Goods - a collection of assemblages by Melbourne based artist Mat de Moiser who uses consumer items such as Ikea furniture as the medium for his artwork. On one level it is a tongue in cheek look at the nature of art and consumerism. On a more serious level Damaged Goods reflects de Moisers’s Estonian heritage and memories of refugee grand parents whose first Australian house was built from re-purposed packing crates, with furnishings either donated by friends or salvaged from the local tip. ”
Image: Mat de Moiser, Damaged Goods, installation view, 2009.
Image: Dionisia Salas Hammer, n.p. gen, installation view, 2008.
"Whether it be a crisply starched and ironed collar, a scruffy paint splattered striped pastel collar, or a zebra print dress collar - a seemingly fragile textile fragment exudes a strong personality. A history is presumed, a position is assumed, a performance appropriate to status, wealth and office is expected. Simultaneously obvious and nuanced, the collar is embedded with wide cultural knowledge and reveals quirky sub-cultural significance. Alexandra Gillespie and Somaya Langley's collaborative exhibition of twenty highly individual collars are presented at the actual height of the previous owner from neck to feet. Arranged spatially in conversational groups, these highly fetishised personal adornments create an absent crowd, a crowd that speaks both to us, and each theory, visually and audibly. Here coexistence is paramount as collars internal relationships interweave with the sensibilities of exhibition visitors... Langley and Gillespie's art forms engage us far more intimately and viscerally with phrases garnered from the collars original owners - significant others in the artist's lives - friends, family, colleagues and other artists. These text snippets are projected from within the textures and patterns that once caressed a treasured ones' neck."
From Dr Melinda Rackham, 2009.
Image: Alexandra Gillespie and Somaya Langley, installation view, 2009.