THEMES I EXPLORE
My writing operates as an arena for ideas to come together and fight or flight.
Lists, dialogue, character mash ups, historical confusion, all work towards expressing the artists sensibilities; nostalgia, humor and heartache.
Exhibiting throughout Australia, within ARIs, regional galleries, universities, festivals, schools, and public spaces, I push for an ethical and co-operative approach to creativity.
FAKE FUTURES THINK TANK Intellectual Panic Room for Creatives
Snap breadsticks and scream
Roll a dice VERSUS darn a sock
Take the Cart out of Cartography-Chart your course on a map you build
Ideal MIXTAPE- take minutes of your stream of consciousness/soundtrack/brain vomit
We will make an agenda together in preparation of a meeting with yourself
THE POWER OF PROPS Before the meeting we will give you a makeover (of sorts)
Final ACTION- a supported conceptual performance
You arrange your objects
Eat some bread and orange
Write a statement on a mirror in lipstick and never look back.
TOO MUCH BLUE
Adrift at the mercy of the Search Engine
You can type in anything. You can make stuff up! You can get so so far out that you shake your head and smile.
Miraculous. Like magic. Before your very eyes lists of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of related articles, images, people, words, terms, notions, theories.
Thatched, cross hatched. Language is no barrier. Borders dissolve and oceans no longer represent distance.
I imagine the net dredging the ocean floor. Rolling over massive rocks. Blooms of sand and sediment cloud the water.
Breaking the surface the net is hauled. Salty water falls away.
Silver and gold flash in the daylight.
And the noise.
Under the water the noises of the world are dull. But up here, things crack and wind sets shrill fabric flapping.
The nylon net opens with a slippery sloosh. Flipping fish all over the place. Their uncanny jerks, a suffocating dance.
It will be ending soon for the prawns and fish and bits and pieces. Squabbling.
I reach down and part the thrashing and handle out a strange thing. A soft mass that was hidden. It is heavy and I hold it up with both hands. It trembles and gasps. Takes its first breath in a long time. We all look up at it amazed. From all the turmoil we found this lovely thing.
Stop. Pause. Play
How do all these images affect us? How long do you take to look at a picture? Stop. Pause. Play
Form means shape. Mass is when the shape is granted space. Energy is required to render form with mass. This is only part of what drawing is.
If you could choose an era to return to which would it be? You can't say, I choose the future. It must be an era from the past, a place you want to go or person meet. But even walking in the street that they walked - imagining their foot fall.
Panting, running, with stumbling. Through a forest in Scotland? Blinking at the rising sun across the shimmering water in a buzzing garden in France? Carving the lungs out of a warrior who cannot make a sound lest he is forsaken by his Gods? Tuning the transistor radio, trying to distinguish a shift in frequency? Watching the street from the veranda of a saloon with the burn of the whisky in your cheeks? Yelling for him to slow down as he approaches the intersection on highway 46, "Blood Alley".
The era I would choose would be the day we fished the source material. The day we woke it up and set it straight. Took its form in our hands and made it solid. The mass of source material, all its searching dreams over. We fished it out and woke it up.
It had stopped. In the deep, quiet ocean it had paused and now we set it to play.
Drawing is a time machine. Ideas are sometimes born, sometimes dredged out of anywhere. That's the great mystery and delight.