A dark room, a single chair, three large screens projecting a rotating view of the solar system overlaid by a monologue recalling excerpts from multiple worlds experiencing an end – David Blandy’s installation, The End of the World (2017). The installation was the title piece and first work that greeted viewers as they entered David Blandy’s recent exhibition at Seventeen Gallery, Haggerston, London from 3 November 2017 to 27 January 2018. The installation formed part of a larger collection of Blandy’s work that acknowledges the human condition in the natural world and all that it accumulates: fear, environmental waste, awe, technology developments, and ultimately, loss. The overall themes of this exhibition are not entirely uplifting but not entirely depressing either. Blandy successfully applauds the role of technology in our lives and communities whilst presenting a quiet and unsettling fear around the speed at which it is moving and where exactly this fast-paced technology highway is taking us.

Blandy’s The End of the World installation is the peak embodiment of such themes in the exhibition. The viewers chair is positioned so that the solar system is rotating around them; they are the centre. Planets and stars circle around the viewer and the effect is almost dizzying. All the while a narrator calmly tells stories of the ‘end’ in a dry tone that reduces the drama of each narrative and illustrates each ‘ending’ as if it is a mere concept. The range of topics covered in his monologue are taken from different cultural forms: broken relationships, personal grief, environmental destruction, and genocide. The monologue also includes excerpts from a digital landscape by using chat-room comments from distressed Asheron’s Call users after it was announced that the multi-player online game would close after 17 years of communal gaming.

Image via Seventeen Gallery

Image via Seventeen Gallery

Image via Seventeen Gallery

Image via Seventeen Gallery

The combined effect of watching planets spin amongst stars whilst absorbing the audio monologue is at once quietly distressing. To be immersed in the projection and watch Earth circle around leads the viewer to feel a certain amount of awe, and it is impossible to watch this without thinking about all the stories taking place beneath the clouds: their beginning, middle, and end. However, after this immediate thought, it then leads the viewer to question what the artist seems to be questioning too: where is all of this going? Blandy’s use of audio and visual material in this world brings to the surface what all great art should, a big question mark in the middle of the room that imprints itself onto the viewer and stays with them long after they have left the room.

In the neighbouring exhibition room, viewers travel gently back to earth. Blandy’s second installation, HD Lifestyle (2017) is a recreated phone shop complete with a flashing neon sign and cases filled with mobile phones, laptops, and devices, dating from the 1990s to present day. After the quiet chaos of plunging into The End of the World, one cannot help but take note of the obvious message Blandy seeks to portray, that being, the death of the device and the impact quick, excessive consumption has on the environment. A video plays across multiple screens as a way of representing materialistic desires. The video acts to pull viewers into the installation, reminding them of their desire to be closer to the content, the game, the information that can be accessed only through the portal of a device. In this way HD Lifestyle is as immersive and all-consuming as The End of the World; you cannot simply look, you must experience it in order to full understand the concept Blandy presents. Unlike The End of the World, digital technology is not ephemeral, in HD Lifestyle Blandy tackles the physicality of online life and its impact on our environmental world.

Image via Seventeen Gallery

Image via Seventeen Gallery

The final exhibition space showcases Blandy’s newest photographic works. From afar the works appear to be expressive paintings; splashes of colour thrown against a star-shaped canvas. Their unique shape is energetic and diverse. On closer inspection one can see that in fact they are a collage of digital images, woven together to create forms, shadows, shapes. In this way the photographic pieces are a culmination of both installations. The collages weave close-up shots of rock formations, micro-chips, and crystals that demonstrates Blandy’s continual interest in depicting the world and its many organic and man-made fabrics. These pieces conclude Blandy’s ability to pull viewers into his work as a way of communicating the message beneath them. In the same way that The End of the World presented a quiet, underlying sense of fear, Blandy’s photographic works contribute the same overarching narrative. The dichotomy of natural resources such as rock formations and crystals against non-biodegradable products like micro-chips evokes the same unsettling response as previous works in the exhibition. Namely, where is all of this technology taking us? Concluding on these works allows Blandy to throw these issues up in the air a final time and to see where they land in the hearts and minds of the viewers.

Image via Seventeen Gallery

Image via Seventeen Gallery

Image via Seventeen Gallery

Image via Seventeen Gallery



This week it was International Women’s Day and in the spirit of celebrating equality in the arts, here is something that I wrote for The Victorian Women’s Lawyer journal at the end of 2016 –

The Portia Geach Memorial Award, Victorian Women’s Lawyer journal, 2016

The Portia Geach Memorial Award was established in 1965. The award provides $30,000 in prize money to a female artist ‘for the best portrait painted from life of some man or woman distinguished in Art, Letters, or the sciences.’ Established by Kate Geach in memory of her sister Portia, the annual exhibition and prize celebrates the legacy of Portia’s incredible spirit and vigour for life, social politics, and art. Portia Geach was a progressive woman of her time from an affluent family that granted her the freedom of a bohemian lifestyle as an artist and social activist that she practiced and preached. Namely, Portia Geach painted feverishly throughout her life and consistently hired female chauffeurs to drive her Bruick motorcar.

With status and money behind her, Geach studied at the National Gallery School from 1890 – 1896 soon after which she travelled to the Royal Academy in London where she studied under the tutelage of John Singer Sargent. Although Geach was a prolific artist with exhibiting history in Paris, London, and New York, her work was never acquired by Australian state institutions in her lifetime. The reception of her work among her contemporaries was ultimately a reflection of the time she was living and working in, and equates to her relatively unknown profile in within mainstream Australian art history and a lack of her works in our state galleries and museums.

At the start of the twentieth century, male artists did not have to make the same sacrifices as female artists and were able to choose a career in the arts without a social stigma. Women on the other hand, were bound by the responsibilities of marriage, children, lest they be deemed a social outcast and face the obstacle of living independently. Consequently, for Portia Geach and her female counterparts, it was difficult to have their work accepted by hanging and judging committees where men and their work were received with higher regard. As such, it is clear to see why an all-female art prize held such great importance at the time of the awards inception.

Although feminism has carved equal opportunity for Australian women in most workplaces, gender equality in the art world lags significantly behind. Hence, the arts still needs awards such as the Portia Geach Memorial Award in order to continually progress the vernacular of women artists. Celebrating its 51st year in 2016, the award has provided a platform for previously underrepresented female artists to showcase their work in a non-gender biased environment.

When the Portia Geach Memorial Award was established in 1965, only two women, Nora Heysen and Judy Cassab, had won the Archibald Prize in 1938 and 1960 respectively. In 2016, we have seen only 12 women win the highly regarded prize in the Archibald’s 92 year history, including the 2016 win for Fiona Hearman and her portrait of Barry Humphries. Thus, the social trend of female artists being unrepresented in their field continues.

Although modern women have greater liberties than Geach, many struggle to obtain balance between work, family, and relationships whilst maintaining their sense of identity in the face of it all. The Portia Geach Memorial Award creates a forum for female artists to articulate these conversations; each year artists submit portraits that reference social, political, and personal themes. In 2008 Jude Rae’s winning work, entitled Self portrait 2008, (The year my husband left) considers identity in connection with relationships, and creativity through Rae’s personal experience.

The award has established a forum for artists to form connections with their contemporaries and develop their professional networks. The award presents an opportunity for emerging and established female artists to develop their exhibiting profile and open doors to new ventures. High profile artists such as Wendy Sharpe, Prudence Flint and Ann Cape, consistently enter the award despite their established profile whilst younger artists such as Laura Jones, Tamara Dean, and Loribelle Spirovski have the opportunity to develop their exhibiting history and industry exposure whilst fostering supportive networks amongst their peers.

In the spirit of Portia Geach’s legacy, the Portia Geach Memorial Award has nurtured emerging and established artists to exhibit quality works across a range of themes competitively in their field whilst celebrating the promotion of female artists. Looking toward the future the award will continue to create a space for contemporary female artists to display a high standard of contemporary portraiture.



images from top to bottom:
Jo Bertini, ‘Bone collector through desert eyes’, oil on canvas 2014
Tamara Dean, ‘Mirra’, oil on canvas 2014
Jude Rae, ‘The year my husband left’, oil on canvas 2008

Whitechapel+Gallery+Guerrilla+Girls+Commission+Is+it+even+worse+in+Europe+(2016)+cGuerilla Girls outside Whitechapel Gallery (2016)

‘The men liked to put me down as the best woman painter. I think I’m one of the best painters.’ — Georgia O’Keeffe

I have decided to write a series of profiles on modern and contemporary women artists called Joan of Art. Each profile will help to shed light on their successes, their failures, the challenges they faced, the peers they worked alongside, and the social context they worked within. I drafted a poetic introduction to the concept several times before I thought screw it, I’ll cut straight to the point of the thing: “Work by women artists makes up only 3–5% of major permanent collections in the U.S. and Europe.”

The series #joanofart aims to create a metaphorical clearing in a metaphorical wood. It will address the question, if a female artist creates art in the wood, and no man is there to hear it, did it really happen? Joan of Art will shine a light on women artists who lurk in the shadows of art history and in doing so, will seek to reshape how we define the rock stars of art history and help to foster a sense of equilibrium that the art world, past and present, so desperately needs.

I can list the stats and talk about the hangover that the art world has long endured from it’s male-centered past for days, but that’s not what my aim is. The profiles do not seek to slam the work of their male colleagues, rather, it will act to remind us all that hey, they were there too. And, they made some really awesome art that has greatly impacted the art of today.

Grab your glasses and make a cup of tea, we’re going to have a blast! The first profile is due to go live next week. I am looking to cover the work of Jo Baer, Eva Hesse, Vivienne Maier, Martha Rosler, Hilda Rix Nicholas, Suzanne Valadon, and more. If you have any suggestions, drop me a line and I will happily explore. ♦

P.S. Thoughts on the series title?!

EDIT: The series title is naff. Will revise. 29/9/2017

This year I have been lucky enough to write commissions for some of my favourite artists, such as Adriane Strampp, whose work I have been a long admirer of. I first saw her paintings on display at the S.H. Ervin Gallery Salon des Refusés exhibition Wynne Prize selection in 2014. I have called myself a fan girl ever since. The manner in which Strampp layers landscape to create a sense of mystery and haunting intrigue captured my imagination straight away and hasn’t stopped drawing me in since.

When Adriane contacted me and asked me to write about her works with Hill Smith Gallery at the 2017 Hong Kong art fair, I said yes! and started scribbling drafts straight away. This suite of works included coloured monochrome works in addition to her class grey-scale pieces and I delighted in observing the developments in her signature style.

You can read my introduction and see a full catalogue of Strampp’s works for the 2017 Hong Kong Art Fair here. Or, head to her website to see her current exhibitions and details of her representation. Read my catalogue entry below:

Adriane Strampp is a Melbourne-based artist whose work challenges perceptions through her unique monochromatic palette, materials, and light. Strampp’s works search for a spatial connection, creating barriers between viewers and the relationship they have to their environment. As an artist who grew up as a nomadic child, Strampp is fascinated with creating a sense of place and connection. These themes run strongly like a thread through each of her paintings.


A. Strampp, Daybreak, oil on linen with wax, 2017 

It is not unusual for artists to be inspired by the beauty and scale of their environment. Like most traditional landscape paintings, Strampp’s works retain a focus on natural light. However, while other artists are concerned with brightening their renditions of place, Strampp seeks to dim the dial on sunlight by using monotones. In doing so she playfully renders scenes that are withdrawn from the light as a device to lure viewers in to her work and decide what is real and what is not. In her practice, Strampp can spend long periods of time colour-mixing, claiming that if the tone is not exactly right it is difficult for her to connect to the piece.

An example of this is Daybreak. In this particular work half the canvas is shroud in dark shadows while the other is dimly lit by a murky sky. The scene is unclear: that is the point. Strampp’s painting is a metaphorical mirror being held up to her viewers. What connections do they make here? What is their connection to this inverted world? As in all Strampp’s works, the viewers eye cannot help but travel through the painting. Viewers must search behind the visual barrier’s Strampp creates, through reflections and past shadows to piece the vision of a landscape together.


A. Strampp, Shimmer, oil on linen with wax, 2013

Strampp’s practice involves layering oil and wax to control reflections and monochrome shades. It is difficult to see a suite of Strampp’s works and not be struck by her clever use of gradient tones to create a sense of atmosphere and evoke connections from viewers. The effect of this is an intense moodiness that shifts depending on the viewers standpoint and levels of natural light. Employing a monochromatic palette is hugely important in this process and is imperative to achieving a sense of stillness in her works. The overall effect of this in both the pink and grey works, is soothing and calming.

Adriane Strampp is a talented artist committed to the exploration of connections and spatial perspectives. By exploring these themes in her pink and grey works, Strampp creates a sense of place and connection for viewers to explore. ♦


A. Strampp, Diversion, oil on linen with wax, 2017

I am forever dumbfounded by conversations I have with smart, intelligent people about art. Not because they don’t have insightful interpretations to share or clever observations to point out, rather, because they do not trust their own opinions and are paralysed by the fear of ‘getting it wrong’, as if interpreting art is the creative version of writing a linear equation. The fear of making a mistake and incorrectly judging the meaning or purpose behind a work is so overwhelming that they would rather not comment on it at all, or meekly comment on it ‘being nice’ before muttering something about themselves not really ‘getting’ it. As far as I see it, if you are curious about the world and have managed to draw together a thoughtful understanding of the art at hand, no matter what your opinion is, it is impossible to get it wrong.

In an effort to foster confidence and encourage intellectual debate, I wrote about this topic for Junkee media site, The Cusp. Check out the full text:

One of the most fun parts of adult-ing is filling up your social calendar with fancy parties and events like gallery openings and art fairs. It’s all fun and games during the eating and drinking portion of the evening, but what about the cultural engagement element?

Sorry, what? Maybe you’ve already ghosted it by this stage. Or maybe you’re brave and have decided to fake it ’til you make it only to breathe a sigh of relief when the full blown grown-up next to you mutters I don’t get it. Aside from T-Swifts current extended-performance with faux-beaux Tom Hiddleston, understanding art doesn’t have to be as hard as it has the rep for.

With a little confidence, an open mind, and a teeny-tiny amount of general knowledge that you most definitely already have, you can shake off imposter syndrome and read art like the free spirited animal that you are.

#1 You can never be wrong
Let’s start out with this one because once you have a solid relationship with the fact that you can never be wrong in your interpretations, all the rest falls seamlessly into place like an Alexandar Calder mobile. Take comfort in the knowledge that there is never any right or wrong answer.

Art history is riddled with critics, curators, and artists sharing their varied opinions. Different points of view makes the whole reading and writing of art that much more exciting and when you think about it, it’s kinda the whole point of the arts industry.


Alexander Calder, Maripose (1960)

#2 Go with your gut
Listen to your immediate gut reaction and ask yourself how it makes you feel. This is powerful right here. This exercise of asking yourself what it means. It is the emotional equivalent of a Christo Jeanne-Claude wrapped Lake Iseo in Italy. Ask yourself what the work reminds you of? What is it that you like about it? Take some time to process your thoughts before verbalising them. This gives you an opportunity to construct a thoughtful and intelligent sentence while appearing to be lost in the work.

#3 Learn a few key terms
Sure, you can tell the difference between a portrait painting and a landscape, but what about the rest? Learn the difference between a sculpture and an installation and you will go far in this world. It is easy to learn about an artist if you aren’t familiar with their work but make sure you know a few terms to talk about the medium of a piece confidently. An installation is a site specific work, a performance is usually a one off, and a conceptual piece is, well, conceptual. Arm yourself with some buzzwords and the rest will follow organically.

#4 You do not have to know everything
The great thing about art is that no one is expected to know the history of everything. There are no fact checkers standing behind you in a gallery or bugging your conversation at an opening. Where does the horizon expansion element of the exercise come in if we all know everything already? Don’t over exhaust yourself finding the connection between James Turrell’s ‘Breathing light’ and Monet’s ‘Water Lilies’ if you don’t already know it. Think about what you do know and start drawing connections from there.


James Turrell, Breathing Light (2013)

Art is basically an amalgamation of everything that you already know or that is happening in the world around you from the Single Ladies dance to the Apple logo presented in a way that is either decidedly different from anything the world has ever seen before, or a same-same-but-different reworking of past concepts. But can you tell which is which? Does it matter? What? No, no, what did you say? OK I’ll go: art inspires, it has a lifespan, it is copied or disregarded, and the cycle goes on.

#5 Support the artists you like
This one is easy. And kinda potentially the most important because without the artists there would be no art. If you discover an artist whose work you particularly like and feel a connection with, read more about what they do and where they show. You might find that they have more shows coming up or a latest series of works about to be exhibited. Maybe, just maybe, you will find something and someone who is able to communicate something that you feel or believe but cannot articulate.

#6 Cut the crap and have fun
Being a full time adult can be a drag and comes with a price tag. Engaging with art isn’t like signing up for private health insurance when you’re 30. In fact, I think you will find that most art is free and has no age limit. Art should be enjoyed, not be an obligation. Remember that you are not expected to like everything so only make time for the stuff you really enjoy and want to see. Like a Clarke Beaumont performance, reading art that you find interesting will make you feel like you’ve connected with something beyond your world and expanded out into something bigger. ♦



The Trappings 2020, 2017, oil on linen, 112 × 122 cm Image courtesy the artist


Young Man South or the First Summer, 2017, oil on linen, 112 × 122 cm, Image courtesy the artist

I recently had the pleasure and privilege of writing about Craig Handley’s latest exhibition, The Trappings. If you know me at all you will know that I have been a long admirer of Handley’s pastel snapshots of Australian suburbia.

To me, his paintings effortlessly portray the many contradictions and iconic moments of suburban life. In Handley’s paintings, it is possible for a happy space to feel a little bittersweet, for a discarded piece of furniture to brim with potential, and for a sparkly new billboard to seem haggard and wan.

Craig Handley displayed The Trappings at Piermarq Gallery, Sydney. In case you missed it and are dying to see some of this pastel magic, Craig is currently on display as part of the 2017 Salon des Refusés exhibition at the fab S.H. Ervin Gallery, Sydney.


Funland 2017, 2017, oil on linen, 153 × 168 cm, image courtesy the artist


The Trappings 2018, 2017, oil on linen, 56 × 92 cm, Image courtesy the artist

Read the full commission below:

Craig Handley is a Sydney based artist renowned for his images of suburban Australian life that playfully challenge the nuance of narrative. Handley’s works are at once vibrant and subdued, busy and quiet, which is where their intrigue lies. Handley’s pieces depict a dichotomy between what is known and what is unknown, as well as what is normal and what is bizarre. The space between these places has come to be synonymous with his washed back pastel palette. Paired together these elements certify his status as a master storyteller through painting.

The iconic traits of Craig Handley’s works are clearly visible in his latest exhibition, The Trappings. In this collection the narrative focal point retains its ambiguity in a present and future context. Handley conveys this clearly in The Trappings 2018. Viewers see a house perched on a sandy beach with a couch placed outside and a set of stairs that stretch out beyond the confines of the canvas, leading to a place we cannot see. The stairs seem foreboding, however one cannot help but be curious as to where they might lead. Similarly, the ocean waves in the background are inviting as much as they are ominous. By skewing perspective in this way, Handley’s paintings successfully create a subtle and deceptive sense of mystery that crosses the borders of time.

The largest work in the series, Funland 2017 echoes The Trappings 2018 in symbolism and storytelling techniques. In this work Handley uses a flat washed back pastel palette to reveal part of a story whilst allowing viewers to decide which direction the story takes. In this piece the wall of an amusement park fill the foreground. The sheer scale of the wall is exaggerated by a small figure at the base of a ladder jutted against it. Glimpses of the rides and attractions sit closely behind the wall whilst aluminium balloons merge with large fluffy clouds set in the background. The effect of Handley’s flat perspective and imagery draws viewers into the piece and creates a sense of mystery. Viewers cannot help but wonder what the full picture is behind the wall: what can the birds see from their vantage point above? What awaits at the base of the slide in the paintings centre?

The Trappings cements Craig Handley’s ability to conjure the relationship between the present and the future in it’s beauty and uncertainty. Using his celebrated technique of revealing fragments of a tale through a washed out palette, The Trappings showcases Handley’s creative skill and unquestionable talent at recreating the world we live in with a dystopian twist. ♦


The Trappings Late 2017, the Rethink, 2017, oil on linen, 112 × 122 cm, image courtesy the artist

It is almost time for Block Universe 2017 performing arts festival to launch and I personally cannot wait. This is Block Universe’s third year on the London arts scene. Their program includes newly commissioned performances as well as talks and workshops taking place around town at renowned institutions such as the Royal Academy of Arts and Somerset House, plus a range of unique locations around town.

I love performance art for a number of reasons. First of all, it is unique. Totally and completely one-off. Sure, you can re-create performances and if you are as iconic as Tino Sehgal you can sell a script to the Guggenheim to keep in their collection. But each time a piece is re-performed, it is destined to be different to the first, second, or third time it has been performed.

Having studied art history for my undergraduate degree and spending time in New York after I graduated, performance art was on always on my radar. I understood the premise of it and of course understood how groundbreaking the performance movement was in the 1970s, but I never felt like I really ~got it~. This all changed though when I saw my favourite performance of all time, Coexisting, by Clark Beaumont. I can’t think about it without getting chills. This work, as part of Kaldor Public Art Projects:27, 13 Rooms, completely captivated me.

 Two people (Sarah Clark & Nicole Beaumont) occupy a plinth that can barely hold the two of them. The figures constantly shift in the struggle to find a comfortable position. The performance calls for negotiation and compromise, vital to the existence of artistic collaboration. The pair were constantly moving and re-positioning themselves on a tiny surface area, and it was utterly captivating. A simple concept that spoke volumes about how we communicate, collaborate, and exactly as the title of the performance states, co-exist.

I couldn’t help it, something in me shifted and I suddenly realised that performance art = life.

Hence why I have already filled my diary with the dates of Block Universe’s programme, which runs from 29 May – 4 June this year.

I am particularly interested in experiencing Shapes of States, performance by Stina Nyberg. This intention of this particular performance is to connect political and historical writing of the body to public health ideals of Sweden in the 1920s. The body is a malleable form – how is it to be sculpted? How do we sculpt it? How do the responses to these questions impact our social identity? Shapes of States aims to consider these themes through dance sequences.


Enter aImages courtesy Block Universe site.
Image credit: Stina Nyberg, Shapes of States, 2016. © José Figueroa


Images courtesy Block Universe site.
Image credit: Stina Nyberg, Shapes of States, 2016. © José Figueroa

Check out the full Block Universe programme online