Richard Lewer, Never Shall Be Forgotten – A Mother’s Story, 2017. Still, detail. Hand-drawn animation. Image courtesy the artist, sullivan+strumpf and Hugo Michell Gallery. © The artist.
ANXIOUSNESS
THOUGHTS ON THE NATIONAL – NEW AUSTRALIAN ART, 2017
DAVID CORBET
T
he National 2017 – New Australian Art is a diverse, multi-layered and
nuanced exhibition, featuring new work by some of the country’s
most interesting artists, woven together by an expert and talented
group of thinkers. Yet its reception, critical and public, has been somewhat
subdued, and its relevance questioned in some quarters. By the time this
essay sees print, thousands more words will have been written, and a better
critical picture will emerge, so it is not my intention to offer a work-by-work
review, but rather to ponder how this irst (forty-eight artist, three venue,
ive curator) edition of The National intersects with the broader cultural
landscape, and the future role it might play across its full three-edition, sixyear cycle.
While deliberating on a title for this essay, I was mindful of equivalent shows
of the last decade, including Optimism at Queensland’s Gallery of Modern Art
(QAGOMA) in 2008. That show’s sunny disposition and themes of ‘…hope,
energy, passion, playfulness…’1 might nowadays appear a little forced in the
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face of contemporary anxieties, hence my title. Such surveys, usually mounted
by State institutions, are part of a longer history of overviews/snapshots of
national contemporary practice, including Sydney’s Australian Perspecta (of
which the inal edition was in 1999), and the Art Gallery of South Australia’s
(AGSA’s) long-running Adelaide Biennial of Australian Art, alongside relative
newcomers like the National Gallery of Australia’s (NGA’s) National Indigenous
Art Triennial, and the Tarrawarra Biennial. And of course the venerable
Biennale of Sydney and Brisbane’s Asia Paciic Triennial of Contemporary Art
(APT), while international in scope, have for many years been important and
well-funded platforms for new Australian art, seen by large audiences. These
will be joined in December 2017 by the NGV Triennial at the National Gallery
of Victoria, also international, and several commentators have invoked the
success of the NGV’s Melbourne Now (2013-14) as a precursor. That cityfocussed exhibition included some four-hundred participants working across
art, design, architecture and performance, and attracted over 750,000 visitors
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clockwise from top left: Karen Mills, Floodline (i), 2016. Dry pigment and ochre on linen. Image courtesy the artist and Alcaston Gallery. © The artist. Photograph Fiona Morrison; Gary Carsley, D.100 Wave Hill – A Tree
Struck By Lightening, 2014. Lambda unique state print applied to IKEA PAX Wardrobe, IKEA GILBERT Chair and IKEA FROSTA stool. Image courtesy the artist and Torch Gallery, Amsterdam and Thatcher Projects,
New York. © The artist; Karen Mills, Floodline (ii), 2016. Dry pigment and ochre on linen. Image courtesy the artist and Alcaston Gallery. © The artist. Photograph Fiona Morrison.
(average 6,244 daily),2 propelling it into the top twenty audience igures
worldwide for 2014. It appeared to galvanise Melbourne well beyond habitual
art audiences, and its effects were felt across the country—it was a sprawling,
messy, must-see, moment-deining exhibition, with something for everyone.
And of course a very different and bigger-budget proposition. Just sayin’.
Despite these other offerings, there is plainly a perceived need for a
recurrent, East-coast-based national overview of some kind, and combining
the resources of the Art Gallery of New South Wales (AGNSW), Museum of
Contemporary Art Australia (MCA) and Carriageworks makes good sense, given
their substantially overlapping commitments to new Australian art. I doubt
the organisers were aspiring to the hoopla of Melbourne Now, and without
great fanfare they have introduced The National into the mix, consistent
with both their own programming priorities and a collaborative ethos. Unlike
the existing national and international biennials alluded to above, where a
different (usually guest) curator is appointed for each edition, The National
has more in common with the approach taken by the APT—delivered by an
in-house curatorium, with all the advantages of continuity, sustained research
and cumulative knowledge.
However, exhibitions which identify themselves as national surveys,
whether intermittent or recurrent, arguably carry an added expectation to
express their ‘moment’ in some way that resonates beyond the museum’s
perimeter—like the rings that radiate from a stone thrown into a pond,
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clockwise from top left: Nicholas Mangan, Limits to Growth, 2016–2017. Single-channel video, high definition, colour, sound, 2:29 minutes (continuous loop), single-channel video, high definition, colour,
silent, (continuous loop), single-channel video, high deinition, black and white, sound, (continuous loop), 6 hand-printed C-type photographs on Kodak premier, 90 digital HP design jet colour prints, black and white
archival image, dimensions variable. Courtesy the artist, Sutton Gallery, Melbourne, Hopkinson Mossman, Auckland, and LABOR, Mexico City. © Nicholas Mangan; Keg de Souza, Changing Courses, 2017. Vacuum
storage bags, food, dialogical events, dimensions variable. Courtesy the artist. © Keg de Souza; Dale Harding, Know them in correct judgement, 2017. Detail. Rosewood, book, ochre and charcoal wall painting.
Courtesy the artist and Milani Gallery, Brisbane. © Dale Harding.
perhaps. In The National’s case, I think it is fair to say that the rings are not
tsunami-like. Apart from an initial round of arts press and TV coverage, the
ripples have disappeared, the pond’s surface glassy again. Published reviews
ranged from outright hostility (in the case of one newspaper critic), to
somewhat faint praise among others, best summarised as a ‘no big surprises
here’ sort of response. In researching this article, I’ve canvassed many opinions,
and beyond the committed contemporary art crowd, there appears to be scant
recognition of the project’s existence, still less excitement or controversy
about the art on show. Perhaps it is the dearth of big names, or big heads, or
big nudes, or shiny, high-tech installations? Where, some ask, are the sureire crowd-pleasers (or scandalisers) like Ron Mueck, Patricia Piccinini, Tracey
Moffatt, Bill Henson and Fiona Hall? Where are the grand landscapists and
desert painters? For whatever reason, Sydney’s art-goers appear to have taken
The National in their stride, neither passionately for nor against. I am not
sure this matters greatly to either artists or organisers (or to Eyeline readers),
however I am curious about the ways in which audience responses intersect
with curatorial intentions. If there is a stand-off, how much is it about the
exhibition’s content and staging, and how much about changing audience
expectations?
Common to several critiques is the observation that The National does not
have an overarching conceptual framework upon which to build audience
perceptions. I do not think anyone is calling this an omission—it is clearly
deliberate—but it is noted. The group curatorial statement tells us:
There is no single theme or curatorial concern that has driven our
combined research or frames the exhibition; there are, however,
interconnected threads that are explored in greater detail in the three
curatorial essays in this publication. One such thread is an interest in art
and social relations, engagement and transformation, or art emerging
as an expression of, and sometimes intervention back into, the lives
and concerns of particular communities, whether identiied through
race, gender, class or location. Another involves artists’ relections upon
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concepts of progress, and the structures and forms through which it both
develops and unravels. Examples of artists’ reassessment and animation
of marginal histories feature heavily, as do Indigenous perspectives on
issues speciic to the Australian context but with global resonances.
Work highlighting anxieties of identity—individual and collective, real
and imagined—is also prominent.3
The above could be read as coded language for reductive categories best
avoided, but nevertheless commonly heard, such as ‘political art’, ‘socialissue-art’, ‘identity art’—usually (as here) in ironic scare-quotes—the last
being a genre which the Guardian Australia’s critic confessed to inding
‘exhausting’. Reading between the lines of various reviewers and bloggers,
augmented by my own anecdotal straw poll, these kinds of remarks have
come up repeatedly. Like it or not, there is a view out there that The
National artists are selected from the curatorially pre-anointed (Artshub
described them as ‘a familiar roll-call’), chosen for the socio-political boxes
they tick rather than, say, popular acclaim. Perhaps more interesting is the
nexus between those naysayers who think The National is too focussed on
social issues—‘boring and preachy’—and those who think it does not go
far enough—‘safe and predictable’. Importantly, many such respondents
had only been to one or two of the venues, so were not reading it as a
whole, a fragmented perception common to the highly dispersed Biennale
of Sydney. Related to this is the way in which, at the MCA and especially
at AGNSW, the works in The National are effectively contiguous with other
contemporary offerings, however branded. Each day those institutions are
crowded with young tourists, school groups and leisured Australians, who do
not especially differentiate between the permanent collections and special
exhibitions, unless they are paying ones. Only Carriageworks requires a
deliberate trip to the inner west, rewarding the adventurous with a compact
but excellent show, mainly concentrated in the old Anna Schwartz Gallery
space. Here the performance-intensive opening events were thronged, and
market days see a steady stream of visitors, but it is otherwise quiet. None
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of these factors are necessarily detrimental, but
they inluence perceptions of The National as a
stand-alone project.
Having aired a few negatives, which amount
to no more than a collective (and arguably lazy)
perception of ‘samey-ness’, I want to refute
them, and strongly. In not describing itself as
a Biennale, resisting an overarching curatorial
theme, and working with in-house curators
across three institutions, The National avoids
the over-heightened expectations and potential
pitfalls of more grandiose claims. To my eyes,
the result is a thoughtful and well-balanced
show. If few works grab you by the lapels and
shake you, most reward thoughtful exploration,
and many offer great visual delight, even a few
belly-laughs (try Heath Franco’s Life is Sexy,
2017, Carriageworks). However this is not
spectacle-for-spectacle’s-sake, and the relative
restraint and spaciousness of the selection and
exhibition design is a compliment to both artists
and audiences.
It is not exactly news that installation, video
and archivally-based art are less popular than
the Archibald Prize or Sculpture by the Sea, but
Australian audiences are surely able to deal with
a bit of intellectual stretching and cultural selfanalysis. Is it so very dificult to contemplate
the existence of multiple nations, or monolithic
constructs of nationhood as a ‘mass delusion’,
in essayist Daniel Browning’s words?4 And,
where else but in an art exhibition? In Eyeline
85 I wrote about AGSA’s 2016 biennial, titled
Magic Object,5 which in my view (and despite
a number of participants in common with
The National), ducked curatorial engagement
with the societal and geopolitical issues with
which so many artists grapple. Its emphasis on
visual enchantment seemed to subsume deeper
readings of individual works into a supericial
rubric that was ‘determinedly anti-intellectual’,
in the words of one out-of-town curator. It is
possible that The National has gone too far
in the other direction, whatever ‘too far’ is.
Certainly many works require a little thinking
from audiences. It is important to note that the
project’s title carries a fair dose of irony, and the
curators plainly see it as ripe for critique:
from top: Heath Franco, LIFE IS SEXY, 2016–17. Still, 2-channel video,
high deinition, colour, sound. Image courtesy the artist and Galerie
pompom. © The artist. Photograph Jodie Whalen; Jemima Wyman,
Aggregate Icon (Rosetta RBW) from centre to periphery, clockwise:
Pro-Palestinian protesters, West Bank, 11th October 2015 (red and
black kefiyehs), Protester against government labor law reforms,
Nantes, France, 2nd June 2016 (tear gas return), Supporter of Michael
Brown, Ferguson, Missouri, 10th August 2014 (dreadlocks)…, 2017.
Adhesive woven wallpaper. Image courtesy the artist, sullivan+strumpf,
Sydney and Singapore, and Milani Gallery, Brisbane. © The artist.
The National is not pitched at presenting an
identiiably ‘national’ (Australian) art, or at
composing statements regarding national
tendencies, characteristics or identities. On
the contrary, there is a provocation in the
title, certainly towards the manner in which
concepts of nationhood and the nationstate are engaged and destabilised by the
practice of contemporary artists. Indeed,
dynamic, contested and even contradictory
concepts and experiences of place feature
in this irst exhibition. In so much as they
address any idea of ‘Australia’, these works
do so through a questioning lens and a
wider regional and global consciousness. 6
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Megan Cope, RE FORMATION part 3 (Dubbagullee), 2017. Sydney rock oysters, copper slag and hand cast concrete, 500 x 700 x 150cm irreg.
Courtesy the artist, and THIS IS NO FANTASY + dianne tanzer gallery, Melbourne. © The artist.
I require no persuading. This, surely, is a proper remit for such a survey? In
times of great social unease and political lux, isn’t it appropriate to include
the work of artists who interrogate our cultural anxieties, dismember our
national mythologies, and puncture our social complacencies?
The catalogue essays are illuminating in this regard, and one criticism
of exhibition presentation could be that, aside from the standard, brief
descriptors of artists and works, there are few interpretive wall texts, setting
out major threads and linkages. These are quite common, often in each
room, of historical and thematic exhibitions, people read them attentively,
and they can greatly assist audiences to understand what they are looking
at. Take for example the late Gordon Bennett’s series of geometrical
abstractions, titled Home Décor (after M. Preston) (2012-13), the last major
works of his too-short life, and arguably not the artist’s most accessible or
visually arresting canvases. These were shown at Documenta 13 in Kassel
(2012), where curator Carolyn Christov-Bakargiev boldly hung some of
Preston’s appropriations of Aboriginal motifs nearby, however without this
reference, Bennett’s ‘counter-appropriations’ need explanation. AGNSW’s
co-curator Anneke Jaspers’s lucid essay contextualises these works as ‘…
the untimely culmination of a mode of history painting he had developed
over three decades—here masquerading as abstraction—which took aim at
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the assumptions and occlusions of a white Australian cultural narrative…
[and which further critique] the spurious concept of “white aboriginality”
advanced by Preston and her contemporaries of the Jindyworobak literary
movement, and later revived (to different ends) by Imants Tillers and Paul
Taylor during the early 1980s’.7
This is useful stuff for the uninitiated, and Jaspers’s discourse adroitly
positions the works at AGNSW at the intersection of ‘acts of historical
retrieval’, socially-engaged practice, and what Australian art historian
Anthony Gardner has called ‘the demand for locality’.8 She invites us
to think translocally, within an internationalist and multi-temporal
thoughtscape. There is no dumbing-down going on here, and perhaps an
acknowledgement that some of these multi-layered works can be difficult
for audiences. Jaspers invokes, among many other writers, American
theorist Hal Foster’s seminal 2004 essay An Archival Impulse,9 which
memorably begins:
Consider a temporary display cobbled together out of workday
materials like cardboard, aluminum foil, and packing tape, and filled,
like a homemade study- shrine, with a chaotic array of images, texts,
and testimonials devoted to a radical artist, writer, or philosopher.
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clockwise from top left: Gordon Bennett, artworks from Home Decor (after M. Preston), 2012. Synthetic polymer paint on linen. © The Estate of Gordon Bennett; Erin Coates, Beer Economy, 2015. From the series
Arête. Pencil on paper. Image courtesy and © the artist; Tom Nicholson, Comparative monument (Shellal), 2014–2017. Glass tesserae mosaics, wooden boxes, 2-channel digital video,
high deinition, colour, sound, left channel 6:01 minutes, right channel 14:26 minutes, dimensions variable. Courtesy the artist and Milani Gallery, Brisbane. © Tom Nicholson.
Or a funky installation that juxtaposes a model of a lost earthwork
with slogans from the civil rights movement and/or recordings from
the legendary rock concerts of the time.
Foster was here referring to works by, respectively, Thomas Hirschhorn
(Switzerland) and Sam Durant (USA) however, speciics aside, he could be
describing any number of works of the last decade, by any number of artists.
Multi-screen video, tending towards the documentary, is often prominent
in the visual mix, and the author suggests that the content of such works
is often ‘… found yet constructed, factual yet ictive, public yet private…
[and arranged] … according to a quasi-archival logic, a matrix of citation and
juxtaposition […] in a quasi-archival architecture, a complex of texts and
objects’.10
It would be erroneous to group the diverse installations at AGNSW into
some catch-all historiographic/archival category, however in keeping with
the curators’ interest in historical retrieval, many works engage with aspects
of the past, while offering multiple sight-lines within the contemporary. The
elaborate materiality of such installations, and their scaled-up, art museum
staging (as opposed to an experimental/ARI, library or historical museum
setting), tempts us to approach them in formalist/aesthetic terms, however
this is not always the intention of the artists who (again I quote Foster)
‘… often aim to fashion distracted viewers into engaged discussants’. The
more interesting question, then, is how successfully they do this, whether
audiences have become more adept at ‘reading’ such works as intended, and
with what degree of engagement. I think it is fair to say that such works are
most accessible when their discursive and aesthetic armatures intersect as
compelling visuality—form and meaning indivisible, embodied within the
work. Some would disagree, but you have to want to engage in the irst
place.
Keg de Souza’s Changing Courses (2017) is one such work—a metaphorical
shelter and refuge, yes, but constructed from unsustainably mass-produced
vacuum-storage bags, into which a variety of foodstuffs, spices, seeds,
leaves and ‘dialogic elements’ have been sealed, imbuing her temporary,
self-critiquing structure with a greenhouse-like fragility. De Souza trained
as an architect, and is no stranger to utopian thought, however her practice
is irmly grounded in trans-local, grass-roots, people-to-people exchange,
and she always manages to braid these threads together with simple visual
panache. Similarly beguiling is Yhonnie Scarce’s delicate, aerial glass-work
Death Zephyr (2016-17) referencing the ill wind blowing from the 1950s
nuclear test-site at Maralinga in South Australia, while Dale Harding’s Know
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them in correct judgement (2017) materialises a deeply personal take on his
family history. Also of note is Tom Nicholson’s large, multimedia installation
Comparative Monument (Shellal) (2014-17), a complex work inspired by an
ancient mosaic fragment recovered by Australian Diggers in Palestine during
WW1, and later incorporated into the Australian War Museum in Canberra.
More literally archival is Alex Martinis Roe’s three channel video installation
It was about opening the Very notion that there was a particular perspective
(2015-17), which meditates on feminist histories and futures through
the prism of the so-called Philosophy Strike of 1973 at the University of
Sydney—a very situated history indeed. Nicholas Mangan’s multi-screen
installation, Limits to Growth (2016-17), ‘… cheekily connected visitors
to the rhythm of Bitcoin mining, installing the software in the gallery
basement throughout the duration of the exhibition [alongside] references
to the stone currency of the Micronesian island of Yap, large hand-carved
limestone objects named Rai that continue to form a small part of Yap’s
exchange system’.11 Wow.
At the MCA Zanny Begg and Elise McLeod’s absorbing video project
The City of Ladies (2016) invites viewers into a series of seven intimate
worlds, by way of a 1405 text wherein author Christine de Pizan, ‘… an
Italian migrant in France and arguably the mother of present-day western
feminism, imagines a didactic feminist utopia in Paris’.12 The sequencing of
the short ilms is randomised, so on multiple visits you will see different
components of the project. Here too you can explore Ronnie van Hout’s
autobiographical ‘mini-me’ installation I Know Everything (2017), where
‘… a coterie of sculptural Ronnies lank the viewer at every turn, staring
and looming as one enters’13; or spend some quiet time with Erin Coates’s
intriguing collection of small, reticent drawings, a portal to her climbing
and parkour-inspired urban imaginary. Other personal favourites were
Northern Territory artist Karen Mills’s quietly lovely series of six paintings,
Floodline (2016); Peter Maloney’s large abstract canvasses; Gary Carsley’s
hilariously quirky room; and Rose Nolan’s large-scale painting/sculpture Big
Words – To keep going breathing helps (circle work) (2016–17).
MCA curator Blair French’s short essay Continuity in the contemporary14
is well worth a read, and he notes how the work of the MCA component
and elsewhere ‘… complicates distinctions too easily made between socially
engaged practices and those that are supposedly not. There is much work
here that more obliquely probes thought patterns and knowledge systems,
quietly engaging socially or politically yet privileging an exploration of its
modes of poetic address’. Implicit in his selection is an emphasis on mid
and late-career artists who ‘… intelligently persist in the material practice
of art practice—a thinking through and realising of ideas in physical and
visual form—as a means to stake artistic agency in the continuous present
of the contemporary age’. In this regard, French continues an admirable and
long-standing commitment by the MCA to ensuring that important senior
artists remain represented in national collections and surveys, even if their
artworld star may be momentarily eclipsed.
Archie Moore, United Neytions, 2014–17. Installation view, The National 2017, Carriageworks. Photograph Zan Wimberley.
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Yhonnie Scarce, Death Zephyr, 2017. Hand blown glass yams, nylon and steel armature, dimensions variable. Courtesy the artist and THIS IS NO FANTASY + dianne tanzer gallery, Melbourne. © The artist.
Regarding Carriageworks, again I commend the relevant essay, Anxieties
of the Self,15 by co-curator Nina Miall. Here Archie Moore’s ironically selfcritiquing lags (United Neytions, 2014-17) are hung in the vast theatre
lobby, and the denizens of Ramesh Mario Nithiyendran’s massive installation
(The Cave, 2016-17) act as priapic guardians to the subtle delights within
the main space. Among the more sombre of these are Karla Dickens’s two
adjacent and equally compelling works Bound (2015) and Fight Club (2016),
which demonstrate her growing command of whatever medium she turns
her hand to. Richard Lewer’s hand-drawn, low-tech video animation (Never
Shall Be Forgotten – A Mother’s Story, 2017) shows just how powerful simple
storytelling can be, and both Justene Williams’s and Claudia Nicholson’s
opening day performances were highly memorable, alas now fallen silent.
Two other artists must at least be mentioned—Alex Gawronski, whose largescale architectural project Ghosts (2017) is spread across all three venues,
and Agatha Goethe-Snape, who participates across all three venues and also
future editions of The National in 2019 and 2021.
Returning, then, to earlier remarks around critical and public perceptions
of The National. These are no doubt inluenced by the socio-political,
cerebral and/or discursive nature of many works, but are also bound up
with audience responses to contemporary art in general, nationally and
internationally. Despite statistics which tell us that contemporary art
audiences are increasing exponentially each year, I am not convinced this
goes much deeper than the ‘museum-as-destination’ phenomenon, and I am
not sure how much patience audiences have with conceptual complexity.
Contemporary art has many publics, from inattentive courting couples to
industry insiders, and (borrowing momentarily from marketing terminology)
they can be segmented into rejecters (hostile to indifferent), non-rejecters
(indifferent to mildly interested), and embracers (moderately interested to
enthusiastic and knowledgeable). Even within the latter group—people who
are active attendees at contemporary art galleries and museums—there is a
divide between those who willingly engage with conceptual and discursive
art, and those who do not. Their predilections may be medium/genre-speciic
or agnostic, but all are enmeshed with a heavily-mediated image economy,
with attention spans getting ever-shorter.
It sometimes appears to me that contemporary artists (like society more
broadly, faced by global uncertainties) are turning ever-more-inward, their
work increasingly focussed on private mythologies, personal histories,
introspective states and therapeutic approaches to art-making, including
aspects of social practice. Perhaps, within the networked ediice of the Global
Contemporary, we are witnessing a fatal collapse of the quarantine zone
between art and the anxieties of ‘ordinary life’? Blair French notes that ‘A
shift in conditions, with the photographic serving the instrumental purposes
of communication rather than the witnessing and questioning functions of
representation, has created a culture in which almost anyone might lay claim
to being an artistic producer or curator, a “creative”’, and he references Boris
Groys’s proposition that ‘…the majority of any public might be best described
as producers rather than spectators’.16 More pungently, the Japanese German
artists Hito Steyerl has said:
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clockwise from top left: Rose Nolan, Big Words – To keep going, breathing helps (circle work), 2016–17. Installation view, The National 2017: New Australian Art, Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, Sydney.
Synthetic polymer paint, hessian, velcro, steel. Supported by the Victorian Government through Creative Victoria. Image courtesy the artist and Anna Schwartz Gallery. © The artist. Photograph Felicity Jenkins;
Ramesh Mario Nithiyendran, The Cave, 2016–17. Installation view, The National 2017, Carriageworks. Photograph Zan Wimberley; Karla Dickens, Bound, 2015. Installation view, The National 2017,
Carriageworks. Photograph Zan Wimberley; Peter Maloney, Blue Danube, 2016. Synthetic polymer paint on polyester. Image courtesy the artist and Utopia Art Sydney. © The artist.
Contemporary art is a kind of layer or proxy which pretends that
everything is still OK, while people are reeling from the effects of
shock policies, shock and awe campaigns, reality TV, power cuts, any
other form of cuts, cat GIFs, tear gas—all of which are all completely
dismantling and rewiring the sensory apparatus and potentially also
human faculties of reasoning and understanding by causing a state of
shock and confusion, of permanent hyperactive depression.17
What then are we to make of this apparent tension (or perhaps collision)
between contemporary practice and some of its publics? Could it be as
simple as the fact that, in general, audiences want escapist, instagrammable
spectacle, and do not care to be reminded of colonial and contemporary
misdeeds? That they prefer art museums to sustain cheerful mythologies
of national exceptionalism and Manifest Destiny? That they do not like art
you have to think about? That contemplating environmental destruction is a
turn-off, any mention of refugees a barbecue-stopper? Well maybe, but my
advice is: harden up snowlakes, this exhibition is subtitled New Australian
Art, this is what some artists are making nowadays, and some of it is quite
sombre. Although I have discussed only a few, I hope this article articulates
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the strength and diversity of the artists and works featured in The National.
Across its three editions as many as 150 artists may be included—a major,
international Biennale-sized offering—and a picture will emerge of the art
that our institutional curators believe to be important and noteworthy. I guess
we will see in 2019 and 2021 how it all plays out, but based on this year’s
edition, I believe the organisers are doing a lot right, and that the model is
well worth sustaining.
Notes
1. Online text: ‘Contemporary Australia: Optimism’, Queensland Art Gallery / Gallery
of Modern Art, 15 November 2008–22 February 2009. https://www.qagoma.qld.
gov.au/whats-on/exhibitions/past-exhibitions/contemporary-australia2 (accessed
16/5/2017).
2. ‘Visitor Figures 2014’, The Art Newspaper 267, April 2015.
3. Anneke Jaspers, Wayne Tunnicliffe, Lisa Havilah, Nina Miall, Blair French,
‘Curatorial Introduction’, The National: New Australian Art, MCA Australia, AGNSW,
Carriageworks, 2017.
4. Daniel Browning, ‘Unceded: Contesting the national, or Australia is a foreign
country’ in The National: New Australian Art, ibid.
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clockwise from top left: Ronnie van Hout, I know everything, 2017. Detail. Installation view, The National 2017: New Australian Art, Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, Sydney. Four-channel video, colour, sound,
painted polyurethane on polystyrene, clothing, wig, cast epoxy resin ibreglass, MDF, T5 slimline luorescent, glass eyes, plastic, stainless steel and timber plinths, mdf plinth. Image courtesy the artist, Darren Knight
Gallery and STATION Gallery. © The artist. Photograph Felicity Jenkins; Justene Williams, Two Fold, 2016. Performance documentation, Contemporary Art Centre of South Australia, Adelaide. Image courtesy the artist
and Sarah Cottier Gallery. © The artist. Photograph Andy Nowell; Zanny Begg, The City of Ladies, 2016. Production still, single-channel durational video, colour, sound.
Directors Zanny Begg and Elise McLeod. Image courtesy and © the artists. Photograph Frederique Barraja.
5. David Corbet, ‘Enchantment and Its Discontents: Magic Object – the 2016
Adelaide Biennial of Australian Art’, Eyeline, no.85, 2016.
6. Anneke Jaspers, Wayne Tunnicliffe, Lisa Havilah, Nina Miall, Blair French, op. cit.
7. Anneke Jaspers ‘Past origins, present politics’, ibid.
8. Anthony Gardner ‘The demand for locality’ in Natasha Bullock and Alexie GlassKantor (eds), Parallel Collisions: The Adelaide Biennial of Australian Art, Art Gallery
of South Australia, 2012. p188-189.
9. Hal Foster, ‘An Archival Impulse’, October, Vol.110, Autumn 2004, pp.3-22.
10. Ibid, p.5.
11. Text by Jan Bryant on Nicholas Mangan in The National: New Australian Art, op.
cit.
12. Text by Jiva Parthipan on Zanny Beg and Elise McLeod, ibid.
13. Text by Mark Feary on Ronnie van Hout, ibid.
14. Blair French ‘Through time: Continuity in the contemporary’, ibid.
15. Nina Miall ‘Anxieties of the self’, ibid.
16. Blair French, op. cit. He goes on to cite Boris Groys, ‘Introduction: Poetics vs.
Aesthetics’, in Julieta Aranda, Brian Kuan Wood and Anton Vidokle (eds), Going
public, Sternberg Press, Berlin and New York, 2010, pp.9-19.
17. Hito Steyerl, ‘Duty Free Art’, e-lux journal, #63, March 2015, New York.
The National – New Australian Art was exhibited at the Museum of Contemporary Art
Australia: 30 March – 18 June 2017; the Art Gallery of New South Wales: 30 March –
16 July 2017; and Carriageworks: 30 March – 25 June 2017.
Curators for the 2017 edition of The National: New Australian Art were Anneke
Jaspers, Curator Contemporary Art and Wayne Tunnicliffe, Head Curator Australian
Art, Art Gallery of New South Wales; Lisa Havilah, Director and Nina Miall, Curator,
Carriageworks; and Blair French, Director, Curatorial and Digital, Museum of
Contemporary Art Australia.
David Corbet is a freelance writer and curator, currently engaged in PhD research at
Sydney College of the Arts, The University of Sydney.
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