Anie Nheu began a discussion of her piece Flotsam and jetsam by reading it aloud. Inadvertently perhaps, identifying her work as both poetry and installation.
The large character in a box on the right reads as exit. The characters that follow speak of a watery journey and things thrown overboard along the way, presumably to be washed this way and that by the prevailing currents. As we spoke Anie’s poem became a lament for a Chinese culture that she has never known and conversely an Australian culture that to her remains elusive. Anie was born, on the road, to parents
who had already left China and who would take another 17 years to arrive in Australia where Anie assumed her nationality.
Here, decades after arriving in Australia the poise of Anie’s installation speaks of China not so much as a culture lost but as a culture imagined. This is not the story of a migrant discovering and reclaiming an abandoned culture, it is a story of cultural invention.
The idea that the scripted characters of Chines language observe both the role of a symbol and of a picture seems to be carried into the graphic arrangement of this installation. It is as though there are two languages being spoken at one time. There is the Chinese story and another story of arrangement that functions as a kind of dance between the various elements of the installation. This is as much a languageas the Chinese characters it incorporates. And one like Anie’s Chinese cultural heritage that is more a product of her imagination than it is of received or learnt conventions.
There is a gentle touch at work here. One that celebrates the unique qualities of humble materials crafted in the simplest of fashions. Collectively, the serenity engendered by this installation delivers it far from the component elements of its construction and its location, on a street where the various cultures of Australia jostle for a voice. Beyond any cultural precepts this installation has the voice an artist. A most singular artist whose art may be best read as an addition to our culture rather than being the product of any particular culture.
I encountered Roberto’s art in Manila when I joined Galleria Duemila. Coming and going from the gallery his abstract sculpture spoke with an arresting power that grew with each visit. It was made with a furious intensity that in conclusion arrived at such poise as to evoke a sense of Asian cool.
Later, arriving in Manila for the opening of one of Roberto’s exhibitions I was entranced by a work, From the old pond I ponder. And I wanted it for SLOT. It was carried back to Sydney packed in a slim cardboard box that fitted neatly under my seat. After its 2007 showing in SLOT I carried it back to Manila. Then in 2023 when Catherine Benz of Delmar Gallery was curating the 20-year survey of SLOT, Roberto’s piece was an obvious inclusion. This time it made its way to Sydney as a DHL consignment. And at about that time Roberto sent an email proposing a re-exhibition of his work in SLOT as a collaboration with me.
A protracted email conversation followed. It has continued for the last 18 months with a ferocity that is true to Roberto’s art. Often there are several emails a day, written on his phone as he makes his way around Manila.
My own emails, crafted with more reason than fury have considered the polar opposites represented by Manila and Sydney. One was colonised by the UK, the other colonised by the Chinese, the Sultanate of Borneo, then the Spanish, the UK for a while, the Spanish again and most recently the USA. Most people in Manila look Filipino, In Sydney very few people seem to be Aboriginal. Of course, both are English speaking cities in Asia, one proudly so, the other haltingly. One nominally Christian, the other devoutly so. Our conversation introduced the idea of an intersection – a cross – a plus sign - that would offer a moment of commonality between the seemingly endless list of binary opposites. My offering to our collaboration then is a transcription of this conversation.
There seems something iconoclastic in my abbreviation of our protracted conversation. Detail is glimpsed as fragmented text, provoking a viewer’s presumptions rather than an understanding of the original text. Perhaps this is how art reinvents itself? It is certainly the process of social media and its cousin, email traded back and forth in a way that negates the space between here and there. This generates a commonality, a kind of bastard truth that emphasises an understanding of the reader's perception ahead of an understanding of the authors. Here that bastard truth intersects with the idiosyncratic reason of Roberto’s hanging work. Collectively, does it offer the commonality of purpose and expression expected of a collaboration? Perhaps, but that my dear reader is yours to decide.
When Maria proposed an exhibition of her finely rendered paintings to SLOT, it seemed like an opportunity to celebrate the Day of the Dead with her. All Souls Day or for those keen on the Americanisation of our society, Halloween. Then when Maria arrived with her show, she said “I have something to tell you – I am not Mexican, I am Colombian, you see the Mexicans are Mayan and they have the day of the dead, in Colombia we are Chibcha, we don’t have the day of the dead but Halloween, because of the Americans is very big.” When I asked after the Spanish, all Maria said was, “of course we are all Catholics”. And as if to underline the fact, a Filipino friend commented “you know we have the wheel of fortune at Perya’s in the Philippines, it’s called a Roleta ng Kapalaran. Maria has given us a wheel of fortune of such mixed origin that it might as well be ours and our lives tumbling around to an indeterminate fate in its carnival of choosing.
With the taxonomy of the Day of the Dead obscured by centuries of colonialism, Maria looked to an ancient reference – La Portentosa vida de la Muerte (The astounding life of Death) written by Monk Joaquin Bolanos, a Mexican Franciscan, in 1792. It is an allegory, exploring man’s follies by following the journey of death through the eyes of the skeletal daughter of Adam and Eve. Who falls in love several times, whose husbands keep dying on their wedding night. The 18 illustrations that show death in among other roles, as a bony baby, a bride and a triumphant ruler are the creations of the Mexican engraver
Francisco Aguera Bustamante who illustrated the book.
This is generally thought of as the origin of the satirical living skeleton imagery that is typical of the Mexican Day of the Dead and that Maria has adopted in her “wheel of fortune”. Here her images can be read as a poem of life’s pivotal events, forever spinning: “Let yourself go to the music – Eaten by a shark – Fallen to pieces – You are born – You fall in love – Bad luck!(Black cat) – Drifting away – Reap what you sow – The sleep of reason creates monsters – don’t know how to feel – Drinking smoking pleasure – transition… afterlife?”. Go on spin it, the truth of your destiny awaits, well, for about as long as it does when you spin a poker machine, “life is a cabaret old chum”. La Portentosa Vida de la Muerte was censored by the Inquisition for its irreverent treatment of death, and using skeletons in a satirical commentary on the politics of its day. Copies were burned, and today we happily laugh in the face of death. Perhaps, or is that Halloween, the specter of strangers handing out lollies to children in the dark of night?
Rachel is from California, where she studied painting and print making. It became an interest in artist books and zines that she published as Book Hook. Then she found a day job as an interior designer and by the time she arrived in Sydney with her partner she was a weaver.
Talking about her weavings Rachel was quick to connect her art making to interior design, design products and soft goods. But at the mention of Frank Stellar, a hero of 20th century American abstract art the delight in her eyes confirms that her primary interest is in “woven paintings”. She feels that they are freed from the constraints of structure and offer a way of imbedding colour in the work’s surface.
Colour, Rachel explained has the capacity to alter an environment. She emphasised its cheerful ability to make her feel good. And when I mentioned that she was dressed in colours that replicated her installation she replied “I thought about that”. Yes, colour is a deeply considered subject here.
Colour rests in this installation like a haze. Like a
bloom, you might think for a moment that it’s sitting under coloured lights. But no, what you are seeing is the contrasting colours of the weavings and the contrasting colours of the wall. The right- and left-hand side of the installation contrast with each other while each side of the installation contrasts within itself. There is a complex play of colour here. It’s not surprising that Rachel mentioned recently seeing a show at the Art Gallery of New South Wales by Leslie Dumbrell. A Melbourne painter whose retrospective of optical colour field paintings was not unlike a collection of painted weavings.
In Rachel's woven works the structure is elementary. A grid sets up blocks of colour that are open to variation and a spontaneity. With the laborious job of setting up her loom done Rachel begins weaving with a commitment that is irrevocable. Yes, there is no going back in these courageous works - that in my view are made with a deep understanding of the history and practice of abstraction. But finally, they are objects, designed to be lived with - in a passionate blaze of colour, as this installation clearly demonstrates.
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