Christian Flynn by Galleries, Townsville City Council

C H R I STIAN FLYNN Unfamiliar Theatre/Unknown Stage

Publisher Perc Tucker Regional Gallery Townsville City Council PO Box 1268 Townsville Queensland 4810 Australia ptrg@townsville.qld.gov.au ©Galleries, Townsville City Council and the authors 2019 ISBN: 978-0-949461-32-2

Contributing Authors Jonathan McBurnie Arryn Snowball Isabella Baker

Publication Design and Development The Hunting House

Photography Carl Warner

Typeface Kepler Std Anonymous Pro

Cover Image Christian Flynn, I Do Not Know Where My Ideas Come From, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 32.5 x 32.5 cm

Perc Tucker Regional Gallery Cnr. Denham and Flinders St Townsville QLD 4810 (07) 4727 9011 ptrg@townsville.qld.gov.au whatson.townsville.qld.gov.au Mon - Fri: 10am - 5pm Sat - Sun: 10am - 2pm

C H R I STIAN FLYNN Unfamiliar Theatre/Unknown Stage Perc Tucker Regional Gallery 21 June – 11 August 2019

Contents Foreward: A Rendezvous with Flynn by Arryn Snowball / 7 Paintings from a Participatory Universe, Small but infinite by Isabella Baker / 25 Flynn’s Arcade: Obfuscation and the Art of Christian Flynn

by Jonathan McBurnie / 45

Language is important to the artist’s work – the titles being a lead into the material. Flynn’s practice is influenced by documentation of alien encounters and records of unidentified flying objects. The work in this exhibition speaks to this curiosity and how communication is enacted. The creatures in this series are perplexing and dazzling.

For if it is possible to explain that which is alien, it is domesticated, and ceases to be truly alien. This is of course a great difficulty within science fiction, and also within abstract painting.

FOREWORD A RENDEZVOUS WITH FLYNN In Arthur C. Clarke’s classic novel, Rendezvous with Rama (1973), a gigantic cylindrical object of alien origins enters the solar system. A group of scientists are sent to explore the spacecraft, they document strange things: vast complexes of geometric structures, an internal sea, crablike robots. And yet they fail to encounter any aliens, there is nothing they can communicate with. Shortly after the scientists leave, the cylinder slingshots around the sun and departs for a distant star. The reader is left without a clear explanation; the object and its creators remain enigmatic. Fans of science fiction will recognise this thematic device. The black monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) is another famous example (also written by Arthur C. Clarke with Stanley Kubrick). The monolith’s purpose and origin are hinted at, but remain unknown, perhaps always unknowable. For if it is possible to explain that which is alien, it is domesticated, and ceases to be truly alien. This is of course a great difficulty within science fiction, and also within abstract painting.

In these works Flynn balances historic forms

a sense of where they are going, of where

of abstraction with a playfulness of Saturday

they might end up, only to be completely

morning cartoons (Robotech, Transformers and

surprised when the work was finished. I think

Voltron was perhaps where many of us first

anyone’s guess would probably be way off,

encountered futuristic modernism). The hard

even Flynn’s. This is because he is constantly

edge geometry that echoes Kasimir Malevich’s

countering his own moves within the structure

floating cities in space, or El Lissitzky’s epic

of a work, playing against his own sense of

architectures, play against blobs and spikes,

aesthetics. By challenging one move with

and twisting zigzags. The projected energies

its opposite, he brings forth something new

of clashing colour combine into contrasting

and exciting. This push and pull gives the

harmonies that are not utopic, but rather

image a life that couldn’t be preconceived.

Christian Flynn and I have been friends since art school. Over the last 15 years I have watched his dedicated exploration of the relationships between colour and form develop into a captivating universe. In recent years Flynn has reduced his format to miniature paintings on paper, the intimate size of these gem-like works has only increased their sense of scale to an epic grandeur.

consciousness. Flynn’s abstraction resists the

full of diversity, unlikely constructions and dynamic movement. Rarely serene or orderly, repetition and dissonance sparkle across the paper, complicating the interaction of forms and activating the space in which they float. The abstract complexes conglomerate into figures and forms floating on empty, nebulous grounds that could be alien planets, deep space, or simply colour-stained paper. Shapes and their relationships to space become embodied forms, and take on personality. They suggest action and intentions, they hint at reductive tendencies of late Modernism. It is not a black empty square of negation, but full of dynamic movement, vivid colour and the indefinable intentions of subjective being.

These small abstractions never quite resolve into something fixed and recognizable. Flynn returns us again and again to the disjuncture between form and content. The relationships between shape and colour, figure and ground, line and space, are full of inversions and apparent contradictions. Flynn’s abstractions remind us that little is fixed, that meaning is constantly in the making, and by extension, that being is itself fluid and ambiguous. He does this through the very basics of picture making and through inventive exploration and play. Hinting at complexity and interaction, Flynn has developed his unique aesthetic into a personal universe that reveals itself over this exceptionally developed body of work, in which the viewer may participate, anticipate, but

Flynn has a process-based practice. By that I

never fully resolve. A rendezvous with Rama,

mean the image is not planned in advance, but

Flynn’s playful enigmas unfold across the void

rather comes into being through working. It

according to their own idiosyncratic logic.

is an open process, as if the rules of the game are being discovered as it is being played.

Arryn Snowball

The paintings are worked and worked again. Through a means of move and counter-move, these small paintings can take months to complete. Many times I have seen half-finished paintings in the studio, and thought I have

Christian Flynn, Space Operatics, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 21 x 30 cm

Christian Flynn, Affinity and Repulsion in Equal Measure, 2018 synthetic polymer on paper, 21 x 29.8 cm

Christian Flynn, An Interaction a Dance for Understanding, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 22 x 23 cm

Christian Flynn, A Small Unknown, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 16.5 x 16.3 cm

Christian Flynn, Another’s Intent, 2018 synthetic polymer on paper, 16 x 22.5 cm

Christian Flynn, Clear Intent, 2018, synthetic polymer on paper, 21.5 x 21.3 cm

Christian Flynn, It Sits There Looking at Me and I Don’t Know What It Is, 2018, synthetic polymer on paper, 30.5 x 21.5 cm

Christian Flynn, Floating Structures, 2017 synthetic polymer on paper, 21 x 21 cm

Flynn is interested in the ambiguity between abstraction and figuration. This can be seen in the tension between the fluid and geometric forms.

PAINTINGS FROM A PARTICIPATORY UNIVERSE, SMALL BUT INFINITE

Christian Flynn creates visceral artworks that connect with another plane. They are neither here on Earth nor anywhere else in particular. The works are a portal into something more than what we can see. The colours and shapes make the work monumental even though the paintings are small in dimension. Flynn is interested in the ambiguity between abstraction and figuration. This can be seen in the tension between the fluid and geometric forms. It is these qualities that perplex and disrupt rationality, causing the viewer to reach for connections. While looking for meaning, we discover much more than what is ‘real’ or ‘tangible’. You can get lost in these paintings, lost in the not knowing. In this solo exhibition we are lucky to view Flynn’s new works, each painting exuding colour, energy and motion. The artist provides different planes with new discoveries of the unknown. His work is lyrical in the way that it evokes an emotional response and stimulates thought processes. The works on display encourage audiences to think about what makes a theatre? What makes a stage? And, how does the unfamiliar feel in a participatory universe? The need for energy drives communication. In the theatre of the alien, it is a mystery that we communicate at all.

T H E THEATRE How did I know that it was a theatre? Because of the presence of a stage, a division between myself and others, who were together, performing, in unison on an unrecognisable mission. The theatre is unknown, but this recognition is of little importance, for it mirrors every other theatre, every other undefined

space, every other platform of communication, where people come to listen to one another. It is the theatre of alien encounters. The space of the theatre is open, yet it envelopes matter in a protective, invisible boundary between the form and the outside world. Theatres are the settings for performances. There is a dynamic interconnectedness with form. In Flynn’s recent exhibition Come Close at the University of the Sunshine Coast Gallery (February, 2019), he talked about the importance of focusing on the act of making artworks as a way of opening up new possibilities of imagination. The artist relates the process of painting as being ‘under construction,’ often working on more than twenty paintings at any one time. Layers are built up in the process with intention to explore textuality and interconnectedness. In his work, form, colour and line develop a new cohesion. The elements and forms connect visually.

There is a cohesion to the forms and their

LAN D S C A P E S

exhibition speaks to this curiosity and how

Think arid, wet, inundated, uninhabited, cloudy planes. Sightings often occur in desolate landscapes such as these. The dry and wet settings both speak of difficult places to inhabit. On first encounter, many of the paintings feel uninhabited, but we do still feel connected to the forms, seeking other life. Unlike other images of outer space, industrial and monochrome, these landscapes emit energy and colour. The paintings have a Roswellian stir of excitement.

FOR M S Look out for the delicate tensions between fine lines and fluid pigment. Geometric angles adjacent to curved lines.

place together on this otherworldly plane. Despite the abstraction from what we know, the forms seem to work in harmony. They don’t appear threatening. In fact, maybe we are the threatening ones? The forms seem playful and joyous, their bodies stretching in and out as if dancing. They seem as if they are floating or flying, without gravity. There are both fluid lines and sharp edges, demonstrating that both can exist in this other universe. The cohesion of the forms and lines has the function of language. Arriving, encounters, ancient, light. Language is important to the artist’s work – the titles being a lead into the material. Flynn’s practice is influenced by documentation of alien encounters and records of unidentified flying objects. The work in this communication is enacted. The creatures in this series are perplexing and dazzling. The bright, heightened colours, which have become a notable aspect of the artist’s practice, imbue the forms with power. The combinations of almost sickening pink, silver, orange and brown, while not normally paired together, in this case, work to form something full of excitement and urgency. Perhaps in arrival or departure from one plane to another. It is more that these small, abstract works are invitations into the infinite. For me, Flynn’s works evoke a gut reaction of excitement that there is always more, always things to find. Isabella Baker

Christian Flynn, Gentle Investigation, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 16.6 x 24.3 cm

Christian Flynn, Holiday Destination, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 15 x 21 cm

Christian Flynn, Places and People, the Pleasure of Travel, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 21 x 30 cm

Christian Flynn, Understanding Nothing, 2018 synthetic polymer on paper, 21 x 21 cm

Christian Flynn, An Expansion of Empathy and Understanding, 2018 synthetic polymer on paper, 30.5 x 21.3 cm

Christian Flynn, Unknown Unknown, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 16 x 21 cm

Christian Flynn, Obelisk at the Point of Expansion, 2018 synthetic polymer on paper, 21.30 x 29.5 cm

Christian Flynn, Origin and Purpose, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 16.5 x 24.5 cm

Christian Flynn, Out of the Blue, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 16.5 x 17.5 cm

Obscurity isn’t just a cloak of safety, of invisibility, but a key artistic strategy. Considered in the contemporary context of the artist being indivisible from their work, obfuscation becomes doubly powerful.

FLYNN’S ARCADE: OBFUSCATION AND THE ART OF CHRISTIAN FLYNN

In 2018 and 2019 we have seen a radical reexamination of what it is to be an artist, and how divisible the work is from that artist. Though this is not a new phenomenon (one thinks immediately of debates around the artistic worth, after considerations of personal conduct, of Pablo Picasso, Michael Jackson and Roman Polanski), this revisionism has taken on an urgency and scale never seen before, due in part to evolving identity politics, themselves partially attributable to evolving technologies. More than ever, viewers (consumers?) refuse to see a distinction between the artist and their work. This may not sound like a seismic shift for performers, who, despite the fact that they are performing, are constantly in the spotlight. There is always a presence of the performer, whether they’re playing themselves a fantastic character (consider David Bowie or Orson Welles), but for the painter, the writer, the director, who have the ability if they wish it, to stand completely behind their works, out of the public eye, this is a massive change. Picasso, a very public figure for a visual artist, is one thing, but for many artists, part of the freedom is the ability to act, feel, think and play outside of the spotlight, unencumbered by the moral and philosophical certitudes of the masses. Obscurity isn’t just a cloak of safety, of invisibility, but a key artistic strategy. Considered in the contemporary context of the artist being indivisible from their work, obfuscation becomes doubly powerful. Orson Welles had a long history of strategic obfuscation, which was likely a flipside to his own considerable efforts behind the camera (or microphone, or curtain); as well

as being a commanding performer, Welles was a consummate director and script writer. Consider his efforts to finance and create what became his final film, the Other Side of the Wind, which was never quite finished, and released posthumously after an edit. The film provides valuable insight into the idea of narrative and autobiography, and the slippage between, for Welles’ film was built around a brilliant conceit; one half of the film was to be ostensibly about an aging filmmaker trying to finance and create a film, the other half being the film itself, the film within the film. Such ideas were decades ahead of what we now take for granted in the post Larry Sanders/ Garry Shandling world, with metaphysical acrobatics that serve as much as trailblazing formal experimentation as winking satire of an industry forever eating and regurgitating itself for the masses. These metaphysics build additional layers of fascination, with Welles casting real actors and directors to play not themselves, but vaguely analogous ciphers, cartoon versions, of themselves. The filmwithin-the-film appears to be a pastiche (or a satire) of the French New Wave of cinema, which was so influential to Hollywood’s own New Wave, which more or less destroyed the very system that Welles had helped build, and had worked in, or in opposition to, for decades. This may appear to be a tangled web of references, puckish winks and deferential nods, but Welles’ insistence upon the separation of autobiography from the film’s analysis is, in itself, revealing. He saw it, despite being a partly-improvised and partly-constructed narrative, as a kind of documentary, or analysis, of Hollywood, rather than himself.

Temporarily moving the conversation away from art, but perhaps more closely to Christian Flynn’s recent paintings, we should consider the activities of Richard Doty. Doty is a former Special Agent for the United States American Air Force Office of Special Investigation, who specialised (and many would argue still specialises) in counterintelligence and disinformation. He is also a UFO expert, and has appeared as such in many interviews and documentaries. Doty is an interesting figure, not because of his claims– which are relatively tame compared to many similar figures of the UFO community– but because his claims butt up against his former profession so neatly. To the casual observer, Doty’s talk of UFOs, ETs, black ops government research projects and conspiracies could be construed as so much hokum. However, and this is where it gets interesting, Doty’s accounts always sit flush beside well-established and well-documented timelines, and can often be corroborated by way of evidence, or claims consistent with his own, from (more) reputable sources. Upon careful inspection of the man’s claims, the question shifts from whether or not Doty’s claims are real, to whether or not he is still going through his counterintelligence motions after his retirement; are the elaborate narratives he has built over years of interviews themselves the fiction? And if they are, what are the real truths being obscured by these narratives? It is in this way that Doty is truly a master of deception. The UFO community is deeply suspicious of Doty because his public claims, if taken seriously, are offered unvarnished, with various support and evidence, which is highly unusual in this context. Conversely, if Doty’s

claims are to be dismissed as obfuscation, they create a desire for a deeper truth, which Doty must be hiding. Another alternative, and perhaps the most likely, exists somewhere between, where Doty’s information and misinformation is all documented with equal sincerity and, by default, equal credibility; the truth is hidden in plain sight, alongside parallel half-truths and untruths. This is, of course, the arena of the artist, the writer, the filmmaker. Welles and Doty may seem strange framing devices for discussion of Flynn’s artistic practice, but there are many parallels that can be drawn between the artist, his works, and the narratives threaded between them. Just like Welles and Doty, Flynn’s use of narrative serves a purpose we can only guess at. Broken down into an index of points which chart a narrative timeline (or is it a cartography?), we are bombarded with half-truths, innuendos and red herrings. While narrative itself is a relatively recent concern for the artist, his continuing interest in the detritus of humanity, whether it be advertising, popular culture, or the byproducts of the body itself, has always reached toward some kind of reconciliation of the future, and what is gone and will never, ever return. This is the same artist who at one stage used the physical and spiritual disposability of advertising itself, using bottle shop corflute signs, as a graphic starting point. It is in this way that the work continues an ongoing conversation with itself. While many artists’ work seems to progress in a linear fashion, a chronological development of ideas and their execution, Flynn seems to work in a circular, but forward moving, fashion. Studio touchstones recur, but not without significant pauses,

often years-long. Old works are rediscovered, stripped and mined of ideas of merit, and finally reconstituted and redeployed in new work. Without laboring the point, the work reaches inwards and outwards simultaneously.

in the studio in the way many artists use

Flynn’s artistic career, which comprises of many series of paintings, which each explore an additional register added since the last, does gesture toward expansion, or the infinite, but always remains grounded with an Earthly, or human, element. It is an effective visual binary, and universalises Flynn’s work without pandering, or diluting the artist’s most promising visual strengths. Science fiction is perhaps the most immediately apparent aesthetic influence on Flynn’s work, and this binary is often reflected in the genre’s own spiritual aches. Think of the endless galactic nothingness of Dark Star, grounded by the astronauts’ growing collective boredom, irritation and madness; the boundless, optimistic possibilities of time and space of Interstellar, grounded by the dirt and dust of a dying farm, symbolic of a dying world; or Roy Batty’s vivid, allusive proclamations shortly before his unavoidable, predetermined death in Bladerunner. Like these films, Flynn’s work operates as a universe in miniature, the charting of one specific story in a galaxy of stories, yet obscured through abstraction, of form and shape. The forms within are familiar, but evanescent. The artist may flesh out these alien environments, but it is the viewer who traverses them.

steadily absorbed and revisited later; Voltus

Science Fiction is also, perhaps, the fuel most often consumed by the artist. In the age of streaming, the internet offers a steady and accessible diet of the genre, which Flynn uses

Mulder and Scully (belief and skepticism), and

music or podcasts. It is listened to rather than watched, a steady and familiar narrative which can be focused in and out of; a radio play for Generation X. Whole television series are 5, Transformers, Star Trek, the X-Files. Such visual influences have been easily identifiable in Flynn’s work for some time, particularly the bold colors and streamlined forms of the Japanese-designed Super Robot subgenre, but it could be argued that, compellingly, it is the subversive theme of alienation, a mainstay of science fiction, which has resonated with the artist most personally over more recent years. This ongoing presence, a steady stream of visually and philosophically-compelling narratives of alienation, identity crisis and paranoia, is certainly a defining through line of Flynn’s studio practice, when put in relief to the nihilism and outright spiritual and philosophical doom of the late-capitalist era. Considering the visual and philosophical influence of science fiction, and the artist’s fascination with ufology, it might be easy to prescribe some kind of ill-advised theory of fandom or even obsession, but I would argue that nothing could be further from the truth. In a parallel to his work, Flynn considers each angle and position quite carefully, with an objective detachment. To take a cue from the X-Files, itself an intimidating mythology built on a mish-mash of conspiracy theory, but expertly tempered by the yin and yang perspectives of FBI agents in later seasons, Agent Doggett (who brings a third perspective, reason, into the mix), Flynn’s position is somewhere in the middle.

This ongoing presence, a steady stream of visually and philosophicallycompelling narratives of alienation, identity crisis and paranoia, is certainly a defining through line of Flynn’s studio practice, when put in relief to the nihilism and outright spiritual and philosophical doom of the late-capitalist era.

I believe that this is largely attributable to three contemporary phenomena, the first being the prism of narcissism, engendered by social media, in which the world is largely viewed through today (everything is about us, always).

Open to new ideas and possibilities, but requiring evidence to proceed. This studio practice is itself somewhat unusual in its execution. Flynn typically works on several— sometimes dozens— of works at one time, usually prepared and started during the same studio session. A loose, gestural layer, usually acrylic, is lashed over each piece of paper or canvas. Harder geometric forms are then layered, one by one, in considered fashion. In many recent works, this is the point at which Flynn will begin to reincorporate more organic forms, something more or less absent for over a decade. It is over these forms that we seem to project narrative, blobs and cells linking with the hard geometric edges, which can be difficult to resolve. Around this time, when images begin to set, is the most dangerous stage of creation. This part of the process is deceptive; often works will sit, untouched for months, awaiting the correct addition to transform and complete their composition. It is at this moment where a simple mark or shape can weld the image into place, bringing about a sudden tension or unity, resolving the work. These moments are almost always unexpected to the casual viewer, even if they have been able to see the works at each step. One can’t help but wonder how unexpected these moves are to the artist. Returning to the many faces of Orson Welles, and the many potential interpretations of the Other Side of the Wind, there seems to be a preternatural demand by scholars and critics of its autobiographical qualities; it mirrors or parallels the artist, so therefore it is autobiography. I believe that this is largely attributable to three contemporary phenomena, the first being the prism of narcissism,

engendered by social media, in which the world is largely viewed through today (everything is about us, always). The second is the now casually arbitrary nature of the surveillance state (all of your actions are being monitored, all of the time). The third is the deep distrust of the concept of artistic genius (the postmodern fallacy that anybody can be an artist is, of course, bunk). Every contemporary artist must deal with questions of autobiography, whether it is an aspect of their practice or not, because that is the direction people approach it. Therefore, is it any wonder that obfuscation becomes crucial to the artist? Obviously the interface with the public, via exhibitions particularly, is important, but art remains one of the rare aspects of contemporary life where everything need not be revealed right away, where mysteries can linger. Christian Flynn’s work maintains its mystery and challenges us to go deeper. To demand of it neat, contemporary interpretations of autobiography seems a redundancy, given its grand, outward reaching scope, and its simultaneous intimacy. As viewers, we bring with us our own experiences and transpose them onto these alien landscapes and biological forms, searching for a meaning in the visual terrain as we are trained to throughout our multiphrenic lives. This isn’t necessarily the wrong way to look at Flynn’s work, but just as taking something Doty or Welles tells us at face value, we may be left to search for the unstated subtext to these works, or to hold them up to a mirror to reveal some hereto-unseen aspect. The truth is out there. Jonathan McBurnie Creative Director, Townsville City Galleries

Christian Flynn, Sketch for a Monument to Communication, 2018 synthetic polymer on paper, 16 x 25 cm

Christian Flynn, The Joy of Non Locality,2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 14.8 x 21.6 cm

Christian Flynn, The Unidentified, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 78 x 28.7 cm

Christian Flynn, The Unidentified II, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 76.5 x 28.7 cm

Christian Flynn, Unidentified Beginning, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 57.5 x 19.4 cm

Christian Flynn, Unfamiliar Theatre, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 16.5 x 17.5 cm

Christian Flynn, Unknown Stage, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 17 x 25 cm

Christian Flynn, Unknown Unknown, 2019 synthetic polymer on paper, 16 x 24 cm

G A LLERY STAFF Jonathan McBurnie / Creative Director Erwin Cruz / Senior Collections and Exhibition Officer Claire Griffiths / Senior Education and Programs Officer Lucy Belle Tesoriero / Curatorial Assistant Sarah Reddington / Education and Programs Officer Nicole Richardson / Education and Programs Assistant Leonardo Valero / Exhibitions Officer Emily Donaldson / Exhibitions Officer Jake Pullyn / Exhibitions Officer, Projects Jo Lankester / Collections Management Officer Tanya Tanner / Public Art Officer Rachel Cunningham / Gallery Assistant Samuel Smith / Gallery Assistant Michael Favot / Gallery Assistant Wendy Bainbridge / Gallery Assistant Chloe Lindo / Gallery Assistant Tegan Jackson / Gallery Assistant Amy Licciardello / Business Support Officer Vicki Saylor / Gallery Addministation Officer

Flynn’s abstractions remind us that little is fixed, that meaning is constantly in the making, and by extension, that being is itself fluid and ambiguous. He does this through the very basics of picture making, and through inventive exploration and play.