December 2014 / January 2015

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Arcadia— sound of the sea until 22 February John Witzig Bells steps (detail) c. 1975 pigment print Collection of the artist Reproduced courtesy of the artist

Geelong Gallery

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geelonggallery.org.au

FEATURES (05) COMICS FACE Ive Sorocuk (10) THE MADNESS OF ART Jim Kempner (12) THE WINDOWS OF HEAVEN

Inga Walton

(28) MELLA JAARSMA:

GIVE ME SHELTER Naima Morelli (38) DEC/JAN SALON Defs Juicy (50) ALL I WANT FOR XMAS

IS A TICKET TO MOFO

Tru Nuff

(56) UNDUE NOISE:

EXPANDED CINEMA MOMENTS

Klare Lanson

(65) CREATIVITY Darby Hudson (66) GREETINGS FROM

BEYOND THE PALE Ben Laycock

COVER: Crete, Circle of Nicholas Tzafouris, Saint Jerome (c. 1490-1500), egg tempera, gold leaf and gesso on wood, 23.8 x 17.6 cm, (Private Collection, Sydney). EikĹ?n: Icons of the Orthodox Christian World, Ian Potter Foundation Gallery, Art Gallery of Ballarat, Lydiard Street Ballarat (VIC) - until 26 January 2015 - artgalleryofballarat.com.au Issue 118: NOVEMBER 2014 trouble is an independent monthly mag for promotion of arts and culture Published by Trouble Magazine Pty Ltd. ISSN 1449-3926 CONTRIBUTORS Ive Sorocuk, Jim Kempner, Klare Lanson, Naima Morelli, Inga Walton, Ben Laycock, Darby Hudson, love.

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THE WINDOWS OF HEAVEN EikĹ?n: Icons of the Orthodox Christian World Art Gallery of Ballarat

Inga Walton

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The honour paid to the image passes on to the prototype.

Now what in the example the image is by reason of imitation, in the divine case the Son is by nature. As in works of art the likeness is dependent on the common form, so in the case of the divine and uncompounded nature the union consists in the communion of the Godhead.

(Saint Basil of Caesarea, On the Holy Spirit)

As the Christmas period approaches, an exhibition at the Art Gallery of Ballarat offers viewers the opportunity for quiet reflection, and perhaps some respite from the relentless hype and crass commercialism that so often characterises a feast central to the Christian liturgical year.

Eikōn: Icons of the Orthodox Christian World (until 26 January, 2015), explores the mystery and abiding appeal of these emotive works whose artistic worth is often subordinate to their devotional purpose as a focus for prayer. Icons have been part of the religious life of Christians from Greece to Russia, the Balkans, Georgia, Armenia, Syria and Ethiopia down to the south coast of India since the ninth century. They vary in scale from those appearing on the walls of a church, or on its iconostasis (icon screen), to those carried in procession and displayed publicly. The Second Council of Nicaea (787 AD) endorsed the veneration of icons in domestic situations (the ‘icon corner’), and in private chapels, thus mingling the sacred and the mundane. Smaller and more portable icons were also produced as objects of personal reverence and contemplation. Of this varied tradition, Henry Maguire, Emeritus Professor of Art History at Johns Hopkins University, has observed, “For the Byzantines, it was the image, whether in icons or in visions, that made the unseen world real, and the unseen world that gave real presence for the image”.

Curator Gordon Morrison, Director of the Gallery, has assembled nearly seventy icons, decorative metal works, coins and seals, including the most significant work from the Byzantine era in any Australian collection, the manuscript folio The Gospel Book of Theophanes (Tetraevangelion) produced in Constantinople (c. 1125-50). The work is most remarkable for its opening frontispiece; a self-portrait of the cowled monk Theophanes who describes himself as the donor, scribe and illuminator of the work. To reinforce this bold pronouncement, he depicts himself in a full-length portrait standing at the same height and with the same proportions as the Virgin Mary, who adopts the stately form of Hodegetria (Mary the Guide, Mother of the Church).

Theophanes has accorded himself a halo to match the Virgin, who is shown

< PREVIOUS SPREAD: Russia, Mother of God Umilenie (c. 1800), egg tempera and gesso on linen over wood, 31.8 x 27.3 cm, (Private Collection, Sydney).

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extending her hand, not to indicate her son, but towards Theophanes, to receive the proffered volume. This action represents a remarkable departure from the traditional format that defines the Hodegetria icon, coupled with a selfportrait rare, if not unique, in Byzantine illumination.

The exhibition draws heavily on the significant private collection of former Australian diplomat John Philip McCarthy, AO who served as Australian Ambassador to Vietnam (1981-83), Mexico (1985-87), Thailand (1992-94), the United States (1995-97), Indonesia (1997-2001), and Japan (2001-04). He was High Commissioner to India (2004-09), and is currently National President of the Australian Institute of International Affairs. Assembled over twenty-five years, McCarthy’s impressive group of Greek and Russian icon works spans six centuries. Institutional loans come from the National Gallery of Victoria, and the Abbey Museum of Art and Archaeology in Queensland.

Sir Richard Chartier Carnac Temple, the fifth Baronet (of The Nash) established the eponymous Temple Gallery in London in 1959, and has contributed two works to the exhibition. The Gallery has since developed into a leading centre for the study, restoration and exhibition of ancient icons and sacred art. “Even as a teenager I felt instinctively that icons brought a message from another world, that while truth is veiled in this world it undoubtedly exists – somewhere – and the enduring masterpieces of sacred art and music, productions of what is highest in the human spirit, seemed to convey meaning and order that elude us at the material level”, Temple remarks. “Icons can express by both form and content the highest truths of man and his relation to eternity. While the form of icons does not change – this is part of what defines them – it is the living content that can transform us, when it is there ... It is a mystery felt in the soul and certainly not to be grasped by the mind”.

Eikōn is a very personal project for Morrison, who had a similarly transformative experience with these religious objects through the influence of his maternal grandmother. She arrived in England as a refugee from Poland in 1940, and began to perpetuate the artistic traditions of her homeland. “She started painting icons, I think as a means to memorialise a life to which she knew she would never return. In those days, icons were not displayed in art galleries, so she had recourse to old books and of course to her memories of icons from home: Our Lady of Częstochowa [the so-called ‘Black Madonna’] and the Image of the Mother of God of the Gate of Dawn, in what is now Vilnius”, he remembers.

“Having fed my interest in the art of Orthodox Christianity over the years, [she] insisted that I had to familiarise myself with the Byzantine objects in the Victoria and Albert Museum. She also directed me to visit the Temple Gallery, then located close to the V&A. This was the only place, she said, where I was likely

Eikōn / Inga Walton

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to see good examples of ancient iconography. How could I have imagined thirty-seven years ago that the founder of that gallery would be lending significant works to this exhibition?”

The Image Not Made by Human Hands, also known as The Mandylion, or The Holy Face of Edessa (17th century), is an example of Acheiropoieta (‘made without hand’), a particular type of icon said to have come into existence miraculously, or to have been divinely wrought. The term is also used of icons that are only regarded as copies (produced by a human painter), of a miraculously created original archetype, like this Russian version of the ‘icon of icons’. According to various accounts, most notably those recorded by the early church historian Bishop Eusebius of Caesarea (c.260/65-339/40, AD), King Abgar V (‘the Black’) of Edessa (in Osroene, now modern Turkey) was afflicted with an incurable sickness, probably leprosy or gout. When Abgar heard of the miracles performed by Jesus, he wrote to plead for his help and offered him asylum in Edessa. In his reply, Jesus reportedly declined to visit the king, but is said to have promised to send a disciple bearing a token of his divine power following his Ascension.

In due course, Thaddeus (Addaï) of Edessa, one of the seventy-two Disciples, arrived at the court of Abgar with a linen cloth (mandylion, derived from the Arabic word for a face towel) on which the physical likeness of Jesus’ face was imprinted. Abgar was miraculously cured of his affliction, and the divine portrait was preserved in the royal treasury. Writing in about 593 AD, the Syrian scholar Evagrius Scholasticus reported that a portrait of Jesus, of divine origin, delivered Edessa from a Persian attack in 544 AD. The Mandylion legend assumed great importance in subsequent debates within the church hierarchy because it implies divine sanction for the use of images as an aid or inspiration to worship. By pressing the Holy Cloth to his face, and sending it on as a cure for King Abgar’s illness, the story supports the idea that Jesus himself, while living, created the miraculous prototype for all icons. Other accounts held that St. Luke the Evangelist, a talented painter, depicted Mary and the infant Jesus on several occasions from life. St. Luke is credited as the possible originator of the Virgin Hodegetria image, and other works depicting the Saints Peter and Paul.

In subsequent centuries, bitter doctrinal conflict flared in the Eastern Roman Empire (726-843 AD) between iconodules (from the Greek eikono-doulos, ‘one who serves images’), those who favoured the use of icons and depictions of the Holy family and saints, and iconoclasts who forcefully decried the practice of the veneration of inanimate representations as idolatry, and contrary to the Third Commandment. Iconodules asserted that the physical incarnation of Jesus Christ, being the second figure in the Holy Trinity, superseded, or made

> Russia, Christ as the Angel of Great Counsel, also known as The Saviour of the Blessed Silence (Spas Blagoe Molchanie) (c. 1700), egg tempera and gesso on linen over wood, 30.4 x 26.6 cm, (Private Collection, Sydney).

obsolete, the Old Testament commandment forbidding images of (an invisible) God because Jesus was fully human, as were his earthly family and the saints.

Icon painting is based on the theology of the Incarnation, and the precept that God made man in his own image (in the Septuagint Greek translation eikona).

According to Genesis, “So God created man in his own image; in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them” (1:27). Thus, the Eastern Orthodox view holds that sacred images have existed since the beginning of the Christian church. As Saint Paul writes to the Colossians about Jesus, Who is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of every creature: For by him were all things created, that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible and invisible, whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers: all things were created by him, and for him: And he is before all things, and by him all things consist. (1:15-17) Iconoclasts held that such images were a return to pagan practices, and that no true icon of Jesus could represent both his human and divine nature, something only possible in the Eucharist. Separating the ‘natures’ of God, pictorially or otherwise, was tantamount to Nestorianism, which was declared heretical by the Council of Ephesus (431 AD), and again at the Council of Chalcedon (451 AD). Wood and paint were empty vessels devoid of spirit and life, therefore icons were inherently flawed objects with the potential to mislead and corrupt the faithful. Following the instructions of Pope Gregory I ‘the Great’ (c.540-604) to Bishop Serenus of Marseilles, the position of the Roman Catholic Church has been to emphasise the role of images as an instructive tool to assist the illiterate, and to elucidate Biblical narrative: the so-called Biblia Pauperum (‘Bible of the Poor’). Debates about the use and veneration of images were revived during the Protestant Reformation in the sixteenth century. The Roman Catholic taste for three-dimensional statuary and ornaments was deemed to be particularly objectionable by reformers, as such works were perceived as idols, and appeared to defy the Biblical prohibition against ‘graven images’.

Orthodox icons are not three-dimensional or lifelike sculptures, and they usually adhere to a prescribed format enabling the subject to be readily identified. Icon ‘types’ were meant to be copied and copied faithfully; an oral tradition eventually recorded in an icon painter’s manual (a Herminia).

As Morrison notes, “Over time, and in response to changes in emphasis in devotional and liturgical practices, new image types emerged regularly, and these in turn were copied and disseminated ... [but] innovation, the constant introduction of new things, has little place in this mode of thinking”. The wood

> Greece or Asia Minor, The Holy Forty Martyrs of Sebaste (c. 1700), egg tempera, gold leaf and gesso on linen over wood, 62 x 40 cm, (Collection, Abbey Museum of Art and Archaeology, Queensland).

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used varies from one region to another: in the Mediterranean birch, lime, alder, olive and cypress were used, while in Russia oak and pine wood were preferred; Russian pine being less resinous than more southerly varieties.

The wood surface has generally been primed with gesso, a mixture of ground calcium carbonate (usually baked gypsum), and glue binder, which is then sanded and buffed to form an even surface suitable for applying paint. The paint is applied in several film-like layers, and it is this layering that contributes to the rich colouration so characteristic of icon painting. In some painting traditions, a fine linen cloth is glued to the panel before the gesso is applied.

The oldest surviving icons were made using the encaustic process, a technique that has its origins in Egyptian funerary painting of the Ptolemaic and Roman periods, where pigments were added to molten beeswax and applied to a panel using a heated metal stylus. By the eighth century, the egg tempura technique was devised whereby pigments were added to egg yolk to create a paint that is remarkably durable, in spite of its fragile organic content.

Gilding became an important feature of icon painting, but as gold leaf will only adhere to a very smooth surface, the wood must receive an additional layer of a clay substance, the particles of which are ground to a minute fineness; this medium is referred to as â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;boleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;. The use of oil paints became more widespread in the fifteenth century. A small display of demonstration panels prepared by Ballarat-based artist and iconographer Diane Micich, alongside workshop implements and pigments, provides some explanation of painting techniques and how these works were originally produced.

The proximity of candles and oil lamps, a build-up of soot and other grime from incense, and reverent handling or kissing of the icon, presented another difficulty in preserving the colours of the work. This led to the development of the practice of covering the icon with a protective outer shell or metal sheathing, known variously as an oklad or epenthysi (cover), or a riza (robe). In the Greekspeaking world, an icon might also be described as epargyres or epichryses, silver-covered or gold-covered, respectively. Often these covers extend to all parts of the icon other than the face and hands of the saint, and were studded with pearls and other gemstones. Two of the founders of the Solovetsky Monastery, an important frontier fortress on an island in the White Sea in the far north of Russia, are depicted on an icon with a patterned and chased silver oklad. Saints Zosima and Savvatiy (c. 1760) stand facing each other and hold between them a model of the monastery, not as it would have appeared when it was founded in 1436, but from the early eighteenth century when it had become one of the largest religious establishments in the Russian Empire.

EikĹ?n / Inga Walton

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Designed to attach to the front and back covers of a bound text, Revetments to the Cover of a Gospel Lectionary (18th century), shows images in low relief created in silver repoussé, a technique where the artisan produces the desired form by tapping the metal panel from behind. The revetments for the front cover depict the Evangelists, Matthew, Luke, Mark and John in the corners.

Each is attended by the winged figures from the Book of Revelation (4:6-7) which tradition associated with them: an angel for Matthew, a winged bull for Luke, a winged lion for Mark and an eagle for John. The central cartouche depicts the Crucifixion, with the three Marys on the left, Saint John and Saint Longinus of the Holy Lance on the right. The reverse cover revetments feature figures from the Old Testament: the Patriarch Moses, King David, the Prophet Isaiah and King Solomon. The central cartouche shows an image of the Resurrected Jesus Christ, with the angel and Roman soldier at his opened tomb. Possibly produced in a provincial city in Asia Minor, this example was presented to the National Gallery of Victoria by Major General Francis James Rennell Rodd (1895-1978), the second Baron Rennell of Rodd. A linguist and explorer, Rodd made two great expeditions into the central Sahara (in 1922 and 1927), which provided him with the material for his book about the nomadic Tuareg people of North Africa, People of the Veil (1926). After his extensive service in World War II, Lord Rennell went on to be president of the Royal Geographical Society (1945-48).

An Orthodox church is designed as a symbolic representation of Heaven, and the Orthodox liturgy is a ritualised reenactment of the life of Jesus. A set of conventions developed as to the positioning of particular images throughout the church, in a symbolic or meaningful way, to be viewed as the faithful progressed through the building. Royal Doors (late 16th century), referred to in Russian as the Tsarskie Vrata, and in Greek as the Oraia Pyli (‘Beautiful Gates’), formed a barrier between the Nave (Naos) and the Sanctuary (Bema) at times during the Divine Liturgy, or when there is no service. These doors are directly in line with the formal entrance to the Nave of the church and in front of the Altar or Holy table in the Sanctuary. Behind these doors the bread and wine are consecrated, after which they are brought out to the faithful. By tradition, only consecrated people may pass through the doors into the Sanctuary, limiting the lay people permitted to use this entry to crowned or anointed monarchs.

Here, the Annunciation appears at the top of the Royal Doors, representing the first point in historical time when the Word of God, the second person of the Holy Trinity, manifests himself on earth. Below that, two of the ‘Three Holy Hierarchs’ of the early church are depicted, credited as being authors of the

Eikōn / Inga Walton

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two most commonly used forms of the Divine Liturgy. On the left with the long beard is Saint Basil of Caesarea (329/30-379 AD), called ‘the Great’, one of the three ‘Cappadocian Fathers’. He is wearing a phelonion (mantle) with a repetitive pattern of black crosses, and the omophorion (ceremonial stole) with deep red crosses. Basil carries a bound book which represents his text of the liturgy, which is used on ten days of the year including Holy Thursday and Saturday, the Sundays of Lent, Christmas Eve, the Eve of Epiphany, and the Saint’s own name day. Saint John Chrysostom (c. 349-407), from the Greek Chrysostomos (‘golden-mouthed’) on account of his eloquence, was Archbishop of Constantinople. He is shown wearing a sakkos (chasuble) decorated with a cross pattern in deep red, while his stole bears black crosses. The service named in his honour is the standard liturgy used throughout the Orthodox Communion on most days of the year.

The somewhat impassive face of Russia’s most beloved saint, Saint Nicholas (270-343 AD), traditionally an early fourth-century Bishop of Myra, is far removed from the jolly red-and-white clad North Pole resident and bringer of presents. Known in Byzantium as Saint Nicholas Thaumaturgos (the Miracle-Worker), translated into Russian as Nikolai Chudotvorets, he is considered to be a friend of the common people, who fought against oppressors and showed generosity and compassion towards the poor. His reputation for secret gift-giving led to Nicholas becoming the template for Santa Claus (from the Dutch Sinterklaas).

Clad in his robes as a bishop, Saint Nicholas the Wonderworker (16th century) holds the Gospel in his left hand, while with his right hand he makes the sign of the sacred benediction, forming the letters IC XC, the sacred monogram of Jesus Christ. The roundel images of Jesus holding a closed Gospel, and the Virgin with her hands covered by an omophorion, are associated with a miracle that occurred at the Council of Nicaea (325 AD). Nicholas is said to have slapped the heretic Arius across the face, for which he was stripped of his bishop’s rank and was incarcerated in a dungeon. There, he was visited by apparitions of Jesus and the Virgin who restored Nicholas’ tokens of office to him.

The captivating story of a couple undertaking a perilous journey, with the expectant mother giving birth in an inhospitable stable, has resonated down through the centuries as one of the most popular subjects for artistic interpretation. The Nativity of Jesus is one of the most important feasts of the Orthodox calendar, and the exhibition presents two similar scenes,

> Russia, Saint Nicholas the Wonderworker (16th century), egg tempera and gesso on linen over wood, 71.4 x 62.5 cm, (Private Collection, Sydney).

and one depicting the Adoration of the Magi (17th century). The birth of Jesus is described in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, but also in the apocryphal Protevangelium (or Infancy Gospel) of James. In this account, the weary couple take shelter in a cave within a fairly bleak mountainous setting, as if to emphasise the physical discomfort of the world into which Jesus was born, and which prefigures his cave-tomb. The primary purpose of this particular type of icon was to reinforce Mary’s status as the Virgin, the Mother of God Theotokos (‘God-bearer’), as declared by the Council of Ephesus.

Victor of Crete was a priest and prolific producer of icons in the second half of the seventeenth century. His identity is known only because he signed his icons, following the Italian or ‘Latin’ manner; this was alien to the Orthodox tradition where the interests of the artist were considered irrelevant. Nativity (1660-76), presents a complex visual narrative with a large number of characters crowding the frame around the recumbent Virgin and Jesus in his manger. We see the Hebrew midwives Zelomi (who believes Joseph’s tale of Mary’s divine pregnancy) and Salome (whose incredulity will be redeemed).

Joseph himself is assailed by uncertainty as he is approached by an elderly shepherd in skins who is often interpreted as a disguised demon come to cast doubt over Mary’s virginity and the Infant’s divinity. Meanwhile, one of six angels announces the birth of Jesus to a lone shepherd in a field. The three Magi on horseback point towards the sky as they endeavour to follow the star that guides them towards the Holy Family.

The aesthetic continuity and longevity of the pictorial elements found within these various icons, ranging from the twelfth to the mid-nineteenth century, is remarkable. Regardless of when and where they were made, these works continue to serve their purpose as the spiritual conduit to another realm. “Even more worthy of note is that the Orthodox faithful, from sun-drenched Crete and Cyprus to the bitter shores of the White Sea, all knew, understood and lovingly venerated these images. This was a deeply conservative art form, but it was one which was embedded in the lives of the people to whom Orthodoxy had been transmitted”, Morrison asserts.

Eikōn: Icons of the Orthodox Christian World, Art Gallery of Ballarat, 40 Lydiard Street North, Ballarat (VIC), until 26 January 2015 - artgalleryofballarat.com.au Inga Walton is a writer and arts consultant based in Melbourne who contributes to numerous Australian and international publications. She has submitted copy, of an increasingly verbose nature, to Trouble since 2008. She is under the impression that readers are not morons with a short attention span, and would like to know lots of things.

> Victor of Crete (fl. 1660-76), Nativity (1660-76), oil on wood panel, 56.7 x 41 cm, National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne, (Felton Bequest, 1949).

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Reproduced with the permission of the Sidney Nolan Trust / Bridgeman Images

Mella Jaarsma Give me shelter

INTERVIEW Naima Morelli

It’s not easy to introduce Mella Jaarsma because she’s so many things at the same time. Let’s limit ourselves to the basic coordinates to begin with. Mella is an artist who is widely known for her bodycovering shelters made out of the most unusual materials.

The skins of frogs, squirrels, bats, snakes and chickens are all put to use in her wearable works, as well as moth cocoons, water buffalo horns, the bark of banana trees, and more. The garment becomes a symbolic protection and a visual representation of fear or a need for security. Her work also alludes to the isolation of human beings and the need for a filtered approach to the world.

Jaarsma grew up in the Netherlands and studied visual art at Groningen in her early years, before leaving for Jakarta to attend the Art Institute and later the Indonesia Institute of the Arts in Yogyakarta. Her name is one you’ll never fail to find in both Indonesian and Dutch art catalogues.

In 1988 she founded Cemeti Art House in partnership with her fellow artist and husband Nindityo Adipurnomo. This Yogyakarta gallery has been seminal in the development of contemporary art in Indonesia, and in connecting Indonesian artists with the International art world.

“I met Nindityo in the art school in Yogya, and after his scholarship in the Netherlands we married and we came back to Indonesia, starting the Cemeti Art House soon after,” she said. “At that time the landscape of Indonesian art looked completely different.”

In the 80s and most of the 90s there were only a few art spaces in Yogyakarta.

One was run by the government, another held by Kompas (the national newspaper), and last was the Indonesian Cultural Center.

“We wanted to start something different, an exhibition space that would also be an information and documentation centre. Over time we started doing many other projects, like the residency program that is still running now.”

At Cemeti, Mella and Nindityo started out by exhibiting their friends from art school. There were the likes of Heri Dono and Eddie Hara, just to be clear. In the beginning the space was the front of a house and it was quite small, but over time Cemeti expanded, both physically and in their cultural scope. They become an art foundation which later evolved into IVAA, the Visual Art Archive.

Mella Jaarsma: Give me Shelter / Naima Morelli

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You grew up in Netherlands and studied visual art in Groningen. Why did you leave for Indonesia?

Mella Jaarsma The first time I travelled to Indonesia I was still a student in the Netherlands. I just came as a tourist. I travelled around and I became incredibly inspired by Indonesia. In the Netherlands I was working with shadows and I found that shadows are a very important part of Indonesian culture, not only through the Wayang Puppets but also in a more spiritual kind of way. I wanted to find out why the presence of shadows is so strong here, and when I graduated I won a scholarship to study in Jakarta. I visited the art schools and took a look at the art scene ...

How was the art scene in Jakarta in the 80s?

M.J. When I came to Jakarta in ’83 the trend in art was painting, especially abstract painting. It was not the art that inspired me at the time, but the culture. I stayed half a year in Jakarta and I thought that if I wanted to know more about the culture I had to move Yogyakarta. So I attended the local art school and I studied in Yogya for another year. The local art scene welcomed me, because I studied at the art school and I had a European art history background. I was foreigner, so kind of a new thing, and I brought connections to the international scene.

Working with shadows is quite different from the work you’re doing now.

How has you work evolved?

M.J. I think of my art practice as a reflection on human existence and a visual representation of the reality of life. When you come into a new culture you’re the foreigner, you are an outsider. At the same time if you live in a place long enough you also become an insider. I like to comment on what I see and what I experience in life. I try to put all that in my artworks. The first years of my art practice I worked on shadows and their role in the local culture. I stayed quite a while in Bali and I saw the cremation ceremonies. They have a different way of cremating people. The one for the low castes is about burning the bodies straight away, and then collecting the ashes. They then recreate the shape of a human body with the ashes. Of course, there is very little ashes compared to the actual body, so the shape they made is small, just like a baby. For me this new shape represents a shadow, a border between life and death, between the visible and the invisible. In this sense Wayang puppets are also interesting. They convey the message from the Gods to the earth. They are also in this state ‘in between’, so I looked at that as well. I translate these cultural observations into my work.

PREVIOUS SPREAD: Mella Jaarsma, Animal Has No Religion - Indra 1 & Indra 2 2012, Silkscreen on cow leather, 200 x 100 cm | 78.74 x 39.37 in. NEXT SPREAD: The Senses Cheat You 2012, 5 cow leather costumes. Cow leather, stuffed cow feet., Various dimensions.

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“Wayang puppets ... convey the message from the Gods to the earth.”

After the riots that led to the fall of dictator Suharto in ’98 you did political work ...

M.J. Yes. During the Suharto regime it was extremely difficult to comment on the political situation. With Cemeti I exhibited a lot of political artists who had strong statements against the political situation. At the time I felt that I couldn’t really make a political statement with my own work. Even if I had lived a long time in Indonesia I still felt the burden of colonial history. I used to think: ‘Who am I to comment on that?’ But after ’98, because of the riots, my perception changed. In Jakarta in ’98 they set many shops on fire and many Chinese women were raped. I was just appalled when the stories of what happened came out. It was then that I did my first political performance.

I asked my friends to fry frog legs – a Chinese food – in the streets, and we offered them to the passersby to eat. We tried to open up a discussion about what had happened to the Chinese people and the violence among different communities in the country.

And from that political work you slowly moved onto your first veils …

M.J. Yes, the first veil work was closely related to the performance with frog legs. In fact, it was made out of frog skin. Then I started using chicken and squirrel skin. I was interested in skin and flesh and the perception of wrapper and content. I had some exhibitions in Australia and I continued to make variations on the type of skin, changing animals and colours.

Using animal skin as material has obviously a very strong connotation. I assume that each country where the work was presented reacted differently to the work, according to their cultural background. Are you interested also in provoking different responses from different audiences?

M.J. I’m definitely interested in different perceptions of the same work across various cultures. For one of my projects I collected squirrel skins from farmers living around Yogyakarta. They killed the squirrels because the squirrels ate their coconuts. I brought this project to Bangkok and I wrapped the squirrel skins around the trees in the park with living squirrels dwelling on the trees. People in Bangkok love squirrels and they were quite bewildered to see my work. With a project like that I like to point out the contradictions across different cultures, like the fact that you could be loved in one place and hated in another.

Mella Jaarsma: Give me Shelter / Naima Morelli

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In the body shelters - the work you’ve been celebrated for - one can clearly see architecture and costume design as well as a great knowledge of the materials.

How has all of this diverse set of skills come together in your art?

M.J. I use all kind of materials, it really depends on the concept. The material has to be part of the work’s meaning. I start with a strong concept, then I choose the material. The veils for example were really about the meaning of clothing, carrying these kinds of layers with you. Of course, this is closely related to identity. Your identity is changing all the time so it’s hard to wrap it.

I started conceiving of clothing not only as a body protection, but also as a spiritual shelter. That leads me to architecture. Churches, mosques and other religious buildings are nothing else than a spiritual protection. That’s how my series about shelters came about. One of these work is composed by a nice Chinese shrine, which I found in an antique shop. I deconstructed it and rebuilt it around the body of my model.

Has your approach to art changed over time?

M.J. I actually started as a painter in Netherlands. I was doing monumental paintings, so there was the same spatial concept of installations. The relationship with the space was part of the painting. For me it was important for people to stand in front of the work and feel the proportion. I wasn’t interested in creating an image, but rather a situation. I think the distance between the viewer and the artwork has to be as short as possible. I’ve always wanted to create a connection.

Even in your current installations you push people to come closer to your work and interact with it. It’s interesting because in galleries and museums you never know if you’re allowed to touch the work or if you’re risking being handcuffed on the spot!

M.J. Interaction is my point, and I like this situation when you don’t know if it’s art or not. For example in my project I Eat You Eat Me the idea was that the people coming to the performance had to feed other people in a mutual relationship. I presented the performance in restaurants rather than in a gallery, because the idea is that it doesn’t matter if it is art or not. What matters was that you were there and you could have this experience.

“... the distance between the viewer and the artwork has to be as short as possible.”

Mella Jaarsma: Give me Shelter / Naima Morelli

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Mella Jaarsma: Give me Shelter / Naima Morelli

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At Cemeti you have a platform which aims to link art and society. How does it work, and how can art impact society?

M.J. One of the first projects we did with this platform – and with support of the Ford Foundation – was the one on the earthquake in 2006. Many people were killed and many others didn’t have a house anymore. We worked for one year in villages affected by the disaster. We did workshops and traditional theatre, which is still a strong tradition in the villages. We wanted them to forget about the trauma, to rebuild the community, and we wanted to give them strength to continue with their lives. In this sense art can help in some way, as therapy. Another example is some projects with did with bamboo.

Now the new generation of artists work with bamboo, but at the time we did the project nobody did. We did a festival where people made instruments, ran competitions, cooking, and all sorts of things using bamboo.

You use art as a tool to connect with people and build something together, rather then making the art carry the whole message ...

M.J. I think every generation has its own way to express things, and ways of looking at art and dealing with art. The generation of artists I work with is very socially engaged. They work on the edge, trying to find the balance to be able to denounce without being thrown in jail. After Suharto, social and political art became popular. I think many artists now understand that criticizing the government or politics can be more effective if it is supported by an education program. So it’s not just about sitting and thinking, but about becoming involved in the action, especially because the current educational system is bad here. It’s about thinking how far you can command as an artist and how you can be part of the development. In Indonesia it is very important have initiatives. There is still a lot to do!

Artist site - mellajaarsma.com/ Cementi Art House - cemetiarthouse.com Naima Morelli is a freelance ar ts writer and journalist with a particular interest in contemporary ar t from Italy, the Asia Pacific region and art in a global context. She is also an independent curator focusing on Italian, Indonesian and Australian emerging ar tists. At the moment she is working on a book about contemporary ar t in Indonesia. < Mella Jaarsma, I fry you I 2000. Courtesy of the artist.

dec/jan salon special the 2014 bowness photography prize Monash Gallery of Art

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1. WINNER: Petrina HICKS, Venus 2013, from the series The shadows, ink-jet print, 100.0 x 100.0 cm, courtesy of the artist. 2.

Owen LEONG, Cutting (mother) 2014, pigment ink-jet print on cotton paper, 100.0 x 75.0 cm, courtesy of the artist. NEXT SPREAD: Lee GRANT, Like father, like daughter (Clare and Martyn Jolly) 2012â&#x20AC;&#x201C;13, from the series Colour portraits, pigment ink-jet print, 100.0 x 120.0 cm, courtesy of the artist.

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dec/jan salon special the 2014 bowness photography prize Monash Gallery of Art

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3. Georgia METAXAS, Anonymous portrait #1 2013, pigment ink-jet print on cotton paper, 40.0 x 33.0 cm, courtesy of the artist 4. Todd ANDERSON-KUNERT, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m not sure what has gotten into him 2014, from the series The situation weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re in, chromogenic print, 70.0 x 70.0 cm, courtesy of the artist.

Established in 2006 to promote excellence in photography, the annual non-acquisitive William and Winifred Bowness Photography Prize is an initiative of the MGA Foundation - mga.org.au

november dec/jan salon salon

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5. Terry TAYLOR, In ictu oculi—portrait of Darryn Lyons, Mayor of Geelong 2014, oil on primed Belgian linen. Collection of the artist. Reproduced courtesy of the artist. Photography: Megan Cullen. Lyons’ view — the Mayor’s choice, Geelong Art Gallery, Little Malop Street Geelong (VIC), 6 December 2014 to 8 February 2015 - geelonggallery.org.au 6. Tony Garifalakis, Mounted Stardust Unit 2013, mixed media on denim, 150 x 100cm, Ararat Regional Art Gallery Collection. Purchased with the assistance of the Robert Salzer Foundation and Ararat Rural City Council annual allocation, 2014. Courtesy of the artist and Hugo Michell Gallery. Recent Acquisitions, Ararat Regional Art Gallery, Town Hall, Vincent Street Ararat (VIC), 4 December 2014 – 22 March 2015 - ararat.vic.gov.au

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7. Glen SMITH, The Ritz 2013, mixed media on paper. Reproduced courtesy of the artist and Boom Gallery, Geelong. #RitzHeritageOverlay, Geelong Gallery, Little Malop Street Geelong (VIC), 6 December 2014 – 22 February 2015 geelonggallery.org.au 8. Rachael PARKER, Cabin Fever 2014. Courtesy of the artist. #PHOTOSMARTS, Devonport Regional Gallery are offering smartphone photography workshops in December to help you make the most from your smartphone camera.

Led by local Devonport photographer Rachael Parker, Saturday 13 December, 2 – 3.30 pm or Tuesday 16 December, 6 – 7.30 pm, Devonport Regional Gallery (TAS) Bookings essential: (03) 6424 8296 or artgallery@devonport.tas.gov.au NEXT SPREAD: John WITZIG, Bells steps c. 1975, pigment print. Collection of the artist. Reproduced courtesy of the artist.

Arcadia — sound of the sea, Geelong Gallery, Little Malop Street Geelong (VIC), until 22 February 2015 - geelonggallery.org.au

ALL I WANT FOR XMAS IS A TICKET TO MOFO AND SOME OTHER RANDOM STUFF FROM OUR FRIENDS

Violent Femmes are playing a MOFO Sideshow on New Year’s Day 2015.

ENTRY: $70/$60 +BF, free entry for 12 years and under (must be accompanied by an adult) TICKETS: on sale 10am Thursday October 2 from www.mona.net.au Picture: Coco Foto / Museum of Old and New Art, Hobart, Australia

Boyd Alternatives supplies a range of functional sculpture such as customised baths, basins, benchtops, seats and outdoor sculpture, in concrete and bronze. Impressive in stature, these simple organic shapes are one-of-a-kind, hand finished works of art to be enjoyed and used everyday. Boydâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s clients include: Museum of Old and New Art (MONA) in Tasmania, Hotel Hotel in Canberra, Jerry Wolveridge Architects, Fender Katsalidis Architects, and Hare+Klein Interior Designers.

- boydalternatives.com.au

The UP Box is a desktop 3D printer. Yummm. It has a HEPA filter to remove airborne contaminants and fumes, a well-engineered internal steel chassis, and impressive 100 micron print resolution. It prints 30% faster than the previous model, and features a fully automatic platform levelling and height sense, with no human interaction required.

Even Santa wants one of these babies for Christmas.

It could put a thousand elves out of work - 3dprintingsystems.com/

KLARE LANSON

Central Victoria is known as a location for experimentation with sound, film and its blurred genre art practice. Undue Noise (UN) is a non-profit collective of multi disciplinary artists with a focus on experimental sound and film practice, all resident in the region.

Formed in 2002, UN delivers annual programming that gives local artists an opportunity to present their work to the public, and exposes local audiences to cutting edge music, sound and video art from other parts of Australia and overseas. It’s a small but impressive collective, operating on a shoestring and attracting vast interest with like-minded artists and composers from around the world. In short, it’s on the map.

Paul Fletcher, the man behind the inspiring sound and animation work of Digital Compost and lecturer in animation at the Victoria College of the Arts, is a longterm member of UN. He was responsible for organising the Bendigo edition of the Australian International Animation Festival, a festival that started in Wagga Wagga and was held at ACMI back in June, directed by Malcolm Turner. The Abstract Program was co-presented with UN and Fletcher also invited local artists to perform versions of expanded cinema alongside an impressive array of animation shorts from around the globe. The night began with an electroacoustic film work by Jacques Soddell.

Soddell’s practice rises from the world of science. With a background in microbiology, it’s understandable that the trajectory of his art making takes a methodical approach. Researching subjects that often fall into categories of ecological awareness and urban banality, his art making oscillates between sound and image, a meticulous retexturing and processing that generates works that are spatial and poetic, evocative of the feelings we have when thinking about where and how we’re placed in the larger scheme of life.

Back from recent travels through parts of the US, Jacques Soddell creates a visual analog to musique concrete. He brings us his interpretations of Yellowstone National Park, the iconic cultural destination of the state of Wyoming. His live improvisation is pure abstraction; heavily processed and cleverly rotoscoped video footage of his travel breathes new life into a recent electroacoustic sound composition made up of field recordings, noise and minimalist sound. With prolific water and cloud-like imagery, he also includes footage of previous journeys, giving the work a stunning layering of shifting sensibilities related to time. A transient blur between a real and dreamlike state of being occurs. The minimalist start of the piece is hypnotic, a combination of raw and processed sound aligned with repetitive imagery of bubbling hot springs.

We experience frame jumping and flickering layers of lines that seems to act as an interruption to the meditation, whilst also referencing the medium itself.

Undue Noise / Klare Lanson

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PREVIOUS SPREAD & THIS PAGE: Jacques Soddell, concrete abstraction 2014, film still.

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There is an upwardly dramatic shift of droning sound, a response to the violence that lives within nature, a tumultuous clash that occurs between humanity and environment, between sound and image. As the footage becomes more and more violent so too does the sound until the wall is broken, a crescendo is reached.

Then we cut to an urban landscape of banality. Slow moving footage works well with the stretching of time based minimal sound work; we are on a ferry, gliding by a grey uneventful place almost devoid of nature, a contrast to previous imagery.

It’s restful, melancholic and simultaneously frightening. Occasional groups of people are clustered like birds on a concrete cityscape. It’s a mimicry of nature and also a warning sign that sits with me after the piece ends.

A melodic interlude by alt-folk-country duo Anchor & The Butterfly generated contrast, playing live alongside two film clips made for their recently launched album ‘Nothing to Win, Nothing to Lose’ (including Kain White’s hand drawn animation). A soothing collaboration between songwriter and singer Bridget Robertson and guitarist Lance Hillier, the performance spoke of the human forces and contradictions occurring during times of change. There was nothing abstract about their work as such, but the subtle acoustic guitar and singing paired with the lush electric guitar work seemed to personify the inevitable dichotomy of change.

In the tradition of the 1920’s City Symphony films, Paul Fletcher/Digital Compost performs ‘Beer and Chips’ - a local and internationally flavoured live cinema improvisation. It was a striking expanded experience of living in the modern world, the fluctuation and speed of time represented via image and sound. His live soundscape was a thoughtful improvisation of hand built instruments, kinetic sculptures made from discarded objects, finding new meaning in the everyday, a playful tribute to Man Ray. An old belt sander grinds out sound particles, a cable tie attached to a fishing line spinner rotates like an old music box, dragged across metal strips that protrude and reverberate on contact, plucked magically like a kalimba and bowed as a discordant violin with an old wiper blade; all repurposed to generate sound to accompany the existing soundscape from his Pop Psychology Synapse series.

Fletcher’s imagery is strangely reminiscent of 50s science fiction, creating a visually spatial language that zones in on ideas around the decomposition of televisual transmission and test patterning, the motion of technology. His live sound riffs off the saturated and rapid layering of colourised line work, the ‘imagined neuroscience of communication’. The abstract shapes, hand drawn work and split second movement expose the nature within our psychology, often hidden and always ephemeral. Fletcher composts the digital and in doing so he represents the continuums of everything. With an abstract use of recorded vocal utterance it was uplifting in it’s intensity.

Undue Noise / Klare Lanson

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ABOVE: Paul Fletcher, City Symphony Noise Poem One Figure Three Shadows 2013, film still. & NEXT SPREAD: Test Pattern Tartan 2013, film still.

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The final component of the night was the screening of thirteen abstract animation shorts representing filmmakers from all over the world, too many to mention. It was a welcomed sensory overload with dancing lines and jazz improvisation, animated bird shit splattering, experiments in time-based work, an inkblot symphony and one film where sound was sped up almost beyond recognition with the fonts being formally recognised as actors in the credits.

Each film showed excellent control within the abstract form, the one that stood out for me was the 2012 film Recycled by Lei Lei and Thomas Sauvin (China).

Through the tireless collection of discarded film stock and rejected holiday snaps, the filmmakers created a seamless integration of unwanted moments; the blurred footage, unwelcome beach snaps, family portraits outside McDonalds and Tiananmen Square, all playing with the ‘pose’ and how it frames our remote memory experience. The moments we construct with our obsessive documentation combined with the flared out social error amplify the decomposing nature of our discarded memories, a highly successful and emotional work.

Undue Noise events never disappoint, transforming Bendigo’s Old Fire Station (and sometimes Punctum Inc’s ICU in Castlemaine) into a compelling and interesting performance arena, where experiments in sound and image take primary position and audience members leave with a creative impression of the world firmly embedded in their psyche.

The Bendigo screenings of the Australian International Animation Festival was on Friday 14 November 2014 and was co-presented by Undue Noise with support from the Greater City of Bendigo. The event comprised of the International Abstract Animation Program / Animated Visual Music with Live Contemporary and Experimental Music & Film Performances at The Old Fire Station. More info on Undue Noise can be found at http://unduenoise.org

Klare Lanson is a writer, poet, performance maker, and sound artist.

She’s a past editor and contributor of Australian Lit Anthology Going Down Swinging and her most recent performance projects are Commute and #wanderingcloud.

Ben Laycock

GREETINGS FROM BEYOND THE PALE PART 4 – HUNTING & GATHERING

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No sooner have we arrived than l am invited on a genuine, authentic, real, live, traditional hunting expedition with real, live, genuine, traditional blackfellas. I felt like all my Christmases had come at once.

We all pile into an old Holden station wagon that has not felt bitumen for some time, and once belonged to an authentic Zen Buddhist monk, no less. It now belongs to his entire extended family, the extent of which is difficult to ascertain.

Yoshi had been undergoing his time honoured Buddhist initiation, involving endless fasts, protestations, one handed clapping and excruciatingly soporific meditation, when it became apparent to his wise elders that young Yoshi was spending an inordinate amount of time playing with his doodle or staring out the window, dreaming of far-off lands, so they suggested he was not quite ready for the rigours and deprivations of monkdom, and needed a bit more experience of the big, wide world.

So, by some circuitous route too convoluted to describe here, Yoshi finds himself ensconced in the middle of the western desert, as far from the trappings of modern Japanese society as it is possible to get.

Here he thrives like never before, welcomed into the bosom of his new-found family, he finds the salve for his restless spirit.

The Walpiri, a naturally gracious and accepting people, are particularly impressed with Yoshiâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s possession of a commodious and mechanically sound motor car.

(Their natural lack of interest in material possessions does not however extend to the motor car, a vital ingredient in the contemporary nomadic lifestyle). In record time Yoshi is given a skin name which automatically makes him part of a vast and intricate web of obligations, the most important being: sharing.

So we all set off in the family vehicle, following faded wheel tracks through the spinifex. One shooter is on the roof with the kids, another hangs out the window.

It is cramped and smelly and joyous.

We suddenly skid to an abrupt holt. Kids tumble from the roof and skittle off, screaming in delight. Someone with sharper eyes than l has spotted fresh goanna tracks and the chase is on. Before the rest of us manage to extract ourselves from the vehicle it is all over. The dingoes soon catch up with the goanna and chase it up a tree. A whirling boomerang hits the branch and down plummets the hapless lizard into snapping jaws.

< BoreTrack by Kdliss - Own work.

Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons Greetings From / Ben Laycock

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Within the hour every morsel is devoured and tasty goanna fat licked from fingers. Mmm ... tastes like chicken. The menu also includes pussy cat and bunny rabbit on a regular basis.

Time for a pot of tea. Your average blackfella is quite partial to her tea.

Preparation: A four gallon drum of water is put on the fire: to which is added 1 bag of Bushells tea (it must be Bushells), one packet of sugar and one tin of powdered milk, stir until boiling then drink until undrinkable.

We come across a waterhole: a natural spring that bubbles up from below. We must take a pebble, rub it under our armpits and toss it into the spring, so the spirit of the waterhole can get to know us a little better. A gesture not taken lightly; this tiny little permanent spring is of vital importance to survival. The children hang back, giggling and hesitant. Aware that the guardian of the spring could snap from benign to malevolent at the slightest transgression.

It takes me a lot longer to be anointed with a skin name and a family, as my useful attributes are not so obvious to the naked eye, but l am grudgingly accepted as being a nondescript part of the furniture. I find I must ingratiate myself and make myself indispensable. Paul & Clare have initiated a modest art program to help the locals cash in on the booming market for indigenous art that is taking the world by storm (Alas, it has since become passé, replaced by cute kittens on Youtube).

Apparently, in the olden days before Captain Cook, the locals would make the most beautiful sand paintings, then dance them away in ceremonies. We would call this ephemeral art. We would also call it a waste of a good business opportunity, so some bright spark gave the artists some canvas and they never looked back, soon turning mythical images into cold hard cash that was quickly transformed once more into gleaming white Toyotas for revisiting all those long forgotten sacred sites depicted on the canvas.

I found myself a job in sharing out the paint and canvas and keeping the finished product out of harm’s way till it got sent off to a big swanky gallery in a big swanky city. A tricky part of my brief was to dissuade the eager artists from indulging in garish unnatural colours, and keep them on the traditional ochres, as this was what the swanky buyers in the swanky galleries preferred. I soon found this to be impossible as the artists did not hold to the same narrow view of what constituted ‘authentic’ aboriginal art as the authentic aboriginal artists themselves, and by jingo did they turn out some fantastic art! < Ben Laycock, Black & White, oil on canvas.

Janet & J, Blackface,photo Ben Laycock

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Ben Laycock grew up in the country on the outskirts of Melbourne, surrounded by bush.

He began drawing the natural world around him from a very early age. He has travelled extensively throughout Australia, seeking to capture the essence of this vast empty land.

In between journeys he lives in a handmade house in the bush at Barkers Creek in central Victoria - benlaycock.com.au

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