THE GREATEST PUBLIC ARTIST YOU NEVER DID SEE

The first time I witnessed Gary Deirmendjian’s artwork was at Sculpture by the Sea, Bondi in 2010. The large-scale public artwork titled, flake (2010) appeared far more striking than the title alluded. A fully functioning traffic light, ripped out from an urban matrix lay lopsided in the middle of Tamarama Park, propped up on a boulder. It lay complete with remnants of a concrete curbside covered in patches of bitumen, exposed wires, conduit and reinforcement bars.

Gary describes the work as an “uprooted hunk of urban skin … shown for what it is”. It exposed the actuality of typical embedded infrastructure in a very direct way – that of the physical and the service provisions alike. However, it was in the suggestive pointing, enticed by its functionality, that flake came to life. It was voicing something true about just how regulated and reasoned daily urban existence has become.

A person of carefully crafted and reflective words, Gary approaches his personal life and art practice in the same manner. He reveals what is often overlooked, sitting right there before us – the very fabric of our everyday world. No paradox is intended here. The mere clarity of his thinking and methods is far from superficial, obvious or forceful – in fact, it is quite the opposite.

Gary’s considered deliberations are manifested by his art – gentle reminders existing in the world as they were found. Take his MICROVIDS series, for instance. These low-fi mobile phone videos were taken serendipitously, as the artist experienced the world around him. He states, they exist “without obligation, mediation or justification”. Pure and simple.

To Gary, many of his works are what he coins “microcosms”. To me, they’re mirrors or better yet, portals back into reality. At times little and at times monumental, these focused snippets of the world lead us back into the big, scary, ugly one. The same ‘reality’ that many are oblivious to, or hopelessly shun in fear of locking eyes with it. To do so means the inevitable shaking of our core. Somehow his work ushers and mediates the glance.

Of course, his artistic practice risks being overlooked. However, it is on his terms that the work needs to be found. Gary reaches out to us all on common ground without needing to say a word.

When I was asked to write this, I wasn’t going to write anything at all. I was going to take photos from my surrounding environment as a portrait of Gary in a similar vein to so many of his photographic and video works posted on social media. It didn’t seem to work out for me. I couldn’t see the world in quite the same way, nor could I capture the essence that Gary and his practice embodies. Instead, I write this inspired by Gary’s truth and his meaning. In no way, shape or form could I ever do him or his practice any justice, but hopefully it will make you see him as I see him: the greatest public artist you never did see. The paradox ‘is’ intended here.

A PREVAILING SENSE OF DISQUIET - book, monograph, GARY DEIRMENDJIAN (garo.com.au)

ON THE STROKE OF TIME

Adam Porter, January 2018

There is no present or future, only the past, happening over and over again, now…
- Eugene O’Neill

As a child I have fond memories of staring out the car window as we traversed across Western Sydney down the Great Western Highway. My mind would wander and time would momentarily stop – it was bliss. Everything imaginable was possible. In favour of the ideas that swirl around in my mind, I would chase after them, latching onto whatever thought comes up first and following it around as it evolves into the next one. I would regain consciousness every so often as our trusty, old, beige Ford Falcon came to a stop at a set of traffic lights; the landscape obscured by giant trucks in the lane over.  

Now when I stare at Miguel Olmo’s work Right here, right now (2013-18), what I see is much more than a mere pair of truck tyres. I am captivated by their perfect symmetry and the void created between them. I realise that it is within these gaps where Olmo finds his inspiration; engaging with the conceptual frameworks of representation through the notion of time, legacy and memory. These simple images render something so familiar (if not mundane) as abstract and meaningful, much like my daydreams as a child. 

It was interesting to discover that Olmo’s first solo exhibition at Fairfield Gallery and Museum was to be titled the same as this work until it was later revised as Tomorrows – Yesterdays/Yesterdays – Tomorrows. Like the gap between the truck tyres, the stroke in this latter title provides a hidden meaning and true insight into Olmo’s thoughts on the subject of time. 

The stroke symbolises a clear separation between the common references of time and place, but it also bridges a strong connection between them, marking a point for reflection. Illustrated by the rules of punctuation, the forward slash or stroke is defined as, “to represent exclusive or inclusive, or division and fractions, and as a date separator”. The stroke is at once familiar, but strangely unfamiliar. Stuck in between.

As I make my way to work, traversing across Western Sydney down the Hume Highway, I catch myself staring aimlessly into the morning traffic. A truck pulls up beside me and I am reminded of when I used to stare out of the window on those childhood car trips, however I am quick to remind myself that this is not exactly the same experience, nor is it a serendipitous occurrence. This time it is different. I am in a different part of Western Sydney on a different road. I am in a different car and I am the one driving. I am much older and now my daydreams aren’t nearly as distracting as when I was young. Now, I rarely find myself daydreaming at all, but thinking pragmatically about approaches and strategies to manage all the tasks in my life. The child in me finds it somewhat sobering knowing that the exact same experience can never occur twice, but I find comfort in the familiarity.  

Our experiences of time and place, whether trivial or significant, are often inspired by seemingly similar cyclical patterns, but these patterns and their minute differences are what define ourselves in the present world and the footprints we leave behind. We make tiny choices every day to mould the life that we want to live and daydreaming is the first manifestation of that. As we imagine scenarios and experiences for ourselves, we begin to build our realities both deliberately and unconsciously. More often than not, your reality won’t look the same as your daydream did, but that’s okay.

In his exhibition, Tomorrows – Yesterdays/Yestrdays – Tomorrows, Olmo draws upon collective memory and the Western Sydney experience to bring your attention to the very real, individualised and ever-present phenomenon of time and place. It is right here, right now within the gaps of time that we begin to discover how our lives can become meaningful and purposeful; that we have the power to influence change in the present moment and to influence our legacy in years to come. 

This is Miguel Olmo’s legacy.

COME WITH US ON A JOURNEY THROUGH TIME AND SPACE

Adam Porter, January 2016
 

‘ETERNITY’

This word loom over me in bold, capital letters. Standing in the middle of the carpark, fumbling for my car keys, I am distracted by these words situated at the very top of the eastern public graffiti tank at the rear of the Casula Powerhouse Arts Centre (CPAC). The pair of tanks - at least twelve metres high and equally as wide – are without doubt hefty, but seem to go unnoticed in the midst of the prodigious CPAC building and accompanying smoke stack. Never before had those tanks ever seemed so imposing until those words appeared.

As I gazed toward the sky, contemplating the meaning of this word and how the author reached the top of the tank, I had no idea how significant or appropriate those words would come to be. I took a photo, found my keys, went home and never thought about it again – until now.

Four years on and it is 2015. CPAC is celebrating its 21st Birthday and I am looking toward curating the final exhibition for the year, Outer Space. On my desk book shelf I pull out the publication, Casula Works: Public Art at the Casula Powerhouse Arts Centre to refresh myself on the building’s history and public art program. As I flick through the pages those words demand my attention yet again. The first chapter by Tamara Winikoff is titled, ‘Eternity is a Fashion Label’. Whilst she does not mention his name, Winikoff begins with a recollection of Arthur Stace - the man who initiated one of the first modern graffiti tag movements in Sydney. Stace would inscribe the word “Eternity” for over 35 years on the footpaths of Sydney with chalk in a decorative, copperplate calligraphy style following his return from World War I. The iconic image was adopted for the 2000 Sydney Olympic Games Opening and the 2000 New Year celebrations.

Winikoff’s essay continues with utopian ideas of the postmodern city. The notion of community within this structure is said to be threatened by the influences of globalisation through developments in accessibility and communication technologies. Winikoff calls for urban revitalisation, maintaining that “[C]ommunity is envisioned as transcending physical and temporal boundaries”.[i] In such an age, the role of the artist to relay altruism back into our communities is an integral and imperative function of social, cultural and individual vision. However, if sustainable futures are made tangible by alternative ideas, where does this leave the notion of the ‘unknown’, or specifically, our understanding of eternity?

Traditionally, eternity can be defined in a myriad of ways, but often surrounds the concept of time and its complexities. As a non-secular argument, eternity is framed by the utopian attitude toward the immortality of God. Regardless, the concept of eternity is wedged in a state between time and space that is arguably, timeless and unreachable – immeasurable. Parallels can be drawn to Affect Theory advocated by Dutch philosopher, Baruch Spinoza, whereby an intense state of being can be experienced outside of consciousness[ii]. As a bodily phenomenon that pre-curses personal feelings, the concept of affect is rather abstract – timeless if you will – and hence, cannot be fully realised by language. This definition is by no means completely accurate, as academics and philosophers continue to agree on a concrete meaning. However, it is exactly this intangible state experienced as a kind of basic intuition that gifts us with truths or realities that may be regarded as ‘eternal’. Andrew Murphie, Associate Professor at the University of New South Wales describes affect as the phenomena that makes up the relations within the temporary worlds we are constantly creating, and by which we are constantly being created.[iii] That is, affect arises in the midst of in between-ness; a transitional state initiated by context and experienced between the body and the mind. This idea plays a predominant role in the Outer Space exhibition and is witnessed within the practice of its respective artists.

The title of this essay, Come with us now on a journey through time and space is a reference to the popular TV series of British comedy troupe, The Mighty Boosh. After binge-watching a number of episodes, I found myself in a trance. The sobering moment came from the aforementioned phrase, proclaimed by a deep male voice upon the opening credits of yet another episode. It had me contemplating the forthcoming exhibition and the concept of personal experience, time and space. What are the boundaries of time, space and art? What are my roles and responsibilities as the curator of this exhibition? How do artists and how will audiences react to this exhibition? How can self-reflection and a state of self-recognition be successfully interpreted to the community? Can a dichotomy between conscious and sub-conscious exist, or at least, be portrayed successfully? That night, the answers didn’t come to me in my dreams, but the thought helped inform the exhibition and this reflection.

Somewhat speculative and ambiguous, the Outer Space exhibition explores some of these questions through a selection of loans and newly commissioned works by established and emerging artists from Australia and abroad. Outer space, or simply space, can be defined as the void that exists between celestial bodies, including the Earth. That said, the exhibition utilises this concept of the universe (beyond the boundaries of the Earth’s atmosphere) as a metaphor to explore the limits and agency of the physical body within human psyche influenced by physical environments or context, that surround us or inspire a state of transition – the ‘outer space’.

The iconic building that is Casula Powerhouse Arts Centre was originally the Liverpool Power Station; a small ‘packet power station’ built shortly after World War II to supplement intense winter demands and frequent power shortages. In 1976 the power station was decommissioned and left to languish until 1985. In 1994, Liverpool City Council opened the re-purposed building as Casula Powerhouse Arts Centre. From 2004 - 2008 further refurbishments were made to the building including a 326-seat theatre. In 2015 Casula Powerhouse Arts Centre celebrates its 21st birthday and as a cultural and multi-disciplinary arts facility, it is a space where ideas, art forms and philosophies fuse. Contemplating the history, architecture and the range of purposes this building has had, one may sense an imposing emptiness within the cavernous interior. The Outer Space exhibition looks to fill this space with new energy. 

The novelty and spectacle of outer space exploration, science fiction, the history of Casula Powerhouse Arts Centre and its architectural skeleton are starting points with which the artists in this exhibition begin to reveal many complex layers of meaning that are overtly and/or covertly, critical about definitions of space via a negotiation between conscious and subconscious states of being. Emptiness, time, distance, freedom, purpose, ritual, mysticism, the norm and the unknown are just some of the sub-themes that begin to reveal where the internal and the external redefine borders and bridge a transition of state.

An integral addition to the exhibition is the late Vernon Treweeke who passed away in March 2015. Affectionately known as the father of Australian psychedelic modern art, Treweeke bridges a connection from the influential movement of modern art in Australia into the contemporary, shaping the landscape of art (in Sydney and Western Sydney particularly), as we know it. The artworks seen here were selected with the assistance of Vernon’s wife, Riri and his son, Julian and span Vernon’s eminent career from 1967 to 2014.

Trweeke’s animation-style video works are some of the last artistic creations Treweeke was working on. Five TVs are suspended in the air, above several of his early paintings on the Northern Turbine Wall of which Treweeke extracted aesthetic elements to create the videos.  This intentional layout is meant to create an obvious connection between Treweeke’s works and to consider the time-span of his artistic career, but it also recreates a skyward gaze – a similar gesture I experienced four years earlier at the tanks. Regardless of this layout, the act of looking up when entering the spaces of CPAC appears to be an initial, or innate reaction. The vast and grid-like structure of the Turbine Hall at CPAC naturally encourages the eye to look up and admire the surrounding architecture. Treweeke’s works suspended in the air interrupts this monotony, complementing the CPAC architecture. Treweeke and his works encompass the energy and purpose of this exhibition. I had spoke to Vernon only months before he passed away, but I never had the pleasure to meet him, let alone work with him. I’m left to imagine what he would think or feel about showing this selection of works in this exhibition. The fact that I’ll ever know is almost surreal.

Realised by the power of the imagination and our innermost human desires, this exhibition aspires to provide moments of self-reflection. As acclaimed American science fiction writer and critic, Theodore Sturgeon stated:

…there's more in inner space than in outer space. Inner space is so much more interesting, because outer space is so empty. [iv]

This exhibition does not dismiss discussions surrounding definitions of outer space beyond the Earth’s atmosphere. It suggests a deconstruction of our outer spaces or surrounding environments learned through visual language, intuition and emotion. To close your eyes and open your mind may seem like a bold statement (or even contradictory) within a culturally-loaded space such as CPAC, but the aim is for an experience that may incite fulfilment or further curiosity; to see a certain inalienable truth and sensitivity toward space in all of its forms; to reflect on ourselves.

The word eternity has since been painted over on the eastern graffiti tank. Although I know those letters are still there underneath all those layers of paint, it’s now forever embedded in my mind. Eternity is not an apparition; it’s just not always visible. It is much like the energy of the CPAC building and its history; or Vernon Treweeke and the artists of Outer Space whose works speak to each other, traversing across the boundaries of space and time through personal experiences or personal interests imbedded in their work. 

Tamara Winikoff makes a strong statement in her essay, claiming that if eternity were to go out of fashion, we may never achieve immortality.[v] The workings of affect apply in a similar manner, inspired by surrounding forces and energies, but never forceful. Felix Guattari remarks that if affect is a personal account and an act of deliberately reworking images and information influenced by various contextual elements, then maybe we should focus on this process. That is, we should not take for granted the transitional state of ethical and aesthetic paradigms that lead to our worldview, especially if it cannot be defined by scientific reason.[vi] Maybe then, like Arthur Stace, we’ll come closer to finding certainty in eternity.

Casula Powerhouse Arts Centre would like to thank the artists, their representative galleries and private lenders for their contributions. Thank you to ArtsNSW and Liverpool City Council for their continued support. Special thanks to the Macquarie University Art Gallery and the Treweeke family for their compassion and desire to embody the spirit and legacy of Vernon Treweeke.

[i] Winikoff, Tamara. “Eternity is a Fashion Label”. Casula Works: Public Art at the Casula Powerhouse Arts Centre (1999). p. 10.

[ii] Shouse, Eric. “Feeling, Emotion, Affect”. M/C Journal 8.6 (2005). 23 Dec. 2015. http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0512/03-shouse.php

[iii] Murphie, Andrew. “Affect – a basic summary of approaches” (2014). http://www.andrewmurphie.org/blog/?p=93

[iv] Duncan, David D. “The Push Within: The Extrapolative Ability of Theodore Sturgeon”. Interview originally published in Phoenix, 1979.  http://www.physics.emory.edu/faculty/weeks//misc/duncan.html

[v] Winikoff, p.13.

[vi] Guattari, Félix in Gary Genosko, The Guattari Reader. (1996). p. 159.

TO EXIST OUTSIDE THE MARGINS: GARY DEIRMENDJIAN AND ADAM PORTER

Words: Adam Porter, Oct 2015

REVISITING LORRAINE MAGGS

Adam Porter, May 2015

From the age of eleven, Lorraine wanted to be a 'real' artist. Graduating from Adelaide Teachers College in Visual Arts, 1960, her first appointments were Whyalla, South Australia and Darwin, Northern territory. In 1964 Lorraine travelled to Italy to study and in 1965 taught art in a Secondary School in Kent, England.

Geologist, David Maggs, a friend from Darwin, visited her in London and they toured together before he travelled on to Canada where David would begin a new job with The International Nickel Company.  Marriage came later at Niagara Falls. By 1969 David was a geologist with the Water Board, Guilford, NSW and Lorraine taught Visual Arts at Canley Vale High School. Lorraine still resides in Canley Vale on the banks of Orphan School Creek.

Walking into Lorraine’s home studio, I am overwhelmed by the materials and artworks consuming every visible corner. Lorraine fumbles through artworks explaining their provenance to me, but I find myself drifting towards an over-laden, make-shift, melamine bookshelf housing an array of books and catalogues of prolific Australian and international female artists such as Vivienne Binns, Fiona Hall, Judy Watson and Freda Khalo. The content of this bookshelf speaks volumes about Lorraine’s character and development as an artist. Her determination and aspiration to be a significant female artist never diminished - as shown in her series of Florence Nightingale for instance - but it would be with great difficulty and self-exploration that she would realise her potential.

At the age of 30 David was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. Pain and bewilderment followed. Art became a way of coping and in 2004 Lorraine presented a series of paintings featuring a jack-in-the-box motif. A dear friend, Evelyn Healey, asked her if she realised what she had done. Confounded by the statement, it wasn’t until David committed suicide shortly after that Lorraine began to understand what Evelyn meant. Lorraine was painting her life. David was all that Lorraine knew and this was reflected in her art. From that point on Lorraine’s practice changed into a more profound celebration and understanding of mental illness, David and herself.

David supported Lorraine's art and was extremely proud of her work. He may have understood her better than she understood herself. To a great degree, David is the reason, focus and success of Lorraine’s artistic practice. On her journey to becoming a ‘real’ artist, Lorraine continued to reflect on David as the predominate subject matter in her artworks. Lorraine found momentum in her practice by incorporating metaphor, allusion and appropriation along with her personal experiences and it is with a somewhat mischievous intent that Lorraine reflects intimate details through symbolisation.

In a series of prints, paintings and drawings, Lorraine renders David as a wooden string-puppet. Like the character of Pinocchio always facing  mishap and misadventure, Lorraine depicts David as an innocent man trapped inside an unknown skin, battling with delusions persecutory in nature. Of particular mention is The Lost Geologist (2008), symbolising a family battling with mental illness. As told in the story of Elijah in the Old Testament, the prophet was hiding alone in the desert as ravens were sent to provide him with gifts of bread and fish. Lorraine combines this story with that of Pinocchio where David is depicted in a fallen state lying helplessly within the landscape. Surrounding the roughly-sketched figure are birds providing sustenance, as well as snippets of David’s former life as a professional geologist. Lorraine stands on a cliff, overlooking the scene. The ambiguity of the composition presents similarities to a dream-state; some parts are vivid, whereas other parts remain blank or lacking detail. Offered is a cryptic storyline dramatised as a theatrical stage set where a working marionette with strings and crossbar confronts pain, helplessness and loss. Whilst this intentional play of characters and composition is unique, the drama is quite real. The Pinocchio shown here is much more than just a character; he represents a real person within a real situation.

Lorraine’s intentions are deliberately obscured but are accessible to those who have time to enter her world. Lorraine delivers what she knows and displays strength and determination in her art practice by revisiting her struggles and memories of living with mental illness. Now her practice has no strings attached; the purpose of her practice is to continue telling her story, without subterfuge.

When I revisit Lorraine and her studio, I feel like I am revisiting David too. Thanks to Lorraine and her honesty, I see myself as a real curator and I see her as a real artist – particularly within the artistic community of Southwest Sydney to which she has provided so much.

I only hope she can see that too.  

THOUGHTS ON WILL COLES

Adam Porter, 2014

The first time I encountered a Will Coles work, I stole it. In fact, I stole several.

At the time, I was working for an institution that saw Coles’ guerrilla sculptural practice as an unwelcome deterrent to their public, sculptural exhibition. I was instructed to destroy and discard any of Coles’ works - if found.

It was like a treasure hunt.

Despite the difficulty in finding Coles’ works camouflaged amongst everyday urban surroundings, it was his works that had the biggest impact on me amongst the celebrated, monstrous and pristine sculptures I was working with. I wanted substance and I found it in a cement-cast, stylised dog poo that had the word “RECONTEXTUALISATION” inscribed upon it. It was this work that made me wake-up and smell the shit. Cole’s practice lured me into a new way of looking at art, society and culture that was far more engaging and intriguing than I had ever experienced before.  

I would like to think that my stealing of Coles’ works was my own act of activism; an act of preservation, in hope, that one day, I’d be in a position to find and work with the inspiring artist behind these little sculptural gems.

Cole’s practice is one that more people should take notice of, especially given that it is a mirror of our everyday lives in contemporary society.

NAHRAIN: TWO RIVERS

Adam Porter, 2014

In 2013, in consultation with Khaled Sabsabi, Casula Powerhouse Arts Centre’s Community and Cultural Engagement Creative Producer, I developed the exhibition, Landlock. The exhibition was inspired by the geographical difference between Afghanistan being entirely separated from the sea by surrounding countries, to Australia which is completely enclosed by oceans and seas. Landlock saw how this tangible geographical variant has fostered contemporary artists who produce parallels and a shared dialogue between the ideological, political, cultural and physical environment of the two regions. Two months prior to the exhibition opening, on February 7th 2013, the then Minister for Defence, Stephen Smith announced that the Australian Defence Force would be withdrawing Australian troops from Afghanistan.[i]

It’s like déjà vu.

A year later, in January 2014, Sabsabi and I are preparing to launch the exhibition Nahrain: Two Rivers. Evolving from Landlock, the exhibition drew inspiration from the Tigris and Euphrates River systems, between which, a rich hub of history, culture, politics and social complexity is contained within their snaking boundaries. This is not unlike the Sydney basin formed around the Harbour and river tributaries of the Hawkesbury, Parramatta, Nepean and Georges Rivers. The similarities drawn between these two locales extend beyond the terrain and exist on multiple levels. With a growing population of West Asian communities in Australia, especially within Liverpool and the South West Sydney area, Nahrain: Two Rivers reflects the stories and memories of diverse cultures that share this region. Days prior to writing this essay in early January 2014, Minister for Defence, Senator the Hon David Johnston, declared all Australian troops in Afghanistan had been withdrawn.[ii] Despite the withdrawal, a relationship between people and place would continue to be a pertinent topic in people’s minds, both in West Asia and in Australia.

Déjà vu is a peculiar phenomenon.

The French term, ‘déjà vu’ articulates “a sense of illusion of having previously experienced something actually being encountered for the first time”.[iii] To date, the science of psychology has not been able to reason or explain the mechanism of this disconcerting personal, yet universal experience. It is, because, so very little is known about déjà vu that I refer to it as a phenomenon.  One of the most intriguing aspects of déjà vu is the questioning of ones memory and reality. Déjà vu collides the experienced and the imagined; the conscious and the subconscious; a state of uncertainty that exposes a fragile moment of vulnerability in the human condition. On occasion, I have considered alternative possibilities and reasons for déjà vu based on my own experiences. What if déjà vu was not simply an imagined memory, but the workings of some kind of obscure science or magic? What if there are alternate realities wherein I exist across several different experiences, times and places? What if my other self has already experienced the experience I am currently experiencing? It’s possible.

Contained within the subjectivity of one’s mind in an act of binary reflection between the real and the unreal, an experience of déjà vu questions our understanding of past, present and future. With this understanding of déjà vu, the exhibition Nahrain: Two Rivers examines artists and artworks through a framework of concepts and imagery that are closely concerned with narratives of déjà vu. In the context of Nahrain: Two Rivers, this translates as a container serving the universal experience of people and their relation to place.

West Asia is a vast and unique region that is coterminous with the Middle East. This definition of place surfaced in an attempt to remove Eurocentric connotations, often linked to colonial conquest and political interests.[iv] A region rich in history and culture, West Asia has historically struggled with meanings of place, identity and ownership. Stretching from the River Nile of Egypt in the West, to Turkey and Georgia in the North, Afghanistan in the East and Yemen in the South, geographical borders are constantly shifting; ideologies are always in contention; and politics are faced with continuous unrest. As with déjà vu, the boundaries of this land are undefined, constantly shifting and unstable in living memory.  

The ubiquitous term, “Arab Spring” was coined by mainstream media and conservative Western commentators to describe the political revolution of December 2010 (and continues until this day).[v] The revolt demonstrated the extreme rise and fall between citizens and authority figures throughout West Asia in demand for unity and clarity in political ideologies - a fight for freedom against oppression, suppression and corruption. Nahrain: Two Rivers, provides a platform to reveal once silenced stories and draws focus to the contemporary Australian landscape through the embracement of cultures from West Asia.

Map of Mesopotamia[vi]

‘Nahrain’ is an Arabic term and refers to the ‘land between rivers’ or ‘land of rivers’. This region contained by the Tigris and Euphrates river systems extends through Turkey, Syria, Iraq, Iran and Kuwait; a corridor of arable land that has sustained a diverse and rich natural ecosystem whilst evolving a complex social and cultural dialogue stretching into the earliest records of human civilisation. Identified as ‘Mesopotamia’ or the ‘Fertile Crescent’ by many historians, this area has also been referred to by academics as the ‘Cradle of Civilisation’.[vii] The earliest record of civilised society, including the Sumer, Akkadian, Babylonian and Assyrian empires originated from this region.[viii]

The Georges River, Parramatta River, Nepean River and Hawkesbury River define Sydney’s geographical basin and echoes a Mesopotamia of its own. Like the Tigris and the Euphrates, these rivers sit at the periphery forming boundaries that significantly shape and define Sydney, not only as a geographical centre, but as a central hub for culture to thrive, both historically and as an ongoing contemporary site. The geographical parallel lends familiarity to encourage and engage questions around people, place, memory and identity.

Nahrian: Two Rivers draws on rivers as a significant geographical feature of nature, but it also illustrates how land and water are quintessential subjects and sites for contemporary art to comment on societal and cultural flows. These two bodies of water run parallel acting as boundaries of geographical, political, social and cultural importance. Eventually, the two rivers come to the same conclusion; meeting in the Persian Gulf. Like déjà vu, two opposing thoughts, or two streams, end up being one and the same.

Underlying dualities between people and place appear throughout the exhibition. The artists in Nahrain: Two Rivers share stories of people living in diaspora, stemming from lived experiences or inherited memories brought with them to Australia. Irrespective of their source, these stories contribute to the construction of culture and identity. The artists and their artworks aim to articulate individual stories; but are subject to re-contextualisation as informed by the themes of the exhibition and the specific context within South West Sydney, resonating with the cultures that now call this region home. Identity and memory challenge artists and audiences to question their own place and purpose within the specific containment of site and place.

The exhibition presents an intriguing orientation toward urbanisation and architecture in support of what may constitute ideas of civilisation and culture. Raafat Ishak utilises paint on un-primed Medium Denisty Fibreboard (MDF) as a canvas to produce abstract interpretations of urban environments inspired by the artist’s migration from Cairo to Melbourne. In utilising MDF as a canvas, Ishak references its use as a common building material. The paintings have a geometric appeal referencing architectural blueprints and creating multiple viewpoints and layered perspectives. Unlike the stark white and blue lines of architectural blueprints however, Ishak’s paintings are executed with a painted pastel colour palette. The effect of his technique of painting on MDF produces a smooth texture and a unique flatness. Referencing the likes of Cubism, his Arabic heritage and architectural statements, Ishak breaks these ideologies down and reassembles them in an abstracted form. This methodology navigates the construction of his identity across time and place, creating a dialogue between two cultures examining the temporality of personal, social and political relationships.

Saif Almurayati fled his home in Baghdad, Iraq due to political oppression. Detained within a refugee camp, a young Saif expressed to his father his desire to become an artist. With limited resources available, his father presented Saif with a stick and explained that the ground was to be his canvas.[ix] Now based in Sydney, Almurayati explores how culture changes in relation to new environments. Almurayati has adapted to life in Australia, but such a transition is always tumultuous, fraught and unsettling. Transition is a critical facet in negotiating Almurayati’s work and practical methodologies. Chaotic in composition, the work Flux presents an abstract image utilising Arabic calligraphy and found objects imbedded in paint to map the artist’s movements through his cultural experiences and journeys. There is method to this madness, one that is disconcerting, yet common to the transition of people arriving in a new country. It is hard to conceive the immense struggle in coadaptation of one’s culture to another so far removed from a homeland in West Asia; a place that, in recent history, has come under immense discrimination and hostility led by Western media misrepresentation.[x]

Brook Andrew’s series of collage-inspired screen prints, The Danger of Authority, explore contemporary philosophies regarding construction of experience and memory. Andrew challenges the decisions and limitations imposed by “authority structures” such as media and government. He allures a historical amnesia clouded with stereotyping and complicity.[xi]

Andrew’s series included in Nahrain: Two Rivers present reproduced archive images of lavish interiors from the 11th to 20th Centuries and superimposed headlines from The New York Times newspaper over these.[xii] Viewers struggle with this incongruous juxtaposition and attempts to negotiate meaning are fraught.  As with an episode of déjà vu, the opposing contextual references create curiosity and an inquisition into memory and reality. The majority of works are black and white with any inclusion of colour muted – referencing a newspaper aesthetic – a possible reminder that news isn’t quite always black and white, no matter the context. These opulent interiors could even reflect the wealth and power associated with contemporary media. The work suggests that the media and news that filters and shapes our opinions is a secondary source tainted with bias and personal agendas. Regardless, it is still a source of information that is trusted in mainstream societies to document history and perceptions of the world.

The ambiguity of stories that define us is evident in the title of Ella Condon’s digital media installation, The Invisible Force. The presence of a figure in the reflection of water is projected high onto the gallery wall and then reflected onto the surface of a gloss-black acrylic sheet placed on the floor. The viewer is presented with two images, but it is the floating, inverted reflection upon the acrylic sheet with which they find themselves physically absorbed. The effect is a void; an illusion where perspective is shifted and distorted. Like a memory, slowly, the image recedes into the depths of darkness, creating an unnerving sensation as the figure morphs with the movement of the water. Witnessing this imagery on the acrylic sheet reinforces the physicality of being present in the artist’s constructed memory concerning place and presence.

Throughout Nahrain: Two Rivers, memory and meaning continue to resurface. In the work of Tom Nicholson, this negotiation is particularly potent. Nicholson’s poster series, Comparitive Monument (Palestine) consist of nine photographic works of architectural monuments located around Melbourne that bear testament to the presence of Australian troops in Palestine during WW1.  Nicholson states that these monuments “...reflect the realities of the 1920s (when they were erected) and the era of the British mandate, when the name ‘Palestine’ implicitly invoked the shared position of Australia and Palestine within British imperialism”.[xiii] These works explore a historical relationship between Australian and West Asia, reinforcing a memory of experienced conflict and unrest.

Monuments evoke narratives of our desire to immortalise historical moments and experiences of loss and sacrifice into static (monumental) reminders. Nicholson insists that his interpretation of the monuments are not memorials for quiet reflection due to a historic western imposition, however monuments traditionally represent a single sided memory.[xiv] With intent, Nicholson erased the backgrounds of the photographs, dislocating them from context or place. In doing so, Nicholson severs the viewer’s automatic negotiation of the monument and the monumental as affixed to place. This act of intentional de-contextualisation emphasises the conflicting boundaries and definitions of time and place, questioning the voice of shared memory and experience. Nicholson undermines the dominant experience proffering instead an intangible negotiation of historical and cultural memory. This is evident in his utilisation of both English and Arabic text mirroring each other on each of the photographs. Nicholson presents a shared history, but a divided experience interrogating how culture and history is recorded and hence monumentalised through text and the inanimate.

As the title of Josh Wodak’s photographs series implies, Semblance of Stability, 2013 captures scenes from everyday life in Syria three weeks prior to ‘Arab Spring’ uprising.[xv] Wodak’s photographs stand as memorials to the everyday, whispering untold stories concerned with cultural loss and untold memories. Wodak utilises photography as a device to capture memories, attempting to resonate a lost moment in all of its glory no matter how familiar or seemingly mundane. However, as with media and news, photographs portray a subjective record.  The familiarity of everyday life is juxtaposed with subtle indicators of melancholy, anxiety and weariness. Weeks after this series was photographed, Syrian authorities responded with violent military repression, which resulted in the loss of thousands of civilian lives and desecration of any semblance of the everyday.[xvi]

In bringing the photographic works of Wodak and Nicholson together in Nahrain: Two Rivers, explicit negotiations of culture and lived experience specific to residents of South West Sydney are narrated.

Through contemporary artworks, Nahrain: Two Rivers explores junctions of the familiar and the unknown; through everyday objects, place and collective cultural memory in contrast to the experience of diaspora and the memory of the other. This negotiation encourages viewers to consider multiple viewpoints. Nahrain: Two Rivers questions whether our sense of place, our experience of memory and storytelling is concrete or even linear. Like déjà vu, personal history and experience are perhaps a string of illusions which are always questionable and transient.

In 1742, poet, Thomas Gray declared the famous phrase, 'ignorance is bliss'[xvii], but ignorance should not be the basis of the shared experience in our contemporary society. The artists of Nahrain: Two Rivers encourage the viewer to perceive dual viewpoints; the original concept of Nahrain: Two Rivers was to engage distant places and voices which, in reality, already exist side by side in the South West Sydney region: we have already encountered the unfamiliar.

It’s like déjà vu.

[i] “Minister for Defence Stephen Smith – Paper presented on Afghnaistan,” Australian Government Department of Defence, accessed January 13, 2014.  http://www.minister.defence.gov.au/2013/06/19/minister-for-defence-stephen-smith-paper-presented-on-afghanistan/

[ii] “Minister for Defence – Statement on Afghanistan”, Australian Government Department of Defence, accessed January 13, 2014. http://www.minister.defence.gov.au/2013/12/11/minister-for-defence-statement-on-afghanistan/

[iii] Macquarie Concise Dictionary, 2nd ed., s.v. “déjà vu.”

[iv] http://www.un.org/Depts/Cartographic/map/profile/westasia.pdf

[v] Joshua Keating, “Who first used the term ‘Arab Spring’“, accessed January 10, 2014, http://blog.foreignpolicy.com/posts/2011/11/04/who_first_used_the_term_arab_spring

[vi] Map of Mesopotamia, accessed January 10, 2014, http://static.ddmcdn.com/gif/willow/mesopotamia0.gif

[vii] Jane McIntosh, Ancient Mesopotamia: new perspectives (California, ABC-CLIO, Inc., 2005), 3-4.

[viii] Harriet Crawford, Sumer and the Sumerians (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2004), 16-18.

[ix] Saif Almurayati. Artist talk, Harmony Day at Casula Powerhouse Arts Centre, 20 March, 2014

[x] E. Ghareeb, Split Vision: The Portrayal of Arabs in the American Media. Washington, D.C. American-Arab Affairs Council, 1983.   

[xi] Laura Murray Cree, “Brook Andrew,” Artist Profile, Issue 11, 2010, 50-59.

[xii] Ibid, 50.

[xiii] “Comparitive monument (Palestine),” Tom Nicholson, accessed January 15, 2014, http://www.tomn.net/projects/2012_05.htm

[xiv] Ibid.

[xv] Keating, op. cit., last modified November 4, 2011.

[xvi] Kal Ben Khalid, “Rise and Fall, Push and Pull”, accessed January 13, 2014, http://themoornextdoor.wordpress.com/2010/05/05/rise-and-fall-push-and-pull/

[xvii] Thomas Gray, Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College (London, Tully’s Head, 1747), 99.