Louisa Bufardeci: The Sea Between A and I

Louisa Bufardeci's exhibition The Sea Between A and I (as in Australia and Indonesia) opened on Saturday at Anna Schwartz Gallery, Melbourne. The artworks – all needlepoint on a fibreglass screen – make reference to maritime disasters, sunken boats and the plight of desperate people risking their lives to make the perilous journey across the seas. Bufardeci has used Google Earth to pinpoint the precise coordinates of eight of these tragedies and crafted intense and abstract forms in gradations of blue. They invoke the swirl of meteorological matter, weather charts and thermal imaging, though in this instance in place of heat associated with living, breathing organisms  these works speak of the opposite – death itself.

The real events described in Bufardeci's artworks felt very far away on that sunny Saturday afternoon. I felt very graciously welcomed into the gallery where I was not only offered a Campari after climbing the stairs but the monkeys even had a room set aside for art making. I was surrounded by some pretty lovely people, some of whom I knew. The opening speaker, human rights lawyer David Manne gave a considered, moving address. It was long sure, though not overly, and given the subject matter it felt appropriate: my legs were bearing less stress than the asylum seekers. Manne drew on statistics on the number of displaced persons around the world, recounted the lack of detail in reporting of asylum seeker journeys and drew a line between that and the abstracted language of Bufardeci's needlepoints. For someone who admitted he hadn't written about art since year 11, to my eye some twenty five years earlier, it was a perceptive observation.

If you are wondering whether there is a market for these kind of works, the entire show sold to the NGV before the exhibition opened. Not only was the work well crafted, but topical. I felt very pleased for the artist with whom I share a personal connection (we both have girls in the same class at school). It was only afterwards, on the journey home that I felt growing ambivalence. The work and its backstory forces us to consider uncomfortable truths about the country we live in and the world at large. But in the space that opens up afterwards, what resides there other than Guilt and Shame, and possibly Anger. Is there anything wrong with turning tragedy into art and those art objects into dollars? Is it worse to not make that art? Does not making the art only mirror the silence that characterises the government and media on this 'issue'. I just don't know.

Louisa Bufardeci
The Sea Between A and I
17 October - 11 November 2015
Anna Schwartz Gallery
185 Flinders Lane, Melbourne

Winter Solstice

It must be the steely grey mornings that have me longing for colour. I know Melbourne is not Siberia but I am a complete winter sook. I want to be warm, snug and within an arms reach of hot chocolate at all times. But I try and remind myself that winter has an upside which is an effortless introspectiveness that at other times of year, as an excitable Gemini, I have to really strive to connect with. That introspectiveness slows my thinking to just a pip above hibernation speed. I feel able to undertake slower projects, projects like weaving that demand patience and stamina. 

The last time I tried my hand at weaving was 1993 in the Silesia region of Poland. Outside the manor in which I was staying smoke stacks dirtied the air (remember acid rain?). Inside its four walls I was trying to evoke a cheerier landscape. It wasn't a success. But I'm willing to have another crack at the art and craft of weaving next month and put my inexperienced hands in the hands of Victorian Tapestry Workshop founder Sara Lindsay. She'll be running a two day workshop, over consecutive Saturdays in July at Pop craft. 

2014 in review

Needlework from Norway

With long winters it's no surprise those living within a coo-ee of the Arctic Circle can work a needle and thread. I was amazed by this chair and cushion combo in Norway. Actually almost everything in this living room was fantastic. We were visiting for lunch. Not being handy with a camera I turned to my parter in crime and wiggling my fingers in mime mouthed "Take some photos."

I have a big appetite for interiors magazines and read everything: from the accessible, aspirational end of the publishing spectrum to cold architectural titles and the peerless World of Interiors. I like looking at photos of other peoples homes a great deal. There is something about photography and interiors that click, excuse the pun. The good fit became apparent to me thinking about art and the cluster of magazines devoted to that sector and creative activity. Why is it that I love art but have little interest in art magazines? In the end I want magazines to be an uncomplicated pleasure. Discourse or chairs? No contest.

Obus

I wish I wrote more often about shops, and retail generally. I think about the sector a lot. Like a trend forecaster with a crystal ball, I often speculate about its future. Is it bright or uncertain? Mostly I think about the dynamic relationship between online and real world environments, services and experiences. What can bricks and mortar offer, that online can't? How does a shop and the brand's online presence intersect? I have to say, I think Obus does it better than most. Not only do they make awesome clothes right here in Australia that I like to wear (hello Obus knit), that age gracefully and hold their shape but I like visiting their stores and staff. Last week I realised the feeling was mutual when I was invited along to their Spring VIP launch. You heard right, I count as a very important person. I had a stellar time drinking champagne, listening to some talented musos plucking at guitars while ladies swirled around me clutching hangers. Most featured the latest Kachina print. At one point with so many people wearing the same outfit, I thought I might be in Michel Gondry's video clip – that one he shot for Kylie Minogue where Kylie passes a hundred times over in a London street. Did I buy anything? Not that night. I was a bit too weirded out by everyone looking identical. As a twin, I've got that covered. I'll go back though. 

Photo: Courtesy of Obus

Shibori dreaming

When I take a long break from blogging I return uncertain. How to pick up the thread? How do I connect there with here. That period included a birthday – and a week long hangover during which I almost burnt the kitchen down and ate lots of soft cheese and bread – a trip to Canberra to give a lecture to art history students on collaborative screen printing workshops (1972-present day) and a crisis in my day job. See what I mean? I'm not sure I was even the same person back then. I'm beginning to think this is how a habit can break. You pause. To be honest this intense confluence of events has prompted a period of reflection. That reflection has taken place on a number of levels: on the historical forces that shaped late twentieth century visual culture here in Australia (the lecture), my own life (the 40th) and what the future might hold (the job crisis). Which brings me to the tote which caught my eye when I was googling 'shibori' in a late night stupor a few weeks back. I love it. There is something about the earthy, inky quality of indigo that no other dye seems to possess. It's quietening. I like the bags geometric forms, soft lines and shading. Right now it's the right metaphor for where my psyche is at. This bag holds my uncertain thoughts, unspoken fears, and deep longings.

Rebecca Desnos. 100% organic bags hand dyed with natural indigo. 22 pounds

Flags for Friday

 

I was visiting sweet polka Marion last week and noticed an embroidery (Don't Stop Cheering) on her wall. It was that good, I felt like cheering.

Then, mooching around in the digital world, I found these lovely textile hangings, recently displayed in Sydney as part of an exhibition titled Maps. Seems they are by the same talented hand, or hands, of Marico and Maricar Manalo.

I like the flag-like nature of these hangings, the eighties vibe, that's a little bit nautical and a little bit vertigo. If I didn't know how to sew I would be tempted to drop five hunjies on one of these. And even though I rarely sew (sewing machine chord, where are you?) that rarely used skill makes me cautious.

I can't make cosmetics as yet, which is why was not cautious when I visited Mecca this week. But that's another story...

Mariocr/Maricar

Meowww

Laziest credit line in magazine universe? I'm loving [insert...this bed, table, chair] right now. Every time I read it I want to throw some coins in a jar. That way I know I'll get to the Bahamas by Christmas.

But for this cushion I will make an exception. Love it. Love those clever Harvest girls and love the fact that with two of these on the couch I could have pets in my home.

I'm writing this with one eye on the couch and another on my new plush rug wondering, could I get away with it. If the room has a flavour, it's Pacific Pop. The new rug – bold black and rust orange stripes – is taking it in another direction. It's introduced some tertiary shades into the equation. Can it take flouro? Here's hoping. Because, did I mention I love these?

Harvest Textiles
40 cm across $70

Fringe Dweller

Some days I wonder, have I become a fringe dweller? I've always moved fluidly between media; I'm a habitual newspaper reader even now in the years of its decline, watch several hours of television every day and put in a fair bit of time on the 'puter. But increasingly I can't escape the feeling that these worlds are in disconnect. Aside from the pleasure of watching Lois Theraux throw himself to the lions each week I usually find myself channel surfing in disbelief, as in: "Who the f*** are these bogans and where did they find them?" I get listless reading every section of the paper, even sections I used to anticipate, like film. And in my leisure time, what there is of it, I often find myself reading the blogs of mums who love nature, worship their children, and collect twigs from the forest which they turn into art projects that you'd actually keep rather than recycle. They live in rural France, Iceland and America and spend a lot of time out of doors drawing inspiration for their next range of textiles. I like their aesthetic: usually a respect for natural materials, an eye for bringing objects together so they appear unforced but interesting. And I can't work out why their refined sensibility just doesn't get a look in even on shows like Better Homes And Gardens. While they are up to their armpits refurbishing Jack's room with a tray of paint and a sea sponge because he's no longer a Baby and a Big Boy now. I just shake my head at how they can take an ugly room and make it uglier.

See Fine Little Day for this lovely poster. I just filled up my cart and it came to $427 without me even tiring.

Pirum Parum

Offset printed poster
Size: 50 x 70 cm/19.6 x 27.5 inches
170g / 0.37 Ib, off-white paper

From the archives: Anni Albers

Anni Albers, Study for B, 1968
Gouache on Blueprinted Graph Paper. JAAF: 1994.10.25
44.133 x 35.243cm (17.375 x 13.875 inches)
©2003 The Josef and Anni Albers Foundation / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

Anni Albers, C, 1969
Screenprint. JAAF: 1994.11.9
61 x 56 cm (24 x 22 inches)

©2007 The Josef and Anni Albers Foundation / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

Anni Albers, Fox II, 1972
Screenprint. JAAF: 1994.11.24
61 x 50.8 cm (24 x 22 inches)
©2007 The Josef and Anni Albers Foundation / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

It's been a while since I dipped into the archives. But two things – a long and fruitless search for a rug, and the triangles post – got me thinking about Anni Albers (1899 – 1994). It's often the way in my head: two things bump together and shake something loose. I can't even recall how I was introduced to Albers' work. I'm pretty sure it was on a visit to the down at heel Bauhaus Museum in Berlin, where the work of students and teachers of the German design school were on display. Up until then I'd thought of the Bauhaus as a bit on the S&M side. You know, chrome and leather. But amidst all the hard lines and tough materials were works from the textile workshop. Unlike the other more forcefully forward-looking furniture department the textile arm of the school was like a little oasis of fuzz. Sure they displayed the Bauhaus' interest in geometry but the fabric fragments and floor coverings were soft, even a little folk. Anni Albers studied weaving (and fell in love with Josef, one of the teachers). They must have been something. I know Josef gets most of the kudos in their partnership but I prefer Anni's work. When I look at it I think of a wood pecker, just chipping away at the tree. Different decade, same project. The lady loved triangles.

The Albers Foundation is worth checking out.

Polkadot: Drawstring bag

This week the sweet polka's have been busy knitting a baby blanket for one of the flock. Elke is having a baby. I like the look of knitting but when it comes down to it I'm well aware of my propensity towards compulsion. That's one string I don't need to add to my bow. The mad knitters I know and love (you know who you are) do it compulsively. Like, even while reading to their kiddies. At home I am often referred to as Mrs Rabbit. I'm the lady version of Richard Scarry's loveable creation, Mr Rabbit. He's a rabbit who constantly has his nose in a newspaper even as he's walking. Which is how he ends up stuck in wet cement. Does he learn his lesson? No way. By the end of the story, he's back to his old tricks and about to step off a pier and into the sea. I can strongly relate. Some knit, I read. Which is a long-winded way of getting around to explaining the baby blanket bag. Given I couldn't contribute a square, I thought I would sew a bag for the blanket. With "neutral" as the unifying principle I settled on a grey Japanese linen with white polkadots. I even lined it. For someone who gets the sewing machine out once in an eon I have to admit I was pleased with the result.

Grey linen with polkadots

$29 per metre

GJ's, Lygon St

Brunswick VIC

cosy

My devotion to my quilts is well known. In my adult life I have owned precisely two. The first was made by my Polish aunt in the mid 80s from fabric fragments in polka dots, stripes, checks and paisley in simple squares. It was my couch besty for close to a decade. I even dragged it to Vanuatu where it was too hot for a threadbare cotton sheet. Actually, maybe addiction rather than devotion would better describe my relationship to these sewn objects. That quilt was a torn rag long before I folded it and put it in storage. It collected looks of pity not admiration. Me? I gazed at it with the tenderness that the very aged reserve for their spouses. Its replacement, arrived with aplomb as a gift from my sister who had picked it up at a NY market. In contemporary parlance it would be known as 'vintage'. Original, mid-Western, from the 1940s. How I Love It. If anything ever happened to it in the next decade, I would consider this quilt from just-can't put-a-foot-wrong French label A.P.C., a worthy successor. A.P.C. dress Europe's cool tribe. These quilts, which use decade old remenants from collections past, have been designed by Jessica Ogden and Jean Touitou and manufactured in editions of 30.

They are only like $955 dollars.