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. 

Christmas cards

This year I am using an ink pad and four speedball cut out shapes to make cards.

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

Crafternoon

Gala

It's not often I go bananas with images. Can you sense my excitement? Uncontainable. Actually, I'm not a big one for posting about my day job either - but occasionally my worlds collide and when they do collide this well, with such impressive results, I have to write it up. Also, this is a way of explaining my uncharacteristic silence these past few weeks. I've been a busy lady. We've been flat-out organising our inaugural fundraising gala at The Dax Centre. When we were in the early planning phase it became apparent we would need a stylist to pull the night together. My first and only thought was craft ladies Poppy Lancashire and Beck Harris, whose friendship stretches back to school days when they would spend weekends making beautiful things out of paper together. They share an effortless and original style that is a little bit Steiner and a little bit Scandinavian but their very own.

They took one look at the cavernous space of the Melbourne Brain Centre, our building and the venue for the sit down dinner for 94, and came back with a single simple idea: a paper garden suspended from above lit by fairy lights. Their vision was to bring the ceiling down to create a sense of intimacy, something enchanting that reflected our gala theme: nurture our growth. We just listened and took notes and felt a little overwhelmed calculating the number of volunteers we might need and hours it might take to make the hundreds of flowers we would need to make it work. Years, according to someone's smartphone. We hosted working bees, took them home, even talked strangers into giving over their precious time to participating. An army of workers cut, folded and fluffed tissue paper for what felt like weeks but in truth was no more than nine days. And when my thumb started bleeding from a RSI/pressure blister I just pushed on. Can't. Stop. Now. Can't. Let. Beck. And. Pop. Down.

Did I mention it was a lot of hard work? We actually had a lot of fun. For an organisation dedicated to creativity, it felt good to be doing creative work, to be making things together in the name of a good cause. I'm no missionary but on Thursday night I felt like a true believer.

Photos: Brendan Finn, Folded Bird

Siri Hayes: Back To Nature

If you are anything like me, at this time of year when days are shorter but the sun still shines strong, you see-saw wildly between the urge to prepare for winter hibernation and squeezing in another cup of tea with kin folk out there. Take Sunday. I caught the train to the country in good company and did not draw breath for 12 hours. About the only moment I wasn't in conversation was when I spied three solitary kangaroos on a distant hilltop. I watched them chew lazily on grass. But even at a safe distance I couldn't help size up their muscular thighs, their fearsome tails. The scene was punctuated by bird sounds, more screech than song actually: the bush really seems to come alive at dusk.

On Monday I took a vow of silence in order to recalibrate my inner world and to give some time and space over to reflection. That's another way of saying I stayed in and cleaned house.

This present frame of mind brought to mind, Siri Hayes exhibition, Back to Nature, currently on at Heide Museum of Art in Bulleen. Her photographs, often of natural environments, take into account human beings their presence, activities and artefacts, but never in a heavy-handed way. If anything they bring to mind stories of undomesticated animals making their way into habited environments in reverse. I see people like myself, city slickers, tentatively relating to nature.

It's a small show – just a handful of photographs – and a short film, but it displays a keen sensitivity to its environment: the gallery space and the Heide grounds that inspired the work. I liked its sense of refinement, its assured understatement. It is perfect for a Sunday.

Siri Hayes: Back to Nature
23 March – 28 July
Heide Museum of Modern Art
7 Templestowe Road,
Bulleen

Back to cushions

In the face of emotional stress, some people drink and dial; I drive and cry. When it comes down to it, my adrenal system has been totally overloaded of late. It hasn't taken much to send my fight-or-flight mechanism into action. I know some people complain of an 'inner critic', that is a feeling of being self-critical. When I lose my equilibrium I'm pretty democratic; I generally hate myself and everybody else in equal measure. Happily, I turned a corner over the weekend. I know I am back (to myself, the world at large) when my thoughts return to soft furnishings. You know that moment in a day when you are not preoccupied with anything urgent and your thoughts drift? Some think kama sutra. My mind wanders to rugs, cushions and blankets. Like this cushion by sweet polka Marion. How pretty is it?

When I stop to think about it, I don't really know what the soft furnishing obsession says about me other than I am a comfort hog.

Holding it flooded me with feel-good hormones.

Polka dot: Craft weekend

Year of the Rabbit

Jem's bunny reached him. Jem, Bunny, Bunny Jem. Far out they make a cute pair!

Stitch work

When Kyoto Clair had a baby recently I just knew I wanted to make something for him. Something Special. Faced with high pressure situations like this one I have to work hard at not freaking out. I willed myself in the direction of expansive rather than negative thoughts. It's not that I fixate on failure but I have high expectations, even when I'm doing something for the first time. I've only just realised that I'm easily bored so I usually only have a couple of goes at something before moving on to scaling a new mountain. For this special project embroidery was my Mount Fuji. My stitch work is on the wonky side in sections but I felt a great sense of pleasure watching Jem's bunny come to life from a rough grey lead sketch on the linen to his full colour self. He's on his way to Japan now where Jem may, or may not, pay him any attention. But for the few weeks I sat with the hoop in my hands stitching little by little, it was lovely to know an Ocean away Jem was opening his eyes to the world, being fussed over by his big sister, carried around proudly by his family. I could feel it.

Harvest Xmas Market

If you are freaking out about Christmas don't worry – the Harvest Market has your back. Seven short sleeps before Father Christmas comes calling you can pop over to Brunswick. There will be something for all god's creatures, big and small.

We are cracking out the sewing machine, warming the lino and getting sticky with inks in preparation. I'm planning to sit on a little stool with a bottle of champagne by my foot for company. There's a lot to celebrate. Not only the birth of Jesus Christ but also Harvest Textiles new digs. Put Saturday 18th December 512 Lygon St East Brunswick in your overloaded diaries. We would love to see you there.