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Temperature: Contemporary Queensland Sculpture
(Museum of Brisbane 27 February - 23 May 2004)
Temperature not only serves as a barometer of the contemporary sculptural climate in Queensland, it is also exemplary of the broadening horizons of what sculpture currently can be. The show includes an array of sculptural practices: from wall-hangings to video works; dioramas to digital media; 'paintings' to installation; the show presents a challenge to what is traditionally considered 'sculpture' as well as to the materials with which it is usually constructed. Beyond this, Temperature is a show with a strong oppositional rhetoric in operation. This opposition assumes many forms, as does the work in the show, and can be located both within singular pieces and between pieces in a dialectical relationship. Nevertheless, this opposition cannot simply be reduced to antagonism.
Let us begin with a comment from the show's curator, Frank McBride: "despite all the changes in the nature of sculptural practice, the elemental authority and aura of objects remains". A harmless enough statement, but one that relies on the basic assumption that elemental authority and aura are inextricably linked, and furthermore, that these characteristics are automatically attached to sculptural objects. Some works in the show do have a traditional air of authority about them, like Mike Taylor's Trust (2003) - although this authority is not simply to be inferred from monumentality (nor is it to be mistaken for the inherent 'authority' of his material) - while others do not. Authority is not exactly the right word for Scott Redford's My Beautiful Blue Polar Bear (2004), although there is a certain aura to the work that others do not share. Yenda Carson's Blue Moon (2004) is not one of them however, satisfying both of McBride's sculptural attributes in a structurally authoritative form that literally radiates an aura. This is of course to take aura literally, yet one cannot but acknowledge the inherent aura of the work; even if its electrical source were removed, its internal luminescence would remain.
Christine Turner's Rogue Choir (2004) serves a dual purpose in this argument, as Simon Wright notes in his description of the work: "[p]aradoxically, there are so many figures, it is as if the human shape functions as an effective void - another unity - denying physical links to monumentality and particular expressions of identity". Identity here can be seen to coincide with notions of a corporeal aura which we all share, but that Turner denies her "playfully iconoclastic" choir. This comment also highlights the initial dimension of my argument, in that she (re)constructs a sacred scenario with secular objects, uses repetition of the human form to deny individuality (or 'particular expressions of identity') and substitutes wafers and angels with Arnott's biscuits and china dolls in a reversal of convention and expectation. This same reversal is evident in the form/content and priceless/worthless conflict inherent in the multi-faceted brilliance of Bruce Reynolds' lino constructions.
Another contradiction appears in Alasdair Macintyre's work that centres on notions of freedom and confinement, where he is free to position himself alongside the legends of art history in any number of fantastical circumstances, yet these figures of inspiration are often interfering with Macintyre's objective or attacking him directly-acting as obstacles that must be overcome for the artist to assume his place amongst them. Despite this, all the figures in these constructed landscapes are trapped within the restrictive arena of the perspex box enclosing them, metaphor for their subservience to this harsh master we call art-a situation reflected in the containment of all the works within the white cube of the gallery space, along with us. Likewise, Scott Redford's Polar Bears are free to roam wherever they please, as long as it is within the confines of the not-so-vast white plane on which they find themselves stranded. Another opposition appears beyond the physical objects here, in comments made by Scott Redford about the new direction of his art practice - essentially a prop-shop for his filmic project-and questions as to whether he should continue to make art at all. The Duchampian element of this statement raises the question of whether artistic intention should affect experience or 'value' - do we see the work differently, as not-really-art? - and the importance of the artist's creative input in the work (copied from a ceramic sculpture in a second-hand shop).
Further 'oppositions' in the show appear in the interaction between certain works. Take the dialectical relationship of Sebastian di Mauro's blast.gwb.jh (2003) to Mike Taylor's Trust (2003), both large-scale organic forms. On the surface di Mauro's work, having the appearance of topiary is, upon closer inspection, constructed from Astroturf; while Taylor's surface is an assembly of toy guns, though not simply attached, but traditionally cast. The two pieces interact in a multitude of ways, not least in their shared interest in violence and aggression, although each piece embodies this interest in a different way. Nevertheless, both of these works establish a conflict between appearance and actuality, masquerading as something they are not. This contradiction can also be seen in the dimensional perception of Nicole Voevodin-Cash's Couch (2003), from a distance seeming like an inviting resting place, when in fact it is nothing more than a two-dimensional outline made from cold, uninviting aluminium. As Julie Walsh notes, "Voevodin-Cash has subverted the very purpose of gallery furniture-to provide a place from which to view art-instead situating her Couch as the art to be viewed". This reversal can also be seen behind the work, in the shadow cast from the object, making the immaterial materialise while denying the physical object substance.
Contradictions can also be seen in Kevin Todd's (Re)creating Nature Form #1 (2004), within the title and the work, where questions of authenticity and naturalness collide with artificiality and computer-generation. Barbie Greenshields' Slough (2003) conflates the simultaneously comforting and confining quality of childhood blankets, while Les Dorahy's Affection for the Wind no.3 (2004) presents solid architectural forms in the fragile medium of light-projection. Another work that takes up this subversive materiality is Brad Nunn's Circuit (2003), whereby (laser-cut) timber "belies its origin, in a somewhat bizarre coupling between a computer circuit board and a human neural network". While the coupling may not really be that bizarre, there is a subtle consideration in the work between the natural and the mechanical (evident in the process of construction), and of material and subject-matter. Meanwhile, Daniel Templeman's Witness Box (2004) exhibits a Caro-esque 'weightlessness': are the square plates of the piece passing their weight downwards onto "the next in a spiralling motion of potentially brittle contact points" to the last "that holds the entire weight and force of the sculpture", as Grant Stephens suggests, or is it only the weight of the bottom panel and the "potentially brittle contact points" that keep the upper panels from floating into space?
Franz Ehmann further denies the possibility of a potential voyage by running aground the vessel in Failure wishlist (2004), essentially stranding it (and us) in the desolate gallery landscape. Likewise, Kim Demuth's Push Pull (2004) presents us with something like a portable dimensional gateway but one that we nevertheless cannot enter. Simultaneously provoking agorophobic/claustrophobic responses, the double-sided mirrors optically dematerialise the viewer in the very act of viewing the work. Throughout Temperature, the works exhibit an intricate series of contradictions and denials, revelling in the atmosphere their oppositional rhetoric creates, infusing the show with a dialectical sense of Gestalt, and thereby reinforcing the authority and aura of art itself.
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