Thank you Linda.
And thank you to the members of Networks Australia for asking me to speak at the opening of this wonderful and thought provoking exhibition: Tree Conversations.
I first saw – and was impressed by - work by Networks members at Strathnairn Gallery in Canberra. A little sleuthing during the week indicated that must have been in 2011 or 2013. When I compare my memories of that exhibition with what we see here, I am struck by how the work has grown in scale and ambition. That is mainly due to the ongoing commitment of the artists to their practice. But it also owes something to the opportunity afforded to the group by the Wagga Wagga Art Gallery. This space, and the trust placed in the group by the gallery, provides positive encouragement for artists to push their work to a new level. We are very lucky to have a gallery that provides opportunities to local and regional artists and brings great exhibitions to Wagga audiences.
I want to start by saying something about textiles because, although the group works across many mediums, many Networks members have a textile background and a textile sensibility is evident in much of the work we see here. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard people say textiles aren’t accepted by ‘the galleries’. I know from my academic research that’s not true. As I said on another recent occasion, the Macquarie Gallery in Sydney exhibited embroideries in the late 1940s. I could give you lots of other historical examples, but if you need visible proof that textiles are accepted in art institutions, all you have to do is look around you. Alongside drawings, prints and sculpture, there are pieces that are obviously and unapologetically made with textile materials and process. I’m not going to say that materials and process are insignificant (and I’ll return to that in a moment). But what matters most is that the work is engaged with ideas; that it has something to communicate to the viewer; and that it is a match for the artworld context to which it aspires.
I’m going to take a risk here by singling out some works to elaborate on this point.
Consider Bark Skin, Monique van Nieuwland’s black and white images on the back wall. From a distance they could be mistaken for prints, but close inspection reveals them to be woven. We can think about these works in relation to the long tradition of Jacquard weaving or to the history of engravings for scientific illustration. Or we can consider the fineness of the materials and the time and care taken to execute the work and how those things reinforce the ideas Monique wants to communicate about the relationship between humans and trees. (It doesn’t hurt that they are very beautiful as well.)
Now turn to Beverly Moxon’s large scale wall pieces. There’s no ambiguity here. These are very obviously made from cloth, in a technique that is sometimes used to create useful objects. But here the process is used to make large scale relief sculptures which also speak to a long-established art genre. The use of layers of cloth that flakes and frays is integral to the meaning of this work which asks us to think about the lives of trees and what they endure (including the things we humans do to them). I am sure you would agree that marble or bronze simply wouldn’t convey the idea in the same way.
Next, let’s reflect on Belinda Jessup’s stitched conversations. A small disclaimer is necessary here. Belinda is a longstanding friend – the first person I met when I moved to Wagga nearly 30 years ago – and I wrote one of the texts she stitched. But that’s not why I want to talk about her work. Belinda’s work engages with contemporary discourse among artists about environmental issues. It also speaks to current practices of using text as a primarily means of communication within an artwork. But whereas some text-based work is strident, Belinda’s is subtle. The fragility of the stitched text; the delicacy of the shadows and the time required to decipher the words requires the viewer to slow down and really look. And the time taken to read the work is time for our subconscious selves to reflect on its meaning. The subtlety draws us in rather than pushing us away, so the ‘sting’ when we understand the words is all the more effective.
In one respect, what they are made from is beside the point. These pieces, and the rest of the work in the exhibition, are here because they engage with ideas, have something to say and are aware of the long history of art and the contemporary artworld. That is, they are aware of the context in which they are situated. However, as I said earlier, the materials and processes are not irrelevant. Consider them as you view the exhibition: the strength of wire; the delicacy of stitched thread, the tension of creating something exquisitely beautiful from industrial rubbish. Notice how the artists have used materials and processes to reinforce the meaning of their work.
Which brings me to my next point (I promise, I will be brief). Tree Conversations is part of a wider dialogue within the artworld about environmental concerns and what we humans might do in response. This topic was relevant when the exhibition was first conceived, and feels even more so after the summer we’ve had. There’s no denying that the planet is in trouble.
Over the last few years I’ve been thinking about the role art and art practice might play in leading us to a gentler, more thoughtful and ultimately more sustainable way of living. It seems like a big ask. But this week I was reading Mark Tredinnick’s The Land’s Wild Music, in which he writes:
Landscape makes no judgement: it simply receives what comes, accepts it and goes on. So if we learn to imagine like a meadow or a plateau [or indeed, a tree] we can learn to love … those who pass like locusts through it or set in like a drought, just as we can love and render those who live like a blessing on the land.’ (2005: 202)
He wasn’t explicitly talking about environmental issues. That passage is more, I think, about the human condition (and writing of course). But I take from it the importance of paying attention, of understanding and compassion, for one another as well as the places in which we live. And that doing this might lead us to a different way of being in the world.
And I do believe art practice and artworks can help us in this endeavour, whether we are makers of art or viewers of art. The works in this exhibition are what the scholars Jaaniste and Hamilton (2014: 234) refer to as evocative art objects. They are resonant objects which call for a response from the viewer. And they do that because those who made them were engaged in what I refer to as evocative art practice: slowing down, paying attention, deep thought and careful making.
All artwork is a conversation: between artist and work; between artwork and viewer. The work in this exhibition asks you to take that notion even further. What are the trees saying to us? What can we say to the trees? When you view the exhibition consider these things. And then ask yourself: how shall I respond?
Thank you to the artists for creating this lovely and thought provoking exhibition. I’m delighted to open it and to encourage you all to view slowly and engage in this conversation with trees.
Sue Wood, February 2020 ©
References
‘The Effective and the Evocative: A Spectrum of Creative Practice Research’, Hamilton, J and Jaaniste, L in Material Inventions: Applying Creative Arts Research, Barrett, E and Bolt, B. I B Tauris: London, 2014.
Tredinnick, Mark. The Land’s Wild Music, San Antonio: Trinity University Press:, 2005
