Upcoming exhibition: Drapes of Wrath

I have some new drawings (with a touch of paint) in this *one day only* group show taking place in a living room in Footscray...

hayward la gallery invites you to another exhibition on the subject of domesticity and the private life of the art work. The artists have been invited to contribute works that explore the 21st century rituals and pastime activities of the lounge room, living room or sitting room. Investigating the rooms' purpose and role, the works seek to highlight the shift in domestic rituals and interactions. 

What is the artwork that is displayed, if any, in the contemporary home? How is it valued and perceived? Is there a connection between private means and rituals and the choice of work? Is there a place for contemporary original art in the domestic environment? The exhibition Drapes of Wrath seeks to draw attention to the affordability of contemporary art and the perception of artworks in the home.

participating artists

erin crouch

mig dann

erin falconer

jacqueline harrison

ruby knight

tricia page

katrin repnau

jennifer rooke

rylie james thomas

date 27th february

28 leeds st

footscray

time opening 3pm

http://haywardgallery.portfoliobox.io/

Baths

I believe it is customary to get one's washing over first in baths and bask afterwards; personally, I bask first. I have discovered that the first few minutes are the best and not to be wasted - my brain always seethes with ideas and life suddenly looks much better than it did. Father says hot water can be as stimulating as an alcoholic drink and though I never come by one - unless the medicine-bottle of port that the Vicar gives me for my Midsummer rites counts - I can well believe it. So I bask first, wash second and then read as long as the hot water holds out. The last stage of a bath, when the water is cooling and there is nothing to look forward to, can be pretty disillusioning. I expect alcohol works much the same way.

                                                     - Dodie Smith, I Capture The Castle

Now is the Winter of our Disco Tent

We were all hanging out in my housemate's room—it was bigger than usual and the eastern side of the room looked out onto the wall of a courtyard. There was a door with an inset window of hard plastic rather than a pane of glass. I noticed that there were tiny plastic shards around the edges of the window. My housemate and I were talking and coming up with ideas of what she could put outside in the courtyard. We filled at least twelve pages of my notebook. I rested my head against the door and immediately felt a stab of pain as one of the shards entered my head. Another of my housemates tried to extract the shard—it was pretty deep—I thought about how it could have pierced through to my brain. I put some sort of bandaid over it and tried not to make a fuss.

I had to go out and meet an old friend (more of an acquaintance) for dinner. We ended up going to this fancy restaurant in a tall city building. I don't know if I made reference to the bandage on my head—I think I had forgotten about it for a while. We ordered two glasses of white wine and started working out what food we would order. We knew the restaurant was too expensive for us but we were already there and thought we would just go with it. The waiter took our order. We were sitting there talking when I felt a drip and remembered the wound on my head. I asked if it had started bleeding and my acquaintance nodded yes—I became a bit worried—I thought I should probably see someone. My acquaintance said that he would come with me. We tried to explain to the waiters that we would come back and that I just needed to get someone to bandage my bleeding head. I said that we would be about half an hour. The restaurant staff weren't impressed as there was a big queue of people wanting reservations. I noticed that my wound had dripped onto the carpet—the drops of blood became lost in the embroidered design.

I tried to find a health centre at the university but it was very difficult. It was late at night and the building was dark and cavernous. I didn't know where to go. I ended up taking the elevator—a big net that I fell into and which would then throw me around—it only seemed to go to the top floor. I felt sick and disorientated. I still couldn't find the health centre. I kept touching base with my acquaintance—I was certain that there should be a health centre open at this time but we could not find one as we continued walking through the large institution. I went back into the elevator and eventually found the health centre on a different floor. The nurse on duty tried to bandage up my head but it just kept bleeding. They then rubbed this cream over my head and I was somehow healed—there was no sign that there had been an open bleeding wound on my head. I still wondered if my brain had been damaged.

My acquaintance and I went back to the restaurant. It was much later than we had said because we had spent so long searching for the health centre. The restaurant staff were quite annoyed. My acquaintance ended up paying an excessive amount for our two drinks and some food that we had not eaten. I was so grateful that he had been there for me in such a time of need. I kept thanking him and saying how much I appreciated it. He produced a piece of blue play-doh from his pocket which he gave to me as he excused himself to go to the bathroom.

It was daylight and I went on to my friends' house. I was meant to be staying with them for a few days. When I got there they were both flapping around getting ready to go away. I was a bit confused and soon realised that I would be minding the house in their absence. I felt like mentioning my hole in the head but it obviously wasn't noticeable now that it had healed over. I began to forget about it amongst the action of the house. My friend sent me to the video store to borrow a particular film and he said to choose ten more. The store was empty. I selected videos quite quickly. When I came back he had a present wrapped in this heavily patterned paper; an infinite design of black and white lines, somehow illuminated. His partner asked if I wanted some porridge and I said no, I had brought my own. She wasn't listening as she asked me to move the clothes rack over to the staircase. I tried to pretend I knew what she was referring to and followed her gesture across the room. It was then that I noticed the staircase—otherworldly inscriptions crept up the bannister. I remembered that I must have come in through the upstairs window. I thought how I had probably been intruding by not entering through the front door. While I was upstairs I had tried to listen to the downstairs happenings through a muffled soundtrack.

My friend gestured me back to the present as he unwrapped a large and heavy ceramic teapot—it was this depressed and wonky shape—it looked like it had been hand-painted. I wasn't sure about it but I liked its individual character so I decided to like it. He told me that he had got it as a gift for someone. He said he had to do a lot of talking to get that teapot. I think he was going to arrange for me to give it to someone who would drop by their house later. I got out the videos and he quietly looked at them and then grabbed the film he wanted. I laid out my selection and thought how I would be judged on my taste, yet I had selected so quickly and confidently at the video store.

I thought about how I should really thank my acquaintance again for looking after me at the restaurant earlier. I wondered if I should iron my shirt. I made my way to the courtyard door and found myself back in my housemate's room.

Bloomin' flowers

Love-in-a-mist (in the shade)

Zinnia (in the sun)

Yesterday and today