In an era characterized by notions of a shrinking world as communication seemingly lessens distance, two groups of jewellers, designers and artists involved themselves in a project which immersed them in the day to days of cultures not their own – throwing contemporary assumptions of commonality out the window. Eight Australian-based and nine British-based designer-makers travelled half-way around the world, to be hosted by workshops, either independent or institution based, for a six month period. They lived, worked and played in their new surroundings, then returned to their place of origin – richer, one hopes, for the experience. The resulting exhibition, currently showing at the Jam Factory in Adelaide , documents the project.

We give much less thought, these days, to the effect of distance when we travel. Travel to foreign places is a popular recreation for those fortunate enough to have the time and funds. A plethora of package options allows us to skim lightly across the surface of a variety of possible alternative cultural experiences. It is rare for any of us to have the opportunity to stay in one place long enough to get inside the skin, as it were, of a different place. We assume too, that those countries with which we share language will be as familiar to us on a daily basis as they appear to us in our living rooms via the television. The varied responses of the artists involved in The Hat Project to changed environments and cultural differences makes for fascinating and thought provoking viewing.

Those readers familiar with my articles for this journal will be familiar, too, with my frustration with the ‘no touch' ethos of our galleries. As a maker of objects myself it has long been my practice to incorporate ‘please touch' signage to my work when exhibiting – as do some sculptors I know. However it remains a less than common practice. Bearing that in mind, imagine my joy upon walking into the Jam Factory's main gallery to see the results of The Hat Project. Six large plywood benches, four of which hold the work and ephemera of the seventeen artists involved in the project, occupy the space. The first is the exhibition project desk – cluttered with information, images and bits and pieces about the concept and development of the project. The last is a work space, complete with a multitude of materials, for those inspired to play and create. In amongst the items on the project desk was this text on a slip of paper which perfectly encapsulates this exhibition.

The exhibition takes you behind the objects and invites you to explore the creative processes that contemporary jewelers engage in.

This was, absolutely, the sense that spending time in the gallery offered me – there are stools so one can sit at any of the desks and leaf through the artists' folios and photograph albums. Not only is the work available for perusal – there are also sketches, collections of found objects, scribbled notes and other parts of individual processes. It became a sometimes intimate journey within the project, rather than a glorious, distant end product of a grand idea.

The work produced by the artists was as diverse as the processes through which it emerged. One of the immediate questions raised for me prior to seeing the exhibition was whether there would be obvious differences between the two groups. In the case of the British artists, the Australian environment, flora and fauna seems to have had a profound impact – more so than in the reverse. Even so, responses were interestingly different.

Liz Rattigan's body of work centred around the diversity of earplugs – in all their shapes, sizes and colours. The ‘mind-map' included in the display at her bench shows quite clearly her journey to Australia and immediate response to the noise and bustle of Sydney which she experienced with some distress. She says in her notes in Hat Project literature that having sought to block out the noise with earplugs so she could sleep and relieve her anxiety, that she found herself distracted by the huge range of what was available and that they ‘diverted my attention from the noise in a way their original function had not intended'. The resulting quirky body of work she refers to as ‘displacement behaviour'. In a more straightforward manner, Ashi Marwaha's work in folded metal follows her photographic exploration of rock formations. The metal pieces, and their counterpart trials in paper, play with the results of erosion and natural striations of large rock formations.

Junko Mori, based in Canberra for the duration of the project, walked every day, collecting pockets full of plants, which she used to produce a huge collection of cast rings and body jewellery. She writes that she arrived finally at the keyword ‘parasite' - making the connection between the plant samples which landed on her desk after the walks, jewellery worn on the human body and her own presence in Canberra . The pieces are, themselves, not comfortable looking items, the various gum nuts and seeds being used ending up perched on, and protruding some distance out, of the ring or base piece. They are wearable, but absolutely no compromise has been made between the natural forms and the more usual tailoring of objects to physically fit hands and other body parts. This echoes, perhaps, the artist's evident discomfort in her dislocation from the familiar – her choice of the word ‘parasite' not conjuring up a particularly positive sense of placement.

One of the more luxuriantly sensual responses to the Australian environment was the work made by Vannetta Mala Seecharran. Based for the project at the Gray Street Workshop in Adelaide , this jeweller explored the area between fashion and jewellery, creating a series of sleeves which extend far beyond traditional garment lengths, in a direct response to the oceans around the South Australian coast. These luscious creations of foaming layers of silk and metal threads defy conventional notions of both garments and jewellery, being extravagantly theatrical interpretations of both.

Perhaps, for me, the most intriguing work of the British group was that of Mah Rana. The actual pieces displayed were a series of small metal medallions painted in a series of grey tones – between the two shades of battleship grey as designated by the British and Australian navies. In the literature, this is entitled Little Differences , highlighting the tangible disparities between things common to both cultures. This underscores the main part of the artist's work for the project which was to explore the issues around people's personal jewellery. Using a questionnaire as the basis for a series of interviews, Rana offers a collection of personal histories and stories of a broad range of individuals around the jewellery they habitually wear. As someone who rarely changes the jewellery I wear, I found this utterly compelling – finding myself, often, in subsequent weeks, examining again why it was that I must wear the items that have become very much a part of who I am. It wasn't a factor that I was wont to question until I saw what had been done around the issue by this artist. As another layer to the complex field of body adornment, it was a challenging and somewhat unexpected piece of work to find in the exhibition.

The Australian artists seemed have, overall, a slightly different approach. The response to surroundings once in England was certainly evident in much of the work, but appeared to run more in tandem with a certain amount of concepts taken with them from home. Vicki Mason's plastic flower forms are a case in point. She writes that she commonly uses plants in her work as metaphors for life, death and a sense of belonging. Looking at her series of cut and coiled plastic flowers in sequence, it is possible to see her gradual transition from Australian to British residency. The colours move from the evocatively bright tones of the Australian environment to the softer more muted English colours. Mason's use of plastic is interesting – it is a deliberate choice on the part of the artist to push the boundaries of what we perceive as ‘precious', but it also ties in with the work of many of the Australians in the project in the use of recycled materials. Mark Vaarwerk's funky pieces are, like Mason's work, combination of precious metals and throw away, everyday plastics – often shopping bags and elements from plastic bottles.

Like Maha Rana, Marion Hosking worked with concepts of values and sentimental attachments to objects, using a swan motif for much of the resultant pieces of her residency. The contrast between the black swans of Australia and the white swans of Europe – and the importing of both types of bird across the world was clearly a motivating factor in the choice of this particular bird, in additions to the various symbolic significances of swans and their aesthetically pleasing and instantly recognizable shape. The brooches were made deliberately large – mimicking the large logos which people happily wear on t-shirts while feeling more self conscious these days about the brooch as a commonly worn piece of jewellery. The use of birds and, in other work, plant forms she sees as useful metaphors for place – being easily used to depict both the familiar and the unfamiliar. In a more literal fashion, Christian Hall explores issues of the transitory and portability. Memories of childhood travel, complete with foldable tables, chairs and other camping equipment inform the quirky imagery used by Hall in a series of rings stamped out of flat sheets of metal then folded to form three dimensional forms. Small cars, caravans, trains and trucks become the focus of a collection of slightly chunky pieces, that are, nevertheless, very wearable.

It is impossible to do justice to the work of all seventeen artists involved in this project. The impact of their experiences will, I imagine, be with them all for some considerable time. As Jeremy Theophilus stated in his catalogue essay, it is to be hoped that, as the concept of the project develops beyond the initial period of funding, that there will be revisiting of earlier projects and a continuation to new ones. To visit this exhibition is to avail oneself of a richly intimate experience. This privileged glimpse into the lives and work of these artists during the six month period of their residencies is extraordinary – and ordinary too, since it is just that – their working lives, albeit in a context that would be inaccessible to most people outside the industry.

Karen Finch is an Adelaide-based artist and writer currently completing a Masters Degree in Art History and Curating at Adelaide University

 

Last modified 11-May-2005

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