'Double Click' has a double meaning.
It refers both to the workings of a computer mouse, and
to the operation of an old-fashioned candlestick telephone.
Many of the titles in the exhibition similarly make a
play on words. 'Talk Back Radio', for example, describes
both a facet of communication and the appearance of the
work. But it would be dangerous to dismiss this playfulness
as flippant: to give the works the same sort of fleeting
snort that is reserved for a pun. Rather, the use of layered
language to describe these objects facilitates a variety
of interpretations.
Any art practice is dependent upon communication devices such as books, phones and laptops. But when speaking of artworks that deal with the topic of new technologies, it is easy to conclude that the works actually engage new media. Not so in the case of this artist, who sculpts objects from porcelain, a material usually associated with domesticated subjects such as the still lifes by Gwynn Hansen Piggott. It is Julie Bartholomew’s intention to preserve the tradition of porcelain, and for it to maintain relevance within contemporary culture. In doing so, she presents an innovative appraisal of our engagement with mass communication and modern technology.
Through these objects, we are granted an historical overview of methods of communication. In a way, the exhibition functions as a premature time capsule, which has been slightly obscured by a human presence. Beginning with a delicately crafted quill, the artist refers to the moment when human memory was able to persist through means other than word of mouth. Following on from the feather are chalky white interpretations of more modern tools: the book, typewriter, gramophone, radio, telephone and laptop. The delicacy of these sculptures lies in stark contrast to the mass-produced objects they depict.
The initial appearance of the exhibition might belie an attachment to the Surrealist tradition. Amidst a background of black, the sterile sculptures bear a distant resemblance to the familiarity of everyday objects. Transposed with bodily features, the works appears to be haunted, or in some way genetically modified. In one piece, the numbers of an old bakelite telephone, (similar in style to Salvador Dali’s ‘Lobster Telephone’), bear indentations of the tiny curves of fingerprints. The receiver has the imprints of lips and ears, while the base reveals the handprint from where the telephone would be picked up. Nearby, a sleek-looking laptop is indented with the shape of the legs upon which it rested, while the cover is imprinted with the marks of a hand. In each instance, the artist maps out where an object is most likely to be handled, and enlivens our imagination to assess our physical interaction with such tools. The Surrealists had a predilection for nonsense, but it soon becomes clear that Bartholomew pursues an original and cohesive argument.
The artist describes her project as the suggestion ‘that the boundaries between humans and our objects of technology are permeable’. As an example, she cites the act of holding a telephone, and not really distinguishing the implement which connects with the other person. In a macabre gesture, a quill pierces a hand so that the point used for writing would be the fingernail—again an indication of the moment where personal expression becomes so intense that the object through which it is communicated is forgotten. It is an observation which suggests that our physical engagement with tools of communication may be more intimate than we suspect.
The imprints of flesh upon machinery may be metaphors for the ways in which we impose our personalities upon methods of communication. It is an idea also raised by Patricia Piccinini, whose ‘Car Nugget GL’s’ are a celebration of customised automobiles as urban self-portraits. A laptop might seem like a generic object, but after choosing a screen saver, font, and layout, it possesses a likeness which suits us. Even a telephone, with ‘Special Home Plus Saver’ deals and ‘Message Bank’ facilities bears our signature. This is most evident in mobile phones—objects with so many choices of visual and sonic accessories that they now haunt our cityscape like automated birds. The idea that the objects through which we communicate bear an emotional attachment for us is enunciated clearly by the physical imprints upon these sculptures.
But there is an echo of loneliness in these works. In one example, a translucent gramophone stands complete with painstakingly engraved edges on a plinth. A ghostly arm reaches across the machine to hold the needle. The allusion is to the solace and sadness which music brings. ‘Talk Back Radio’, a 1950’s valve radio, is embedded with four voluptuous sets of lips. It speaks immediately of the barrier between the chatter which emanates from the radio and our incapacity to respond. It is a reminder of the plight of those content to spend the whole day listening to the radio for company.
While the onslaught of new technology presents the immediate problems of mastery, this exhibition reminds us of some of the more regrettable aspects of progress. The infamous Tamagotchi toys marked the beginning of a time where objects had become companions. And today in Japan, an old people’s home provides robotic dogs for company. While phones, computers and radios are representative of humans in so far as they facilitate contact, they also accentuate the absence of actual company.
That there is a ghostly feeling to the exhibition is no surprise, given that the subject matter is that which enables us to communicate with those not present. The whiteness of porcelain endows the works with a frozen appearance, as if they are suspended in a world where new meanings are possible. Gently, they persuade us to think about the connections we make with technology. It may be, that in so far as technology is an extension of our abilities, this very ‘extension’ makes our understanding of the world utterly different.
