bernabeifreeman, Leaf Pendant Light, 2003,
perforated anodised aluminium.
Photo: Penelope Clay, image courtesy of Object
Back in 2002, Object - The Australian Centre for Craft and Design was unexpectedly uprooted from its former home at Customs House in the Sydney tourist destination Circular Quay. What might have rattled the bones of a lesser organisation has been embraced as an opportunity for renewal by Object. Before long, the establishment of a new gallery in designy crafty hub Surry Hills was announced, followed by a significant governmental funding increase. 2004 also happens to be Object's fortieth year, and clearly it is shaping up to be quite a year indeed.
Sydney Style is Object's first exhibition back from the dead, and is sited at its 'satellite gallery': the Exhibition Hall at the Sydney Opera House. It is always an experience approaching the Opera House. However scrubbed-up East Circular Quay likes to think it is, its appeal is compromised by the rambling flocks of tourists, the odour of seagull dung, the forlorn buskers (as I passed, one juggler attempted to stir his sluggish audience "If any of you care, can you do me a big favour?. OK a small favour?"). But then, having passed through the calamitous prelude, the scene opens to reveal a sparkling harbour and the monumental glory of the Opera House itself. It makes me gasp every time. As one of the most distinctive Sydney icons, the Opera House is an appropriate choice of venue for an exhibition that seeks to unearth something of the essence of the city itself.
Sydney Style comprises of the work of twelve Sydney-based designers and craftspeople in various media, namely textiles, jewellery, fashion, ceramics, glass, furniture and lighting, a bit like a "best of" compilation from the scene. It is tempting to approach survey exhibitions as a kind of race, ranking winners and losers among the exhibitors. The diversity of media represented and the diversity of the works themselves make such a call difficult and probably irrelevant. Instead, in compiling the assembled work, we gain twelve perspectives on one thing that they do have in common: the city that made them. The Sydney they represent is playful, intellectually engaging, physically glorious, paved with gold. And creative. There may be more in the water than giardia and cryptosporidium.
As such, the real rewards of this exhibition lie in looking past the diversity to whatever it is that ties the works together, thus uncovering something of Sydney's signature style as suggested by the exhibition's title. Given the premise, given the works, do we have any answers? In ensemble, themes do emerge, works do call across the room to one another. The shades of translucency in a Liz Williamson woven scarf reflect the facets and crazy shadows of Stefan Lie's slatted screen. The perforated floral motifs of bernabeifreeman's light fittings answer the crystalline botanical imagery of Zoe Macdonell's printed silk. The colourful horror vacui of Elvis di Fazio's screen printed clothing finds similarly extroverted kindred in Yuri Kawanabe's wearable alumunium creations, which in turn cooee across the room to the sculptural, textured clothing of Alistair Trung.
Looking past the works to their makers, we find more still. By consulting the rather intimate list of personal statistics supplied in the exhibition catalogue, it becomes clear that there is a substantial representation of talent born overseas: from England, Vietnam, Japan and Switzerland. It is not unusual for creative immigrants to wax lyrical in regards to the liberation found in Australia that was lacking in their homelands. So there's cultural diversity represented here. There's youth too. More than half of the exhibitors are under thirty-five years old, and the youngest, Elvis di Fazio, is twenty. Clearly young designers and makers are heard, valued and provided opportunities to further their ambitions. There's entrepreneurship. Competitive and notoriously expensive, Sydney is tough on enterprising designers and craftspeople. Surviving requires determination, and those lacking professional polish just won't cut it. There's innovation too. We find interdisciplinary cross-pollination in Korban Flaubert's lighting sculptures and the wearable canvases of Elvis di Fazio. In addition, materials are used in interesting ways, notably in Sheridan Kennedy's feather and shell jewellery, and Alistair Trung's inventive layering of cloth, such as black organza barely concealing a jute sack-cloth underside.
It is interesting to reflect on Black Intentions, Susan Cohn's exhibition of 2003 at the National Gallery of Victoria, which, among other things, explored what might be called 'Melbourne Style'. It is difficult for a survey show such as Sydney Style to have the impact of one artist's cohesive body of work, so I don't mean to labour the comparison and undermine both exhibitions in the process. What we have, though, are similar subjects as explored from opposite ends: Black Intentions from the artist, Sydney Style from the curator; the artist formulating a vision, the curator representing a discipline. Unlike Black Intentions, Sydney Style is notable for its complete lack of cynicism. There is not a dark underside or black intention to be found. It doesn't leave you brooding over life or quaking with any shock of self-realisation. It doesn't aim to. Instead, it is easily digestible, celebratory (as befits a Sydney Festival event), and reaches the non-expert public.
The venue of the exhibition, the Sydney Opera House, reinforces this. It is not an obscure little gallery for elite arty types, it is very much a public building and there is much by way of passing trade through the Exhibition Hall. This was overwhelmingly confirmed by something rather unexpected which happened during my visit. I had initially thought there was a reasonable turn-out of bodies, maybe five or six in the smallish space, until a tidal wave of people gushed in, swamping the exhibition. Surprised, I retreated back into the foyer, swimming upstream against the flow. It dawned on me what had happened. The smell of coffee, the Complete Works of Shakespeare programs clutched in hands, the appearance of ushers: it was interval in a neighbouring theatre and a good portion of the audience had come to fill in time before the second act. Here was an appreciative yet non-expert crowd. Now armed with catalogues, merchandise and leaflets, they represent the "expanding audience" which the exhibition probably appeals to best. Object recently advertised that there had been 20,000 visitors to Sydney Style, and a portion of this staggering number is surely due to its role as half-time entertainment for theatre punters. If this is true, the numbers also reflect how incredibly astute the choice of venue is.
The choice of exhibitors is consistent with this more populist outlook. They do not represent the most obviously weighty, intimidating personalities in the scene, but the promising and the interesting; small enough to be honest and tangible, yet important and sharp enough to be credible. They become accessible as individuals through the inclusion of biographical information, portraits, interviews and video footage of them at work in their studios. This intimacy lends an additional facet to the exhibition experience, and the identities of the makers do infuse their works. As a consequence, in addition to this being an exhibition of works, it is also an exhibition of those who made and designed the works.
It may be more still. Given that any compilation is subject to hidden values and agendas, it might be reasonable to suggest that Sydney Style can be read as something of a manifesto for Object itself. The exhibition's tag "objects + design + ideas", identical to that of Object magazine, is one clue in support of this theory. I am curious to know how conscious this was; whether Sydney Style was formulated as a deliberate PR exercise or whether it is merely an innocent attempt to sample the scene, void of motives. Methinks probably a bit of both, that in its re-emergence from the underground, Object is taking the opportunity to strut its stuff and re-establish itself in the public consciousness. The formula is perfect: a broadly focused show, a non-gallery venue, colours, lights, whiz-bang special effects, the Sydney Festival to aid in publicity, financing and authority.
Rather distressing sacrifices become clear though. Most frustrating for me is the impossibility of finding a deeper relationship with works in a crowded room, cluttered with ideas, blinding in its diversity. Some works obviously suffer in this halogen-bright, lolly-painted space. Zoe Macdonell's graceful printed silk; Sheridan Kennedy's madcap zoomorphic jewellery; Ruth MacDermott's delicately simple ceramics; Liz Williamson's gentle, tactile weavings: all too subtle, small or simple to compete with the glitz exuded by other works. In addition, there is the matter of the rather designy bias at the detriment of craft. I'm left wondering where the crafties of New South Wales will go now that Object's agenda is clearly shifting. I hope they still have a home at Object and that there will be more intimate and academic exhibitions in the future to balance the popular.
Sydney Style makes clear that both Object and Sydney are happening. It has had a huge amount of press and punter attention, and was accompanied by a generously informative glossy catalogue. It brings together rich and exciting outlooks and output emerging from studios around the city. It juxtaposes works in meaningful ways. It introduces the people behind the works to an audience who is ready to meet them. But something irks me still. Sydney Style presents itself as a broad sampling or summary, but in reality it can only put forward a point of view. Before any work or maker, then, the exhibition as an entity in itself discloses a more telling profile of the Sydney design and craft scene.
