Gloves Off : an exhibition of contemporary Tasmanian landscape

Join us at Visual Bulk for the inaugural Gloves Off exhibition!
Co-curated by Priscilla Beck and Scot Cotterell.

Participating artists:

Lee Anantawat
James Baker
Priscilla Beck
Theia Connell
Scot Cotterell
Yasmin Holm
Eloise Kirk
Pisitakun Kuantalaeng
Lucy Parakhina
Nad├Ęge Philippe-Janon
Grace Herbert

Opening Saturday the 17th March 6pm onwards
And open again Sunday the 18th March 12pm - 5pm

Gloves Off emerges as a counterpoint to conservative traditions of landscape painting. There are limitations in too narrowly defining what this means, where we find we miss out on experiencing some moving, humourous and challenging experiences of art works and contemporary thinking.

This show is about what we understand our landscape to be. We experience this landscape in memory, and in the ghosts of memory. In humour, in trauma and in forgetting. In footprints and cities. In childhood and in war. In sunburn and in the pile of dirty clothes in the corner of our bedroom. In the way we know when the wind blows north, not because of our sense of direction, but because it feels like ice.

Here, artists contemplate aspects of the Tasmanian landscape, and the philosophical associations these provoke; ideas about time passing, about ownership and belonging, the presence of something or the absence of something, of people being there, or of no-one being there. As each person brings their own histories to the space, their interpretation of the works are limited only by themselves. We are positioned in the middle of the dialogue, put in the position of noticing, or not noticing the associations each work has to every other as well as to the landscape we inhabit.

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We stand on the edge of the pontoon, and look out across the water. The sky is grey, and the water responds with a deep, non-reflective purple. The horizon line is broken by rolling green hills rising like islands in the distance, enclosing our view of the water in a kind of cul-de-sac. A breeze whips our hair, and we are no longer spectators. We embody and are part of the landscape. It is also written on us. The sun draws slow lines across our face. The wind grazes our lips and the cold coaxes the hairs on our arms and the back of our necks to stand up. It is only just Autumn, but it was foolish not to bring a coat. As the sun sets, the air is filled with the smell of wood fires, competing with the salty fresh smell of the sea, they meet at a point and the sky grows hazy. We remember someone telling us once that this time of day is known as the hour between the dogs and the wolves. The defining feature of this time of day is its stillness, and yet it passes so quickly we can see the sun sinking behind the island-like hills on the horizon line. Perhaps the stillness comes after this. There are no wolves on this island, but there are several people walking dogs silhouetted against the shoreline. Looking back from the water over the land, there are so many hills that the landscape is only revealed to us in sections. Like the multi-coloured index cards on the top of manilla folders crammed tight into the drawer of a filing cabinet. The office is in there somewhere too. If we walk to the top of the first hill, we would be able to see the mountain that this city nestles around. We throw a can into the gutter, which rolls into the sea.

Image credit: Scot Cotterell