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The Mill

Foreword by Jeff Khan

Jane Howard

Brodie Paparella

Images

Thank You

Website + Map

Capital Waste Pictures

Aurelia Carbone

Delana Carbone

Lilian Choo

Callan Fleming

Lucas Croall

Andrew Dearman

Peter Fong

Fruszi Kenez

Jens Van Horne

Joel Van Moore

Lukus Robbins

Ben Roberts

Kaspar Schmit-Mumm

Gary Seaman

Joshua Searson & Mei Wong

Jono Simmons

Joesephine Ware

The Mill is a creative hub for Adelaide’s local Artists from all disciplines. The Mill provides artist spaces and a curated pro-gram that is focused on the creation and continuous evolution of Adelaide based arts and artistic culture.

The Mill also aims to connect with both interstate and interna-tional markets by bringing established artists to Adelaide, as well as seeking opportunities for artistic exchange both interstate and around the world. The Mill’s Resident Artists and wider community are often engaged interstate and overseas, these con-nections enrich The Mill’s community in Adelaide.

The Mill’s physical space at 154 Angas Street, Adelaide is a hub of artistic activity and a meeting place for dialogue and exchange. It houses more than 40 resident artists, from disciplines including, but not limited to, visual arts, design, literature, architecture, film, photography, jewellery, fashion, dance and theatre.

The Mill offers artists’ studio spaces, creative industry offices, gallery and rehearsal space and facilitates an incubation envi-ronment providing development opportunities. The Mill is a central space for artists to connect and collaborate with other artists and wider industries. The Mill’s annual program consists of two curated exhibitions and hosts rotating monthly exhibitions, runs a residency pro-gram catering to both the visual arts and performing arts, and, presents workshops and events that serve the artistic communi-ties and general public of Adelaide, and South Australia.

THE MILL’S ‘ARTIST REGISTER’ IS AN INDEX OF ALL ARTISTS INVOLVED IN THE MILL PROGRAMS AND THE SPACE, AS WELL LISTING ARTISTS AND ARTS ORGANISATIONS FROM THE WIDER ADELAIDE ARTS COM-MUNITY. THE REGISTER ASSISTS THE COMMUNITY TO CONNECT WITH ARTISTS FROM ALL CREATIVE INDUSTRIES – ALLOWING FOR GREATER NETWORKING, SHARING OF RESOURCES, ACCESS TO SKILLS AND OP-PORTUNITIES FOR WORK.

ARTISTS, ARTS ORGANISATIONS, ARTS SUPPORTERS AND OTHER INDUS-TRY CAN REGISTER FOR AN ANNUAL FEE TO RECEIVE NEWSLETTERS AND UPDATES ON THE SPACE. TO JOIN THE ARTIST REGISTER PLEASE GO TO:

www.themilladelaide.com

Artist Register

Over the course of this year, I have had the pleasure of working with Amber Cronin and Erin Fowler as they develop their artistic vision and refine the programming voice of The Mill. Pantheon is the first curatorial statement from Cronin and Fowler that declares their intention for this thriving complex of galleries, studios and perfor-mance spaces: to provide a meeting point for diverse artforms and disciplines; to establish a local, national and international context for the work of South Australian artists; and to nourish a community of like-minded individuals who share a sense of curiosity and an invest-ment in Adelaide’s creative life.

The fact that Pantheon focuses on mythologies and their contem-porary resonance – from the personal to the universal – reflects the curators’ desire to delve beneath the surface of the local art scene and search for a way of understanding what it means to be an artist in a broader cultural landscape. The format of Pantheon, combining a curated visual arts exhibition with a series of immersive perfor-mance events and newly-commissioned writings that span fiction and non-fiction, opens up multiple access points for audience members to experience the project. And this focus on the experiential – on a holistic and encompassing engagement with contemporary art that is at once critical, accessible, and social – is a hallmark of The Mill. This is a space where art and life meet, and where the artistic life of this city is enabled to dream, morph and grow.

When disparate artforms collide there is always a level of friction, a sense of unpredictability and uncertainty. Cronin, a visual artist, and Fowler, a dancer/choreographer, harness this productive tension in their collaboration. The duo are constantly in dialogue: comparing notes, educating and questioning each other, expanding their field of enquiry to include ever more diverse viewpoints and knowledge. The Mill is all the richer for this dialogue: it is a space that doesn’t privi-lege a single artform, but instead actively seeks new ways to nurture artists from across the disciplinary spectrum and to find the points of crossover and collaboration that enrich these artists’ creative lives.

Pantheon is a testament to this spirited and polyphonic conversation, and marks the beginning of a newly energised artistic program at The Mill. It is a multi-headed beast that invites its audience to leap in and consider their own place in its landscape of myth and story. It has been exciting to watch the project unfold and develop, and to play a small role in its trajectory as the curators hone their vision for both the project and for The Mill, into the future. I extend my warmest congratulations to Amber and Erin, and look forward to the future programs they dream up together.

JEFF KHANArtistic Director, Performance Space, Sydney

FOREWORD

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Pantheon has challenged twen-ty-one Adelaide artists to find their own personal mythology and reflect on the universal relationship between place and story. Be prepared to enter a dream space where, regardless of religious persuasion, you will experience the eternal, the per-sonal, the real and the imagined.

THE MILL ADELAIDEAMBER CRONIN | ERIN FOWLER2014

BEFORE PHILOSOPHY BECAME A SEPARATE DISCIPLINE, THE POETIC IMAGES OF MYTHS AND GODS WERE THE CENTRAL WAY IN WHICH PEOPLE ADDRESSED THE IMMEDIATE QUESTIONS OF LIFE AND DEATH. THEY QUESTIONED AND STUDIED NATURE, THE STARS AND UNIVERSE, THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN HUMAN BEINGS AND THE SUPERNATURAL, AS WELL AS THE REA-SONS FOR CERTAIN CUSTOMS OR WAYS OF BEHAVIOUR. MYTHS MADE VISIBLE TO INDIVIDUALS THEIR DEEPEST LONGINGS AND IMAGININGS AND, SO, OFFERED A WAY IN WHICH SOCIETY COULD UNDERSTAND IT’S OWN BEING.

THE NATURE OF THE GODS AND MYTHS OF ANY CUL-TURE ARE TO SOME EXTENT CONDITIONED BY THE NATURE OF THE LAND IN WHICH THE STORIES OF THE FIRST TELLERS OF THEIR STORIES LIVED. UNIVERSALLY, THESE CREATIONS AND STORIES MAY HAVE TAKEN THE FORM OF A LIVING PRESENCE –SUCH AS A GODDESS OR A GOD, OR AN ANIMAL OR BIRD - OR PERHAPS THE MOON, SUN OR LANDSCAPES OF EARTH. EITHER WAY, THESE STORIES AND CREATIONS WERE, AND ARE, AN ATTEMPT TO REACH FOR AN IDEA THAT WOULD RE-VEAL PATTERNS AND STRUCTURES IN ORDER TO MAKE SENSE OF THE WORLD.

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Art galleries and theatres are often spoken about for the aspects they share with religious buildings. Art and religion have always been intertwined: from commissions to write symphonies or to paint cathedrals, to the attempt to ban theatre and other dissenting voices that art can hold.

Today, they are each places we visit and gather in to consider the world and our place in it. In galleries and in churches, we ask the big questions about who we are, where we come from, and where we’re going. They’re places that can disturb, and can comfort. Places that can force us to ask questions, or force our hand into being placated and ask none.

They are places you can visit alone, to relax in the stillness. You walk through with reverence, in qui-et, perhaps a brief smile and a nod to your fellow visitors. Or perhaps there are no fellow visitors, and you are alone in an empty space: just you and the stories it holds, the ancient tales or the modern creations. Amongst iconography and paintings and sculptures, you walk, your shoes clacking along the ground as the sound echoes between gallery walls or church gables. You might sit, just to look and contemplate your place.At events - the Catholic mass, the art world’s opening nights – these halls become filled with people, bodies touch and mingle, friends great friends, we join to consider whatever it is that is placed before us. We contemplate ideas, we reflect on shared histories, we question new futures. There is often a spot of wine in this collective, ritualistic considering of life and the universe: its answers and its unknowns. Or perhaps we’re told not to question by our Priest or our Rabbi or our artist, perhaps we’re told to just consider everything as it is presented to be true and correct.

Is religion and art for our comfort, or our discomfort? At the end of the day, is there a heaven to strive towards? Or just a hell to avoid? For those who come to Pantheon, many will be religious. Some will pray every day; go to worship every week; consider their god or gods always. Some will see their god as part of their life, but not always present. Not always thought about. Not visited in a church or a synagogue or a mosque every week. In an increasingly secular Australia, many won’t be religious. They may have been brought up in a family that always eschewed religion, or it may have been something they came to on their own. They may tick atheist at the census, or no religion, or leave it blank. People in both of these groups may come to art galleries much more often than they go to a church.

Does this mean the art gallery is their church?

For Pantheon, Amber Cronin and Erin Fowler asked local artists to consider what their personal mythology is. If we were to start again, today, and consider the world, how would we make sense of it all? A benevolent force, or a destructive one? Or do our new gods sit above the fray: there, but inert in the way the world turns. Their curation mixes together visual art and performance, and it’s interesting as you move through the exhibition to see the way the ideas shift from the front gallery into the performance space. At the front, many of the ideas the artists seem to be playing with stem from the ancient: in a small Secret Valley, Peter Fong has placed a carved totem. Fruzsi Kenez’s illustrations may be modern, but it’s impossible not to note the ancient Egyptians also had a partiality for cats. Strands of these ancient Egyptians, or perhaps the Greeks, come through in Aurelia Carbone’s sculptures: part human, part animal. In many of the works in this gallery there is an inherent comfort. If they were to start again, today, their god would provide tranquillity in the familiar. The mood shifts as you leave the front gallery. Lighting dimmed, the path ahead unclear, our vision restricted with masks: there is a deliberate unease about this space.

We encounter Delana Carbone’s the Gods have been lost, and question: is there a god that we’ve stopped listening to? Can we feel this god, can we see it? How is it, she asks us, that we can com-municate between ourselves without words? Our society and the way we function in it is shaped by words. Audible and visible language is the way we know what we know, the way we think what we

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think. But then how can it be true that we can commu-nicate through eye contact and a simultaneous breath? It must be through a god, surely.

This god, therefore, is true. But what if, she asks us, she was to now tell us this god was a lie. What would that mean then? Is today’s god just one of uncertainty?

Further into The Mill, we’re plunged into black, all light removed in the passage to the darkroom. At Lukus Robbins’ Clear Sight from written instructions we offer up a portrait of ourselves and a confession of something we’ve had stolen form us. With no knowledge of where these photo-graphs will end up, it’s an anxious transaction: a sacrifice to an unknown god, for an unknown purpose. As Robbins begins to speak, his voice drips with anger around the word “Murdoch.”

We’ve passed our lives into Murdoch’s hands.

It’s back to the world of the wordless with three dance pieces by Callan Fleming. Margot John performs FURY, as we’re locked off in our own worlds by headphones pumping music only to us, as we consider John’s form against the white background, playing in her own space, alone but for her shadows. Is today’s god only accessed when we’re alone? Outside, Alicia Harvie and Kendal Winton move through an industrialised space: a cold and discomforting world. Inside, at the bar, you might be approached by a Fleming in a dust mask, handing one to you, too, for the intimate encounter of Atlas Dreaming, perhaps of the same post-apocalyptic world as outside. How much hope can today’s god bring?

As we leave, some will be picked up in a car for one final performance in Josephine Were’s Shotgun. One perform-er and one audience member, Were invites you into a conversation. An introspection. A dance. Were points out to us the world we’re all familiar with today. It’s the world we know where phones echo with the ghosts of vibrations in our pockets, making us reach to see the text message that hasn’t arrived. It’s the world we know of the softly fading and rising glow of the cyclops eye on our computers, always on standby, never truly off. It’s our ipads, our televisions, our radios. It’s technology. Ever humming. Ever there.

There are elements in this that could build off the stories of darkness we have just walked through. Are we too reliant on these things? Should we live without them?

But that’s not where Were takes us. Instead, this technol-ogy is comforting. This is distinct from the apocalyptic presence of Robbins’ Murdoch, from Fleming’s dance of claustrophobia and masks. This isn’t the ancient presence invoked by Aurelia Carbone’s human/animal hybrids, or Fong’s totem.

No. This god is fully a god of comfort, and a god of today, sitting with us in our pocket as we leave the car park, and as we walk off into the night.

JANE HOWARDCulture Critic, SA 7

WORKInvoking the unholy towards melancholic light

STATEMENT“Invoking the unholy towards melancholic light“ explores the concept of how one’s interpretation of personal divinity is sourced from the phenomena of the physical world. This is not limited to humans themselves or human creations and physical manifestations. The digi-tal realm has permeated the collective consciousness and activated the exigency for relatable theology. Vogue dogma. It is the amalgamation of the esoteric components of the natural world and contemporary culture will incite the genesis of the *NU GODS/NU RELIGION*

FLEXING WITH THE BEASTS OF HEDONISM & SUCKLING FROM THE CRYSTAL TEAT. REAP BEN-EFIT OF SYRUP, GOLDEN MILK, UNPASTEURISED, LADEN WITH PSYCHOSIS TREMOR. COLD SWEATS, INTERMITTENT CON-SCIOUSNESS, LAPSE OF APERTURE. KISS MARBLE GREEN FLOOR TO VIEW DANCING STRANDS OF ALABASTER, SLURRED CO-LOUR, MOTTLED OPTICS. NO SEX, NO LOVE, NO GAIN, NO SUCCESS. YOUR PROPERTY, I AM.

Capital WastePictures

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STATEMENTContinuing her fascination with enchantment, fairy tales and alchem-ical processes Aurelia has re-imagined eminent scholars as heroes in folk tales and adventure stories that are lost or yet to be written.

Bruno Bettelheimb. Vienna, Austria 1903Bruno was a pioneer in the field of child psychology - his most ac-claimed work ‘The Uses of Enchantment’ (1976) details the impor-tance of folk and fairy tales for the emotional growth of children. He argued that darkest and most sinister tales allow children to work through their fears in an abstract, symbolic way. Bruno was widely celebrated as a gentle and inspired teacher and practitioner, assisting many disturbed children throughout his career, but shortly following his tragic suicide claims were made that he was abusive and tyranni-cal. A multi-faceted gentleman with an eventful history, in this rep-resentation I have focused on Bruno’s affection for the unknown and sinister - recognising that dark places hold answers and assurances for our deepest troubles. Think carefully before you let this wild but gentle beast out of his enclosure ~ he will only bite a little bit.

AureliaCarbone

AURELIA CARBONE IS AN AUSTRALIAN VISUAL ART-IST WORKING PREDOMI-NANTLY WITH SITE-SPE-CIFIC INSTALLATION AND TRADITIONAL PHOTO-GRAPHIC PROCESSES - BUT SHE HAS AN EVEN LONGER SECRET HISTORY OF MAKING STEMMING FROM THE REMNANTS BOX AT GRANDMA’S HOUSE. HER PRACTICE INVESTIGATES THE NEB-ULOUS RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THE REAL AND THE IMAGINED.

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Marina Warnerb. London, England 1946Mythographer, critic and writer of fiction, Marina’s books ‘From the Beast to the Blonde’ and ‘No Go The Bogeyman’ investigates various figures from myth and fairy-tales to uncover their hidden psycholog-ical and historical roots. “Stories come from the past but speak to the present” . A weaver of tales herself, Marina writes novels and short stories to “explore the way imagination leads understanding, how fan-tasy shapes goals and values for individuals as well as societies”. With an affinity for the sinister and the sexual, this fantastical re-imagining of a gifted researcher and writer concentrates on the idea that a pretty exterior may hide unspeakable and ancient horrors. Sometimes it’s best not to look.

Berkely Peabodyb. Rhode Island, USA 1929May I please introduce to you Harlan Berkely Peabody, Jr, PhD - scholar, linguist and turtle. The study of the techniques of the oral tradition - with particular emphasis on epic ballads. Berkely made sig-nificant contributions to our understanding of how writing changed the way our minds work. While the real life Dr. Peabody had a great talent and affinity for the church organ, in my reinvention of this splendid individual he favours the lute for its portability.

Françoise Doltob. Paris, France 1908Given that all grown ups were once children, it’s a little frightening how little they seem to remember about the experience. And babies!? What a mystery. Françoise was one of the first people to be able to convince adults that babies and children are trying to communicate even before they have verbal language. She was also able to demon-strate how to understand what it is that small humans are trying to say. This has been an enormous relief to everyone involved. Françoise was involved in many fierce and furious political battles with French and International Psychoanalytic Associations regarding their rigid and authoritarian training models. By the 1970’s she came to be recognised as France’s most beloved psychoanalyst. Her weekly radio program in which she answered letters that had been written to her had a large and faithful following, and she is still revered for her groundbreaking work and unswerving commitment to helping people.A courageous warrior dedicated to the treatment of children as rational beings and to bridging the gap between parents and their children - especially during familial conflict. She established for the French that what is in a child’s best interests is not always what will make them happy, but rational understanding. “Children always understand” 11

WORKAeå

STATEMENTAeå translates to:

The sound between heartbeats. The sound of a skipped heartbeat. The sound after a last breath.Aea is just an approximation of a name that has been lost or more cor-rectly a name that never was as her name is all sounds and the silence in between. Beyond definition, unpronounceable.

Anthropologists have long argued the origins of this Goddess who seems to be a counterpart to Pan and the precursor to almost every other female deity. The most commonly used spelling is Norse and in this way she could have very well been carried over the seas to many other cultures. However there is also evidence that she belonged to far older civilizations and was perhaps kept in the hearts of nomads as they travelled from the Cradle of Man. Interestingly she was never featured in any creation myths but appeared as a mischievous sprite that controlled punishment and forgiveness. It was said she didn’t care for material offerings and the only way she could be appeased was by a great show of public embarrassment. This included chanting and dancing and the recounting of her name. This was no specific sound but every sound and the supplicant needed to fall into a trance like state. It was widely believed that the sinner not even be repentant of the actual crime but just willing to debase himself for the amusement of the goddess. These origins are where many theologians assert the Christian method of absolution came from, repetition of rosary prayers in order to gain forgiveness. They are also the basis for talking in tongues and being possessed with the Holy Spirit. The Christian faith would have reassigned these attributes when assimilating the Celtic or Druidic traditions into their own dogma. A successful meth-od of subtle recruitment among those whose land they invaded.

DELANA CARBONE IS AN EMERGING ARTIST WHO HAS BEEN EXHIBITING FOR 6 YEARS, FOCUSING MAINLY ON STENCIL/AEROSOL WORKS IN A STREET ART ON CANVAS STYLE. SHE IS NOW COM-BINING HER POST-GRAD-UATE STUDIES IN CRE-ATIVE WRITING WITH HER VISUAL ARTS TO EX-PLORE THE GENRE OF SU-PERFICTION. THE EXHI-BITION TO BE SHOWN AT THE MILL WILL INCLUDE STENCILS ON CANVAS, RECONSTRUCTED PAPER WORKS AND SIMULATED ARTEFACTS.

DelanaCarbone

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The Myth of AeaShe of the immovable heart loved laughter to dance in her eye. In a blink she could condemn you to blue agony through your veins, and forever bond you to dry sinews that catch in the teeth of wolves and boil in the bellies of crows. Great was the fear of the man caught by her gaze in misdeed. The only escape was to chant her name, thrashing in caper until thoroughly debased. This task was made harder for her name was always lost, sloping out of the minds of men like a quivering rabbit slipping its snare. Your one hope to amuse her and she was only tickled by shame. However desperation makes good prompt and many would find themselves in a guttural howl or gibbering spit, unable to stop for once you begin to remember her name its single end is exhaustion.

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DelanaCarbone

WORKA lesson in unspoken language/what you already know

STATEMENTThe fates lead those that will, those who wont, they drag - Joseph Campbell.

CONT.

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WORKAjna

STATEMENTSketchbooks, scrapbooks, notebooks and journals - They contain our inner most thoughts, cherished memories and wildest ideas. They act as our own personal bible crafted by our own hands. A record of our stories, struggles and achievements.

LilianChoo

LILIAN FINDS BEAUTY IN PEOPLE. SHE IS INSPIRED BY YOU, YOUR MOTHER, YOUR LOVER AND BEST FRIEND.

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CallanFleming

CALLAN IS A MULTI-DISCI-PLINE PERFORMER, COM-BINING DANCE TRAINING WITH THEATRICAL

EXPERIENCE AND A PASSION FOR MUSIC TO ENGAGE IN HIS ARTISTIC PRACTICE. SINCE

GRADUATING HE HAS WORKED NATIONALLY AS A DANCER AND SOUND DESIGNER AND IS

CURRENTLY WORKING ON SOUND FOR “MAN IN A BAG” DIRECTED BY BEN ROBERTS AND

DANCING IN A CREATIVE DEVELOPMENT FOR TOBI-AH BOOTH-REMMERS.

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WORKChoreographed by Callan Fleming

FURY: DisciplesCast: Alicia Min-Harvie, Kendal Winton

FURY: Elemental Cast: Margot John

Atlas DrowningCast: Callan Fleming

STATEMENT FURYFor this event i have chosen 2 experts from my short work FURY, and created a new work Atlas Drowning.

FURY was developed from the mythological creatures The Furies, ruled by Hades they sought out criminals and deliver justice on them.The work focuses on abstractions of this mythology and deals with the strength of the chase and the elemental power of females. I took these stories and images and developed an elemental being with taught muscles and alien shadows and the disciples which is represented by a vigilante mob.

Atlas is weighed down and he is drowning. Drawn from the mythological Atlas who holds up the world i have developed a solo work to allow the audience to be drawn in to his personal space and share the feeling of weight and breath that affects him. this work has also been informed by our world, the climate change debate and social conscience. 17

LucasCroall

WORKParadox: A Unified Opposition

STATEMENTOur existence is grounded in paradox. Terrifying and concealed, yet plain as day, paradox arrives to shatter the mud walls of our mental playpens. Both irritating and invigorating, the essence of an intel-lectual maturity begins with the ability to uphold two opposing points of view simultaneously. The world is neither a or b; it is both... And probably more, mind you. Uncomfortable and liberating, paradox introduces infinite possibility to the interpretation of circumstance. It is not to say that all models are tedious; It is to say that they are only provisional. By all means; rejoice in your model. But always remain prepared to discard it.

This deity is a representation of a paradoxical wedding: The union of an invigorated and excited optimism with a haunting wisdom of inevitable disillusion. The constellation at the core of the being represents a single, simple model that has been drawn out of a potentially infinite matrix. Suspended in dark space, the being dwells in the sanctuary of it’s mental techniques - symbolised by the external vault. Beyond the boarder is the unde-fined murk of the unknown.

LUCAS CROALL IS AN ADELAIDE - BASED ART-IST WORKING OUT OF A SMALL STUDIO IN TOR-RENSVILLE. SPECIALIZ-ING AS A PRINT-MAKER IN VISUAL ARTS AT THE UNIVERSITY OF SOUTH AUSTRALIA, LUCAS HAS RECENTLY MOVED ONTO WORKING WITH PAINT, SCULPTURE AND INSTAL-LATION.

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WORKThe Magpie called my name. I always knew that being called ‘Woooblwobliboublouu blou’ would be a problem.

ARTIST STATEMENT The Ainu, the indigenous people of Japan believe that if you walk through a forest and hear someone—or rather something—call your name, to which you respond, then you’re doomed. You have to run home as quickly as you can, and tell everyone that you have a different name. If the forest spirits know your name, they can take you. Would that be such a bad thing, though? Forests are highly symbolic in other cultures well. More often than not with negative connotations, perhaps because of the lack of a horizon line. No distinction between above and below.

AndrewDearman

ANDREW DEARMAN WORKS AS A LECTURER IN THREE ART SCHOOLS IN ADELAIDE AND MAIN-TAINS A DIVERSE ART PRACTICE.

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Peter

WORKSecret ValleyPapier mâché, flock, and various woods

STATEMENTThe bird is my spirit animal. It guides and helps me waddle through life’s many complications. They are small creatures but have the biggest characters. The whole scene depicts my hidden sanctuary away from everything where one can sit and think about nothing in complete tranquility.

I AM AN ILLUSTRATOR WITH AN EYE FOR DE-TAILS. THE FINE POINT OF PENS AND NIBS ARE MY USUAL WEAPONS OF CHOICE. I LIKE THE UNIQUENESS OF HAND-ICRAFT AND HAVE RE-CENTLY BEEN EXPLORING AWAY FROM DRAWING AND TAKING A MORE HANDS ON APPROACH TO NURTURE MY CREATIVE SIDE. BUILDING THINGS AND WOOD CARVING HAS TAKEN HOLD OF ME. TAKING A NEW APPROACH TO IDEAS HELPS ME KEEP THINGS FRESH AND STIM-ULATING.

Fong

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WORK The Town Meeting, Little Foxes, Hands hands hands, Cordelia

STATEMENTIdeas of myth and mysticism, rituals and religion and the divine secrets of the Universe have long fascinated me, and featured in my paintings. I offer for Pantheon four boxed wood-panels featuring illustrations from my private journal, which serve as a window into not only my artistic practice, but also my soul. They provide the viewer with a more intimate understanding of myself and my practice, and hint at the mystical ideas that continue to fascinate me, such as the cat as a divine being, the hand being a vessel for divinity, and the existence of not only a personal, but also a collective memory.

FrusziKenez

FRUZSI KENEZ IS A TOKYO BASED ARTIST AND CU-RATOR KNOWN FOR HER QUIRKY LADY PORTRAITS ON WOOD. HER ONGOING FASCINATION WITH JAP-ANESE CULTURE, HAND-MADE BOOKS AND THE IDEA OF MEMORY ARE INTERWOVEN WITHIN HER ARTISTIC PRACTICE. MOST OF ALL, HOWEVER IT IS HER REVERENCE OF THE NATURAL WORLD WHICH PROVIDES A DEEP-ER MEANING TO HER WORKS. HER VIBRANT PORTRAITS OF STRONG FEMALE FIGURES AT ONE WITH THE SURROUND-ING LANDSCAPE SEEK TO REMIND THE VIEWER OF THE BEAUTY AND FRAGIL-ITY OF NATURE. FUR-THERMORE, THROUGH COMBINING VISUAL STORYTELLING WITH EL-EMENTS OF SCULPTURE AND WRITING, SHE IS ABLE TO CREATE ONE OF A KIND MONUMENTS FOR THE PRESERVATION OF OUR NATURAL WORLD.

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JENS VAN HORNE IS A BORN AND (MOSTLY) BRED ADELAIDE WRITER, WHO PENS POETRY AND FICTION (AND ARTICLES, SOMETIMES), AND BLOGS REGULARLY. HE DRAWS INSPIRATION FROM ALMOST ANYWHERE POSSIBLE AND RIDES THE LINE BETWEEN THE DARK AND THE ABSURD IN HIS FICTIONAL WORKS, AND APPRECIATES THE POW-ER OF THE SPOKEN AND WRITTEN WORD ABOVE ALL ELSE. EXCEPT THE RED SOX. HE LOVES THE BOSTON RED SOX.

Jens VanHorne

WORKTHE IDEAL, THE ANXIETY, THE END.(OR, THE PATHOS OF HOPE & PERFECTION)

‘Alone there, Hope, in her indestructible home, remained within, beneath the lip, nor by the door escaped, because the vessel’s lid had stopped her first, by will of aegis-bearing, cloud-compelling Zeus.’ - Hesiod, Works and Days

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*

He stalks through the night searching for all that he’ll never have, for that elusive dream that better men than him have failed to realise. Watch him. Doors rise up out of the dark, open and inviting, all along that endless road. He stands at the threshold and watches. A bystander in want, afraid. It’ll only end, all of it. He knows this. He lives out lives in an instant, like opening a bottle of wine and taking in its scent then hurling it away. Perpetual un-fulfilment. Futility sits well with him.

He cannot bring himself to hope for that which never existed, but there is a place somewhere inside him that holds on to the dream. Yet minds like his cannot handle the euphoric rise and the agonising fall. Not again, anyway. He has steeled himself against such things. It’s easier that way. He tells himself that living in a constant twilight can fend off the dark. He’s forgotten what the light feels like.

*

He sees her across the gap, feels her. Her perfection drives a sublime stake into his heart. The inevitable transience

crushes him. He feels the abyss inviting him to leap, to jump into the unknown, to fall a distance beyond reckoning,

to place his mortal faith in another for the sake of an ideal personified in her.

*

In that dark no one notices him. He’s no good at jumping and bridges never last. People break too easy. He saunters through the soft glow of a thousand streetlights, sentinels against the dark, paragons of false hope. Closed gates hold no allure for him. He occasionally stops before those left open and gazes in and dreams a little and moves on.

Other hopefuls pass him as he walks through the undying night, never speaking; they need only their unaccompanied selves to share the dream with. Some know what it is, others wander with an aimless resolve, shooting their arrows of hope into doorways blanketed in darkness, their quivers slowly depleting with their sense of self. He doesn’t know what happens to those who finally succumb to their own futility. No one does.

His resolve never wavers. He persists, committed to the journey. He knows that hope is a disease, a futile desire to control that which has not come to pass. He’s been walking this road longer than most. He thinks it will end—the road—but and ending gives birth to a beginning and it unnerves him.

Unseen debris crunches under his timeworn boots. The night air pays his overcoat no mind. A chill pervades him.

It starts. 23

Closed door, closed door, closed door, then it appears between two streetlights that shine a little bright-er, give off a little more warmth. He needs the warmth. He’s been out here a long time. The minimal rise in heat flows through him, bolsters a new kind of resolve—animalistic, primal, memories of another time—it rushes through him, reaches his fingertips and knots his stomach. The door is ajar. A light escapes it, a light he recognises but once forgot, thrown into Lithe and erased from his worn-out mind.

He walks toward it, grips the handle and pushes it open. The light overwhelms him. He tries to close his eyes, he tries to cover his face, all in vain. He crumples to the ground in an act of primordial obeisance. Tears stream unbidden through his fingers. Images flash across the inside of his eyelids. His mind’s eye sees what his eyes have yet to. On his knees, he lifts his head and opens his eyes; they become accustomed to the light. He stands and regards what waits for him.

*

He stares into it. She waits for him on the other side. There is no bridge to her, no path

to walk—hand in hand—to reach that place where they can exist just as he desires, to fulfil a dream in unity.

He must jump, and believe she will too. He is terrified but he has no choice.

*

She lies on the bed, eyes closed and restless, as if she’s just coming out of a dream. Her body is supple and curved. She is sunrisical. The ethereal light emanating from her hits him like the sudden chill that rushes across everything just as the sun rises above the horizon. It makes him shiver.

He stands at the foot of the bed, gazing at her, voyeur that he is. But his voyeurism is no crime. It is en-tirely justified. How could regarding such perfection be a crime? He drinks in everything in front of him, noticing the whiteness of the sheets and the height of the tables beside the bed and the golden bell resting delicately atop one of them.

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She opens her eyes and knows he’s there. She sits up and leans on her arms and looks into him. He feels her eyes cut deep into him. He takes a minute step back out of some primal fear. She is the ideal, she is the anxiety, she is the end. His mind races. Every experience, every love, every heartbreak, all in search of this: an idea based in unreality made real. Flesh and blood and waiting for him, if she’ll have him.

Her eyes take him in and she smiles. Benevolent divinity. Her smile suckerpunches him and he winces. ‘Come.’

Just one word and his knees give way. He falters, grabbing the bed to steady himself. He can’t summon the courage to go to her. His unworthiness chains him to the ground. He cannot move with it there. The life he has led is not deserving of this. She floats across the bed to him and touches his hand. The chains fall away as some kind of energy runs up is arm and courses through his veins and arteries, through his heart and into his mind. It invigorates him, this essence of Life. Transient courage. He feels her accep-tance, as if being initiated into some ancient mystery.

Slowly she recedes on to the bed and he follows her. It is soft under his newly naked skin, meeting her on equal terms of bare unselfconsciousness. He lays alongside her, barely touching, not wanting to satu-rate himself, to lose himself, in all that she is. Such control he has never known. He feels her hand caress him but he knows not where. He sees nothing but the depths of her eyes. She pulls him into her and the softness enraptures him.

His feet leavethe safety of rationalitywith every inch of his essence.

Black windrushes up to meet him, darkand cold. He imagines

she has made the leap buthe cannot know. ‘Don’tlook back’, a voice echoes in the dark.

He closes his eyesand welcomesthe Orphic fall.

*

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His hands navigate her body, gentle, caring, moving like wind caressing wild grass. The touch of his skin on hers fuels him, feeds him. Desire incarnate. He drinks in every inch of her. Words float from her mouth and encircle him. He feels her song pervading all that he is, sung in a tongue he has never heard of. She invigorates him. An otherworldly energy courses through his veins, as if the light of heaven itself has replaced his blood.

He rises from that obeisance at the altar of her and enters her. Slowly, at first, then he cedes all control. The Primal overcomes him. He gives into it. Human becomes animal. Rationality flees from his mind, like dark from the light. She arches under him, writhes. He pushes harder and she wrestles him on to his back. He tries to rise but she slams him down. She rides him, grinding, in a rhythm unknown to the world, her eyes closed, her head turned slightly. He watches her in awe. The image of a goddess sating her desires is transcends his existence. Every part of his being, his essence, his self, is fettered in sexual obeisance, of enslaved ecstasy.

Servant and master. Mortal and divine.

He hopes this moment lasts forever yet death does not concern him. If this is his final memory, then so be it. She is leading him down the path to the idyllic, the perfection that eludes all men, the dream that has once again flowered in his weakened mind. He will find it, have it. He has tasted a drop and desires more. He can feel it coming.She grinds harder and harder, faster and faster. Her song rises to an almost unbearable frequency. He’s close and he can feel she is. She plants her hands on his chest. She digs her nails in. He feels nothing physi-cal. She has taken him beyond his own mortality. All that awaits him is her final crescendo, the last push toward a place never meant for mortal souls.

*

Falling. Falling. Falling.Rushing

into a deeperdark, hoping.His descent feels infiniteand the calm

he once knewbegins to wane, plummetsfaster than he is, tyingknots in his stomach. He spreads

his limbs and turnsto see if she has jumped butonly darknessfills his eyes.

‘You looked back…’

*

‘No!’

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Her arm reaches out and grabs the bell on the nightstand. Her song reaches its peak as she rings it. The sound pierces his mind and everything goes dark. Her, the bed: they disappear, and he plummets into the void. Falling faster and faster, he scrambles to grab something to slow his unnatural descent. Nothing. Just him and a memory and the dark. This self-inflicted despair overwhelms him. He gives in to its inevitability and waits for the final impact. He realises he doesn’t want to survive. He realises nothing will ever be the same. The end becomes inviting. He desires it.

He relaxes and conjures that singular memory. He wants his final thought to be that of something almost perfect, as he crosses into oblivion.

The air grows colder, the darkness darker. A manic joy overcomes him. The idea of giving up—of no more pain or expectation or disappointment, of the search ending—makes his heart soar as much as it can. Then he feels something rushing up towards him, existing in his peripheries, near-invisible and full of deceit. He feels something get close to him but he cannot know if it’s real or a phantom in his mind. A voice whispers into him.

‘Hope.’ The ground meets him, knocking all the air out of his lungs. Searing pain courses through every inch of his body. He gasps for new air on his back, as his mind begins to comprehend his newfound reality.

He sits up, after a time, and concentrates on the pain, trying to use it to rid himself of that word before he believes it. It is for naught. It has infected him. He opens his eyes.

The streetlights are dimmer now, the night more opaque. Something is missing but he knows not what. A quiver and a bow lay at his side. He looks upon them with new eyes, strokes them with caring hands, as if to become one with them. He shoulders the quiver and picks up the bow and stands.

He looks up and regards the door but it’s different now. He sees it with new eyes. He can’t tell the dif-ference but he knows what waits inside. He nocks an arrow and takes aim of the door and fires. It swings open easily with the impact, wanting him to walk through it again, and perpetually thereafter. That light washes over him—inviting, warm, and recognisable—and he walks in, diseased, deluded, hoping to find that which never existed. He begins a new journey that will never end.

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BASED IN ADELAIDE, JOEL VAN MOORE AKA VANS THE OMEGA HAS BEEN CREAT-ING ART & LETTERFORMS FOR OVER TWO DECADES, WHICH HAS SEEN HIM TRAVEL THE GLOBE CON-SISTENTLY SINCE THE YEAR 2000. MOST OF HIS ARTISTIC INFLUENCES ARE DERIVED FROM ANCIENT SCRIPTS, ARCHITECTURE AND ENGINEERING AND THE IDEA OF MOVEMENT AND BALANCE WHILE PAYING HOMAGE TO THE NATURAL WORLD. IT IS HIS ATTENTION TO DETAIL AND SEARCH FOR PER-FECTION WITHIN LETTER STRUCTURE, TECHNIQUE AND LIFE ITSELF THAT HAS PUSHED VANS THE OME-GA INTO THE SPOTLIGHT AND AWARDED HIM WITH WORLDWIDE RECOGNI-TION FOR HIS ARTISTIC ENDEAVORS.

Joel VanMoore

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WORKI Am Trinity

STATEMENTThis new work of mine revolves around a vision I had in my early 20’s where I was catapulted out into the universe to watch souls enter upon Mother Earth through a variety of spectrum channels under order of the galactic central sun via our own vital Son. Each Golden bean seeded across the globe with absolute intention into the mir-rored mother wombs waiting to flower. This working trinity is what the painting combines.

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WORK Clear Sight

STATEMENTWe are all under surveillance. Whether we like it or not we have made a sacrifice to the media forces by our using of technology. Our generation is being cheated by apparent gods of industry. It’s time to say how we really feel.

Clear Sight allows for the audience to take part in a micro perfor-mance work about recent events surrounding the News of the World hacking scandal. Lend your ears to a reading about an evil deity of media and share a story about something that has been stolen from you, this could be a physical item, personal information or a secret.

LukusRobbins

LUKUS IS CONTEMPO-RARY THEATRE MAKER, CREATIVE PRODUCER/DIRECTOR AND DIGITAL ARTIST WHO STUDIED AT DARTINGTON COLLEGE OF ARTS/FALMOUTH UNI-VERSITY IN THE UK. HE IS FASCINATED WITH ARTIC-ULATING STORIES ABOUT SITE, FOCUSING ON COM-POSING IMMERSIVE EXPE-RIENCES AND WORKING WITH THE DRAMATUR-GIES OF PLACE. HIS WORK HAS ALWAYS BEEN ABOUT TAKING THE AUDIENCE ON A MULTI-SENSORY JOURNEY, BOTH INDOORS AND OUTSIDE.

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WORK Purgatory

STATEMENTWhen given the brief of designing a functioning bar with an ‘un-derworld’ theme my first thought was which religion has the most visually inspiring or graphic afterlife? This led me to research of Norse Mythology, Inca Legends, Indian and even Zoroastrian belief systems. I soon found that all had interesting aspects but what I needed was a link back to the bar and a clarification of what alcohol was symbolic of in religion. It struck me that wine was a common representation of cleansing and purification and these concepts were intrinsically linked to the Catholic belief of ‘Purgatory’.‘Purgatory’ is defined as a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heav-en, but the word is also used to describe to process of cleansing or purifying.So I leave it up to the punters to view the bar as a place of depravity or a space to cleanse.

Before the Final Judgment, there is a purifying fire. You will either gain eternal life or incur the perpetual condemnation of your soul.

BenRoberts

BEN IS RECENT ACTING GRADUATE FROM THE ADELAIDE COLLEGE OF THE ARTS. IN HIS FIRST 6 MONTHS SINCE GRAD-UATING HE HAS PER-FORMED IN THE STATE THEATRE COMPANY OF SOUTH AUSTRALIA’S 2014 PRODUCTION OF NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH, AND HAS HELPED PRO-DUCE AND MANAGE INDEPENDENT THEATRE COMPANY ‘FIVE.POINT.ONES’ FRINGE SHOW NOTORIOUSLY YOURS BY VAN BADHAM, WHICH WENT ON TO WIN THREE FRINGE AWARDS.

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WORK Mr Tinker the Thought Thinker,U-Gene-E in a Can,Ms Spectacle with Spectacles

STATEMENTThree gods made of garbage. Found wood bits and stuff. Some smooth, some ruff. Gods don’t care what they’re made of, enough (for them) is enough.

Found object wall sculpture, oil, acryllic, aerosol paint.

The three pieces: Mr Tinker the thought thinker. Aka the god of thinking til the aint nothin you aint thunk U-Gene-e in a can. Aka the god of canned Genius: Campbell’s Soup, Spaghetti Toasties, Heinz Baked Beans, etc. Ms Spectacle with Spectacles. Aka the god of receiving attention pure-ly by winking. (Without being sleazy) Pure Suave.

KasparSchmidt-Mumm

BORN IN GERMANY, GREW UP IN ADELAIDE, TALK LIKE A CANADIAN, LOOK LIKE A PAKISTANI AND HAVE EATEN COLOMBIAN PAELLA MY WHOLE LIFE. MOTHERS A PAINTER, FATHERS A GEOLOGIST. LOVE A QUICK FIX, WORK-ING LIKE A LIGHTNING SPEAR, USE A QUICK DRY MATERIAL MIX (AEROSOL, LIQUID CHALK, ACRYLIC). COLOUR COMPOSITION, SHAPES AND PATTERNS LIKE A LAZY MATHEMA-TICIAN. I WANT TO SLAP YOU IN THE FACE WITH INFORMATION AND LEAVE A COLOURFUL GLAZE ON YOUR EYEBALL LENS... AMAZING, STOIC, BOOM FOR REAL, CHEESE, LIKE A FLAMINGO THAT EATS JELLY BEANS. MAY ONE HUNDRED UNICORNS FERTILIZE YOUR GARDEN WITH THEIR MAGICAL DROPPINGS.

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WORK Future Ancestors,Maiden Voyage

STATEMENTThe day, encrusted with new life, shimmers before me.The trees caress one another in the wind...everything sways.The sky... it stares back at me.Blinded, I close my eyes and enter the dreamPatterns dance infront of my eyesI see my life skim pastA streak of colour dives across the window of my imaginationI’m part of a symphony that is in everythingI am the breeze that catches in the trees while they embraceI am the white light of the sunBut I am also the veil of darkness which ignites the dream.

GarySeaman

ADELAIDE ARTIST GARY SEAMAN USES THE IDEA OF WATER AS A META-PHOR FOR THE FLOW OF ENERGY AND ITS FUNC-TION IN LIFE AND NA-TURE. HIS CURRENT, AND PAST YEARS WORKS ARE PART OF AN ONGOING JOURNEY BOTH PUBLIC, THROUGH THE EXHIBI-TION OF HIS WORK AND PERSONAL, THROUGH THE MANIFESTATION OF HIS OBSERVATIONS AND INTERACTIONS IN EVERY-DAY LIFE. HIS DISTINCTLY JAPANESE FIGURES TAKE THE VIEWER ON A JOUR-NEY INTO HIS WORLD OF PAINTED WOODEN PRISMS, LANDSCAPES AND SACRED ENCOUNTERS.

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WORK Sun-Wukong/The Palm of the Buddah

STATEMENTFor Pantheon, the work of Searson and Wong work is based on Chi-nese mythology of the high-spirited Monkey King, or Sun Wukong. The mischievous Monkey’s frivolous antics are described in Wu Cheng’en’s 16th century novel Journey to the West (Xiyou Ji), one of China’s Four Great Novels. In the particular tale depicted here, Monkey pranced in the heavens, arrogantly believing that he could jump off the palm of Buddha. Once he landed, to show his disrespect, Monkey urinated on what he thought were the Five Pillars of Wisdom at the End of the Uni-verse. When landing back in the palm of Buddah, it was explained to Monkey that the pillars were actually the Holy One’s fingers, and in fact, he had never even left the palm. As atonement for losing his wager against Buddha, Monkey was trapped under a mountain for five hundred years while moss grew in his ears, and force-fed molten pills of copper and iron by an attendant demon. After this humbling experience, Monkey was chosen by Guan-Yin to protect the young Buddhist monk Tripitaka on his pilgrimage to India. Despite such tales’ critique of Monkey’s trickery, rudeness and theft, Searson & Wong were amused by his delightful spontaneity, irrepress-ible playfulness and irreverence. These qualities may be linked to the artist’s creative spirit. Their work portrays the insouciant Monkey wearing a golden head-band, boldly wielding not just his Magic Wish-ing Staff (which was used to flatten the bed of the Milky Way), but also an artist’s ink-roller.

Joshua Searson &Mei Wong

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JOSHUA SEARSON AND MEI WONG FIRST MET AT ADELAIDE COLLEGE OF ARTS, WHERE THEY STUDIED TOGETHER FROM 2007. MEI IS A FOUNDING MEMBER OF BOTH BITTONDI PRINT-MAKERS ASSOCIATION, AND THE RUDDY TURN-STONES PRINTMAKING COLLECTIVE. SHE HAS EXHIBITED EXTENSIVELY IN ADELAIDE, AS WELL AS PARTICIPATED IN EXHI-BITIONS IN INDONESIA AND ENGLAND. JOSHUA SEARSON CURRENTLY TEACHES PRINTMAK-ING AND DIGITAL MEDIA AT ADELAIDE COLLEGE OF THE ARTS. HE IS A FOUNDING MEMBER OF PRINT CULT COLLECTIVE, AS WELL AS AN ARTIST IN RESIDENCE AT TOOTH AND NAIL STUDIOS, ADE-LAIDE. IN 2014, THE PAIR FORMED THE ENTITY SEARSON & WONG, WITH THE GOAL OF CREATING COLLABORATIVE PRINT-MAKING-FOCUSSED WORKS, WHICH EXPLORE VARIOUS THEMES AND SUBJECTS.

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WORK Taste the MilkAcrylics and 196 sequins on canvas

JonoSimmons

JONO SIMMONS IS AN ADELAIDE ARTIST AND STAND UP COMEDIAN WHO HAS SPENT SO MUCH TIME IN THE VOID HE’S ENDED UP MAKING FUN OF IT. FOOLISH, YES, BUT IT BARES RESULTS. JONO STARTED DOING GRAFFI-TI AT TWELVE YEARS OLD AND RETIRED SIX YEARS LATER AFTER HE GOT BUSTED AND FELT LIKE A BIT OF A TWAT. HOWEVER THE CASUAL VANDALISM AND DISRESPECT FOR ALL INSTITUTIONS HAS CARRIED ON IN ALL HIS WORKS EVER SINCE, BOTH AESTHETICALLY AND PHILOSOPHICALLY . JONO IS INFLUENCED BY DE-PRESSION, HEAVY METAL, CUNNILINGUS, THE SPAN-IARDS, THE OCCULT AND A SICKENING LUST FOR DRUGS. THE LAST BREATH OF THE CARAMEL SWAN ESCAPES FROM IT’S BEAK AND FREEZES THE POND.

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WORK Shotgun

STATEMENTInspired by Amber Cronin and Erin Fowler’s Pantheon proposal, which asked me to consider “art and mythical thinking as a platform to think about humanity, and your identity”, I started making this work. In May this year two people died trying to retrieve a brand new mobile phone worth $350 from a toilet. You may have read about this. I made this performance to explore devotion.

JoesephineWere

JOSEPHINE WERE IS A PERFORMER AND THE-ATRE MAKER BASED IN ADELAIDE. SHE WRITES, PERFORMS LIVE, AND WORKS WITH AUDIO STORYTELLING. JOSE-PHINE TRAINED IN ACT-ING AT THE ADELAIDE COLLEGE OF THE ARTS AND WITH THE MASSIVE IDIOT PHILIPPE GAULI-ER IN PARIS. SHE HAS RECENTLY COMPLETED HER MA IN PERFOR-MANCE MAKING AT GOLDSMITHS COLLEGE, UNIVERSITY OF LON-DON. LOCALLY, SHE HAS PERFORMED WITH THE STCSA, VITALSTATISTIX AND IN INDEPENDENT THEATRE WITH HER OWN PERFORMANCES. 37

There is something about this exhibition-in the way vision and ritual feed word and building and effigy-that is oddly analogous to spirituality as it has thus far played out in human memory. There is a choral presence these mixed media provide; mapping how experience led to written record led to construction. The immersive elements of ‘Pantheon’ question how spirituality is to be made anew in a society that recognises The Hunger Games as the most worshipped text, and the closest thing to meditative silence is the pause used to take a selfie. The beauty of ‘Pantheon’ is its ability to reinvoke the nostalgia of tradition, and give the viewer a pinhole secret as to where spirituality might be found today.

You could be forgiven for being faithless in modern society: atheism, human-ism and rationalism aren’t just fashionable, they’re favourable. The elitism of predominant religion has alienated the burgeoning hipster culture of Australia, which has made room for Islamic deity and all manner of yoga to rise to the fore of collective faith behaviour. The Mill on Angas Street is quite the unassuming adyton. Here a family has been curated, a series of artistic archetypes using their craft to reach followers who can see past paint, panel, poetry and plush into the oracular messages of the pieces. Do you see the parallel? Do you see the pantheon we pledge to now?I think having faith is adjacent to the bravest thing a human soul can commit themselves to in this world, which in my opinion is fighting for one’s country. Both commitments require an internal resilience of universal proportions, certainly a higher self-awareness than the average tumblr-famous, and a willing-ness to submit to complete disempowerment and humility. Both faith and battle are charged with sewing insanity in the minds of the once-ordinary: the line is thin between priestly abuse and the assault of officers, between holy war and military occupation, between religion dogma and the “chain of command”. It is this line that might strike you when you first enter the exhibition.

Snapchat and Instagram have taught us to respond first and foremost to the most eye-grabbing element in an image, make our judgement call and double tap within a second or two to move along down the feed. In ‘Pantheon’, it is Joshua Searson and Mei Wong’s ‘Sun-Wukong/The Palm of the Buddah’ that brings that sense of what religion is now: commercial, confusing and multiple versions of the same salvation. It is a perfect full stop to the sentence you’re living before you enter the space; the three last gasps of what religion has meant to Western culture. When you’re dealing with such a vast and intimate subject matter as spirituality, the devil truly is in the detail. The exhibition has been curated flawlessly, for where ‘Sun-Wukong’ instructs you to empty your mind of the religion you knew, you discover yourself within the parentheses of Delana Carbone’s conduit/practitioner ‘Aeå’ and the contemplative mystic in Lucas Croall’s ‘Paradox: A Unified Opposition’. These are two brand new roles to choose from, and perspectives to take on as you carry on through the rest of the exhibition. Don’t move too fast though, for whether you take on the voodoo priestess persona or the meditative pilgrim, you’ll want to cast your third eye

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over these pieces again to find that they don’t only activate a new spirituality within the viewer, they also let you in on the fact that each of the pieces acts as components of a map to the spiritual root inside the viewer should they choose to really read it. Kasper Schmidt-Mumm’s creations looked to me like physical directions to inner peace, Andrew Dearman’s wonderfully named (I won’t spoil that surprise) divine diorama invoked the soundscape and landscape of organic spiritualism, and Peter Fong offers an unassuming but powerful reminder of the journey and the energy required for it-my personal favourite. If you did make it to the performative nights of the exhibition, you would definitely be able to appreciate the sense of journey present in ‘Pantheon’.

The journey we take calls into question the way divinity has mutated into celebrity, how our blind faith is no longer invested in the priest, but the scientist. As we lose sight of our little idols and personal soul-searches in favour of big fat cures for cancer and breaking news stories from third-world nations, we find that the biggest obstacle to spiritual actualisation isn’t reason or debauchery, but information overload and burnout. Both the macrocosmic and microscopic are present in ‘Pantheon’: contributions by Gary Seaman, Jens Van Horne and Joel Van Moore keep a triad vigil on the trajectory from initi-ation through self-melodrama to spectral connection. But right across from Seaman’s aesthetic lie the little treasures of the exhibition, the miniature Sybils connecting the human foresight to the grand concepts decorating the walls. Aurelia Carbone is an absolute diamond in the rough, and her reimagining of mystic relics are superb in both creation and stimuli for thought. These effigies are the perfect lasting, perhaps unnerving, sentiment with which to complete the circle, or if you were fortunate enough to make the voyage on the perfor-mance nights, be introduced to your new tribe and head into the labyrinth….

‘Pantheon’ is, in essence, a series of choices that boil down to one question: is it better to know? Or to live in the supposed bliss of ignorance? There is a dance to be shared, a safety to finally be liberated from, and a new covenant calling. Destroy old fears, purge your anger and uncertainty, have a little faith!

BRODIE PAPARELLAWriter and Facilitator, Melbourne

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Thank You

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• THE ARTISTS – ALL OF THEM!

• CARCLEW YOUTH ARTS

• HANNAH MATTHEWS

• AUSTRALIA COUNCIL FOR THE ARTS: JUMP MENTORSHIPS

• JEFF KHAN

• PETER FONG - ILLUSTRATOR EXTRAORDINAIRE!

• LUKUS ROBBINS- ASSISTANT PROJECT MANAGER AND SA BELIEVER

• THE WRITERS

• IANTO WARE FOR HELPING IT HAPPEN FROM THE START

• TOM SIMMONS & JACK FLETCHER- A-MAZE-ING MEN

• JOSH MCCALLUM- THE BEST HANDY MAN…EVER

• BEN ROBERTS - SUPER STAR!

• EAGLE PRESS

• CHRIS ILEY

• HELPMANN ACADEMY FOR THE ARTS

• MAXWELL WINES OF MCLAREN VALE

• OSMONDS HIRE

• HOLDEN ST THEATRES

• CAPITAL WASTE PICTURES

• FRIENDS AND FAMILIES OF MILL HQ

• THE MILL ARTISTS FOR LETTING US MAKE A MAZE OUT OF THEIR SPACE

Website

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www.themilladelaide.comfacebook/themilladelaide.com@themilladelaide

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