Home is Where One Starts From Heirs Interviews / Reviews

Home is Where One Starts From


Stephen Bambury

John Barbour

On Kawara

Colin McCahon


14.02.13 - 16.03.13

Yuill Crowley

318 Liverpool St

NSW 2204

Defined as the epoch in which human activities have a significant impact on the earth’s ecosystems, the era of the anthropocene has begun. Climate change is one feature of this era, the flag bearer of innumerable environmental crises and ecological anxiety disorders. These are particularly evident in Australia, where courtship of industry has come at the cost of the natural environments and the communities that inhabit them. 


The neologism ‘solastalgia’- coined in 2003 by Australian environmental sociologist Glenn Albrecht - recognises the chronic distress suffered by residents of communities where extensive iron ore mining has severely devastated landscapes. So extreme is this depredation, that people of these areas experience a severe depression, an emotional displacement, a homesickness without ever having moved. A sense of estrangement through homeland is a guiding theme of this exhibition. 


A rationalist separation of subject and object acts as a metaphor for a dislocation between homeland and individual here. Fittingly, the subject in the Cartesian refrain, “cogito ergo sum”, is echoed, with differing inflections, in the paintings of Colin McCahon, the telegrams of On Kawara, the morse code messages and sculptures of Stephen Bambury and the cotton voile embroideries of John Barbour. A tension develops from their contending claims to identity and this invites response from the Sydney-based collective ‘Slush’, who offer a series of new sculptures and a text by member, Marian Tubbs.


This investigation focuses on the histories and works of a small group of artists from the Pacific who question identity in, through and beyond a plundered homeland. The problem here is of a subject divorced from its object; at stake is the capacity for its resolution - a pertinent issue for an audience beneath a hole in the ozone, in a haze of solastalgia, at the infancy of the anthropocene.

John Barbour

Close My Eyes, 2011

Silk, incandescent light

Dimensions variable


Interference, 2013
Acrylic on toughened glass, concrete
48 x 97 x 17 cm



Olympia, 2013
Acrylic on toughened glass, clamps
63 x 179 cm


Spirit Level, 2013
Acrylic on toughened glass, g-clamps
92 x 150 cm

On Kawara

I am Still Alive, 1970

Ink on paper

12.5 x 21 cm

Colin McCahon

Necessary Protection, 1971

Charcoal, synthetic polymer paint on paper

45.1 x 59.6 cm

Stephen Bambury

I am still alive on Kawau (necessary correction), 2011

Screen print
50 x 35 cm


Stephen Bambury

House, 2010-11

Cast pigmented polyester resin, 23k gold

12 x 10 x 14 cm



Slush in ‘Home is Where One Starts From’

Marian Tubbs 



At sunrise in winter, the housing commission towers I see from the windows of my room glow an intense orange-gold. Large blocks of abstraction effervescing with warmth, they are more appealing than any techy lightshow. The alluring thing is that they fail to look like anything in particular to a mind and eyes just waking up, yet to piece the world together again with daily certitude. In warmer seasons trees covered by leaves mar this view so it is a reward for rising early only in the cold months. Why this phenomenological experience strikes me as something, is that it aligns most simply with my understanding of ‘affect’. A term that is used almost ubiquitously now in contemporary art speak. Before the trend took hold, however, philosophers Deleuze and Guattari positioned the sculpturally evocative statement, ‘affects are space-blocks of time’.


The towers, like giant sculptures against my eyes, turn abstract in slow wakeful moments. Affect here swallows me up, as the thinking I am doing is with my whole body and without language. Like the ‘new’, affect is fleeting, it is constantly slipping through fingers, as soon as it begins to be understood it starts to disappear. But if there is something latent, some content lying in wait, then there can be an edge that will refuse to be pinned down. This is one thing the art group Slush likes to work with, these unexplainable things that we hold onto unresolved in our minds. On perception Bergson noted, ‘the eye only sees what the mind is ready to comprehend’, Slush extends this thought to say, every recognisable signifier can act to reduce a ‘thing’ – in our case it is  art - to commodity status with attributable value. This is an undercurrent of our work, like our name the process of Slush is complicated and messy, concerned with what a collaborative material practice can say about the world. In the studio, leading up to this exhibition we talked about what ‘almost nothing’ might look like as material. We built a sort of house, that is not a house at all. There are panes of glass, clamps, bolts, and glistening ‘interference’ paint. Objects that are simultaneously paintings, sculptures, and screens are placed rhythmically in the gallery so when viewed from any angle there are always different colour compositions and relationships. 


A theme of this exhibition is about persisting through transience, the reality of my short solipsistic story is that I will move out of my house before the trees lose their leaves again and the towers will come down for a lucrative development soon enough. For me, Slush is more permanent than housing, it is a process of losing the individual artist in a group, vulnerably committed to not knowing what will happen each time around. Our process of exhibition making is as fluid, confusing, and without words as a nascent state of waking.




16 page booklet with contributions by: Wystan Curnow, Nick Garner, Marian Tubbs, Matthew Hanson

Cover: Stephen Bambury, I am still alive on Kawau (necessary correction), 2011