The Yellow Figure
It oozed some form of yellow discharge, no, not the yellow of the sunny variety but the yellow that colours pus, the yellow that stains when things have been soiled, the yellow from the old wallpaper—all but indeed concentrated. The yellow you know of that is dirty and caustic.
When it walks, each heavy step sends a pulse through its body and pushes its meat to press against its salivary skin. It stretches and pushes it to ooze, to exude from its pores. It drips. And as it walks on top of its own biological residue, smearing it along the floors, it leaves a glossy trail of where it has been. It left not only its mark but its smell. A sweaty, sharp but sweet smell that caused your nostrils to flare and then contract and repeal. The odour of perversion and sin.
I was walking on Burchin Street near that convenient store that never closed when the smell hint my nose. I covered my nose quickly but then it enter my mouth. I could taste the saccharine rot and choked. I threw up. I took a moment and turned to my right. There in the dark ally laid a puddle of yellow. Yes, that yellow. Holding my breath, I walked towards it and entered the darkness.
‘What are we all still living for? We’re damned! If I fell ill now, there isn’t a soul would bother about me.’ An all-pervading fear crept over me. ‘I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die!’ At a complete loss, I put my head in my hands. ‘The pinnacle of creation!’ – It was my despair speaking. – ‘Two legs, tubes of bone, bear my whole world, a world of pain and delusion. The worst part is the body.’ The fear of death sent a shudder through me. ‘What lies in store for my body? All its thousand organs, into what cunning instruments of torture will they be transformed? Oh, if only I could stop thinking, but that functions automatically. There are no certainties that are not countered by uncertainties! It’s an endless labyrinth, and I’m damned! My belly is filled with ordure and disgust, and whenever I do manage to feel something passionately I immediately lose my nerve. There is just one thing I do know: however much I wriggle and squirm, minute by minute I am coming closer to the inevitable, closer to death, and there is nothing I can do about it. I haven’t even the courage to kill myself. Lasting unhappiness is my destiny.’ I sighed.
— A except on the wonderings of dying from The Other Side, 1908 by Alfred Kubin
Exploration by Bruno Coulais
Helene Schmitz’s photographs of Alabama trees covered in the leafy vine Kudzu.
Doubt has a terrible voice and just really shouldn’t sing.
Curated by Ace Wagstaff
3 - 20 September
Featuring the images of work (sourced from the artists with permission) by:
A Constructed World (Geoff Lowe and Jacqueline Riva), Kate Carey Peters, Tim Andrew, Louise Zhang, Terrence Combos, Peter Aitkens, Michael Prior, Kate Tucker, Nabilah Nordin, Joanna Anderson, Bill Noonan, Louise Blyton, Lila Afiouni, Lois Hopwood, Rachel Schenberg, Yoek, Leanna Kim, Yvette Coppersmith, Adrian Stojkovich, Nicholas Ives, Jordan Marani and Lucy James.
and featuring the images of work (sourced from the internet without permission) by:
Richard Prince, Sean Bailey, Matthew Collings, Tom Polo, Joseph Mallord William Turner, Ivor Lovheim, Claudia Dance-Wells and Josef Zachary Shanley Jackson, Ciarrai MacCormac, Jessica Simorte, Antonio del Pollaiolo, Grant Nimmo, and Stanley Kubrick.
Click here for more information.
Trocadero Art Space
Lvl 1/119 Hopkins St
Footscray VIC 3011, AU
Saturday 6 September 4 - 6pm
Wednesday - Saturday 12 - 5pm
Witching & Bitching (2013)
Anonymous: I remember you saying you used liquin ages ago and I picked some 'fine detail liquin' up at my art store yesterday. I can't for the life I me find resources on its use though (probably should've looked before but I just had the name in the back if my head so I grabbed it when I saw it) how do you like to use it?
It is used for oil paints to accelerate drying time and extends the paint as well. Depending on the paint and the amount you use, it can leave a gloss finish. You can glaze with it, thin out the paint, or keep the paint smooth for line brush work. Make sure you give a shake before you use it. It has a habit of changing consistency - sometimes its runny, sometimes jelly-like.
I use Art Spectrum’s Liquol instead of Windsor and Newton’s Liquin because its cheaper with the amount I use. You don’t really need a lot of it. Mix it with your paint or dip your brush in it. Play around. x
I am happy to announce that I am now represented by Artereal Gallery.
As a child, I grew up with an ‘invisible presence’.
As I grew up with it I saw it as a friend.
And soon enough it began attaching itself to me.
It would sometimes play with me and in turn, I with it. It became a presence that I could always find a home in. I wasn’t aware of its intentions then nor that it would decide to stay with me beyond my childhood. It clung to my chest like a baby hungry for its first milk and as it drank and drank it blew bigger and bigger.
My teenage years with it were particularly difficult. As it grew and grew it felt heavier and heavier. It would follow me where ever I would go. And greedily take up all the seats for that’s how it is suppose to be. I carried its weight with me thinking everybody else did too. It was exhausting yet I would not wish it away for It had become part of my life, part of me. I did wish though for it to take care of itself once in a while and leave me be.
As I neared my adulthood, it still kept growing (unlike what my height had decided to then). I found it increasingly annoying — it’s constant nagging shortened my temper. I felt its existence like never before.
And then, one day, it grew so big that it was too heavy for me to carry, that even itself could not contain. It bursted.
I was showered with its contents, feathers that skimmed my skin. My home had disappeared but what lightness did I feel.
Now and then I would spot what seemed to be a new presence growing and I would stop, search and examine with anxiety the seed from which it grows. And when this does happen I find myself in ambivalence. I wish it gone yet, I wish to be home.
Perhaps the feathers were not so light.
VERMIFORM STEAKS 2014
vinyl acrylic and oil on birch wood
90 cm diameter