‘Grant me the serenity’ (on going) is a character study set in the remote mountains of western lutruwita/Tasmania documenting Peter, an enigmatic and creative individual who migrated to the area six years ago. Peter lives on the cusp of change both in his personal life and amongst the social and environmental developments that play out within the landscape that he inhabits. The work draws together the juxtapositions of intimacy and expanse with humour whilst examining themes of isolation, relational tension, mortality and escapism.

Install picture from Hillvale Gallery, 2024.

Image courtesy of Hannah Nikkelson

This work continues my interest in the contestation of space along the kanamaluka / Tamar estuary. The impetus is a campaign urging the public and authorities to 'Fix the mud'. Despite using the language of environmentalism, research reveals the campaign is being led primarily by entities with vested interest in the waterways. This conflict raises the idea of a socialised notion of 'nature' and encourages a critical understanding of what political, economic, and social interests dominate the discourse around the estuary's current and future use.

The methodology involves producing landscape photographs and sitting the film at the tide line for a week before returning to the work and developing the sheets in my home studio The end results are markings, etchings, sedimentary influence, light leaks and algae burning onto the film and engaging a type of co-authorship over the final image.

Basketball is simultaneously an omnipresent visual primer from the Philippines colonial past as well as a cultural marker of the nation’s forged contemporary identify.

Whilst the construction of the basketball court remains a captivating subject, the court (irrespective of its infrastructure) is also a hallmark of resistance by everyday Filipinos in the battle for public space.

The Philippines is being urbanised at an alarming rate with a handful of wealthy families and oligarchs staking claim on public space. Gated communities, mega shopping malls and even park spaces are largely privately owned with restricted access and monitored behavior.

The local basketball court stands as a staunch counterpoint to the privatisation of the land and remains firmly in the hands of the everyday Filipino, even if it’s very existence can be fleeting and constantly under threat.

This series culminated in a book and exhibition in 2017. The first print run is now sold out.

2011-2019

‘Happy Lonely Day’ continues my exploration of public space and the way in which these areas are used, manipulated and rooted to changes in human behaviour. The setting of the work is in Natural World, a small amusement and green park in central Yangon. The location of the space toggles between private and public domain - the name remains a paradox - a constructed space for the public.

I was initially drawn to the use of the space for young courting couples to enact out performative love rituals. In lieu of the restrictions of privacy at home, the park is a popular location for escapism from prying family with constructed areas such as ‘Lover’s Lane’ and the deliberate positioning of couples chairs and privacy areas away from the main courses of the park.

A duality exists where the park’s main function serves as a setting for multi-generational relatives to enjoy leisure time together. Family picnics, siblings riding roller-coasters together and grandparents overlooking bathing infants contributes to a jovial and welcoming atmosphere.

If you scratch beneath the surface however, there is an undercurrent of tension and loneliness that threatens to rise to the surface. A lonely balloon seller, a dying plant or deflated show ride. These visual cues allude to a foreboding warning and can be seen as a metaphor for the forced and contrived nature of the built environment.

Since returning to my home state of lutruwita/Tasmania at the start of the global pandemic, I have faced a reckoning of sorts in considering my childhood and departure from the island 20 years ago. The early and unexpected nature of the migration forced an examination of familial memories and a questioning of the material and immaterial nature of place.

Queenstown and its surrounding areas have been home to my ancestors for five generations. I spent the first three years of my life in our family home on Jakins st and the park adjacent the railway is named after my grandfather, Trevor Carswell for his commitments to the local community. Although I haven’t lived in Queenstown since early childhood, my memories are tied to visits back to see my grandmother and relatives; the winding roads that lead into the valley are tinged with nostalgia. Despite the shifting of time, the scale of the mountains remains unchanged in my eyes as scars of the landscape remain embedded in my cerebral memories. Social, cultural and environment aspects of Queenstown appear unchanged to the casual observer, however, like the ebbs and flows of the mining industry, there is a recent sense of imminent change. A town on the cusp of transformation, both from internal and external forces has emboldened a sense of urgency to document Queenstown and the shifting tides.

There’s a folklore tale in the Philippines that over a dozen people have died in the past directly as a result of singing Frank Sinatra’s ‘My Way’ in videoke bars. Everytime I ask someone to explain why I get a mixed response. The most common perception is that it’s the hardest song to sing and the killings stemmed from discontent that the song wasn’t being performed to the standard that it deserved. The amount of deaths and the reasoning are a little blurry. Like a juicy gossip column overflowing with celebrity news. What is known, is that the fear of trouble erupting from singing My Way has been enough to scare many videoke owners to withdraw the hit from the song list.

There is no fear of death for Elvis performance artists in Manila belting out a cover of the old ‘Blue Eyes’ number. I should know; My neighbour is one of the star performers and I guessed his obsession long before I saw him don a bedazzled white jump suit. A night celebrating the life of 'The King' is the perfect cocktail combining Filipinos love for rock n roll & power ballad singing, celebrity culture and a nod to their American colonial past. The cast is made up of locals, foreigners living in the Philippines and international performers flown in for specific events. Every Elvis has his own shtick, costumes, moves and varying levels of Memphis accent. Local performers range from young hot shot Bam Angping dubbed 'Teenage Elvis Sensation' up to Chito Bertol, President of the Elvis Friendship club of Philippines and considered 'The Original Elvis of the Philippines', he has been performing Elvis songs for over 60 years.

Quiet and reflective, this ongoing series highlights obscure scenes that are held together with underlying tension.

The fragility of the natural world, urban anxieties and banal acts of human development are all laid bare in an empty void of stark loneliness and biting dark humour.

The intersection between chaos and silence.

Philippines 2015-2017

Under the dark cloud of Duterte’s ‘war on drugs’, life goes on for the hundreds of families who live in the Manila South Cemetery. Many of the inhabitants are attracted to the economy of the burial grounds providing them with regular work maintaining grave sites and servicing the needs of the daily visitors. For others, the decision to live among the dead if buoyed on by a safer sense of security when compared to the outside world. Despite corruption among officials and the lack of electricity and running water, some families have called the cemetery home for over four decades.

Manila 2015 - 2017