Unbecoming

If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration.
Nikola Tesla (1942)

Search below the perceivable surface and solidity of all matter and you will find simple energy fields, bustling in states of constant adjustments, endlessly becoming, unbecoming, and rebecoming. Quantum particles buzzing and vibrating at various frequencies in a dance of attraction and repulsion.

In his 2018 article in Scientific America Dr Tam Hunt, University of California, Santa Barbara (with colleague Dr Jonathan Schooler) presents their ‘resonance theory of consciousness’. Their theory postulates that all matter is conscious, i.e. capable of synchronised interaction. Bring two particles together and their behaviour changes, in time they sync to each other’s rhythm. They are communicating, calling and responding, however rudimentary. As the complexity of the amalgam of particles increases new paths (and modes) of communication are possible, consciousness increasing by more than the sum of its parts.

I recently redefined my personal definition of art to be ‘the physical manifestation of thought through effort in time’.

Consciousness co-exists with matter, matter can only exist in time, matter and thought are inseparable. Matter is the conduit of communion, sound through air, image through light, growth through ingestion, touch through flesh, and data through glass fibre and radio waves. As is my custom, this exhibition is not a monoculture, it reflects the complexity of an individual’s fertile experience.

I promised Jan Murphy on our first meeting ‘this show will be operatic in itsrange’. These works are a conversation between me and the various materials I have lived alongside, fought for and against, and loved. If Dr Hunt is correct these objects and I have communicated. These amalgams of matter, bought into proximity, are communicating and harmonising with each, and in their turn, talking to an audience. ‘Unbecoming’ is an amalgam of autonomous yet deeply connected objects, hopefully increasing by more than the sum of their parts. My thoughts (influenced by those of many) materially manifest through effort in time.

Unbecoming

I tried to love
your expectation of me
folding away fantastical flights of fancy
unbecoming of a gentleman

under instruction
‘as seen on TV’
I cobbled together
a shoddy veneer of masculinity

but dreams
like water
seek out faults and fissures
determined to escape

I surrender to this tide

strip me bare
scrub me to the bone
cast me as a net
cradling life
gathering matters

2022 - synthetic polymer paint, galvanised steel mesh, stainless steel, nylon - 10 pieces 29 x 29 x 29 cm,

overall dimensions variable

Unbecoming notes

You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read.
James Baldwin

Words frighted me as a child, I knew they could sooth and create joy, I also knew they could scold,
confuse, or conceal the truth. I liked hearing words and loved to sing along, but felt unworthy to speak them, they often seemed to come out wrong? Reading was like swimming in a kelp forest. I help my pencil incorrectly, the guide lines were intimidating and my work was messy with corrections. I don’t know if I was dislexic, anxious or just slow, it confounded me?

For many years I let these early frustrations take anchor in my mind…words were obviously not for me. In time, out of necessity, I became more confident with speaking. I had no talent for performance but speaking plays made sense, these words demanded public performance. Throughout my schooling reading and writing remained a perplexing problem.

Confidence in reading came first, eventually writing came easier too. One day I wrote a poem, a private thought that felt worthy of sharing. It was liberating, so I wrote another, and another.

Now I have made my first text based art work. It does not give up its message easily though, the symbols integrated into abstract sculptural form.

‘Unbecoming’ a word that has soothed me and offered joy often throughout this last year. Permission to unload the ballast, lift the anchor, let go and set sail into something new. All words carry multiple meaning, dependant on context and delivery. This word, like so many, might also scold, confuse, or conceal the truth?

I once had a friend named Morgan
who possessed a magnificent organ
when I played it at night
they would grin with delight
keeping us up until morning

2022 - synthetic polymer paint, galvanised steel mesh - 65 x 60 x 110cm

a declaration

of reclimation

2022 - synthetic polymer paint, galvanised steel mesh - 65 x 65 x 110cm

meet me at the finish line

outrunning the shadows
that grow longer
towards days end
you stumbled
by my side
not by accident

I carried you with me
into health
and renewal
only to watch
youthful confidence
run ahead

2022 - synthetic polymer paint, galvanised steel mesh - 90 x 110 x 70cm

longing for the Vitruvian man

in youth

and yesterdays

I saw my future

in your body

and wept

I saw my father naked

and felt ashamed

in death

Darryl (and James Baldwin)

continue their lesson

love’s preliminary battles

are fought in the bathroom mirror

2021-22 - cotton, polyester, sewing pins - 215 x 215 x 1 cm

At 2pm on October 12th 2021 Darryl Leslie Austin, the man who fathered me, passed away. 30 minutes later a friend, colleague and mentor of 19 years boarded a plane to begin his new life, 10 days after that my primary romantic relationship irreconcilably broke down.

Darryl had ‘misplaced’ his rational mind some years earlier, in these last weeks of life his body was failing, he was now unable to communicate verbally. My once strong and active primary patriarchal role model was now helpless. He lay naked on his nursing home bed, all bodily control lost to him, I lay next to him, holding his hand, saying very little, stroking his head. After his death I asked my mother Gail to save Darryl’s clothing, without understanding why.

My mind and heart were in tatters. It soon became apparent, I needed to make something. To put myself back together I needed to put something else together. I needed to make a quilt.

I assumed Darryl’s death would result in a painful severing of love ties…It did. Surprisingly this was accompanied by a feeling of tremendous freedom. These feelings were short lived however, I soon understood the bond was not broken, and whatever black hole he was passing through I was being lead there with him. The quilt would be a tondo, a vortex pattern diminishing towards a ‘singularity’, or expanding out towards an event horizon.

An image of Leonard’s ‘Vitruvian man’, the ‘ideal’ male form, the measure of all things, drifted into my mind. The diameter of the circle would be based on Darryl’s physical dimensions inserted into Leonardo’s equation. Darryl was not the perfect man, he was flawed like us all, but he was perfectly Darryl.

Pondering my fathers physicality stirred some painful memories in me. I am Queer, I am attracted to the male anatomy. As a young person, seeing my father naked was a pivotal step in realising this, and the cause of some confusion and shame. These fabrics I now possessed, mostly pyjamas, were his armour in the world, projecting his masculinity and protecting his vulnerability. They were a reflection of his taste and identity. Later I realised Gail had purchased them all. They were as much her as him.

Coinciding with all of this I was questioning my gender identity? Interrogating inherited and learned bias of what constitutes masculinity. Realising that my attempts to live up to other’s expectations of maleness had damaged me. Eventuality I made the decision that I would not accept being defined by my genitals, embracing a gender non-binary philosophy and identity. Clothing, coded gender signifiers, playing a big part in this understanding/misunderstanding.

The pattern was developed and refined using CAD, it required 12 various fabrics. Eliminating impractical fabrics I lay Darryl out on a table, I had 11. I chose an Italian made men’s business shirt from my wardrobe as the ‘12th man’. I would insert the DNA of my old self into the fabric of this object.

Grief was overwhelming, alongside the sadness it affected my concentration, short term memory
and decision making. I have never made a quilt. I understood the theory, YouTube tutorials and preliminary experiments were necessary.

Carefully cutting the first pattern pieces for this object felt like conducting an autopsy, the tears flowed. It became apparent very quickly that machine sewing was impractical. I was drawn into a childhood memory of watching Darryl’s mother Violet skilfully stitch an achievement patch onto my cub uniform. This memory accompanied by Louse Bourgeois’ wisdom around the healing nature of hand stitching. Every stitch would be visible, I would employ the blanket stitch I learned from Violet.

Arriving at the fourth band of pattern I realised I had made ‘mistakes’, the pattern’s genesis was incorrect, this would radiate out, affecting everything. A mutation had occurred due to my inability to concentrate. A truth had revealed itself, another ‘imperfect pattern’, I chose to embrace this.

Over 8 months the pieces slowly came together while I cried, laughed, felt anger, resentment, frustration, love, fear, joy. Through reminiscence, remembering Darryl, family and friends, and contemplating my future. I injured myself, an RSI developing in my left hand, straining my eyes on many occasions. By the time the pattern was finished I had meticulously hand stitched over 110 meters of seams. By the time the pattern was finished I had repaired myself and patched many tattered feelings. The quilt had held me, comforted me, focused me, measured me, taught me and bought me closer to myself and to Darryl.

Darryl’s exterior was usually clad in the restrained muted tones of classic masculinity, but behind that lay a generous heart, a frustrated but joyous man who danced and sang, had a passion for making things and a deep dedication and love for his family. I completed this object by backing it with 4 bright colours arranged as in the popular 80’s electronic game ‘Simon says’, a memory game but also a mimicry game…monkey see, monkey do.

The vortex pattern employed in this work branches out into 12 interlocking love hearts. From its inception this object was intended to be joyous, not morose. Celebrating and bearing witness to the life of a man I loved very dearly. Each stitch evidence of that love, the love he reciprocated for me, my sister Kellie and Gail, and the love and respect for myself he helped me find.

I’ve been asked by many ‘how can you part with this object?’. I’m an artist, making this object was never about possessing it, it was the process that drove me to pursue it and the process that will always remain with me, that is all I need. I have spoken to my family about this, they understand. I will make a patchwork cushion from the left over fabrics for Kellie and her children.

While it remains in my possession I have been taking it on adventures, enjoying its opticality and physicality, exploring its possibilities, wearing it, and inviting others to share in its joyous beauty, documenting these moments for a future project.