Now I notice knickers in this fantasy of lace.
BY Mathew Bell.
Hatched is an exhibition running at PICA from Friday 5 May.
Bells, chimes and blurred neighbours shout as I’m introduced to this hall,
I stand at the room’s attention and view the entrance as a whole.
The audio sets the atmosphere; it’s experimental, calm and assertive,
contrasts of installations appear and communicate through purpose.
Shiny objects sing, boxes hold ideas,
an upper level influences me to begin my experience.
To my right is a floral curtain, choreographed to form a dance,
It’s classical patterns repeat and produce a sweeping of romance.
This piece holds high standards linking me towards the ceiling
Its intricate weave of desires are affectionately appealing.
Its neighbour disputes my awe and protests my encounter,
a narrative of violent conflict condemns me to the corner.
This collage of roaring sound bites, enlists me with instruction,
but rows of handwritten statistics fatigue me in discussion.
I’m caught feeling indifferent to the next patterned project,
materials, pinks and stockings fixed to the wall, a simple prospect.
I find myself seeking design instead of delving in to question,
sure the piece is unified, minimal and pleasant.
Oh it’s about maternity? Maybe mothers can relate.
Now I notice knickers in this fantasy of lace.
In the center of this room, shiny frames are wrapped like chocolate,
A reflection of the small space invites me between the structures.
A mad house of mirrors but instead I walk the circumference,
not influenced enough to enter, I interact without encumbrance.
But that’s why it’s there, a conversation about space,
I subliminally decided the area is unsafe.
A golden drape wriggles at a touch; it chimes in sync with location,
I’ve left the violent noise behind and enjoy reconciliation.
This piece is tall and wide, swaying me to wonder,
the irony of the calming moment and the material’s production.
Then there’s a platform, an alter fashioned from foam,
the colours are coordinated and the shapes are formed like stone.
This sculpture is hierarchal and incredibly well designed,
elevated to the top, a contrasting statement is defined.
A tropical tie parodies the eye and the architecture leads to thought,
as a Palace of the Soviets, is intelligently explored.
I’m beckoned by a big television; I’m taunted by its hum,
I’m overwhelmed with anxiety as the buzzing greys become,
Less opaque and start displaying the symbolic and surreal,
football culture, masculine stereotype and tension of being queer.
Under this suffering lay an installation, a plastic piece of practice,
here I work out my thoughts on this metaphoric package.
A full-scale reconstruction of expectations and traditions,
this artwork is an excellent take on manly composition.
Overpowered by the noise I leave the room with its stress,
I approach a puzzle of cardboard plinths and wonder what a mess.
Plastic objects float, pop culture pieces are presented,
I’m cackled at as I stand by this postmodern project.
A TV flickers on the floor, mixed media reflects on the pedestal,
something about Alan Bond? This work has left me neutral.
In the other corner, an activist piece commands me to destroy,
fans on the floor bring back memories that cooled me as a boy.
Their nostalgic tones create sympathy and I side with the machine,
adverts and news articles tell a story of hidden grief.
As I enter another area, repetition of a culture calls,
I’m relaxed for a moment as a trance of chants performs.
But I’m assaulted by its neighboring piece the hums are back and loud,
I leave the work as “Na mas day” repeats a ritual that’s proud.
Next is a story weaved and shared, as nature and culture rise,
the passing of responsibilities and permissions come to light.
These abstract useful baskets show generations of business,
and a continuation of customs in the monochromatic images.
I walk a few feet and find myself standing still, objected,
as multiple personalities pierce me with perspective.
I’m torn between the calming of tones behind and the anxiety I’ve accumulated,
from the painful presence of these three portraits, digitally manipulated.
An unbalance of unease tips me to turn away,
the effect of the aggressive humming overwhelms my stay.
Ceramic pop art of Aussie culture clutters a lower podium,
cigarettes and pigeons step with bread, conflict and dysfunction
I pay this no mind, I see this daily but it’s the story told inside,
an acceptance of the mundane and humour that’s contrived.
I escape the violent hums but not the peaceful chimes,
As I enter a separate room that glows green with crime.
I stand there witnessing a dominating monopoly,
leaning around the structure to think It’s not my property.
I’ve been caught intruding curse my curiosity,
but my conflict is contradicted by a bench of hospitality.
After a short rest I further explore the room,
small paintings surround this shed,
more pop culture to consume.
The familiar contrasts the adjacent,
as I Google search for change,
I filter out photography,
and question what remains.
A cataclysmic creature abstracts plans to develop,
as this tar model slumps over a city like an insect.
It’s meticulous in design and stations me to look,
into the perspective of these architects and it’s contemporary hook.
I turn towards the paper, reconstructed and textured,
a man spies on an environment digitally perfected.
Screenshots of a space in an open world game’s community,
were processed and glitched to explore online identity.
I strut out of the monopolized room with a smile reflecting my experience
I glide across the hallway and head for the second floor exhibits
But the rest is your perspective, you’ll have to go and see
How diverse this graduate show is and Hatch your expertise.
This exhibition is entertaining; these new artists have great concepts
Some don’t need explaining, others sparking interest.
I compel you to explore and attend this exhibition,
make this visit an event and take time to analyse decisions.