Pub Date : 2022-07-03DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2022.2147631
A. Roe
In my experience, when I was twenty-two or twenty-three, of being in a group with women and telling stories about the things that were worrying us, I remember being so blown away by things that I thought were just me and how other women were saying the same things. That just struck me, how all the meaning in my life until that point had been created by the ... normative stories about the way things are. And I went, that’s all just made up! We could make up anything we like and make that truth, as long as we could live into it ... I think that’s been the story of our family, that this is a family and we will make all the meanings and structures and connections.
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Pub Date : 2022-07-03DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2022.2143764
J. Milam
Most people have heard the term macaroni through the ditty “Yankee Doodle”, but few, even within art history and fashion studies, know of the extensive visual and textual materials related to the ‘macaroni men’ in eighteenth-century culture. In his global research into all things macaroni, Peter McNeil has pulled together a rich history of this cosmopolitan presentation of the (male) self to resurrect the macaroni men, questioning what their fashion sense enabled and exploring alternative conceptions of masculinity. The first book-length study devoted to this male fashion figure of the 1760s and 1770s, it starts off with a series of questions related to the meaning of clothing, the swiftness of changes in fashion, and the classical framework through which young men of the eighteenth century engaged in fashionable luxuries that improved their appearance. With over 150 illustrations, mostly of objects rarely seen and little known, the reader is introduced to a visually rich history of the macaroni. McNeil’s painstaking research over many decades in collections around the world has gathered a large resource of previously unknown (or at least hardly known) objects and garments. Indeed, the preface provides a delightful introduction to the adventures that the author had in his quest to view every piece of porcelain, text, painting, print, and sculpted memorial dedicated to the macaroni. Holdings of the Royal Ontario Museum in Toronto include richly embroidered silk coats and waistcoats of French and English origin, as well as a coral-pink ribbed-silk suit with ermine lining and cuffs, that bring to life examples known through the paintings of JeanEtienne Liotard, Thomas Gainsborough, and Pompeo Batoni of English aristocrats, many of which are Grand Tour portraits. There are also wonderful illustrations of examples of male dress from the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, the National Gallery of Victoria, the Museum of London, the Bata Shoe Museum in Toronto, and private collections in the United Kingdom and the United States. Extraordinary accessory objects are also reproduced—including a pair of coloured and embroidered silk stockings, swords with elaborate chasing and gilt mounts, shoe buckles and buttons, a wig-bag and power bellows—which were objects that may have otherwise appeared to be the subject of excessive and conspicuous consumption, only known through caricatures. This is one of the major contributions of the
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Pub Date : 2022-07-03DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2022.2143754
Verónica Tello
The idea, or timing, for this issue had something to do with the National Gallery of Australia’s (NGA) Know My Name initiative (KMN). For the uninitiated, KMN seeks to redress the NGA’s decades long gender inequity across the museum’s operations and structures, including staffing, exhibitions and collecting practices and policies. As part of KMN, the NGA organised a conference towards the end of 2020 which some of the contributors and editors of this issue — Diana Baker Smith, Paola Balla, Janine Burke, Alex Martinis Roe, Vikki McInnes, Bhenji Ra, and I participated. Following the conference, McInnes, Baker Smith and I, alongside Fiona Foley and Ngarino Ellis, began conversations around continuing the work of critiquing the gendered discrimination at the centre of art institutions in Australia and New Zealand/Aotearoa. Beyond those aforementioned, we invited Helen Hughes, Soo-Min Shim, June Miskell and Cameron Hurst to contribute to this issue. Since so many of us are based in universities, and we all contribute to the writing of art history in one way or another, we wanted to analyse and dismantle at least some of the biases, vocabularies and structures that perpetuate gender inequity in the discipline that underpins this journal. Whatever the limits of KMN may be (in part registered in Soo-Min Shim’s extended review of KMN in this issue) the NGA’s project has been a catalysed for discussions on ways in which Australian art institutions require a profound restructure to undo who feels at home in such spaces. In a way, the idea for this issue is simple: it adopts methods of institutional critique to unsettle the discipline of art history—that is, to not “make a home” therein given the relation between this act and dispossession—but rather to expose how and why many of us find ourselves on the margins of art history. The issue adopts methods of institutional critique to assess the limits and possibilities of the
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Pub Date : 2022-07-03DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2022.2143755
J. Miskell, Bhenji Ra
Introduction to Our Dialogue (June Miskell) Over the past decade, Filipinx-Australian artist Bhenji Ra has developed a transdisciplinary practice combining dance, performance, video, and community organising and events. Together with artist Justin Shoulder, she is part of the collective Club Ate, whose practice traverses video, performance, and club events, with an emphasis on community activation and collaboration with members of the LGBTQIAþAsia–Pacific diaspora in Australia and the Philippines. Formed in 2014, through Bhenji and Justin’s shared Filipino-Australian ancestry, Club Ate has frequently collaborated with set and costume designer Matthew Stegh, digital video artist and music video director Tristan Jalleh, and composer and electronic music producer Corin Ileto. Across the body of Club Ate’s work—recent examples include Ex Nilalang (2014–) and In Muva We Trust (2020)—Bhenji and Justin draw upon and reimagine Filipinx folklore narratives in the creation of their own ‘future folklore’, which is both pre-colonial and future-oriented. Alongside video practice, Club Ate has facilitated workshops and events that take the form of pageants, variety nights, and balls, notably collaborating with House of Sl e across a number of early balls held in venues such as the Red Rattler Theatre and Gumbramorra Hall, on unceded Gadigal and Wangal Land in Marrickville, Sydney. The House of Sl e is a Western Sydney–based vogue house mothered by Bhenji and comprising a tight-knit family of diasporic LGBTQIAþPasifika and Asian artists, dancers, and performers. Since its formation in 2015, House of Sl e has pioneered the activism and aesthetics of US New York queer ‘ballroom’ culture in an Australian context, organising events, vogue workshops, and balls across the greater Sydney region over the last seven years. Queer ballroom culture and voguing
我们的对话简介（June Miskell）在过去的十年里，菲律宾裔澳大利亚艺术家Bhenji Ra发展了一种将舞蹈、表演、视频、社区组织和活动相结合的跨学科实践。她与艺术家Justin Shoulder一起是集体Club Ate的一员，该俱乐部的活动涵盖视频、表演和俱乐部活动，重点是社区激活以及与澳大利亚和菲律宾的LGBTQIA亚太地区侨民成员的合作。Club Ate成立于2014年，拥有Bhenji和Justin共同的菲律宾-澳大利亚血统，经常与布景和服装设计师Matthew Stegh、数字视频艺术家和音乐视频导演Tristan Jalleh以及作曲家和电子音乐制作人Corin Ileto合作。在Club Ate的整个作品中——最近的例子包括Ex Nilalang（2014年）和In Muva We Trust（2020年）——Bhenji和Justin在创作他们自己的“未来民间传说”时借鉴并重新想象了菲律宾民间传说，这既是前殖民地的，也是面向未来的。除了视频练习，Club Ate还以选美、综艺之夜和舞会的形式为研讨会和活动提供了便利，尤其是与House of Sl e合作，在悉尼马里克维尔的Gadigal和Wangal Land举办了许多早期舞会，如红拉特剧院和Gumbramorra Hall。Sl e之家是一家位于悉尼西部的时尚之家，由Bhenji担任母亲，由散居的LGBTQIAþPasifika和亚洲艺术家、舞者和表演者组成。自2015年成立以来，House of Sl e在澳大利亚背景下开创了美国纽约酷儿“舞厅”文化的激进主义和美学，在过去七年中在大悉尼地区组织活动、时尚研讨会和舞会。酷儿舞厅文化与狂欢
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Pub Date : 2022-07-03DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2022.2151552
Fiona Foley, P. Balla
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Pub Date : 2022-07-03DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2022.2147546
H. Hughes
Abstract This article concerns the near total lack of artworks by Australia’s convict women that have come to light. First, I examine the reasons why convict women’s art was either not produced or not preserved, and then I offer a preliminary analysis of three textile artworks made by convict women in the mid-nineteenth century: the exceedingly well known Rajah Quilt (1841) and two less well known embroidery samplers from around the same time. In comparing these textiles, this article articulates the complex status of so much convict art regardless of its maker’s gender: its oscillation between a form of creative self-expression and an exercise in strict disciplinary reform and social conditioning from above. Yet, this article also shows how sexual difference inflected the life-worlds of female convicts and the textile art they produced, focusing on the gendered productive and reproductive forms of labour that were demanded of convict women in the penal colonies of Australia.
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Pub Date : 2022-07-03DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2022.2143763
Soo-Min Shim
The National Gallery of Australia’s Know My Name: Australian Women Artists 1900 to Now was a gender equity project which showcased more than 400 works by 170 women artists across the National Gallery of Australia (NGA) in a two part exhibition during 2020-2022. Alongside the exhibitions’ were a number of other projects such as the display of works by women artists from the NGA collection on billboards and signage across the country, a major catalogue publication and an international conference. Know My Name (KMN) aimed to ‘celebrate the work of all women artists to enhance understanding of their contribution to Australia’s cultural life.’ Yet to my mind, the physical exhibitions left little space to acknowledge the nuances embedded within the term ‘woman’, at the risk of reproducing reductive modes of representation and reinforcing the very gender binary that engenders essentialism and inequality. Within the term ‘woman’ there are hierarchies of race yet these stratifications are erased in Know My Name. In the first section of Part One of KMN, the display thematised as “Lineages and Remembering” aimed to problematise chronology and temporality, following no historical period or common style. Instead, the seemingly randomised hang claims to create a new ‘lineage’ based on diachrony, polyphony and numerous points of references. Hence Kate Beynon’s circular Self-portrait with dragon spirits (2010) is hung next to Dora Chapman’s Sunflower (1969) which is displayed adjacent to Bea Maddocks’ Four finger exercise for two hands (1982). Moya Dyring’s Melanctha (c.1934) is next to Yvette Coppersmith’s Nude Self Portrait, after Rah Fizelle (2016) and so forth. In principle the lack of a systemised hang may represent a collapse of authority, inviting viewers to make their own connections, in practice without any curatorial guidance or attention, viewers are only left with the collective understanding that all the works displayed are expressions of femininity and womanhood. In so doing the multiple registers of interpretation operating within a single artwork are reduced to a single framework. Furthermore, all the works seem to operate on the same playing field. Yet as Indigenous scholars have pointed out, the playing field is riddled with
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Pub Date : 2022-01-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2022.2073986
S. Meurer
The wily peasant Marcolf was an outsider quite like no other. His very name, ‘Mark-Wulf’, or ‘wolf from the outer marches’, denoted him as an alien figure: beast-like by nature and from the eastern margins of the known world. In the medieval Dialogue of Solomon and Marcolf, he arrives at the court of Solomon in Jerusalem to enter into a series of debates with the Old Testament king on subjects as diverse as good and evil, the benefits of moderation, the importance of social hierarchies, or women and marriage. The Dialogue’s popularity was rooted in the comical inversion of Solomon’s abstracted wisdom into Marcolf’s crude and often scatological corporeality. While the king speaks ‘out of the abundance of the heart’, Marcolf counters with trumpeting buttocks. The verbal sparring from which the Dialogue takes its title is followed by a largely narrative sequence of eight pranks. Here, Marcolf purportedly fulfils the king’s orders, yet manages to outwit Solomon and escape punishment thanks to his clever resourcefulness. When, for instance, Solomon sentences Marcolf to death, the peasant requests that he be permitted to choose the tree he will be hanged from. Since Marcolf fails to find a suitable specimen, the punishment cannot be executed. Variations in both text length and levels of crudity in surviving manuscript copies suggest that there probably was a strong oral tradition of improvised Dialogues between Solomon and the grotesque peasant. In the twelfth century, for example, a ‘Merculfo’ appeared among a group of performers entertaining at the Northern French court of Arnould of Gûınes, and by the late Middle Ages, Marcolf was a firm fixture in the upside-down world of carnival plays. In physical appearance, intellectual character, and social rank, Marcolf was presented as the anti-type to Solomon’s type, an outcast who inserted himself into the king’s presence to provide an opposing worldview and temporarily defy accepted order. Upon the introduction of printing in the fifteenth century, the Dialogue became a bestseller across Europe. In Germany alone, no fewer than six editions were
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Pub Date : 2022-01-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2022.2076035
J. Hoorn
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Pub Date : 2022-01-02DOI: 10.1080/14434318.2022.2076033
S. Chadbourne
A late sixteenth-century woodcut entitled ‘ Prodiges de Satan ’ depicts a peculiar image of the Devil enthroned, wearing a triple-tiered crown reminiscent of a papal tiara. Two attendants wait on Satan, conversing and swinging censers, venerating his physical form (fig. 1). This woodcut was included in the Histoires prodigieuses , first published in Paris in 1560 by humanist writer and translator Pierre Boaistuau (c. 1517 – 1566). A later edition, published in Paris in 1566, is held in the Rare Books Collection at the University of Melbourne. 1 This edition has the same wood-block prints found in the first printed edition of 1560. ‘ Prodiges de Satan ’ is the first chapter in the Histoires prodigieuses . In his narrative, Boaistuau ascertains that the Devil was of this world, and provides two locations at which God had provided most liberty for his tyrannous rule: Delphi, home of the oracle of Apollo, and the town of Calicut, in southern India. 2 Satan ’ s muscular and naked figure is portrayed as a half-human, half-beast hybrid, with the face of a lion, the feet of a cockerel, claws for hands, and what resembles a rat-like tail or an extended phal-lus. This strange figure is covered in fur, with drooping breasts, and the head of a demon appears to spring forth from its genitals. Satan ’ s open-armed stance suggests an appeal for an embrace, while the head protruding from between its splayed legs and its pendulous breasts imply a woman giving birth. 3 This essay furthers research undertaken by Jennifer Spinks on the relationship this image had with preceding instances of the ‘ Devil in Calicut ’ . 4 I make additional comments on how and why a misinterpreted image of a Hindu deity came to be converted into an image of the Devil, and emphasise how textual and visual accounts of South Indian religious practices were reinterpreted to more effectively warn and shock viewers,
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