Jugglers Art Space Inc

At the end of last year I put it out there to the Universe that I was in need of a cheap studio space for my art. When friends inquired how cheap was cheap, I flippantly said that free would be good! And low and behold, not long after I found myself sitting at a desk, staring out to the river at my new and amazing FREE studio courtesy of Juggelrs art space and very obliging universe.

Now, as my six weeks at this studio space draws to an end, I think back to the day that I saw that spectacular shed – the place that would become my studio and refuge. As it loomed in all its bizarre and isolated beauty, it promised so much. And it has delivered even more.

As I entered that huge, beckoning space, with its history and its creaks and groans I felt and overwhelming sense of being exactly where I was meant to be and being gifted an awesome opportunity. Space and time to myself are a rarity in my life and in my home.

Initially I was thrilled with my new space and I felt just a touch smug to move my paints and blank canvases into my little corner of paradise. But it hasn’t all been smooth sailing. What I discovered was an enormous amount of internal chatter, most of it decidedly unhelpful and distracting, that I was not at all prepared for. There have been days in my space that have challenged me to the core of what I am doing and why? I was ambushed by an existential crisis when faced with real space and uninterrupted time to pursue the thing that I know I love, the thing that makes me feel more like me than anything else.

So I had to remind myself to just paint rather than think and I’m glad I did.

This space has gifted me an enormous freedom and inspiration. It has forced a showdown between an urge to create and my artistic anxiety. Out of this has come a new body of work born out of the luxury of uninterrupted time and staying put. I am grateful for this opportunity and now have a aesthetic direction I am excited and content to pursue.

By Shannon Gibbs

— Jugglers 29/04/13

As those who circulate in creative networks are well aware, our government has recently stated that they’re “prioritising education” by recent decisions to savagely cut the arts from TAFE. After completely cutting funding to the Fine Arts, the New South Wales Government stated that “there are simply no job prospects for students”. Whilst it chills us creatives to our bones that our own government bluntly ignores the value of diverse, fresh, lateral thinking as means to stimulate growth in the creative industries, we go forward and still turn up at the studio every day. As the government keeps it’s blinkers on – it forgets to acknowledge the astonishing amount of people with arts training who also apply their skills of entrepreneurship, collaboration and creative problem solving to a whole range of sectors far beyond the creative industries – which would no doubt be a welcome change. From where TAFE students are standing, things would be looking pretty overcast.

It was Friday night and I was on my way to Vinegar Tits – a collaborative exhibition by recent Southbank Institute of Technology Fine Art graduates Deanne Peta Muir, Jess Thompson and Toby Gooley. From the eye of this education storm, these three artists pulled together a truly astonishing show, exclaiming with their works that these “prospects” our government so affectionately refer to are looking decidedly bleak.

As I ascended into Jugglers’ newly renovated upstairs gallery and cider bar (most conveniently situated outside my studio), I was sucked into Deanne Muir’s riptide of ceramic debris.
A cacophony of recently deceased bovine, plastic bottles and cups, arranged as if they are the result of a careful tidal wave or a meticulous shipwreck promptly swept me into it’s depths. This collection of figures was exceptionally crafted, recognised immediately in the small water cups whose beauty lay in their simplicity.
The cows appeared at ease, though you could still see the muscles and sinew aptly defined as they lay bereft of life, coated in the lifeless, chalky coating – characteristic of raw ceramic.
The installation was sombre and clinical, and saddeningly despondent with its familiarity. The strong contrast between the biological nature of the animals and the synthetic nature of the cups and bottles brought about a beautiful tension within the space.

As I shifted my gaze from the midnight zone of the white ocean to the walls, a beautiful graphite illustration boasted a captivating cafe scene, acting as a window into a reality we’re perhaps not all ready for – showing the special of the day being hunted and killed in amongst the tapas fiends and cocktail connoisseurs.

‘Half Empty’ – a stunning woodblock by Muir was truly charming on first encounter, then desolation and the many other associated realities of modern consumerism crept in. ‘Accustomed’ was a little more close to home crafting a dismal portrayal of our current Australian urbanised landscape as dingoes frolicked amongst plastic bags in a modern pseudo-ecosystem.

Deanne’s paintings are creamy and pastel soft to sink your eyes into, interrupted by short explosions of light from a mystery source.
Illuminated, translucent, familiar Australian icons were soaked is an unfamiliar colour palette, allowing the subjects to boast fresh and thoroughly revitalised demeanors, even though the narrative was charmingly bleak.

Jess Thompson’s mesmorisingly surreal forms abruptly introduced themselves as I floated around the main gallery, and I was instantly affronted with amoebic patterns – short fused with Dali-esque arms, breasts and limbs that seemed to surge forth from a wickedly angelic void in the paper. Vulvic forms took me back to Vince Collins’ 1982 film Malice in Wonderland, where you follow a jet-propelled white rabbit as it flies through the vulva of a supine woman into a wonderland where everything turns inside out at warp speed.
The immediate contrast of ink and watercolour with striking pen etchings, subsequently defined the weight of these independent masses, and made for a teeteringly balanced self sufficient wonderland.

On the other end of the spectrum were Toby Gooley’s charming characters whose quirkiness suggests they could be equally false in identity as they are real. This instant eccentricity was partnered with a consciously loose painting style and amplified by awkward scrawlings.
All no doubt meticulously crafted as the “amateur aesthetic” is a surprisingly hard thing to master amongst the complexities of adult life, the viewer forms an instant relationship and you feel like your staring at your awkwardly inappropriate uncle at the family barbeque or that heavily tattooed fellow you’ve dreamt of naked at the office.
‘The trigonometry of Desire’ was a definite favourite. The hypothetical posed in the text is as familiar as those provided on your grade 11 maths exam, so your brain begins to habitually scrounge for the answer. Then the guilt creeps in and you doubt your speculations as they uncannily resemble stereotyping and you blushingly avert your gaze from “the gays”.
‘Just Picture them Naked’ was another stand out, and all of the works subtly remind us that we can’t actually tell the difference between a gay fellow, a professor of economics and a blind man when they’re in their glad rags and socialising around an esky.
Despite the fictional aura of these characters, I felt like we were simultaneously best mates and awkward strangers – no doubt attributed to the snippets of narrative and witty sound bytes which invited them into those warm nostalgic parts of your brain.

Lets face it, mother nature has an astute habit of bringing up our shit; resurfacing what’s wrong with this society of ours and showcasing it to us in a manner that we’re continuing to ignore at a frightening rate. Artists are undeniably blessed with the visual vernacular to do the same, and Muir, Thompson and Gooley presented us with a convenient “modern-citizen-sized” mirror.
With this eclectic group of artists, the obvious common thread for Vinegar Tits was value placed on the hand crafted. As I walked out into the dark sheet of rain that threatened Fortitude Valley I felt like I was still digesting three courses of an ethically and socially conscious feast. And boy was it satisfying.

— Jugglers 21/03/13

“Love Love” studios [Teneriffe Brisbane] is an Artist Run Initiative [Andy Harwood, Jay Musk, Sarge Jhogenson] with grunt, showcasing Brisbane’s emerging contemporary art scene. Having had such classy curators as Dhana Merrit [IMA] is indicative of where this outfit is heading, or at least what it is doing. The current “Saturate” group show features a striking colour palette and installation works by emerging and other well known Brisbane artists including Simon DeGroot and Meagan Streader*. Meagan’s interactive installation of movable geometric shaped polymer or light plastic translucent light shades are accompanied by a low volume recording that sounded to me like clunking and clicking metal on metal. My experience of the installation was two fold. First, I was in the room with another couple who were taking the shades off and putting them on to the hidden magnets on the wall. Once the light shades found a magnet “home’ on the wall, the little low energy bulb in the shade came on, revealing a kind of light Buddhist safron robe shade of orange that then effused through the darkened room. On the low ceiling over the wall were about half a dozen light shades with blue lights and next to these blue shades were, I thought, more little magnets. I was mistaken. The woman next to me gently informed me as I tried to stick my shade to the ceiling that the blue light shades were fixed. I had a moment of embarrassment but then realised that this interactive installation of Meagan’s not only had the viewers constantly rebuilding the piece but had them finding human connections in the process. Most art shows are about the viewer and the two dimensional work with maybe a hushed word or two to a friend. This healthy “Love Love” experience for some reason reminded me of a far more harsh and violent approach to engagement with a marginalised arts practice. The current approach to illegal – and sometimes legal – graffiti is eradication and zero tolerance in Brisbane. There is no conversation or attempt to understand what the law currently says is the wrongful placing of paint on public buildings and train track-side barriers. There are some newly funded public mural initiatives that are positive and the Queensland government is on the right track with these projects. However, my view is that a less confrontational approach that attempts to see and understand the art and the artist , that takes the time to engage and to begin the long and sometimes painful conversations, would shift the balance to a more respectful and vibrant ethos and maybe raise the standard of art from reactionary tags to art works that are there just because they are the expression of artists. As with my blue light experience, a gentle redirection has more positive impact in the long term than a sarcastic dismissive intolerant comment from a closed minded observer.

Meagan is an artist in residence at the Hamilton North Shore Shed – part of the Jugglers studio collective.

— Jugglers 27/02/13

John Briggs has a ticking clock going on inside his body that is louder than mine. But who knows. As an MS sufferer with increasing immobility and pain issues, the challenge is how to make it to the next chair, not the next Bali holiday. John has found art as the story telling medium for his journey out of a successful graphic design business with high roller clients into a world of new ‘possibility’ – the name of his show at Jugglers Art Space on Feb 15. Sponsored by Access Arts, the MS Society of Qld and SWARA, John’s pastel works are strongly evocative with viewers held and moved by the emotion released via a staring self portrait, an ‘up yours’ middle finger tied to a “Bluebell” flower and “The Grip” where two figures are locked in a strong embrace. ‘Unframed’ could have been called ‘uninhibited’ with the aesthetic and the emotion on slow release settling down on us like some kind of gentle ‘grip’. One of the viewers related how he was held for minute after minute by a particular work [‘Think’]. Well known Brisbane sculptor and artist Terry Summers’ comment was that the art sold at some galleries in the high thousands didn’t come near this exhibition as art. The high end bought by investors with money to burn might make a space look funky for the cocktail parties on the 16th floor, but the art in this show brought us to our knees. The works were rough with corners torn by accident and intent, pastel smudges that might have been tidied up for a cleaner more presentable polished look and perforations from some sketch book tear outs. The unmistakably unusual element in this show was the approach John took in the labelling of each work. Each label included the name of the work, the word “Possibility” and a number of key words John chose to represent some aspect of the theme of the work so that viewer had the opportunity to explore the works as stories of possibility – not disability. As John returns to the UK for further medical treatment his promise is to exhibit again at Jugglers at a distance. This is certainly a “possibility.” Peter Breen.

— Jugglers 27/02/13

Conor Timothy O’Shea and Anthony Jigalin painted and installed a body of work at Jugglers Art Space for the 2013 year opening on February 1. How different both men and their art are but the juxtaposition of these works in the Ground and 1st level spaces, and the viewing crowd on the opening night, had some energising dynamism. Conor’s first solo body of work [in the main downstairs space and the side tunnel] of large oils and aerosol on canvas, video and sound installation and text on aluminium are the work of a professional, accomplished, disciplined and talented multi-modal artist. As a BFA final year student at QUT, the embedded stories that emerge from taking time with these works began to formulate into deeper understandings for me as I took time with the artist and his artist statement. The two dimensional painted works as contemporary paintings need to be seen by collectors and curators as making a significant aesthetic statement and as laying the ground work for a successful future as a practitioner. What was missing from the show was an example of his larger sculptural works, like the stunning piece he installed at the Judith Wright Centre for Contemporary Arts in 2012 as part of the BARI Festival. See www.conoroshea.com

Anthony Jigalin’s prolific output of pencil, biro, guache on A4 paper installed on the ceiling of the Level 1 upstairs space had a sense of transience as much as Conor’s had a sense of groundedness and permanence. Anthony’s subjects from trains, to draculas, to fast cars and nudes were tacked to the ceiling with dressmaking pins. The installation took about 6 hours and this fragile “hanging garden of line and colour” changed the sense of space in the gallery and had viewers on the carpet for some relaxed viewing. The vibrancy and quick draw aspect of this show belies the passion Anthony has for his art and this contribution to visual story telling at Jugglers has made its mark on us. Keep going Anthony! Peter Breen,Director, Jugglers Art Space Inc.

— Jugglers 11/02/13

When I know

• when I am completely consumed by the desire to draw and paint after waking from a dream at 2 a.m. with the inspiration for my next work of art

• art is the only thing to which I can give 100% of myself

When I don’t know

• when I sit and stare at the canvas, unable to make the first mark

These days there are a hell of a lot more moments when I know why I am an artist than when I don’t. But it took me quite a while to realize it.

From the age of two I grew up with a pencil in my hand, always scribbling, colouring in and drawing pictures of whatever crossed my path. At age fifteen I told my parents I wanted to be an artist, and incredibly, they agreed! So in the summer heat of early 1983, my mother took me to enroll at Qld College of Art, however, I didn’t go for the interview! What? Why the bloody hell not? (I hear you say) Unfortunately, I was extremely shy and couldn’t bring myself to walk through the door. I was crippled by my lack of self esteem and fear of failure.

Instead of art school, I got a dead-end job in retail and later hospitality, and administration, for 25 years I turned my back on art and drifted through life without so much as a doodle on a magazine, something my father used to do often, drawing mustaches on faces of cover girls as I recall. Regrettably, my creative energy was dulled by partying and drinking heavily most weekends, although somewhat satisfied by dressmaking, (I’ve sewn everything from wedding gowns to ice skating costumes), and calligraphy, (invitations and the like for family and friends), but it wasn’t enough. The creative part of me was always there, asleep in my subconscious, waiting for me to wake it!

Then suddenly, at age 40, as a divorced mother, with 3 amazing children, I rediscovered art. Enlightenment came in the form of a girl with a pearl earring, well it was the movie of the same name actually! The star of the movie, if you don’t already know, of course, was 17th century Dutch artist, Jan Vermeer, master of light, and painter of “The girl with a pearl earring”. I was so inspired by Vermeer I faced my fear and enrolled in TAFE for Art classes. Near the end of my first year of juggling work, kids and TAFE, a wonderful art teacher named Fred, recommended I study the diploma course, I was so excited I crashed my boyfriend’s car on the way home that day! (true story!) After two more of the most gratifying years of painting, drawing and studying art history, I graduated at the end of 2009, a moment when I definitely knew why I was an artist!

Fast forward to 2012, the painfully shy, awkward young girl is long gone, in her place, a wiser, quietly confident woman (with a few grey hairs and laugh lines), paints portraits in studio 4 at Jugglers, and knows why she IS an artist!

— Jugglers 09/05/12

As I manoeuver my way through the clutter of my life, walking carefully past the canvases stacked in the hallway, past the shelves filled with art materials, and around the paint trolley and boxes of ‘useful’ objects spilling out from the corners of a room that is desperately trying to function as a kitchen, I sigh deeply and ask myself, “Why did I have to be an artist?”

I feel very sorry for my longsuffering family, who often don’t know whether they’re living in a home or a studio! Am I letting them down by not having a ‘real’ job that requires less space and brings in a more steady and reliable income? On the positive side though, I’m a much happier person to live with when I’m creating art, even if it does mean dinner isn’t always on time because I’ve been lured into taking a hundred photos of something that has unexpectedly inspired me.

What is this compulsion to create art?

It feels as though I have no choice in the matter – as though I’m suffering with symptoms of an inherent condition that pervades every fibre of my being!

Even as a baby I was drawn to the patterns on the lino and fabrics. I recall an early experience that fed this artistic impulse. I was four years old, with my mother visiting Mrs. O’Mara, an elderly former neighbour. I was eagerly waiting for Mrs. O’Mara to lead us into the back room to show us where she created her artworks. Whenever we had received one of her hand-painted cards in the mail, I would study it intensely and marvel at how she was able to capture something from the world and put it on paper using pencil and paint. I was filled with awe and amazement – it was like holding a rare and precious treasure and I could feel the love and care that went into the making of each one. Thus, I could hardly contain the excitement that was building with the anticipation of entering into this mysterious place where such beautiful and amazing things were created!

After drinking in the experience of being in her studio, I declared boldly, “I’m going to be an artist!” I wish I still had that same degree of boldness and confidence – self-doubt creeps in quite often and it’s very difficult to declare oneself an artist while at the same time trying to hide away from the world! However, I have taken every opportunity since to create my own experiences of this sacred creative space, which is not just a physical space, but also a psychological, emotional and spiritual space.
Every time I see something that grabs my attention and fills me with awe and appreciation for the amazing world we live in, art becomes an attempt to express a feeling that can’t be spoken.

When dealing with trauma, art becomes therapy, again expressing what can’t be spoken, or that which has been suppressed.

As a very shy and introvert person, art has served me well as a tool for self-expression. I feel more alive and connected with life and people when I create art. I feel more complete. The creative process acts like a bridge between my conscious self, my subconscious and my spirit, revealing the dark and light tones of the soul (a little confronting sometimes!). Each artwork is like digging for buried treasures, not always knowing what will emerge.

I think if I had to sum up why I am an artist – it is my way of acknowledging the spark of God that exists in all creation and life.

No matter how much the responsibilities of daily life encroach on the time available for engaging with the artistic process, or how loudly the voice of doubt, fear and frustration speaks, the creative fire never dies. It may be left smouldering for a while, but the slightest breeze of inspiration fans the embers until they ignite once more into flames of creativity, reminding me, I am an artist.

— Jugglers 01/05/12

The “Why” is easy. For the fortune and fame, clearly. We do it not for the love of creating – for that would be foolish in this economic climate, and we are not fools. Nope, definitely not. And we starving artist have to, well, eat. So that would lead me onto the fortune part. Oh yes fellow friends, there are squillions, maybe even gadzillions of dollars to be made from our artistic endeavours. Do not believe the pessimistic propaganda that is fed to us daily – that there is no ready cash to splash around and support a creative industry – paintings are positively leaping off the surviving gallery walls, with those little precious red dots resembling a bad case of measles – oh yes, that is how numerous they are. Bi g bucks, people, big bucks.

And the fame, heavens, the fame! Its not like there are hundreds of us in Brisbane alone, studying Art Almanac, Invurt and Fourthousand like a post graduate preparing for a Ph.D, just for an opportunity to show our work. Shows and exhibitions SHOUTING out for submissions, on a daily basis – no, really. How lucky there is little competition between us few precious artists. Have I mentioned also, the character building exercise of submitting work, only to have it rejected on many occasions? No, that keeps us humble . Nobody likes an artist with a big head, its just rude.

So. Why DO we do it? If I’m completely honest, art really is a self indulgence, and as much as it pains me to admit it, pretty much everyone can do it. Hopefully not as well as me, but nonetheless, its not brain surgery. I speak only for myself – I do it, because I love it. I love the creativity of the composition. The joy of seeing a painting come alive under my hands. The happiness I can give someone, when I present them with their commission. The astonishment and giggles when they notice the little sly touches of humour, that aren’t apparent. Because I am big on the funny. Art should make you chortle, and snigger and, God forbid, think. That’s pretty much enough for me. Art is fun but being an artist is hard slog.

Why not do it? The silly things in life that sometimes get in the way. Oh, like eating, paying rent, bills, buying sugar-coated peanuts. The boring stuff that life is made up of. Could I not do it? Nope, will always paint and draw. Because its fun. And sometimes important.

— Jugglers 24/04/12

I think the only way I can answer this question is if I define what being an artist truly means to me. I think the answer to this is unique to the individual. The first time I recall ever feeling art was an inseparable part of my life was when I was about 16, sitting home alone, I picked up my mum’s Pulp Fiction CD and sketched Uma Thurman’s face on a piece of scrap paper. Not this was a particularly significant drawing, nor was I particularly interested in Uma Thurman, I don’t think I’d even seen the movie! But I was fascinated by the expression on her face, it reflected how I felt at that exact point in time – bored, a little disinterested in life and a little bit damaged. For years my artworks manifested in the same pattern, with little conscious understanding why. I learnt in school it was easy enough to string together some gibberish about line, form or composition that would produce a good grade, but when I left home and pursued my interest in art through tertiary education, the questions became more curious and intrusive. My personal life had become a shamble and my work became darker – a twisted perception of beauty, emotions, life, death and what lies beneath our skin. Every time I was asked to talk about it I’d either clam up or break down into tears. It was during this time I started to question everything about myself, my art and what it even meant for me to be an artist. Disenchanted and disillusioned, I put my pencils down; I barely drew anything for years.

I think what it means to be an artist – or define yourself as an artist – varies tremendously from person to person, and the definition evolves with our experiences. I think if you’re unclear or unfocused on why you make art in the first place it’s pretty difficult to answer why sometimes you know why you are an artist and why sometimes you don’t.

I’m 26 now, and I’m going through a phase where I’m refocusing what I value in art, life and creativity. I’ve learned that I make art to express the things I cannot put into words. I’m captivated by human expression, identity, perception and emotion, creating art diarises my life and, in part, the lives of those around me. These days I draw a lot of inspiration from tattoo art, something about translating the personal into the visual – what it means for a clock, a flower, an alien, a symbol or an octopus to be inked permanently onto a person’s skin is relevant to the person; sometimes the meaning is clear and sometimes the meaning is ambiguous; they might want to talk about it and they might not; maybe they don’t even know; but it is undeniably marking something about the person and visually encapsulating a moment in their life, and the audience can only speculate what it all really signifies. I think I seek to do something similar in my drawings.

Being an artist for me is not a career choice, it’s not something I necessarily strive to be good at, I’ve never held an exhibition of my work, I’ve never sold my work or put a price to it – it’s something I just naturally and intuitively need to do and share – the times when I don’t know why I am an artist are stained by the times when I lost sight of why I make art to begin with.

— Jugglers 19/04/12

The ‘why’ is the strange part of the whole equation, definitely. I don’t know why, but I had this dream the other night where I’d missed my stop. I was in a strange town, and once I realized I’d missed it I got off the train at the next station intending to switch back, only I see these interesting looking shops over the road and can’t help but get side-tracked. I go over and notice that one of the shops is dedicated solely to selling all kinds of beautifully crafted chess sets from all over the world. There are a few sets displayed in the window that look ridiculously intricate and unique, suggesting further bounty inside, so I lick my lips and lube up my greedy eyeballs for the visual feast that is surely just moments away, but at that point in the dream, I think my brain decides to back out of the deal.

I walk through the door and make my way down the main aisle but I can’t walk properly because there are fishing lines with mock sinkers and hooks tangling all up around my legs. Connected to the fishing lines are a troupe of colonialist reenactors who for some reason have situated themselves in this chess shop and are pretending to fish in the aisles as if it were the old prairie. I think at this point in the dream I am becoming aware that my brain has decided that it’s way too much trouble to conjure up hundreds of intricate and unique chess sets for my viewing pleasure so instead it creates this absurd distraction.

I struggle past the fishermen, but as I walk on a few more steps there is another guy who is also fishing in the aisle but this time he is no colonialist reenactor, he’s just a regular guy standing by himself, dressed in a tank-top, board shorts and thongs, sort of lazily flopping his rod about and getting in my way. My brain at this point has evidently given up providing me with interesting diversions. It’s an ongoing stand-off that I will never win. I realize now that I am not the boss of my brain and I’m never going to see the chess sets, now or ever.

So I make them. Well, not chess sets cause I don’t know how to use a wood turning lathe, but paintings, and that’ll do for now. And who knows what will come down the aisle. So I guess that’s why – if ya wanna see em, ya gotta make em!

Jan van Dijk is a painter and artist in residence at one of Jugglers’ studios at Wooloongabba.

— Jugglers 13/04/12