Feeling extremely humbled and privileged to have struck up a wonderful friendship with the amazing Australian author Julie Keys, whose debut novel The Artist's Portrait which was shortlisted for The Richell Prize for Emerging Writers in 2017 and published by Hachett Australia is going gangbusters. Julie became fascinated by my art and my journey as an artist and attended my exhibition Come Shower With Me currently on at The SHAC Robertson NSW. She was kind enough to put pen to paper and write a review. Read about it here.
Louisa Chircop – Come shower with me
I met Louisa on Instagram. She followed me. I followed her back. She posted photos of artwork. Hers. Striking images with elements of the surreal that centred on scenes of her showering. I pressed the screen to get a closer look. But those phones, they’re just not big enough.
I’d developed a fascination for visual arts. This happened while I was doing background research for a novel I was writing. I became absorbed – went to exhibitions, listened to talks, sat in on workshops, poured myself into textures and scents and images, taking in the debates and controversy on what made art and artists great, all the while wondering if I was really getting it. That whole visceral reaction people talked about eluded me. I felt distant, aloof until I came across something of Rothko’s from the 1930’s; streamlined bodies standing on a subway their heads curved forward like hooks. My chest thumped. I sucked in a breath. The next time was over a painting by Vida Lahey.
Half a dozen years later I was trying to get a better look at Louisa’s work on a dodgy phone beneath poor lighting. Something had caught my attention. I was curious. The paintings, it turned out, were part of an exhibition. Come shower with me. I DM’ed Louisa.
I have not lost that awkward, slightly uncomfortable feel of going to an exhibition and of being around art. Not that I want things too sweet. I crave art that widens my eyes, gives me that cold shiver, makes me want to look. The gallery was light and warm. I relaxed. It was an easy space to be in and Louisa’s work encouraged me to stand closer, stand further away, scrunch my eyes, hold out my hand, see everything.
Showering is mostly a solo activity for me, a sanctuary, a place of contemplation. But there I was being invited to join Louisa in that private moment when thoughts disassembled, dripped from your hair and fingers and swirled around your skin, ingesting body parts with tarry thick ideas before they disappeared down the plughole if you didn’t get hold of them. I walked the shape of a U in the gallery absorbing pieces of Louisa’s gaze, bold fragments, exchanging energy in my own conversation with each canvas, craning my neck for one last look before I moved onto the next one.
Then, I found the artist, the flesh and blood one. This was the first time Louisa and I had met in real life. There were no profound questions from me. My head was full of thoughts and impressions and sensations that I needed to process. The questions would come later – after I’d had time to stew on it. What I did instead was position Louisa in front of the largest canvas, took photos then got someone to take photos of the two of us together, tourist style – post shower. And for some reason that seemed exactly the right thing to do.
Louisa Chircop – Come shower with me
The SHAC, Robertson
February 22nd to March 16th
SHORTLISTED FOR THE MUD LITERARY PRIZE 2020. A story about art, murder, and making your place in history.
'An intriguing read with compelling descriptions of early 20th-century Sydney in all its squalor, debauchery and fascinating historical detail.' Who Weekly
Read More about Julie Keys here.
