The Seventh Asia Pacific Triennial of Contemporary Art

Iwasaki, Nguyen Manh Hung’s rickety high-rise diorama and Huang Yong Ping’s extraordinary suspended snake sculpture, among others. The two Papua New Guinean architectural structures featured in this Triennial are extensions of the haus tambaran , or spirit house, whose display has been, in consultation with the artists, reconsidered for an international art audience. 4 As with most sacred buildings, it is the act of entering — transgressing a threshold — that enacts a transformative or selective journey. However, that is not the task of these structures in this exhibition. Rather, they allude to their cavernous interiors while focusing on their painted and carved elements used to convey cosmological and totemic narratives. The use of a limited colour palette, the boldness of the figuration and the optical effects of the geometric line work, particularly in the Kwoma ceiling which features some 200 paintings, is dazzling. Every panel carries with it stories belonging to the artist’s clan. The kaleidoscopic roof and the intricately carved posts offer glimpses of a very specific world view. As Ruth McDougall, Curator of Pacific Art, QAGOMA, argues, in Papua New Guinea it is the mesmerising combination of forms and patterning, alongside the slightly vertiginous effect of looking up, which emotionally destabilises viewers, making them receptive to important knowledge. This intention is recalled here. If it is the interior that has been revealed for the Kwoma koromb, it is that which Richard Maloy hides in his installation Big Yellow 2012 that entices the viewer. This 30-metre-long, 6-metre-high amorphous form functions like a bright yellow beacon, its colour pulsating through GOMA’s Long Gallery, which also houses a collection of spectacular masks and objects from Melanesia. From afar, its apparent uniformity is suggestive of a large, solid sculptural object, however, upon closer viewing, this impression betrays a makeshift construction of cardboard held together with masking tape. It could be something from a child’s dream: a giant cubbyhouse made and un-made at will without parental interference. Seeming to burst outwards and occupying all available space, it is squashed against the Gallery’s imposing glass facade and deliberately withholds any narratives. Unlike the enigmatic structures from Papua New Guinea, created to communicate, to maintain kinship relationships and to address unspoken cosmological forces, Big Yellow simply is . However, with Maloy’s works, appearances are deceiving. Seemingly hacked into one of the cardboard sides is an entry point. Once inside, Maloy invites us to share the secret of its construction by laying bare some of the wooden skeleton to which the cardboard adheres. Stepping over the threshold activates the work differently, allowing Maloy to further toy with people’s expectations of contemporary art, specifically installation art. Within Big Yellow , there are no elaborate effects to immerse the viewer visually or sensorially — no sound, no lights, no new materials. The cardboard space is, in its simplicity, necessarily contemplative and open to different associations, enabling, as Maloy suggests, ‘people to become a part of it, perhaps even switching roles of where they belong’. 5 Art historian Claire Bishop, in tracing the history of installation art, draws attention to the varied approaches artists have chosen to create site-specific, ephemeral works. She bases her inquiry on the physical entry of the art work by the viewer, and what they experience in their encounter. Her summary is noteworthy for its identification of the artist’s intention to create some sort of a shift within the viewer. Be it transformative, temporary or enduring, there are similarities between installation art and customary practices in their sense of purpose — both require a particular physical relationship with a structured space. Bishop contends: . . . installation art’s insistence on the viewer’s experience aims to thrust into question our sense of stability in and mastery over the world and to reveal the ‘true’ nature of our subjectivity as fragmented and decentred. By attempting to expose us to the ‘reality’ of our condition as decentred subjects without closure, installation art implies that we may become adequate to this model, and thereby more equipped to negotiate our actions in the world and with other people. 6 Similarly, Joanna Langford’s constructions exploit their verticality to maximum effect, often compelling viewers to follow the path of shaky and precariously positioned ladders, or trace the midair meanderings of an assemblage of billowing plastic. Unlike the physical ladders used in the Pentecost ‘land diving’ towers or the haus tambaran , Langford’s wondrously elaborate and evocative structures exist purely as a route for the imagination. This reverie, though, is purposeful and grounded in ideas relating to environmental fragility. Both Langford and Maloy have used the image of the childhood tree house as a metaphor for elements in their current practices. Maloy constructed one in his gallerist’s space where people paid to stay the night in it with him — not as an exercise in ‘relational aesthetics’, but more as an irreverent performance and comment on the art world’s monetary transactions. 7 For Langford, tree houses are linked to the very real sensory pleasure of working with found materials and a delight at realising their building potential. 8 For her, the act KATNANAT ELISON Papua New Guinea b.c.1976 Baining people, Kaligur Guaramgi nimenenga ( Male and female spires ) 2011 Mandas mask: Barkcloth, cane, bamboo, natural and synthetic pigments, natural fibres, feathers / 361 x 170 x 35cm / Commissioned for APT7 and the Queensland Art Gallery Collection / Purchased 2011. Queensland Art Gallery Foundation / Collection: Queensland Art Gallery 41