Monsters of Energy
The Tennant Creek Brio’s art isn’t a legible script, a tidy lineage, or an easy metaphor—it’s a rupture, a refusal, a site of resurgence. This story sends us somewhere else, reaching for something that came before or after, looking for what’s out back, round the back of the house, the shed, the art centre, the “outback.”
Everything about him was red. His red snout, the morning red, he dreams red, the red wind, and the land is scraped stiff red by the hooves of his cattle. At dawn red. In this part of Country, the dried-out beauty is red dirt and when its heart beats — our hearts, which are mostly water, beat, because they too are coloured red. For millions of years there were no hooves, no dynamite, no excavators to scrape this land stiff. But they came and there was a red wire that splintered across the sky casting its shadow on the dirt. The world was split in two — our hearts permanently cloven.
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Anabel Robinson’s paintings function like rooms—lived-in, layered, and shifting between figuration and abstraction. Her work invites a search for entry points, symbols, and hidden meanings.
A prolific hyperproduction and sense of take-over lifted the Brio’s head out of the fray.
KIRAC’s gonzo filmmaking shatters art world niceties, but their entanglement with Michel Houellebecq—novelist, provocateur, reluctant porn star—turns chaotic. As lawsuits fly and reputations fray, the real spectacle isn’t the film itself but the battle over who gets to tell the story.
