MK Matrix
In his essay “The Desire of Maria Kozic,” published in Art & Text’s Winter 1981 issue, critic Adrian Martin highlighted the significance of repetition in Kozic’s work—a repetition not in the tradition of pop art, but one intrinsically linked to desire, as “manifested through … multiplication, flow, (and) intensity.” Repetition has remained central in discussions of Kozic’s work, but here, I want to introduce a related yet distinct concept: the serial. Repetition can be seen in the industrially reproduced blocks of Minimalist art or in two different prints from the same Warhol screen. It operates through sameness—by reproducing a singular thing over and over, it either intensifies or numbs its essence. The serial, by contrast, implies multiplicity. Rather than a single entity repeated, it consists of a group of individual works that share a common origin—like a series of panels in a comic. The serial is defined by progression, unfolding as a sequence, whereas repetition is a meditation on a single form. If repetition is the clone, then the serial is the mutant. The serial is closer to the concept of siblings—distinct yet connected, evolving rather than merely recurring.2
Related
Archie Moore’s minimalism plays a formalist trick on a settler audience that sees only an Aboriginal flag, never the painting itself.
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.”
“It is no longer my face (identification), but the face that has somehow been given to me (circumstantial possession) as stage property.” — Jason Bahbak Mohaghegh, Omnicide: Mania, Fatality, and the Future-in-Delirium