The Open Road
We all discovered new things about ourselves and new capacities to adapt in the face of the pandemic. As well as finding new ways to deliver on my art world promises, I learned it was still possible to teach printmaking (including reduction linocuts!!) online in meaningful ways to university students with no access to printmaking facilities or equipment. Most of all, I learnt that even the most daunting limitations can yield unexpected opportunities for ingenuity. Necessity is the mother of invention – in art, as much as in other theatres of life.
My art practice continues to diversify as I adapt to challenges and take greater advantage of opportunities as they present themselves, particularly those that allow for greater environmental sustainability and deeper engagement with my hybrid cultural identity. It is a liberating way of working. Indeed, at the time of writing, I am mid-way through a year-long road trip around Australia, travelling in a small caravan with Jonas and Snukis, our dog. A year without making art is inconceivable. Amongst the projects I have set myself is a book from frottage (rubbings), an artform I developed a new appreciation for during the pandemic. Requiring only pencils, lightweight paper and textured surfaces, frottage is perfect for the road. It’s also perfect for the stockpile of Japanese kozo paper that has been sitting in my plan presses for two decades, a gift from my father-in-law, as well as the coloured pencils that have been languishing in the cupboards since they were shunned for more grown-up mediums in art school. My exploration of frottage is still in its infancy, too nebulous for in-depth discussion here except to say that it has become another tool in my kit of environmentally sustainable art practices.
Of course, as my practice becomes more open-ended, my viability becomes more precarious. I jeopardise the security of being recognised for expertise in a niche medium and authority on a niche subject. Previously open doors may close, with no guarantee that new ones will open. Certainly, while some books and lagerphones have found their way into public collections, private collectors are proving a rarer breed. Who’s to say if there will be a market for the frottages or the other low-profile mediums in my sights? There is a danger that the artworld will always like my old stuff better than my new stuff, or that unwelcome fame will come via an episode of Hoarders. As my eye becomes more finely attuned to the potential gold in the detritus of consumer life, my studio becomes ever more crowded with stockpiles of bottle caps, vintage books, colourful plastics, used business envelopes, collage materials and potential frottage surfaces – four lifetimes’ worth which I feel a responsibility to use in the third of a lifetime I likely have remaining. But I’m up for the challenge.
Watch this space.
Jazmina Cininas is represented by Australian Galleries, Melbourne (who are probably wishing she’d stuck with the Girlie Werewolves).
