Romeo and Juliet's Bogus Journey
Megan Dunn and David Townsend
December 13 - January 11 1998
Megan Dunn and David Townsend acheived notoriety while still
studying at the Elam School of Fine Arts, Auckland, largely due
to the fact they are also the proprieters of the Fiat Lux Gallery.
In a shopfront site on Hobson St, Fiat Lux is one of the more willfully
subjective galleries in the country. Rather than being a compulsory
white cube, Fiat Lux has shiny navy blue walls and carpet you need
sunglasses to cope with.
Needless to say, the masterminds behind this masterpiece of kronic
kitsch are unabashed about their retro tastes and shlock abject
obsessions. Originally, they had planned a video extravaganza for
their slot at The Physics Room in which the two artists would play
Romeo and Juliet (this was before Baz Lurhman made a hit with his
version of Shakespeare's classic). As these grand projects have
a habit of doing, the video just never made it off the ground. In
conceiving of a show at great distance and under trying circumstances,
the title changed to the rather appropriateGrowing Pains, implying
that making art is a form of evolution as painful and as likely
to get bungled as growing up itself.
Growing Pains consisted of two sets of paintings and two
TVs with video loops. Dunn's paintings were blow-ups of illustrations
from The Diary of Adrian Mole, coloured in with her trademark
felt-tips. Truly abject, these images reminded us not so much of
the times when we actually were going through puberty, but of the
even more embarrasing crime of once reading and enjoying the Adrian
Mole books.
Townsend on the other hand opted for Westie chic with two paintings
on hessian of impossibly pretty women lost in swirls of stars and
flame. This stuff of adolescant male fantasy correllated neatly
with the TV projecting the final super-spacey sequence of 2001,
interspersed with sequences from the geeky teen classic, The
Breakfast Club. The TV closest to Dunn's work, however, projected
nothing more than a still of Molly Ringwald's crotch from the same
film. The real stroke of genius of the entire installation was the
looped soundtrack of Guns 'n' Roses Don't Cry which accompanied
the images in all their beautiful banality. Don't Cry came from
a later date than both the sampled movies and the Mole diaries.
But the dynamic that they reinforced was one of accutely ironic
self-reflexivity, akward adolescance as seen through the combined
lenses of a fine arts education and prolonged recreational drug
use. Dunn and Townsend make it impossible for their viewers not
to sing along in a kind of collective catharsis, as we mourn over
all the might-have-been's of our misspent youths.
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