Namedropping

Namedropping in Nipaluna / Hobart is a massive show with over 200 works throughout Mona’s numerous underground sites. Varying from He Xiangyu's Tank Project, 2011-13; to a note from Isaac Newton; to even a puffer jacket made from Maggie Thatcher's scarves. It’s a mixed bag, and the catalogue, despite potential censorship with printers, covers it all.

Namedropping does not mean anything if you do not recognise the reference. It means nothing. Yes, of course, you could look it up if you wanted to. Or be educated by the app that tells you how to look at the works. But I did not. I just looked and hoped I’d get overwhelmed and be in awe. I did read about the works later in the exhibition catalogue.

If I had been curating the exhibition I would have gone with the title Things We Like. Because then I would not have been expecting to see such a seemingly random selection of ad hoc artefacts, ephemera, and memorabilia. Yet there I was looking at it and I was curious. When I am at someone’s house, I like looking at the books they have in their library collection; I get mortified when I do not see any books. But here I did not get any real sense of overriding obsession or compulsion. It was more of a quirky eclectic selection. The German Jewish philosopher Walter Benjamin states in his 1969 book Illuminations: Essays and Reflections, “Every passion borders on the chaotic, but the collector’s passion borders on the chaos of memories. . . For what else is this collection but a disorder to which habit has accommodated itself to such an extent that it can appear as order.” I am not motivated by the prestige of first-edition books. I can appreciate them but it’s more about having easy access to their contents that is appealing. It might also be more about nostalgia, memory, and perhaps the fear of forgetting, and that we collect to keep from losing things.

I was looking forward to seeing David Bowie’s original handwritten lyrics of his song Starman, 1972. It is one of my favourite Bowie songs and yet apparently it is not one of Mona’s founder, David Walsh’s. I was disappointed. It did not seem real enough. I am not sure what I was expecting, and even looked for Bowie’s handwriting on the web to convince myself that the page was indeed his. But maybe it is enough to hear the song and the memories it evokes, “like a slow voice on a wave of phase.” My friend, the artist and writer, John Conomos joined the big sky cinema in late July this year and I miss him terribly. We both amassed books. Not because they were folio editions, although they are nice to have, but to read them. He described it as an addiction, following up every reference with another book. I wondered what he would make of this exhibition. I would never lend John a book though. He was a book butcher, breaking the spines when he flattened out the pages so the book would lie flat, even writing notes in the margins, or spilling coffee over it. You’d never get it back intact. It was safer to buy him his own copy.

I remembered hearing the news when the Australian art critic Robert Hughes (1938–2021) crashed his rented Nissan Pulsar in Western Australia in 1999. Seeing the headlines reminded me of the person. His eight-part documentary The Shock of the New was written and presented by him in 1980 for the BBC. It was compulsory viewing if you wanted an introduction to the development of modern art. Accompanying the newspaper headlines was the actual compacted sixty-eight kilogram Nissan cube. I had only ever heard about the artwork by Danius Kesminas. Seeing it with the accompanying cookbook, various fishing hooks, tackle box, and netting that Kesminas had somehow gotten hold of along with the vehicle after it had been crushed at a wrecker’s yard made me smile at the tenacity. It had been exhibited as Post-Traumatic Origami, 1999–2002 in the exhibition Hughbris in 2002, at Darren Knight Gallery, Sydney.

It also made me recall visiting The Beat Museum in San Francisco years ago and being transfixed by its museum labelling: “Jack Kerouac could have sat in this chair” or “this could have been worn by Jack” or, and I particularly liked this one, “available for purchase a book that he might have read.” They’d just taken delivery of the car that was featured in On the Road, 2012, the film adapted from his 1957 novel. They could keep it on the proviso that they didn’t remove any of the dust that covered it. I still have my entry ticket.

Recently, I received an email from Mona informing me about the drama surrounding the printing of their catalogue for Namedropping because it contained images of Ai Weiwei’s Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn, 1995. Their Chinese printer was not allowed to print work by a Chinese dissident. They then approached a printer in Hong Kong, without success, with the printer “(deciding) to pass on this project due to the sensitive nature of the subject matter.” Eventually it was printed in Belgium. I found this tale more interesting than the actual artwork. The artist destroyed not one but a pair of two-thousand-year-old ceremonial urns in order to create the images.

Mona is unbeatable at installing exhibitions. It is elegant. No tape on the floor or ugly retractable barricades. I cannot think of one museum or gallery in Australia that it does not surpass in its thoughtfulness, ingenuity, and originality in staging artworks and leading the viewer through the spaces. You could take the works out of this exhibition, and you would be left with a sublime minimalist installation. It would work. You would appreciate the skill and finish and be left wondering what it is all about. Which isn’t a bad thing, to be able to wander in wonder.

This review was originally published in Artist Profile, issue 69

EXHIBITION
Namedropping
15 June 2024 – 21 April 2025
Museum of Old and New Art, Hobart