Ahead of their upcoming dual-project residency The Paranormal is Personal, we caught up with artists Jason Sweeney and Fiona Sprott to talk ghosts, haunting, and paranormal audio investigation tools.
The Paranormal is Personal comprises two distinct, separate, but deeply interconnected projects. Where did the two concepts come from?
Jason: The project Corporeal has been with me for almost a decade now. It was meant to be a follow up to my first feature film, The Dead Speak Back, which deals with a character using paranormal methods to try and access her personal ghosts. Before that Fiona and I had also worked on a podcast project called Download the Dead which was about a number of characters ‘speaking back’ from the grave. So, you know, that interest has been there for a very long time. But Corporeal eventually transformed into what it is now – a deeper and very personal exploration into my own queer personal hauntings. As both Fiona and I had an interest in paranormal investigation – as well as our own 30 year artistic collaboration being marked in 2023 – it made sense to celebrate that with a joint residency project.
Fiona: I suppose my own interest in the paranormal and strangeness began back in childhood. My book collection was dedicated to amateur sleuths, ghost stories and unsolved mysteries. It was a local unsolved mystery of a girl abducted from her bedroom in the 1980s that formed the basis of about a decade in total studying predatory crimes and homicide – both the factual and fictional representations in popular culture. I became fascinated with the notion that traumatic events create a lingering energy in spaces and people’s lives – often in the guise of an absence that is so present it is palpable. What is the nature of a haunting, and what is a ghost? This question led me to explore paranormal investigation, initially to understand how people were attempting to communicate with the dead.
Over time I have become convinced that ghosts are far more complex. As someone deeply motivated by research as the entry point to my creative work, I had a question to ponder and wrangle with. I also had a poltergeist living with me and I wanted to try and communicate with it – which is to say that a personally traumatic event unfolding in my house was creating a sensation of feeling an unseen presence that was moving things, turning electrical items on and off. I was curious to see if I could communicate with, essentially, the energy of my own trauma, my own personal ‘ghost’ haunting me. It was this point of connection between us – a desire to connect with and explore the personal ghosts using the technology, that made for a natural compatibility between us creatively. It’s like entering a world of its own, and having two people in it, was helpful for navigating and seeking feedback on the specifics of that world impacting on each of us artistically.
Jason, you’re using ‘paranormal audio investigation tools’ to generate music and text-based materials that are used in Corporeal – what spurred this interest in the intersection of the paranormal and contemporary technology?
Jason: I’ve always loved the idea of tapping into the ‘unknown’ through sound and audio technology. As a child I used to obsess over number stations using shortwave radio and recorded hours of this to cassette to listen back to. When I listened to that I felt like I was hearing ghosts of the past, reaching out over the airwaves – even though apparently there is a more covert intention to them! And so now, with devices such as a Spirit Box (which scans at various speeds over radio frequencies as a way to potentially detect intelligent responses through words that might appear), I feel as if the world of paranormal research is made for sound artists!
The incredible SA-based team of Amy’s Crypt designed a series of apps called GhostTube that generate spoken words from a vast dictionary triggered by a magnetometer, it can scan internet radio like a Spirit Box and can now also create AI imaging responses integrating white noise. Again, such great creative fodder for a composer like me. It’s almost like the cut-up technique used by the Dadaists and later by William S Burroughs using actual recorded tapes whereby random word associations could be made.
I’ve been particularly interested in the complexity of multiple channels of input of materials (text, audio, tech, film etc) and how to piece it all together in separate compositions. There is, of course, also Electronic Voice Phenomena (EVP) – a term popularised by the Latvian parapsychologist Konstantīns Raudive in the 70s – which has been used to detect voices on audio recordings. This technique takes patience and doesn’t necessarily produce much for my own research. I also used my own recordings pressed to vinyl to remix using filters and mixers to produce much of the soundscapes for the compositions as I really liked how ghostly these processed sounds became. So, audio technology is a perfect tool for paranormal enthusiasts such as I!
Fiona, you’re using a combination of writing and audio storytelling for Ghost? How do you utilise what’s written in your Journal of Hauntings to inform the audio component?
Fiona: The background to my dedicating myself to the pursuit of an audio based storytelling is rooted in the early days and years of the pandemic. I was granted funding by Arts SA to explore how to create in isolation – how could I reinvent my practice, which had largely been from the tradition of theatre and live performance. I was technologically challenged, to say the least, but I had a microphone, a computer, and Audacity software. I also had Jason as my mentor. The text in my Journal of Hauntings (which are stories inspired by the findings/specific words and results of the paranormal investigations), is the baseline for a layering process I enter into.
I focus on creating what I refer to as ‘theatre for the ears’. Instead of lights or props and costumes, I am using the delicacy of sounds filtering in and out, the moments of music, the quality of, in this case, a ‘dirty audio’ reflecting a kind of raw documentary of my experiences, as layers to be fed in. I am constantly in headphones and fine detailing edits, re-recording, and using this listening process as my authoring process to ascertain how I can make the experience for the listener as interesting as possible. As affecting as possible. I didn’t want to just do a recorded reading from the Journal because audio is, and certainly can be, its own performance artform and I love the challenge as a storyteller of having to figure it out as I go – and I’m hoping our audiences will be able to offer valuable feedback and engage in a dialogue about the methodology itself.
What led to you choosing to develop these separate projects together?
Jason: I think there really was more power in developing both projects alongside each other as we share the 30 year artistic collaboration and also the passion for the paranormal. Each of our projects has helped inform the other – plus we were able to initially create a series of Youtube paranormal investigations that can be found here: Abnormal Paranormal – this video series specifically allowed both Fiona and I to visit sites where we had trained or made performances together, as well as places in the southern suburbs where we both grew up. I think it’s interesting also that our approaches take very different lenses to them, which has always been a fascinating aspect to the collaborations Fiona and I have done. For me one of my central questions was: is there something inherently queer about an interest in spirits? So my view on the research was through this queer lens and how, as an ageing gay cis man, I can mess with what I perceive to be a very ‘straight’ approach in the paranormal investigative world.
Fiona: I agree. For an audience too, there is such a richness in the methodologies used by each of us, and the array of creative offerings coming out of the direct and indirect collaborations. At the heart is a shared interest in, and use of the paranormal technologies and mythologies and lore for that matter. Early on we determined that the paranormal is very personal. On an emotional level, our long standing friendship was very helpful for mutual support – as fun as the paranormal can be, the ghosts of the past do turn up… To be honest, at times I think we entered an eight month long exorcism together to confront and send off some of the more troubling memories arising for both, or either of us. But too, I absolutely trusted that we would create a fantastic synergy between us whereby ideas could find full flight and not be restrained by the need to find a singular outcome representing us both.
What will the process of making this sort of work look like? Anything you are hoping to achieve throughout your residency?
Jason: I’m making a live music performance based on the 18 compositions that I’ve created. The residency will allow me to inhabit Waterside and revisit my own haunted past as a performer, curator and maker in the hall. I want to draw upon past performances I’ve presented there (Hall Monitor, Emission, Masc Confessional, Sentients) and ‘remix’ specific aesthetics and approaches I used in these works – to basically re-inhabit the ghosts of my performance past at Vitals! At the end of the residency I’m going to present a 60 minute performance-in-progress on the grand old hall stage, red curtains drawn and footlights on!
Fiona: I am returning to Waterside after a very long absence but it’s a fitting finale to the project, to be based there and explore the memories and “ghosts” that linger there. I’m focused on presenting a listening experience which encapsulates all the textures of the eight months of investigation and writing I/we have been immersed in. I’d like to create the sensation of entering a haunted house, where the disembodied voice lingers there, trying to speak to those who might be willing to hear. My goal with the residency is to explore how audio storytelling, a body-less performance experience, non-visual at heart, might translate into a live event. Is anything gained by listening ‘together’ in a shared space? I’d especially value understanding more about how to make this a comfortable, and enjoyable live experience for people who are vision impaired or without any vision at all.
What are you hoping that audiences will take away from The Paranormal is Personal?
Jason: Hopefully to be inspired by the use of paranormal tools as a way to create art. I’m a healthy skeptic when it comes to the investigation of the ‘spirit world’ but I’m also absolutely invested in the creative potentials of the technology that is available as a way to experiment and ‘dialogue’ with entities or energies that may, or may not, exist. Some of the results that can be found using GhostTube, for example, are incredibly uncanny and spookily accurate at times as to make me wonder if, indeed, I have made contact with the ghosts of my life.
Fiona: First of all, I really hope to introduce audiences to the work of Amy’s Crypt! Amy and Jarrad are Adelaide creators, and have been a source of great inspiration for the project. They developed all the app technology themselves so, I’m very proud of them, and that they’re local to South Australia. Overall, I really hope the audience enjoy an evening of thought provoking material, find the methodologies employed by us both to be interesting, and to enjoy the material presented. We both experienced some genuinely intriguing responses and results using the paranormal tools.These are in-progress projects. I’m really keen to have the focus on the process I’ve undertaken for crafting audio storytelling and to generate some interest in further dialogue about alternative ways to create performance ‘texts’.
Any final words or thoughts to add?
Jason: In presenting the in-progress performance I’m hoping that I can have conversations with (living) humans about the future of the work: Where might it be performed? What kinds of spaces would be good for such a work to be presented? How could it tour? I’d also be interested in conducting workshops for performance/sound using paranormal audio tools! Hit me up!
Fiona: I’m keen to have my audio work/s listened to via being hosted by anybody who feels that ‘theatre for the ears’ might be an interesting addition to a program, especially as it can be situated online. I’m an occasional academic so anybody in the university or education sector that would like to learn more about the making process, to talk about workshops on creating work using a basic program like Audacity, any writer-focused folks that want to hear more about the creative approach… I’d love to talk!
Vitalstatistix spoke with Adelaide-based independent artists Sasha Grbich and Jason Sweeney. Sasha is a visual artist, writer and lecturer; Jason is a singer-songwriter, composer and multidisciplinary artist. Both have long-term associations with Vitalstatistix and each is involved in our five-year climate change project Climate Century.
Climate Century asks artists to consider how will we commemorate and memorialise the climate century? The project includes a series of projects, commissions and events.
Join us on Sunday 17 July at Waterside for Climate Century – An Afternoon of Artist Talks.
V: Could you each tell us about your artistic practice?
Jason Sweeney: At the heart of everything, I make sound. Melancholy responses to the world. In recent times my focus has returned to song-writing with my band Jason & Silver Moon. But the past has seen me making live performance, online projects, films and installations. I work hard every day to make life and art the same thing. To practice quietness, to embrace melancholy, to live within my means, to give back to the planet in some way.
Sasha Grbich: I am interested in the ways places, things, communities or stories contribute to an artwork happening. My works are open to their local worlds. For example, I have worked with singers to find and record notes for and from fragile environments, made works that respond to the flickering of light in the windows of urban streets, pressed vinyls of uncomfortable silences and broadcast soundscapes from empty rooms, abandoned buildings and moving shopping carts. I am currently building a ‘wind sound effect machine’ in order to respond to gales in upcoming performance and video works. These are the kinds of absurd and poetic acts I undertake to reflect on how I exist within the places and communities I am part of.
V: You are both based in Adelaide and maintain solo studio practices. What are your thoughts on the opportunities available to mature, contemporary artists in South Australia – what are the benefits and disadvantages of working here?
SG: I go to work each day in my studio space at Fontanelle studio surrounded by wonderful artists and exciting half-formed things. I teach at the Adelaide Central School of Art and enjoy being amongst the vibrant art practices of my students and colleagues. My more personal communities also contribute to making my work. I collaborate with my brilliant partner Heidi Angove and try out new video ideas with my ever-patient sisters, friends and parents. I take great pleasure in these daily engagements within strong creative communities. Working with Vitalstatistix over the past five years has provided important, intense and rewording pockets of activity and openings to national and international art and performance practices. The benefits of working in Adelaide all stem from being part of close, collaborative and supportive industry and communities.
The disadvantages of working in South Australia can be illustrated through the example of recent Australia Council funding cuts. These upheavals have been debilitating to the small to medium sector in contemporary and experimental arts. In Adelaide my sector is small (although vibrant and exciting) – and it is very vulnerable.
JS: I’m an absolute advocate for Adelaide. It’s a place where you can still breathe clean air and make work without too much noise of cultural saturation.
In a world falling apart and a global population increasing beyond measure and pressurising the planet, I choose Adelaide as one of the remaining possible bastions of sustainable life, both in my day-to-day existence and in my work.
I need to be near nature all the time, so South Australia is a perfect place. I suppose it’s the ideal place for an introvert – and the internet connects me to all the people and things I need.
V: Sasha, as well as co-curating last year’s Climate Century exhibition, you made an artwork called Small Measures. Can you tell us about this work?
SG: ‘Stand in a place you feel to be vulnerable. Listen to the sounds happening. Now find a note, tune-in and hold it. Breathe. Hold a note again.’
This is the instruction I gave to volunteers from the Born on Monday choir when making Small Measures for Climate Century 2015. In some louder industrialised environments, the sounds sung became somewhat adversarial and lament-like. A sensitive registering of the small differences between places was played out in the variations between notes the choir members improvised. In the resulting video and sound installation the notes mixed unpredictably across the upper-floor of an old bank building. At once a love song and a lament, the work also held the feeling of ‘tuning up’ reminiscent of moments where a person and instrument (here a person and an environment) start a negotiation. In making the work I was driven by an image of sonography – the way ships tentatively feel their way along the ocean floor by bouncing sound off it.
V: Jason, can you tell us about Climate of Cruelty, a new commission from Vitals as part of the Climate Century commissioning process?
JS: Climate of Cruelty will develop as a song-cycle and live performance event working with writer Em Koenig and my band Jason & Silver Moon (with Zoë Barry and Jed Palmer) – as well as creating an online activist space, writing portal, and resource. It is a way to redress the balance for individual animals slaughtered at the hands of humans in environmentally-impacting commercial industries in Australia and globally.
In my own life, the time arrived when I needed to face the evidence of the history of cruelty against animals to literally feed our human desires; how the livestock industry exists because of our human need to consume animals; how such an industry has a major impact upon the planet, upon the environment, and upon biodiversity; and on the act of needless killing.
V: With climate change being the greatest challenge facing humans, other species, and the planet, there has been a burgeoning of artistic and cultural responses to this condition. Are there things to be mindful of when investigating climate change and the Anthropocene through art?
SG: I am excited by the potential of art to prompt new ways of feeling and thinking within this situation. A great example of this can be found in Sundari Carmody and Matthew Bradley’s collaborative work Winds of Increasing Magnitudes. During the Climate Century exhibition last year their huge semi-transparent silk flag (stripped of all the markers and signs that may suggest ownership or claiming of land) traced movements of air on sky. To visit the work, audiences trekked out to the windiest part of Port Adelaide where loose hair and scarves joined in the action of the flag. Standing in heightened awareness of the wind, people might remember growing up under the hole in the Ozone Layer, checking the UV index, and wondering at the air quality whilst inextricably breathing in. Experiencing Matt and Sundari’s work I was brought into new relation with memories and ideas while becoming sunburnt and windblown.
The ‘Anthropocene’ describes the current period of time in which human acts take on geological proportions. Like many artists, I understand my practice as part of ways of being in, and reflecting on, my world. It is no surprise then the condition of climate change has become a situation within which my own (and other’s) works act.
JS: In order to make responses about our planet as artists I truly believe there has to be equal response in one’s personal life. As humans making art about climate change, surely the only way to fully express an idea is to practice – fully – an investigation into the way one lives.
For me, I can’t make a work about animal cruelty and the adverse effects of the livestock industry on the environment, and then live a life that promotes cruelty: especially to animals. Climate of Cruelty is about being mindful that cruelty can often be silent or silenced or disguised as comfort, especially where the use, consumption, and abuse of animals is concerned.
I’m always confused when artists who say they are environmentalists are still contributing through excessive use of resources in their work, or are not working with recycled materials, or – dare I say – are not vegetarian or vegan. Artists, in so many respects, should be the voices to the dire situation our planet faces – we are, after all, part of the human impact that has led to the coming catastrophes. In a way, all that artists – and humans – should be concerned about now is our place on the planet and our own actions in contributing to climate change. It’s an emergency.
V: As artists working in the space of climate change, how do you grapple with feelings of melancholy and feelings of hopefulness?
JS: Once you’ve made the commitment to live a cruelty-free life, which includes being vegan, there are things you can never un-know. Sometimes I feel such urgency to communicate what I’ve learnt about animal suffering to other people, but then I watch them continue to consume animal products as if nothing were wrong.
My greatest share of melancholia is derived of human behaviour. When it comes to the dire impact of climate change as a result of human greed it seems impossible to not despair. This planet doesn’t need humans. We suck the earth dry. When humans disappear I am sure the earth will breathe a huge sigh of relief. The animals, plants and trees can finally get on with living, as they always have, in a sustainable way with the planet.
Knowing humans have created an industry that literally churns out animals for our desires, our plates, our bodies – creating an even greater impact upon our planet – how can I not exist in sadness?
Sometimes, when I look at the damage humans have inflicted upon the earth it renders me inarticulate, silent.
Hopefulness will come when I begin to observe those around me really beginning to embrace a cruelty-free, animal product-free life. Only then will I know an important change is starting to happen. In the meantime, I will keep my polite silence at the feeding table as I watch those around me continue to be sadly misinformed about the suffering of animals at the cost of our planet and our bodies.
SG: If there was no hope, I wouldn’t make work. I believe artwork always has radical potential to open new ways forward in any situation. I watch for these glimmering moments where art is part of the making of wild associations, and in them find great hope against the backdrop of a very difficult and depressing global condition.
V: You both have made multiple works that explore urban sound and quietness. Tell us a little bit about this area of interest.
JS: Quietness and silence is innate in me. Introversion and seeking solace has been with me since I was a child, in fact I never wanted to leave the womb! Now, I think my quietness has been worn down as I continue to observe the sadness and horrors of the world. Idle chatter is pointless. So it seems only natural in my later years my obsession with quiet seeking has found its way into my work.
My largest project, Stereopublic (Crowdsourcing the Quiet), asks members of the public around the world to use an app to contribute quiet spaces in their cities as a way to respond to the noise, din and anxiety of our urban environments. A participant can record audio of that space, and I gift back to them an original ambient composition. To date 65 cities around the globe are participating with almost 2000 quiet spaces found. It’s pretty inspiring. And, to reflect back on the idea of ‘hope’ above, it gives me hope there is a global community around me seeking the peaceful, seeking out spaces away from the din of industry and crowds and ‘vibrancy’. So I’m continuing this exploration in a more personal sense this year with something I call Quiet Ecology – which maps sonically, culturally, and environmentally the impact of noise on the planet and the real benefits of quiet preservation for our continued well-being.
SG: Heidi and I temporarily “borrowed” a shopping trolley for five Saturdays in a row in a shopping centre plaza in Noarlunga. I clanked about with a mad scientist set of wires and 3G dongles that let me stream online the intimate, sometimes harrowing and delightfully banal soundscapes and conversations I had with passers-by. Nothing was recorded. These sounds and conversations were for those who tuned in and for those who were there.
I am often led by sound, although I don’t describe myself as a sound artist. I love the immediacy of sound and the gentle touch of quiet. I like listening more than creating sound, and as such my works often make heightened situations for the act of listening or tuning-in to an occurrence or community.
V: You have each worked with Vitalstatistix before, on multiple projects in addition to Climate Century, such as our annual experimental art hothouse Adhocracy, and as commissioned artists for Cutaway, a three-year project completed in 2013. What value does these types of long-term relationships between artists and organisations hold? What do you see as Vitalstatistix’s place/role locally and nationally?
SG: My relationship with Vitalstatistix has been (and continues to be) intrinsic to my development as a professional artist.
For Adhocracy, Heidi and I chartered a boat, put an internet radio transmitter on it and took it out to the edge of the broadcast network. This was an act that sought failure, ‘dropouts’ and lost communications. Adhocracy provides a forum for experimentation, failure, and conversation. It is a place for audiences to come close to tentative and fascinating early stage projects. The program brings together experimental artists from many fields, and the conversations had over toasted sandwiches and between showings spark new trajectories.
There is a symbiosis that occurs when an organisation is fueled by, and fuels, the communities it participates in. Long-term community embedded projects like Cutaway and Climate Century allow time for meaningful collaborations to bear fruit.
In order to lead, you have to break new ground. Vitalstatistix is the only place in South Australia for audiences and artists to experience and make works that play with the expanding and increasingly blurred edges of performance and the visual arts. Vitals is a natural and national leader.
JS: My first real long-term connection to an organisation was with Doppio-Teatro/Para//elo between 1998-2004. This was such an important time of my life – and, in the history of contemporary art and experimental performance in SA, they were one of the more significant companies to exist. That involvement, particularly with Teresa Crea, was the best mentorship I could ever hope for. Teresa was really setting the stage for events like Adhocracy – unfortunately people just didn’t seem to get it or appreciate it at the time and that history, especially of Para//elo, isn’t acknowledged. SA needs to honour Teresa and how much she invested in young, experimental artists – particularly artists from diverse cultural backgrounds. Teresa taught me art, culture, and community are intrinsic, interconnected. She’s a legend.
And so my next longer connection has been with Vitalstatistix – a logical connection after so many years with Para//elo. Vitals is a company I’ve always loved as a feminist/queer space for performance and personally as a queer artist I saw much comradeship. My deeper connection from 2010 onwards has been so important to my artistic development – allowing me both an artistic and a curatorial platform in which to work. Vitals is the only company in SA dedicated to a national conversation around the delicate practice of emerging and experimental live art and performance.
V: How are you feeling about the future of the arts locally and nationally?
JS: We’re living amongst one of the world’s oldest living cultures and so I’m consciously aware I’m a queer, white, male existing in a place of deep spirituality, mystery and ancient Indigenous creativity. Art has always been here and will continue way beyond my years. Art exists in nature, in people, in the everyday, in the spiritual. The inheritance of this slightly icky European model of contemporary art in Australia has always made me uncomfortable so I struggle to talk about that, but I’ll try.
I’ve always felt it is within the power of the culture itself to sustain and drive forward its future. Like most of our society, we rely so heavily on government bodies to shape and make our lives. Lately, the destabilising funding cuts have made me think about this addictive feeding tray that arts funding has become – and I’ve certainly had my fair share and that’s amazing, I’m very lucky. I am committed to being an artist and making work as a response to the world no matter what – I just happen to be in a country where the option of seeking government funds is possible. Yet, I am worried artists and the art world’s reliance on funding may impact our future. It’s like we align getting a grant with making work or having status – or if a curator selects you then you must be better than those who were not chosen. Sure, it’s great when it happens, when you get the ‘yes’ emails – but would I still make a work if there was no funds or project selections?
Perhaps it’s analogous to the way we consume food. We rely on a supermarket or grocer to provide for us – and yet, you eat a pumpkin, save its seeds, put it in the ground, and in a few months you’ll start to see a new pumpkin grow and you’ve got dinner – and it cost nothing but the time it took and diligence you had to plant a seed in the earth.
At the end of the day we need to eat, so we need sustenance – and it can come for free. In these times of global crisis, the future holds so much for some real creative gardening to take place – literally and figuratively. Let’s get back to the earth and stop worrying about money all the time. Money and the desire for it are killing our planet. It’s up to artists to lead the charge. To create work, live a frugal life, and respect nature – give back to it rather than tear away at the planet’s resources. The death of the arts (in that ‘industry’ sense) will be an all-consuming anxiety around ambition, competition, and the bloody fight to the last dollar or status position. We need to be conscious the arts don’t start to mirror the corporatised and patriarchal systems most of us are fighting to escape from.
SG: Thinking to the future, I feel depressed.
Even as I begin to answer this question I find myself winding up into a rant-like answer about the importance of arms-length funding and the potential of a well-funded industry. But it has all been said, and seems to be unheard by those who need to act.
This isn’t a reason to give up on hope or activism.
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Vitalstatistix spoke with Hilary Kleinig from Zephyr Quartet and Jennifer Greer Holmes, independent creative producer and ZQ’s manager, about contemporary and experimental music, their focus on collaboration and how they are feeling about the future of Australian arts three weeks after what’s become known as Black Friday.
V: Zephyr Quartet is really forging a reputation for experimentation and interesting collaborations. Tell us about some of your recent projects.
HK: Our most recent major project in the Adelaide Festival, Exquisite Corpse, is a musical version based on the Surrealist parlour game of the same name. Instead of passing fragments of text or drawings from one person to the next, we commissioned twelve composers from Australia and the USA to write a 65min seamless score, whereby one composer would pass the last fragment of their section onto the next composer as a starting point for the following section. For this project we also worked with visual artists Jo Kerlogue and Lukukuku who created an animated visual response to the music that was projected into the performance space.
Another of our favourite recent projects is Between Light, which draws together five jazz musicians to compose a new piece for Zephyr in response to the theme of ‘chiaroscuro’ – the Italian art term used to describe the effect of contrasting areas of light and dark in a painting or drawing. We then invited Geoff Cobham and his team of Chris Petridis, Lachlan Turner and Alexander Ramsay to respond, not only to the music but also to the space in which we were performing the pieces (for the premiere season this was at Queens Theatre). They created a ‘house’ for each piece by using different parts of the building and utilising separate installations that responded uniquely - using varying notions of light and dark – to each piece of music and the space. During the performance, the audience moved around the space with the quartet as we performed and joined us in an intimate conversation of music, light and space. We liked this project so much that we wanted to do it again and are really thrilled to be able to explore Between Light in a new space at Vitals’ wonderful Waterside Workers Hall.
JGH: Zephyr’s approach to collaboration is what drew me to working with them. It’s at the heart of everything we do: artistically; the way we make decisions; everything is a discussion, everyone plays a part. I’m constantly bewildered by how successful the collaborative process is with ZQ – sometimes we are talking about projects with more than twenty artists involved, often from multiple cities or countries. It’s an interesting and satisfying process of working.
V: There seems to be flux and development in contemporary and experimental music in South Australia at the moment – why do you think that is?
HK: I am very proud to be a part of a dynamic and talented music community here in South Australia, and I think the quality of music making here is extraordinary and world-class. Whilst there are things that I personally would like to see more of in the music scene, what I see as a big part of the success in the form of flux and development is the sense of community from a large part of the sector – a willingness to support each other in playing for projects, by going to each other’s performances, recording each other’s music and getting excited about what other people are doing. I think that COMA (Creative Original Music Adelaide), who run a performance series at the Wheatsheaf Hotel, have had a large impact on bringing together musicians from different genres and supporting a creative community, too.
V: ZQ’s recent projects have seen the Quartet collaborate with other established South Australian artists across artforms. What is the collaborative experience like for the Quartet?
HK: Collaboration is key to what we do, and the nature of the collaboration changes from project to project. We are very interested in adopting theatre and dance models in terms of creative development for producing work (although on a smaller scale), however this is rarely supported by funding bodies because it is a practice not utilised in music, especially not on a collaborative level.
I feel that there is a great depth and authenticity within work generated from a ‘ground-up’, collaborative practice and we Zephyrs are interested in making work that speaks deeply, uniquely and personally to a people, a time, and a place.
Sometimes this means finding existing music and placing it within a certain context or environment, but often it means creating from scratch – which of course is more risky and hard to promote because you don’t know exactly what it will be like until you perform it! For instance, when we premiered Between Light, I remember such a profound sense of relief after the first performance that it ‘worked’ – I really couldn’t tell if it would from an audience perspective! (I then proceeded to tell all my friends to come along!)
It is great for us to be able to have opportunities to present projects again. Aside from the vast amount of energy, time and money it takes to create projects such as Between Light and Exquisite Corpse, a remounted presentation (again, not such a common occurrence in the music sector) offers us a certain peace of mind, in that we have an idea of what the outcome will be for us and our audience, as well as the chance to make something good even better!
V: What are you thoughts on the opportunities available to mature independent contemporary artists in South Australia – what are the benefits and disadvantages of working here?
JGH: On the one hand, the opportunities that Adelaide offers are largely due to the ease of making relationships with people. It means that, personally, I have found work easy to come by because after all this time I have a really diverse network of peers in multiple art forms, and outside of the arts. It’s the main thing that’s kept me in Adelaide – I haven’t wanted the challenge of rebuilding that. Also, it’s a relatively cheap lifestyle: a person can live fairly easily on a fluctuating income. This means that there are loads of artists doing interesting things.
Of course, there’s also access to funding, and some initiatives for development, in-kind support and residencies.
Having said all that, and with the bright eyes of someone who is currently travelling in Berlin, the disadvantages are more apparent. Over the past few years, the isolation of being in Adelaide has got under my skin. Shows that I want to see don’t tour here (whether that’s an experimental intimate theatre work, or someone as mainstream as Madonna) – so to remain engaged in national and international performance we have to travel. I love travel, but it’s disruptive, expensive and not always possible. I’m interested in what’s happening right now – although I have concern for the future and respect for the past – and I feel I am neglecting my professional responsibilities if I don’t see contemporary performances. So, it’s either travel, or waiting and hoping that presenters like Vitals or one of the major festivals tour contemporary works into Adelaide.
The other disadvantages are that I often feel the sector in Adelaide is stifled by a lack of politicisation, a lack of forward thinking (but present-acting) leadership, too many gatekeepers, and a vast misunderstanding by some decision makers about what it actually takes to be an innovative maker of live art. And then, perhaps it’s the flip side of what I was saying before… It’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone, so it can be hard to find freshness – both personally and professionally.
V: Tell us about Between Light and why ZQ wanted to present the work with Vitalstatistix at Waterside.
JGH: I have a really strong connection to Waterside and Vitals, stemming from my family’s history with the building, growing up in the area, and my work with Vitals – as a former staff member, a documenter of events, and as an independent artist. Vitals is the state’s only presenter supporting innovative, experimental, cross-disciplinary collaboration in a way that is affordable for independent artists and small organisations. When Emma Webb responded to the premiere of Between Light at Queen’s Theatre so positively, I immediately thought that it would be a good work to see in that spectacular old hall, Waterside.
HK: Between Light was always conceived as an adaptable touring show and, in essence, a conversation between three elements – music, light and space. What is special about the music created for Between Light is each score comprised an improvisation component, which means we will never perform – and audiences will never hear – any piece quite the same way twice. Likewise, the lighting is stimulated, manipulated and generated live manually and through technology that turns sound waves to light. To be able to explore the possibilities of a different space adds yet another dimension to the life of this project, and we are very excited about this!
I also deeply admire Vitalstatistix’s role in our artistic community – Vitals are game changers, leaders and fearless producers of work that has national and international impact. I personally admire the way the organisation delves deeply into the local community, history and a broader social commentary to support artists and create work – I feel humbled and proud to be able to be a small part of this.
V: Jennifer, you work across a range of art forms as a creative producer, arts manager, curator, documenter, DJ and other roles. How do you approach your relationship with artists and your career as an independent cultural worker?
JGH: In short, from the heart. I have been evolving my ‘rules’ for how and who I work with over the past five or so years. When I first decided to give this whole independent caper a crack, my only motive was to not work with dickheads or Boards. Now, I have refined that somewhat!
When I work as a creative producer, I mostly work with friends (or artists who have been recommended by friends) who are trusted, both personally and as artists. I’m not interested in working with people or on projects that I wouldn’t want to see or artists I can’t advocate for the type of work they do. That’s not to say I haven’t done that – I’m just not very good at it.
In terms of artist management, again, I only do that for friends. At the moment, I work with Zephyr, Jason Sweeney and Heath Britton. I want to work with people I can be brutally honest with, for better or for worse (and it’s no coincidence that I use that marriage vow – I see it as a bond and an honour like no other).
I’ve been with Zephyr for more than four years, which is the longest job I have ever had. I love it and I love them. I think they’re completely shit-hot and I have had the privilege of talking about them overseas for the last month and a half – and people are so impressed.
They’re really leading the way. I already knew that, but having spent this time away and seeing what else is out there, it became even more obvious.
As a documenter, I see myself as a tiny cog in the process of telling a story. That’s a weird one to me, the documentation. It kind of just happened, without any deliberate choice. I think it’s vitally important to have records of things, and I’ve always been obsessive about hoarding memories, so it totally fits with my history and personality that I would do this for work. It is quite technical (which isn’t me at all) – I work with Heath Britton in this role, who I have known for over 20 years, so we have a shared language and defined roles that we’ve slipped into with making videos for artists.
Being a DJ is my favourite job I’ve done. It’s purely indulgent, hedonistic, joyful and outrageous. I work with a dear friend, Jo Kerlogue, and we get paid to drink bubbles, play our favourite records, dance and watch other people dance. If I could do that every day for the rest of my life I would be a very happy lady. Also, being a ‘post-modern feminist vinyl only DJ duo’ means that we kind of have a particular niche! It’s still work, and sometimes it feels like “going to work” but there is no comparison to a bad day at the Bad Jelly office – it’s still pretty darn good. In terms of collaboration, and the way Jo and I work together, pretty much we are just old mates who love records and tell each other how it is.
Back to the short answer though: I don’t do work that I don’t believe in. I can’t. When I stop enjoying something I don’t feel like I am being true to myself if I keep doing it. Work is very personal to me. Sometimes that’s problematic; most of the time it’s fucking fantastic.
V: You have worked with Vitalstatistix in many different capacities over the years. What do you see as the current value and role of Vitalstatistix?
JGH: As I mentioned before, Vitals is pretty much a standalone in Adelaide and South Australia in terms of the opportunities it offers artists. I have been fortunate enough to benefit from being an Incubator artist, which supports the development of new work; I’ve documented every Adhocracy since it started and am just astounded at the way that it continues to evolve the way it supports and engages artists and audiences. It’s completely unique in Adelaide, there is simply nothing like it. I love it. It’s my favourite part of Vitals’ programme.
Vitals is there for independent artists. It has helped develop audiences’ understanding of and taste for live contemporary art. It has facilitated so many creative relationships and sparked multiple collaborations that I have directly benefited from – both as an artist and an audience member.
In relation to the current funding situation, I always felt Vitals should be safe due to the unique offering they make to local and national artists. No-one else is doing what Vitals does, and no-one else has the kind of impact Vitals does in terms of public outcomes on the kind of money that’s available. Post-funding announcements, I am completely devastated by the news that Vitals missed out on funding. I have no words… Ok, maybe some: Shocked. Gutted. Appalled.
V: How are you feeling about the future of the arts locally and nationally?
JGH: Every time I think about this question I try not to be bleak. Yet, here I am again, attempting to answer it and feeling bleak. Not in terms of the art that is being made (there are truly exceptional artists here) , but the opportunity for artists to make it with adequate support for their work – not just funding, but infrastructure: both physical, such as venues; and in education, such as audience development and training.
That aside (and I don’t cast it aside lightly, I’d just prefer to focus on something that gives me hope), the emergence of a strong and diverse live art scene in Adelaide over the last few years is largely what’s kept me there. And it’s no coincidence that I am writing this for Vitals, as it is Vitals who has been at the forefront for supporting this type of work locally.
When I think about making work in Adelaide and Australia at the moment, I feel a bit limited. We are insular, we must reach out to be part of conversations, for it is rare that we are invited into them. For the most part, I don’t feel this is especially problematic: it definitely informs the experimental nature of our work, as I feel we are somewhat uninfluenced by trends. However, it does have limitations for audience growth – not just in numbers (which is an obvious one) but for the growth of an audiences’ understanding of what else is out there, what they can demand from their engagement with artists and the type of work they can see.
I’ve been writing this blog from various parts of the world – all away from home (I’ve been to 15 cities in just under 7 weeks!). I’ve been incredibly fortunate through my work in this sector to be supported to attend markets and festivals in order to find presentation and collaboration opportunities for SA artists. I am in love with Europe, and absolutely see the increased potential for artists to work there. I imagine it’s for a range of reasons, but one of the things I noticed in my conversations with Europeans from a variety of backgrounds (cultural, social, economic, language) – is the acceptance of the arts. It made me sad for Australian artists: I feel that we are apologetic or defensive of our choice to do creative work.
Again, short answer: it feels bad and sad. The devastation of the Australia Council news is fresh and I am tired of being told we need to find new ways to survive – as if we aren’t already doing that! Three companies I’ve worked with a fair bit in the past two years haven’t been funded. And I guess the other thing that has me down – particularly now, as I arrive back in Oz – is the potential of Adelaide to be this great city for arts and artists. There are amazing cities all over the place which have half - or less than half – the population of Adelaide which are all absolutely thriving with stuff to do and people who are out there hungry for it, publications who pay writers to write about it, and businesses who rely on the arts to bring people through their doors. It has nothing to do with our size. It’s an excuse we’ve been hearing for ages. I don’t know how to address it, I feel like I’ve been trying for half my life and am a tad battle weary. When the fight outweighs the joy – that’s a sign for me.
HK: There are no doubts that these are fairly dark times for the arts and I see the more recent Australia Council funding cuts as just yet another nail in the coffin. A myriad of things have contributed to making a hard job even harder over the last 5-10 years – ABC funding cuts, changes and cuts to arts courses at university and TAFE, etc.
I too, at times feel incredibly sad about this and echo Jennifer’s laments about the place and importance of culture within Australia, and I am not sure what to do to make changes to this. What we are talking about here are fundamental changes to our national identity! In a real practical sense I do feel that vast changes at a fundamental levels need to be addressed in education, access to arts, and media.
On a positive note over the last month or so I have felt a sense of purpose, of coming together, of unity and strength from the vast majority of the arts sector on many different levels. People are realising that they do have a voice, that they can speak for change, and that this is better done from a united front. Whilst none of us know what the future will hold there is a sense, for the most part, that we are all in this together, and that we are a community that – despite our differences – want similar results and outcomes.
I can’t speak for others, but these are my feelings today, right now, in this time and place:
I, too, feel that sometimes the fight is too much, that I am tired and have nothing left to give. On the other hand, at times, and most recently this last week, I am reminded by the power of art, the power of community and the power that a sense of shared experience in time and place is a strong and important reminder of our common, shared humanity.
On Monday I had the honour of playing music for a friend’s funeral – it was sad and it was happy, it was funny and it was joyful. Trying to read the music and play the right notes through the tears, trying to make a beautiful, moving sound that would honour a life well-lived, and looking at the vast crowd of people who were there sharing in this most primal human experience, I was reminded that music says things that words can’t say, that art has a power that no one can undermine and that it is our shared humanity and a strong sense of being part of and being valued by a community which makes life worth living.
I don’t know that will happen in the future with governments, with funding, with arts bodies, with politics, and what this means for the future of the arts locally and nationally. I know that changes in these areas can make our jobs as artists easier or harder but it can’t and won’t ever take away the power of and our human need for art.
Zephyr Quartet presents Between Light in association with Vitalstatistix, 30 June – 3 July.
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