On a sunny Sunday afternoon, I stood out in front of The Bearded Tit - a bar, a performance space, and a safe haven with a cultural legacy that cannot be understated. The Tit spills out onto Regent Street in a display of unashamed presence, forest green tiles cradling the bottom of the front window where often artwork has been installed on the Street Space. On that day, I was met with a familiar statement plastered all over the inside of the front window: HOUSING IS A HUMAN RIGHT. This important slogan charged with political history feels particularly apt to read while standing in Redfern, a suburb with a rich history for mob in particular but also marginalised and low-income people who found community here, who found home. I am offered up this significant slogan as a mantra, a wallpaper of undeniable presence amidst the bubbling conversations around the fate of the housing commission in the area. Housing is a human right, and yet the gentrification of inner-city suburbs and subsequent displacement of Indigenous people seeks only to widen the class divide.
Upon entering the bar, I am drawn to a word that I can’t look away from: houso. I think to myself, yes, this is a piece of work for people like me. Emily Greenwood’s Houso Sweet Houso is up on the walls as a continuation of the work in the Street Space. As someone who grew up in housing commission, it felt like an accurate representation of my lived experience and a significant commentary on the realities of growing up in poverty. Anyone who has grown up in housos will tell you that there is a shared solidarity between us and an unspoken understanding. Growing up in poverty can be an alienating experience, particularly as a young person when you are making sense of the world and your place in it: when you have no choice but to learn about class, and racism. Greenwood’s work also reflects on childhood experiences within the home, such as making cake from a packet with their family or watching a sunrise alone on their balcony. These memories offer up an illustration of seemingly ‘normal’ childhood experiences with ones that are all reminiscent of growing up in housos and are brilliantly positioned together.
Houso Sweet Houso illuminates an often unspoken experience. The inherent shame that is instilled in those from a low-income background speaks deeply to issues of class in our society, and the differential value assigned to people based on economic status. To see work that openly speaks to these experiences is affirming and validating. Not only is it significant to see myself represented in this work, but it opens important avenues of discussion on systematic issues around housing and the class divide, particularly in inner city suburbs.
Contrasting Greenwood’s work beautifully in the Street Space, we find Tyza Hart’s Cup, Bowl, Saucer - a set of three ceramic vessels sitting on a table. At initial glance they appear as normal household items, but upon closer inspection, it becomes apparent that they are warped in some way. In one piece, the base of a vase is a cone-like shape which means it must lay on its side. In another, a handle curves on the inside of a bowl. These playful ways that Hart reimagines household items speaks to form and asks us to consider the relationships we have with our body. The interventions prompt us to think about the ways our bodies can be used or perceived, with household items representing our own vessels and a hopeful sense of potential in our perception.
Descend Well Asleep is another piece of Hart’s that reflects on the human form, depicting a figure painted onto a fabric banner. The figure appears to be falling, and the way the fabric drapes captures a sense of movement that is depicted in the work. The darkness of the textile and the lightness of the paint contrasts, drawing your eye to the figure and allowing curiosity to arise in consideration of what is being shown to us. This piece felt dreamlike and reminded me of the way we enter different states of consciousness while our bodies are in a state of deep rest.
Both of Hart's pieces highlight the notion that our bodies are like vessels, encouraging us to think about how flexible and adaptable we really are. In their creative works, Hart invites us to ponder the deep connections between everyday objects, our bodies, and the endless possibilities that lie in our perception.
Situated in the Curiosity Cabinet tucked next to the bar, we find the work of Rainer Ciar which immediately caught my eye. Vermin Angels 1 and 2 are striking sculptural works that rest on separate glass shelves. Looking at these works reminded me of a crowded coffee table, and I think that’s the point. To me, the work felt like a commentary on the fatigue of living under capitalism, and how our homes can become visual representations of that exhaustion. The illustration of messy domestic life felt familiar, while contrasted with these striking hybrid anime figures depicting household bugs. A mix of sexualisation and repulsion is palpable when viewing these figures, which ask us to question our social values around desire.
Beyond just looking cool, these Vermin Angels ask you to ponder more than just what is on the surface. They prompt reflection on the constant pursuit for growth or perfection under capitalism, the self-flagellating nature of the values we subconsciously uphold while simultaneously trying to challenge. Ciar’s works are not just sculptures but mirrors reflecting to us the messiness (both physical and otherwise) of modern life. Through tapping into shared emotions, these works offer us a moment of respite with both humour and symbolism, while touching deeply on the societal pressures we all face.
While enjoying my cola in the corner I was nestled against Greenwood’s wall of work and sprawled in front of me I found AJ Jensens Loving Divine, unfolding as a series of prayerful messages on coasters which I noticed were scattered across the bar. These coasters served as unique canvasses for Jensen to explore the interplay of emotions as a queer trans person navigating their faith. The work is a window into their inner world, an expression of yearning, and a desire to reconcile spiritual connection, bodily autonomy and sexuality.
The text on the coasters read like a poetic conversation addressing figures such as Judas, Jesus, Joan of Arc and St. Frances. In engaging in a dialogue with these figures, Jensen questions societal norms, sexuality and contradictions within the Christian faith. The language is bold, unapologetic and witty while touching on a range of topics from abolition to the complexities of gender. Here we get an insight into Jensen grappling with the intersection of faith and politics, delving into their intimate struggles and addressing personal experiences with not only sincerity but a little rebellion as well. Growing up queer in a religious household, this work felt deeply personal and struck a few chords within me. Overall, Loving Divine felt like a powerful exploration of identity and faith, inviting thoughtful and sincere contemplation.
While I sat at the same table, after experiencing Jensen’s work I noticed to the right of me, a little crevice in the wall that was styled to look like a little window with red curtains drawn to the side. Inside, I found a set of headphones and what appeared to be some song lyrics beside them. I put the headphones on and was immediately transported to an almost dream-like soundscape. Zaya Barroso’s musical offerings Rebel Native and Te Suelto serve as intimate sonic journeys, resonating with grief, spiritual connection and inner strength.
In Te Suelto, Barroso’s echoing voice wraps you in a cocoon of cathartic release. The lyrics express a firm and emotional letting go, while painting a vivid picture of the reclamation of one’s power. As you listen, the verses unfold with a raw honesty, and Barroso’s powerful declaration “I release you / I release you / Out of here / Out of here” softly rings out the end of the track. Rebel Native follows suit, offering up a soothing balm that conjures a fierce and protective divine feminine force. The lyrics tell a story of resilience, and defiance against societal expectations in a forceful way. The strong-willed spirit described in the song transcends judgement, emerging as an unapologetic force. Barroso has a gift at allowing the narrative to unfold with a poetic, almost trance-inducing energy, inviting the listener to explore the depths of their own emotional landscapes.
Both tracks complement each other to make up an evocative listening experience. Barroso’s songs offer a moment of respite amidst the bar’s activity, creating a space for solace and contemplation of our inner worlds. There is a delicate balance of vulnerability and strength which is reflected in both the lyrics and the emotive vocals—a testament to Barroso’s ability to navigate complex emotional landscapes with softness and clarity.
Knowing Me In The Quiet, curated by Lillian Colgan is an exhibition that unfolds as an exploration of repair, decay, connection and solitude within the intimate realms of the home. The works of AJ Jensen, Emily Greenwood, Rainer Ciar, Tyza Hart and Zaya Barroso bring forth a rich collection of individual experiences and perspectives with each artist shedding light on how we mould our sense of self through the interaction with our bodies, spaces and objects. The very real lived experiences of classism, racism, transphobia and homophobia permeate throughout the exhibition, which invite reflection on how we may challenge societal constructs and build moments of solace in a world that often feels inhospitable.
This exhibition is an ode to the power of art in shaping our understanding of self and community. For those eager to delve into the world created by these brilliant artists, Knowing Me In The Quiet will be at the Bearded Tit for another month. I highly recommend allowing these artworks to resonate with your own lived experiences, or as a rich window of insight into those with different experiences to you. The power of this exhibition lies in the subtleties, and there are many profound moments that await you in the exploration of them.
On a sunny Sunday afternoon, I stood out in front of The Bearded Tit - a bar, a performance space, and a safe haven with a cultural legacy that cannot be understated. The Tit spills out onto Regent Street in a display of unashamed presence, forest green tiles cradling the bottom of the front window where often artwork has been installed on the Street Space. On that day, I was met with a familiar statement plastered all over the inside of the front window: HOUSING IS A HUMAN RIGHT. This important slogan charged with political history feels particularly apt to read while standing in Redfern, a suburb with a rich history for mob in particular but also marginalised and low-income people who found community here, who found home. I am offered up this significant slogan as a mantra, a wallpaper of undeniable presence amidst the bubbling conversations around the fate of the housing commission in the area. Housing is a human right, and yet the gentrification of inner-city suburbs and subsequent displacement of Indigenous people seeks only to widen the class divide.
Upon entering the bar, I am drawn to a word that I can’t look away from: houso. I think to myself, yes, this is a piece of work for people like me. Emily Greenwood’s Houso Sweet Houso is up on the walls as a continuation of the work in the Street Space. As someone who grew up in housing commission, it felt like an accurate representation of my lived experience and a significant commentary on the realities of growing up in poverty. Anyone who has grown up in housos will tell you that there is a shared solidarity between us and an unspoken understanding. Growing up in poverty can be an alienating experience, particularly as a young person when you are making sense of the world and your place in it: when you have no choice but to learn about class, and racism. Greenwood’s work also reflects on childhood experiences within the home, such as making cake from a packet with their family or watching a sunrise alone on their balcony. These memories offer up an illustration of seemingly ‘normal’ childhood experiences with ones that are all reminiscent of growing up in housos and are brilliantly positioned together.
Houso Sweet Houso illuminates an often unspoken experience. The inherent shame that is instilled in those from a low-income background speaks deeply to issues of class in our society, and the differential value assigned to people based on economic status. To see work that openly speaks to these experiences is affirming and validating. Not only is it significant to see myself represented in this work, but it opens important avenues of discussion on systematic issues around housing and the class divide, particularly in inner city suburbs.
Contrasting Greenwood’s work beautifully in the Street Space, we find Tyza Hart’s Cup, Bowl, Saucer - a set of three ceramic vessels sitting on a table. At initial glance they appear as normal household items, but upon closer inspection, it becomes apparent that they are warped in some way. In one piece, the base of a vase is a cone-like shape which means it must lay on its side. In another, a handle curves on the inside of a bowl. These playful ways that Hart reimagines household items speaks to form and asks us to consider the relationships we have with our body. The interventions prompt us to think about the ways our bodies can be used or perceived, with household items representing our own vessels and a hopeful sense of potential in our perception.
Descend Well Asleep is another piece of Hart’s that reflects on the human form, depicting a figure painted onto a fabric banner. The figure appears to be falling, and the way the fabric drapes captures a sense of movement that is depicted in the work. The darkness of the textile and the lightness of the paint contrasts, drawing your eye to the figure and allowing curiosity to arise in consideration of what is being shown to us. This piece felt dreamlike and reminded me of the way we enter different states of consciousness while our bodies are in a state of deep rest.
Both of Hart's pieces highlight the notion that our bodies are like vessels, encouraging us to think about how flexible and adaptable we really are. In their creative works, Hart invites us to ponder the deep connections between everyday objects, our bodies, and the endless possibilities that lie in our perception.
Situated in the Curiosity Cabinet tucked next to the bar, we find the work of Rainer Ciar which immediately caught my eye. Vermin Angels 1 and 2 are striking sculptural works that rest on separate glass shelves. Looking at these works reminded me of a crowded coffee table, and I think that’s the point. To me, the work felt like a commentary on the fatigue of living under capitalism, and how our homes can become visual representations of that exhaustion. The illustration of messy domestic life felt familiar, while contrasted with these striking hybrid anime figures depicting household bugs. A mix of sexualisation and repulsion is palpable when viewing these figures, which ask us to question our social values around desire.
Beyond just looking cool, these Vermin Angels ask you to ponder more than just what is on the surface. They prompt reflection on the constant pursuit for growth or perfection under capitalism, the self-flagellating nature of the values we subconsciously uphold while simultaneously trying to challenge. Ciar’s works are not just sculptures but mirrors reflecting to us the messiness (both physical and otherwise) of modern life. Through tapping into shared emotions, these works offer us a moment of respite with both humour and symbolism, while touching deeply on the societal pressures we all face.
While enjoying my cola in the corner I was nestled against Greenwood’s wall of work and sprawled in front of me I found AJ Jensens Loving Divine, unfolding as a series of prayerful messages on coasters which I noticed were scattered across the bar. These coasters served as unique canvasses for Jensen to explore the interplay of emotions as a queer trans person navigating their faith. The work is a window into their inner world, an expression of yearning, and a desire to reconcile spiritual connection, bodily autonomy and sexuality.
The text on the coasters read like a poetic conversation addressing figures such as Judas, Jesus, Joan of Arc and St. Frances. In engaging in a dialogue with these figures, Jensen questions societal norms, sexuality and contradictions within the Christian faith. The language is bold, unapologetic and witty while touching on a range of topics from abolition to the complexities of gender. Here we get an insight into Jensen grappling with the intersection of faith and politics, delving into their intimate struggles and addressing personal experiences with not only sincerity but a little rebellion as well. Growing up queer in a religious household, this work felt deeply personal and struck a few chords within me. Overall, Loving Divine felt like a powerful exploration of identity and faith, inviting thoughtful and sincere contemplation.
While I sat at the same table, after experiencing Jensen’s work I noticed to the right of me, a little crevice in the wall that was styled to look like a little window with red curtains drawn to the side. Inside, I found a set of headphones and what appeared to be some song lyrics beside them. I put the headphones on and was immediately transported to an almost dream-like soundscape. Zaya Barroso’s musical offerings Rebel Native and Te Suelto serve as intimate sonic journeys, resonating with grief, spiritual connection and inner strength.
In Te Suelto, Barroso’s echoing voice wraps you in a cocoon of cathartic release. The lyrics express a firm and emotional letting go, while painting a vivid picture of the reclamation of one’s power. As you listen, the verses unfold with a raw honesty, and Barroso’s powerful declaration “I release you / I release you / Out of here / Out of here” softly rings out the end of the track. Rebel Native follows suit, offering up a soothing balm that conjures a fierce and protective divine feminine force. The lyrics tell a story of resilience, and defiance against societal expectations in a forceful way. The strong-willed spirit described in the song transcends judgement, emerging as an unapologetic force. Barroso has a gift at allowing the narrative to unfold with a poetic, almost trance-inducing energy, inviting the listener to explore the depths of their own emotional landscapes.
Both tracks complement each other to make up an evocative listening experience. Barroso’s songs offer a moment of respite amidst the bar’s activity, creating a space for solace and contemplation of our inner worlds. There is a delicate balance of vulnerability and strength which is reflected in both the lyrics and the emotive vocals—a testament to Barroso’s ability to navigate complex emotional landscapes with softness and clarity.
Knowing Me In The Quiet, curated by Lillian Colgan is an exhibition that unfolds as an exploration of repair, decay, connection and solitude within the intimate realms of the home. The works of AJ Jensen, Emily Greenwood, Rainer Ciar, Tyza Hart and Zaya Barroso bring forth a rich collection of individual experiences and perspectives with each artist shedding light on how we mould our sense of self through the interaction with our bodies, spaces and objects. The very real lived experiences of classism, racism, transphobia and homophobia permeate throughout the exhibition, which invite reflection on how we may challenge societal constructs and build moments of solace in a world that often feels inhospitable.
This exhibition is an ode to the power of art in shaping our understanding of self and community. For those eager to delve into the world created by these brilliant artists, Knowing Me In The Quiet will be at the Bearded Tit for another month. I highly recommend allowing these artworks to resonate with your own lived experiences, or as a rich window of insight into those with different experiences to you. The power of this exhibition lies in the subtleties, and there are many profound moments that await you in the exploration of them.
Runway Journal acknowledges the custodians of the nations our digital platform reaches. We extend this acknowledgement to all First Nations artists, writers and audiences.
Runway Journal is assisted by the Australian Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.
Runway Journal receives project support from the NSW Government through Create NSW.
Runway Journal acknowledges the custodians of the nations our digital platform reaches. We extend this acknowledgement to all First Nations artists, writers and audiences.
Runway Journal is assisted by the Australian Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.
Runway Journal receives project support from the NSW Government through Create NSW.