julia powles: all these galaxies inside us
18.09.24 - 12.10.24
Julia Powles: all these galaxies inside us
In her most recent solo exhibition Julia Powles maps out a trajectory of human feeling. A large series of black and white drawings titled A brief history of crying, runs along one wall of the gallery. In this work we find numerous tear shapes - a common motif for Powles - drawn in white pencil and chalk onto ink; erased and re-drawn in a manner reminiscent of a blackboard, the site where lessons are learned. With so many tears washing down the wall, we are reminded that weeping is also a collective action, and that through compassion and empathy we can find unity. Made using her engineer father’s drafting equipment – compasses, rulers and French curves – Powles employed tools that were once used to design the built environment, as a means for expressing inner emotions.
Similarly, a Venn diagram of overlapping circles has been painted onto a blanket that belonged to the artist’s mother. The schematic blanket painting operates as a kind of family portrait with members overlapping in significance, casting shadows and creating absences. So much happens, Powles says, in bed: sex, love, birth, death, illness, crying and dreaming, while the blankets, kept for years in her mother’s linen closest, bear witness to those events. In reusing her mother and father’s possessions to make art she can not only redeploy functional materials but embed the lived experience of others into her working methodology.
The paintings and drawings in this exhibition span a four-year period during which Powles sought to represent ideas relating to time and experiences. Sound waves, thoughts that resurface, stories told and retold, memories (actual and repressed) are manifest in paint through echoes, reverberations and ghosts – lines and colours repeat in more and more corrupted manners, shapes are erased, one form is buried beneath another, spatial structures emerge and collapse. A small relief sculpture completes the exhibition, appearing as a series of loops it is in fact a sentence: All these galaxies inside us. Made from a single coil of clay and gilded with silver leaf, the barely legible nature of the text is, like so much of our confusing, complex emotional lexicon, obvious once we can see it.
