Adriane Strampp has been invited to join Taronga Zoo‘s Artists in Residence program in 2011.
Overlooking Sydney Harbour, Taronga Zoo began the Artists in Residence program in 2009. Artists begin the residency with an overnight stay at the Zoo’s Roar and Snore campsite, meeting the keepers and their charges, exploring the Zoo after dark, sleeping in luxury tents and feeding the animals in the morning. Artists are provided with a special pass to visit and work as much as they wish over a three-month period, including access before opening hours.
Artists participating donate a work created during the residency to help raise funds for the Taronga Foundation’s ongoing conservation endeavours.
Adriane Strampp’s work Hare (In memory of Marcus) 2010 has been acquired for the Kedumba Collection of Contemporary Australian Drawings.
19. Hare (In memory of Marcus)
“An iconic, enigmatic work that reminds me of the enquiry that Durer was capable of. The artist placed the hare in a believable space without rendering a background. Placing all the importance on the animal itself.”
Speech by Peter Sharp
Judge of the Kedumba Drawing Award 2010
Blue Mountains Grammar School,
Greenhill Galleries welcome the hauntingly talented artist, Adriane Strampp, with a series of refined and sensitively captured images, inspired by the natural world.
Studying the form of the horse, amongst other creatures, with layer upon layer of shadows, Strampp’s dreamlike images pose the question: Is this reality or is this all imagined?
Moving away from her previous style of rich Renaissance colours and intensely detailed studies of ancient dresses, landscapes and lifestyles stretching back from the 18th Century to the Renaissance era, Strampp has delicately touched upon a rather beautiful and deeply moving ageless darkness, compelling the viewer further and inquisitively into this enchanted land. Her oil paintings have a sense of unique detailing, exploring the graceful lines, shapes and shadows found only in nature. Yet the hazy texture and outlines of her work are rather like watching the dusk settle, that unique time of day where everything comes alive. This exhibition is sure to enthral and captivate.
Today Adriane Strampp’s work takes another look at the horse and the landscape, in a quieter and more contemplative manner, together with the use of a limited palette. Her work continues to explore the intangible and evocative, that communicates before it is understood, and the importance of and relationship between scale, surface and the poetic image through a method of layering and reduction that reflects the experience of connection, through history on either a personal or broader level. Subject and shadow are indeterminate, and the viewer is drawn into the work to decide between what is ‘real’ and what is not. More importantly, it is hoped that the viewer will experience a connection of experience through the work.
Artists have been invited to respond to seven considerations regarding the compelling nature of painting. The title refers to the whole of this exhibition as constituting a discreet body of ‘painting’, one that might inclusively construct, amongst other things, a local constellation. This constellation might then be referred to as ‘painting’, and be located within a local universe called ‘art’; in time this constellation might become known, but probably only to its very particular inhabitants, as the ‘painthing constellation’.
Painting. Painting, pain thing: painthing. Maybe this has happened to you too; you’re driving along a suburban street or you’re reading the label on the back of a tin of crushed tomatoes somewhere in a dim corner of a supermarket and suddenly a word, actually any word but this time it’s this word, gets caught on the sieve-like structure that divides your perception of ordinary action from an extraordinary something. Immediately the word as-it-is jumps out at you and you see it in its entire absurdity, its un-meaning, its limp body superimposed on the frenetic buzziness of the universal attraction and repulsion going on all around you. Then you begin to examine it, prod it for signs of its former life. Nothing. Something very surprising suddenly happens; its body becomes slowly absorbed into the phrenesis of action and reaction, memory and meaning, membrane and pulsing core. It continues to offer itself to this whole until the shape you once knew emerges elsewhere as another; different, but somehow the same. And then you try and understand (what else can you do, you’re stuck in a long check-out queue) how this word-—this painful thing actually—can simultaneously be both itself and other. You look around; people are still in the queue, shelves still stacked, fluoros still buzzing, cars still silently gliding by outside, tired smiles still being offered. And then you realize that almost everything (you think almost because somehow you feel it cannot be quite this absolute) is both itself and some other thing; inalienably itself, yet distantly other. Is a constellation like that? Are the celestial bodies and dust particles that form it simply an infinite collection of collections of otherness, each component offering a kaleidoscopic fragment of the whole, yet each simultaneously desiring both breathless proximity and vast expansive space in which to, utterly and defiantly, be that one thing it feels itself to be? And, what of breathless proximity? Ah, that, the as one-ness thing. I can’t speak of that. It’s not in my nature, I resolutely surmise, as I get to the check-out just in time.