© 2016  
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Julia McInerney



Works chronology  
misc cacsa 2015 tarrawarra 2016  
Artist Statement, 2016

My practice centres around the combined application of the literary order of words and the sculptural order of physical materials. The dialogue between these two languages is aimed to generate variations of a third language that is suspended between these two, that is distinct from those that allowed for its origination, yet which at the same time continue to support its existence. The title and material description of each work are intended to perform key roles in this process.
I am interested in the specific, optically generous and open, material capacities of sculpture; I am equally drawn to the hermetic, internally expansive, private spaces of literature. Where these two coalesce, “draw breath from each other,”1 and meet to support one and the same thing, is the space that I work in and towards from work to work.
Marcel Duchamp spoke of titles for artworks as being like an extra colour, “a colour which had not come out of the tube.”2 One could consider this ‘extra colour’ as one that, in a sense, does not exist, reflecting the nature of words, which are like forms, or colours, sealed within the inky blackness of their support, and opened within the reader’s mind.
Traditionally, sculpture was designed to rest upon a plinth. This point of contact between the two would create an area on the base of the sculpture and on the surface of the plinth of literal darkness—a black seam where light cannot enter. Long liberated from the constructs of tradition, a title could be thought of as written with the ‘black ink’ of this sealed surface of a sculpture—performing the role of a seam between the viewer and the view.

1 Linda Marie Walker, email correspondence, 2nd April, 2015.

2 “Marcel Duchamp Speaks” interview with George Heard Hamilton and Richard Hamilton, London, BBC, 1959; published in Audio Arts Magazine 2, no. 4 (1976), quoted in Thierry de Duve, Kant After Duchamp (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1996), p. 161.

Nothing is anchored by Linda Marie Walker

Eachthing is leaving and returning, and leaving again, and changing in leaving and returning, and then is dust, dispersed, breathable. The vessel arrived and never arrived, yet has been and gone, and is still approaching. The vessel, The Meadow, rings like a bell in the ears of the ‘scene’, low and level.
An artwork has no-viewer, no sure reader of signs; it comes to be and is forever unknown. “No poem is intended for the reader, no picture for the beholder, no symphony for the listener.1’. An artwork says, does, and acts in the world, for the world; yet its voice, movement, and disposition is delicate, modest and reserved, and the ‘world’ is the earth and its disparate inhabitants; an artwork is barely visible, like weather over the sea.
Do we translate the artwork’s appearance; and, do we translate information or do we speak of “... the unfathomable, the mysterious, the poetic ...”2; a god is served; the one who’s for the work-itself, as it exists – hermetic and/or baroque – or the one that isn’t, who insists it tell what happened (exactly).3
What is ‘made’ of the work, what is translated from work to language/thought, is not of any importance to the work; it’s as a bird is, or a shadow; and that’s the strangest circumstance.
The metal-dust is not an anchor, but is the dust of an anchor, and the endurance of an anchor. A being sinks beneath the water; she has an afterlife (she is read). The afterlife owes its life to what(who)ever gives it life; an artwork travels at various speeds from one language to another, or from one mix of language-types to another mix of language-types. Meadow, the word, is a network amidst other words (networks) – like ‘Virginia’; and can’t be taken back; meadow is not a paddock or a field: she walked across the meadow toward the river with stones in the pockets of her cardigan.
Hélène Cixous says her friend JD ‘took leave’: “I wrote: ‘there are leaves’ on a yellow post-it. I stuck it to the window over my desk. These post-its are tough, they look like nothing and go on for years. The post-it will keep me company I thought, when I stop believing it will continue to believe.”4 He was away for awhile; he was returning, she believed; believing the unbelievable; believing the white floating plume is the anchor holding the ship steady in the harbour; the plume spreading, breaking, forming, as currents stir below and above.
The plume is a raft, and there’s nowhere to go (as there wasn’t for Cixous on her leave/raft). “Leaves are only granted those who believe in them before the passage. Or those who didn’t believe but gave them some thought. Those who, not believing, would have liked to believe.”5
Eachthing, for its ‘return’, must be found again, put together, new; the metal dust has returned to the surface. The anchor is translated, and so transformed; anchor is meadow; then, meadow is anchor; writing is the hanging door edge because language is provisional; the translation of death never carries across, like gossamer, the life of the dead. The Meadow does not repeat stories; it shows, gently, obliquely, the capacity of stories to continue, to be still-living and still-affecting.
Benjamin’s simile for the relationship between the original and the translation is based on geometry – the circle and the tangent: “Just as a tangent touches a circle lightly a translation touches the original lightly and only at the infinitely small point of the sense, thereupon pursuing its own course according to the laws of fidelity in the freedom of linguistic flux.”6
The artwork is a ‘place’, with laws, rituals, and incidents, where the infinitely small touch-point generates a different shape or energy. As soon as Cixous had consoled herself (and been carried-away, euphoric) with ‘leave’, ‘leave’ disappeared: “I don’t find the Leave, I look for it, only a minute ago I was safe, I had my certificate of eternity, now the cavity is digging itself out in front of me, I search, the fires of terror roar at my window ledge, damnable chaos of books papers notebooks ...”7
The Leave, the saving-grace, clearly spoke (and chastised her); and the friend returned from leave, and arrived at death – the arrival though is oneself as oneself (back at one’s life), once more. And, there it is (one speculates), a remembrance of return/arrive, on the surface of the water; the message of particles, joining and unjoining; a translation of encounter (and encounter missed); however, it’s only what’s there, and what’s there was once elsewhere.
Images/scenes are for themselves, and to-be seen/read by other-than-themselves. Therefore, ‘for’ is the operative sense-bridge: she went for a walk. There are many ‘fors’ – for belonging, obtaining, adapting, allowing, and so on. These ‘fors’ stand alone, as independent words (tiny platforms) in a combination of words. Some ‘fors’ are prefixes, they can mean: away, off, extreme, wrong – like forbid, forasmuch, forbear, forborne. There is ‘fore’ too, like foreground, like forefinger, pointing; see that, over there; the finger that starts writing.
From the edge of a door comes a form that is not the edge of a door or the material of the edge of a door but the trace of a door’s edge. Objects haunt each other; hauntings invoke deviations that, like hauntings, are (or can be) invisible; they imperceptibly shift internal pressures: strength to weakness; young to old; ice to sea; they find infinities/affinities: “... let us perceive in them the ‘dis-quiet’ or non-rest ... which continues to disappropriate them from within and invert them, finding infinities within them. Concerning life, this is really its very essence where its ‘fluidity’ ... is found, which is, properly speaking, a non-essence ...”8
Writing is always contrary, on the move, escaping, and is ‘vital’, continuous; it slips away, silent, or goes over and over the same event, from this angle then that angle, trying to fathom what happened.
“... the voice begins again, it begins trying again, quick now before there is none left, no voice left, nothing left but the core of murmurs, distant cries, quick now and try again, with the words that remain, try what, I don’t know, I’ve forgotten, it doesn’t matter, I never knew, to have them carry me into my story, the words that remain, my old story, which I’ve forgotten, far from here, through the noise, through the door, into the silence ... perhaps it’s the door, perhaps I’m at the door, that would surprise me ... what door, what’s a door doing here ...”9


  1. Walter Benjamin, “The Task of the Translator,” in Illuminations, trans. Harry Zohn (New York: Schocken Books, 1985), p. 69.
  2. Ibid., p. 70.
  3. See Maurice Blanchot, The Madness of the Day, trans. Lydia Davis (New York: Station Hill Press, 1981).
  4. Hélène Cixous, “A Leave,” in Hyperdream, trans. Beverley Bie Brahic (Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 2009), p. 151.
  5. Ibid., p. 152.
  6. Benjamin, Ibid., p. 80.
  7. Cixous, Ibid., p. 154.
  8. François Jullien, The Silent Transformations, trans. Krzysztof Fijalkowski & Michael Richardson (London: Seagull Books, 2011),p. 93.
  9. Samuel Beckett, “The Unnameable”, in Molloy, Malone Dies, The Unnameable (London: Calder & Boyers, 1973), p. 417–418.

·Nothing is anchored by Linda Marie Walker
[essays should not be reproduced without permission from the authors]

Born Adelaide
Bachelor of Visual Arts (Honours), Adelaide Central School of Art, Adelaide
  Currently lives and works in Adelaide, SA
2015 Eden Eden Eden, with Tom Squires, MOP Projects, Sydney
Nightlung, Constance ARI, Hobart
2013 The Animal, Bus Projects, Melbourne
The Meadow, The Contemporary Art Centre of South Australia Project Space, Adelaide
White Air Anatomy, FELTspace Gallery, Adelaide
2012 Pome, in collaboration with Tom Squires, Odradek, Australian Experimental Art Foundation, Adelaide
2016TarraWarra Biennial 2016, curated by Helen Hughes and Victoria Lynn
Dug and Digging With, curated by Stan Mahoney and Katie Barber, Australian Experimental Art Foundation
2015 CACSA Contemporary 2015 – GAGPROJECTS | Greenaway Art Gallery, Adelaide
Daughters of Chaos - Deleuze Studies International Conference, Konstfack University College of Arts and Crafts, Stockholm, Sweden
2014 Grid Festival, curated by Grid Projects
On the Steps, Adelaide Festival Centre
2012 Weathers (more than one at the same point and the same time), SIM (The Association of Icelandic Visual Art), Iceland
Northern Projects, SIM (The Association of Icelandic Visual Art), Iceland
Disappearance, Paper, String, Plastic, curated by Adele Sliuzas
2011 Emergence, Adelaide Central School of Art Graduate Exhibition
2016 Youkobo Art Space, Tokyo
2014 Artspace, Sydney, NSW
Fire Station Artists’ Studios, Dublin, Ireland
Samband íslenskra Myndlistarmanna (The Association of Icelandic Visual Artist), Berlin, Germany
2012 Samband íslenskra Myndlistarmanna (The Association of Icelandic Visual Artist), Reykjavik, Iceland
2015 Adelaide Critics Circle Emerging Visual Artist Award
Ruth Tuck Scholarship for Visual Arts
Carclew Quick Response Grant
2014 Helpmann Academy Project Grant
Helpmann Academy Artspace Residency Award
Sainsbury Sculpture Grant, NAVA
Art Start, Australian Council for the Arts
Helpmann Academy Project Grant
2013 Helpmann Academy Project Grant
Carclew Project and Development Grant
Helpmann Academy Artist in Residence at Fontanelle Studios
2012 Carclew Project and Development Grant
2015      CACSA Contemporary 2015, The Contemporary Art Centre of South Australia
              Adele Sliuzas, Sensitive Objects, Adele Sliuzas, Fine Print Contemporary Art Magazine
2013      Dr Linda Marie Walker, Nothing is Anchored, catalogue essay
              Dr Linda Marie Walker, White Air Anatomy - Julia McInerney
              Tom Squires, the (given) room / before the (same) room / with (and without) dimensions : on a work by julia mcinerney, catalogue essay
2012      Louise Nunn Twin Inspirations, The Advertiser
              Adele Sliuzas, Disappearance, catalogue essay
2011      Emergence, Adelaide Central School of Art