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Mark Kimber


“Mark Kimber’s recent lines of investigation have drawn him into a twilight zone of a perceived unholy alliance between male hero worship and national hubris. In 2001 the artist began using male ‘action hero’ dolls as photographic props. Working with a 20 x 24 Polaroid camera in New York in 2002 and most recently in late 2004, and continuing to use toy store male dolls as props, Kimber explored the semiotics of masculine gesture, body language and dress codes.”

(excerpt from Mark Kimber: By the Dawn’s Early Light by John Neylon, 2005)

Works chronology  

suburban Nights By The Dawns Fictive Landscape sun Pictures moonrise edgland cloudchamber

The Eyes in the Wall, by Mark Kimber, 2011

Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love,
Shakespeare Cymbeline > Act II, scene IV

The Eyes in the Wall

When I was a child my grandparent’s house seemed something special, certainly out of the ordinary and to me quite magical. The house occupied a double block that gave space for my grandfather to grow flowers, raise chickens and racing pigeons. Inside the house the rooms were enormous, especially the spare room, a vast cavernous space with a monstrous bed and the neglected clothes, hat boxes, books and junk of 100 years. I spent so many days hiding and playing in that room, lost in its dark and mysterious corners.

When my grandparents died my brother bought the house and now when I visit it the magic is gone, the extra block of land that made the house more like a farm to me, long since sold, a cream brick bungalow taking its place. The rooms now are tiny, the spare room especially so. Gone was the deep, dark cave replaced by a room where I could with arms outstretched almost touch each wall while standing in the middle of the floor.

Something else was gone too, the eyes in the wall. I suppose I was three or four when my brother took great delight in pointing out the monster that lived in the wall of the bathroom. From a spot just below the bathroom ceiling I could see two greenish eyes staring back at me– the colour of the eyes shifting throughout the day towards yellow and then with sunset disappearing. They were of course just a broken air vent with most of the holes blocked except for two, but to me they were a glimpse of something at first frightening and then engrossing, somewhat just outside of the common place. But there was something else the eyes did at the right time of the day, in the right kind of weather; they projected a movie onto the opposite wall. Not much of a movie of course, just the branches and leaves of the neighbours tree shot through with the circle of the sun and at times and most enchanting of all; the faint but captivating outline of passing clouds. The eyes in the wall had created a room sized Camera Obscura and in me a life long fascination with photography and theatre.

I could have of course gone outside and looked at the real tree, the sun and those beautiful clouds but the projection, the simulation; the abstraction of that real event was to me so much more compelling. It’s how things look, how they are represented through the camera that intrigued me then and now. That room was a theatre, a place of mystery, a cloud chamber.

To paraphrase Shakespeare truth and photography keep little company these days. I found it quite mesmerizing the way a small hole in the wall could create an image of the outside world, stripped of its finer details, and reduced to its elemental form and that has stayed with me. I am not interested in the pixel perfect replication of “reality” that is possible with CGI photography rather my enthralment lies in the theatrical abstraction that comes about when photography’s protean talents enchantingly distorts it.

The cut out clouds in a theatre set don’t say this is exactly what a cloud looks like, it suggests that this is a representation of a cloud,  - how we might remember clouds to be, or even how clouds “feel”.

The images that are the product of this process, this shadow play have a wonderfully strange “half-remembered’ quality to them, as if filtered through layer upon layer of memory and forgetfulness. It is the vaguely realized aspect of these images that has a strong influence on my photography.

Within ten months of the official announcement of the invention of photography in 1839, two Frenchmen, Horace Vernet and Frédéric Goupil-Fesquet, began making daguerreotypes in Egypt while others were travelling to distant countries and bringing back photographs from the Middle East and China. 1 Images of people, temples, buildings and landscapes that almost everyone in the Western World at that time would never see. These early photographs became in some instances the only record of people and places that were about to vanish from the face of the earth. Frances Firth’s photograph of the birth house of Cleopatra VII at Armant is all that remains as the small temple was torn down to build a sugar factory shortly after his visit. 2

By the 1860s the parlours of the middle class homes in London, Paris and New York and a thousand other cities were home to photographs of pyramids, pagodas, mountains and far off people. The simulacra of travel, without moving.

"The palest ink is better than the best memory."
Chinese proverb

The photographs for this exhibition were taken with a plastic pinhole camera, no lens, just a tiny hole in a piece of metal that projects an image onto film, a camera obscura, something thousands of years older than photography itself, the first known written account being by Mo-Ti  470 BCE to 390 BCE, a Chinese philosopher. My pinhole camera uses the same principal as the "darkened chamber/room" in my grandmother’s house. In this instance I am the one travelling without moving, by photographing tiny models of structures in my garage. Making each work is for me a performance, the inspiration for which springs from events real and imagined, experienced and observed from a distance both in space and time. Such as the lingering memory I have of watching grainy newsreel footage of the Hindenburg disaster, the final image of the zeppelin, a potent symbol of Nazi propaganda in itself exploding into flames, burned into my thoughts still. Or the wood-engraved illustrations by Gustave Doré of the ancient mariner filtered through scenes of ships at sea from Hollywood B grade pirate movies or the fabulous cinematic stagecraft in the silent movie Faust directed by F.W. Murnau in 1926.

These images are my attempt to as Leonard Cohen says, “… make objects out of thought”.

The eyes have gone now from my grandparent’s house; blinded by renovation but the world they created for me still lives on.

Mark Kimber    2011


To Peter Fisher
With much gratitude and thanks for the camera, inspiration and friendship



 1 Dayot, Armand (1898). Les Vernet : Joseph--Carle--Horace. Paris: A. Magnier.
Ruutz-Rees, Janet E. (Janet Emily) (1880). Horace Vernet. New York: Scribner and Welford.

2 Canadian Centre for Architecture; Collections Online, s.v. "Francis Frith & Co."

Half light, by Robert Cook, 2009

Night isn’t what it used to be. Today, as our houses are connected 24/7 with the rest of the world via the fibrous twitching of the internet, as the surveillance cameras track the intruders at our housing estate gates, as the nightclubs tick over into dayclubs and as our commercial properties are ever more protectoggressively lit, the thickness of night’s cloak of darkness has been radically thinned. It’s hardly surprising as, since the advent of gas lighting in the early nineteenth century and the spread of electric lighting half a century later, we have been intent on finding ways to tame the night and the loneliness and the fears and the wolf hunger and the bewildering unknowingness that goes along with it. So though our colonisation of the night is not exactly even the world over – with megopoli brighter than the ‘burbs and the ‘burbs brighter than the bush – the trend is undoubtedly toward the eradication of the darkness that used to both hold us in awe and force us to shape our labour and lifestyles around it. To light, to be lit, is to be liberated from all that - the stuff of primitive, superstitious, lumpen and earth bound humanimality. It is to be enlightened.

Yet, despite our ‘advances’ in this regard we continue to have the night terrors; the darkness has not actually been erased, it has simply migrated within. And part of us, an irrational, non-outcomes dazzled and KPI-focused kernel of our circadian-beings needs, craves it. As Alvarez put it “even with the advent of electricity, the unknowable dark side of the psyche remained as potent as it had always been”[1]. At the same time as we are safely lit, we yearn to be smothered, enveloped, blackened and blanketed by our old idea of night.

Over the last thirty years, Mark Kimber has photographed this zone between the illuminated night and a deeper darkness as his works deal with the emotional, cultural and aesthetic traffic between night and day. It is the ‘between’ that is most significant as his work opens up a pictorial analysis of the dayform/nightform conjuncture as critically expressive of a range of dependent opposites – the imminent, yet simultaneously always impossible and deferred, eradication of the cultural by the natural, the conscious by the unconscious, the tamed by the wild, the centre by the periphery.

Kimber’s current body of work, Edgeland, extends these complex engagements in a personal and culturally specific manner. After all, each of these images was shot around Port Adelaide, a place of great significance for Kimber; it was where he grew up, and where his mother lived until her recent death. It was also, in 1979, the birthplace of his photographic practice. In that year he was in his second year of art school; a friend had enrolled him. His lecturer, Michael Snelling, presented a challenge to the class, instructing them to “go back to where you come from and deal with that”[2]. Kimber returned to Port Adelaide. More specifically, he went back with the purpose of recreating a precise moment, a moment from his childhood. It was a moment that had shaped him, that had haunted him, whether he was aware of it at the time or not...

...he was twelve, or thirteen. Young enough, either way. It was nearly night. A non-school nearly night. He was riding his bike. Then pushing his bike. Moving through an Adelaide nowhere place. Between suburbs. An area of dried or drying creek beds, marshland, the odd mangrove to prove it. Sandhills. The start of a building site. A full moon was rising. And this natural planetary illumination, the sun’s distant reflection, shifted things. It was transformative and prosaic. The transcendent ordinary - an opening, a closure. He noticed it. He noticed himself noticing it. Feeling the tug of his body, the whip of his eyes, the pull and opening and rip of the home he was easing to and against, the moonlight glimmering in over the day-fade, wrapping around his childhood, quietening it, claiming it, concealing it, announcing it and delivering it to the future. It was a flicker. He was a flicker. He kept moving.

Of course, when he went back as an art student everything had changed - it had transformed into the upmarket housing estate of Westlakes. The neo-BMX tracks were gone. The natural water catchments were filled in. The place was routinised, deambiguified. Still, he could see the old space, or more accurately and importantly could feel it - in the pockets of light, the tone of the distance between things. Shooting at night and near night-time, as he tried to match his moment on the way home all those years ago, was the key to getting at this – it opened up a different world. What was stable and utilitarian in the day-time turned (or re-turned) into a state of flux at night; working in this zone made it easier for Kimber to journey back in his mind: “the place wasn’t so rooted in the now”. It could become available for the projection of imagination and fantasy and memory; it could become the catchment for feeling and impulse and intellect. It was this insight that guided and formed all his subsequent work.

And it is on account of it that the works comprising Edgeland – the most recent of Kimber’s returns to the Port – must be considered as far more than mere documentation. Though maybe that’s obvious, as these photos are so clearly brimming with ambiguity and a compelling richness that is activated and energised by the interplay of shifting atmospherics and material stability. Obviously too, we are able to focus, meditate even, on this dynamic because we are free from the distraction of the human figure our eye would otherwise be hopelessly drawn to. In part, this reflects the fact that when Kimber went back to shoot the area this time, most of the people he had grown up with were long gone. It is because of this, and as part of a general concern to create ”blank stages, theatrical, lit for performance, but missing the actors”, that Kimber is “almost always very careful to exclude the people”. This is one of the ways Kimber imbues his work with its signature emotional charge. See, when we look at his scenes we feel the lack of human presence as a real loss. It is a weird, imprecise thing to say but the photos gape somehow. As woolly as this description is, it rings true especially since these works resonate with two of Kimber’s earliest influences, the painters Edward Hopper and Jeffery Smart. Like the work of the late American and the elderly Australian, absence is a strong, positive feeling, a throbbing painfully soulful-sweet vibe that is evoked by the structures humans use to shelter themselves and their objects of labour.

Given the richness of feeling in these works it is unsurprising that Kimber’s process of making is largely intuitive. He requires himself to be open, responsive to what he might find and how it might speak to him. He says “it is a not a science. The presence I am looking for is not always there. I might have gone back three or four times, there is a particular time where there is a conjuncture of light and atmospheric conditions that all converge to make it work”. Accordingly, he will also often go looking for one thing, and stumble across something else entirely. Mostly, though, he will drive around in the late afternoon looking for spaces, often kinda half knowing “where one is on the way home, and then I’ll see two others that I take note of for later”. In this process he is taking mental notes and taking mental photos. After he has seen a suitable location he will sketch out the idea in his notebook before going back to it. This preparation is so that once he arrives with his gear – Hasselblad, tripod, wide-angle lens – he can get the photo made very quickly. It’s a necessity: there is a small window of time before the scene will be enveloped completely by the darkness of the coming night. They are generally taken from ten minutes to an hour after sunset; it’s that period of indeterminate length when the sunlight is lingering long enough to match the intensity of the human-made lighting. He is after the perfect, exquisite balance of night and day, of the human fade-out into the night. Naturally, this necessitates long exposures: the shortest is a couple of minutes and the longest is about thirty minutes. All up, he only has time for three or four exposures since he refuses to use additional lighting, the point of the work being that he is shooting places that are already lit by commerce and industry.

As he deals with the challenges of found lighting and the rapid ebbing of the sun, the works are generative performances; Kimber’s precise activity, his presence, his labour, brings these works into being. He is working with what is to-hand. In this mode, many of his images reference the tradition of the utilisation of found lighting in installation and sculptural art. The neon, the flouro lightings, the signage resemble, say, the practice of Dan Flavin. Similarly, the blockish facades of walls and containers are material sculpture in the mode of Richard Serra and Donald Judd. Interestingly, though, these pragmatic masses are always pitched against potentially immersive areas of sky, and softened floors and roads that resemble the more romantic materiality of, say, a Rothko painting. By extension, Kimber’s skies and horizontal fields can be seen to reference Frankenthaler and Diebenkorn blues and greens and greys, while the gentle, easy edges between planes equally speak of the paintings of the American luminists. As these polarities play off against each other, there’s a drama here, a quiet one. It is that of the conceptual and the tactile pulsing against and across the imaginative depths of our Rorschach minds. It is the world of colour skins and distant billowing volumes and grindingly present Stephen Shore-esque surfaces holding tight before everything turns chiaroscuro.

It is the tension of the refusal and invitation of this implicit narrative arc that makes the work, well, work and maintain its power. Carwash - Seaford, for instance, has twin rectangular eyes that emanate white light. This light, we understand, fills the head of the building with an intensity that will only increase as the dark gathers. Indeed, each night must surely bring an inescapable blinding migraine that we are only seeing the start of. In other works the contrast is not so heightened, with the smooth lighting of Car park creating an apparently endless, icy vanilla interior that acts like a dispersed light-house, a beacon for wayward land travellers and lost shoppers and skaters. And in others still the lights are starting to be sharpened by the dark rushing to carve out its shine more precisely. In all, however, Kimber is articulating a mutable language of light against dark to create a zone where it seems like time is stretching back and forth. Of course, this dynamic mirrors the fade-out of Kimber’s past, his experience with the Port, and that instant from his childhood moving through the soon-to-be suburban space. The coming erasure of night, and its amplification of the human-made lights that will soon blind us to what lies outside their flare, is the metaphorical twin of the effacing development of the spaces he grew up in. And what he is doing now is holding this soon-to-be-but-not-yet moment open, forever...even as everything has already changed, irrevocably.

As he does so, these images throb and yearn, singing to us in plaintive voice. As viewers we somehow lurk outside of and fall into these spaces. And we enjoy this ambiguous presence/absence that enables us to lose ourselves, at close or distant range, in the half light of Kimber’s chromatic chorus. In softened real-life abstractions they speak of our personal fears, their bubbling up, our loneliness, our distance from the world and the lives that give us order and reference points, and of our will for these fears and this loss to take us someplace new, someplace outside the given. It’s because of this that we are also, most poignantly, facing our own passing in these works, as if the landscape is signalling our mortality, our aging, our forgetting. It stages this passing as one in which we would sink into, merging into the abyss of colour, the pools of blazing and sometimes gently humming light alike. This zone, this window, that is held out to us is brief. It too will pass. And we will return either to the void, or to our day-jobs and families. In this opening, Kimber has found a way to articulate the darkness that exists between the night and the day. It’s an emotional space, one full of rich melancholic gorgeousness, one that will continue to be active for us, one that can never be shut down, no matter how bright the LED on our clock radio shines, no matter how fast our dial-up.

Robert Cook
Associate Curator of Contemporary Art, Art Gallery of Western Australia

[1] Alvarez, A. (1995). Night: an exploration of night life, night language, sleep and dreams. Vintage: London. p.22

[2] All quotes from telephone interviews between the author and Mark Kimber, July and August 2008.

Moonrise on the Borderland, by Mark Kimber, 2007

"The camera makes everyone a tourist in other people’s reality, and eventually in one’s own." 1

With the edge of evening approaching the distant blue of the horizon began to deepen. Before me stretched a patch of land, well swamp actually, that in twenty years would sprout the cream brick and palm tree dotted, mock-Spanish villas of an up market housing estate. Now though it consisted of scattered pools of stagnant water, small, sparsely vegetated, low sand hills, and shallow ditches rimmed with encrusted salt. Through this ran a green and slimy trickle that was once a creek and before that a river.

These details however were slowly sinking beneath the blanket of twilight as it crept over the landscape towards me. Beyond the gathering dark the sparse lights of the suburbs shimmered to mark the point where the burbs stopped and the wasteland began. And at the point where the far off hills met the sky, the moon, almost full and speckled with cream, grey and white was lifting itself above the hilltops with a brightness that soon over powered the tiny flecks of the streetlights and the stars above them.

As evening pressed in, every minute that passed made me later and later for home and I faced two unpalatable choices; walk back along the creek from where I had come this afternoon or set out across the expanse of the now darkened, featureless sand and water in front of me. To back-track would mean adding another 45 minutes to my journey home and the certain wrath of my father; the way ahead, a mere ten minutes, while more enticing time-wise, meant a near-blind obstacle course where each footstep was filled with the unknown possibilities of encountering knee-deep clinging sludge, rusted barbed wire and the odd small and slithering, moving shape.

The moment, that’s what we all have been conditioned to avoid through distraction. Not living in the moment that surrounds us seems to be our common goal - be it through entertainment, TV, alcohol, drugs, anything that spares us the terror of experiencing the now, us and our place within and as a part of our immediate environment. But some moments are worth lingering within and the photographs we sometimes take seek to linger in that moment or a series of consecutive moments piled seamlessly on top of each other.

While I pondered my choices the moon and it’s attendant stars continued their celestial procession into the purple night sky that arched overhead. The distant lights of the houses and factories flickered in the last faint, shimmer of the day’s heat. The beauty and the mystery of all that surrounded me that night have stayed with me ever since. It remains a compelling force that guides me into finding situations where the play of light, form and landscape converge in time and space to create an elusive and ephemeral piece of theatre. The gap between, - the gulf that separates desire from contentment still there, the lights and the strip of darkness that isolated me from them even now, - enchanting and unbridgeable.

Mark Kimber 2007

1 Susan Sontag, in New York Review of Books

Mark Kimber: By the Dawn's Early Light, by John Neylon, 2005

Mark Kimber's recent lines of investigation have drawn him into a twilight zone of a perceived unholy alliance between male hero worship and national hubris. In 2001 the artist began using male 'action hero' dolls as photographic props. Working with a 20 x 24 Polaroid camera in New York in 2002 and most recently in late 2004, and continuing to use toy store male dolls as props, Kimber explored the semiotics of masculine gesture, body language and dress codes. In Early Light, Kimber's exploration of the close relationship in contemporary American life between sport and war is expressed in the choice and manipulation of a selection of plastic, finely-detailed models, all identifiable sports stars in action, shooting baskets, passing the 'bomb' and smashing home runs. The decision to use sports heroes as subject was triggered by the public response in America to the death in Iraq of National Football League star- turned serviceman Pat Tillman (killed by 'friendly fire'). In this ironic turn of events Kimber observed a rupturing of a 'star spangled' dream. In this series of work Kimber has amplified the symbolic carriage of the male doll as a flawed vehicle of invincible, never-ending youth and masculine supremacy. These images of explosive action blasting out of a half-light of visual truth are disturbing in their ambiguity. The probing veracity of the large-format Polaroid process has allowed the artist to function as a film or stage director, offering allusions to which the audience will be compelled to add its own sense of narrative and moral judgment. From Kimber's perspective this series "seeks to play with this nexus between sport and war while allowing the viewer to see past the myth making process and uncover the fragile nature of these fabrications." Theatrically Baroque to the point of entwining elements of physical beauty and high passion, these seductive 'make-believe' images plumb depths of dark and conflicting human desire.

John Neylon, 2005

By the Dawn's Early Light
Greenaway Art Gallery
May 25 - June 19 2005

Kimber's Icons, by Ian North, 2000

These works are like lights disappearing down a time tunnel, compelling us to look before they disappear. Yet they are also, miraculously, in our face. It is as if one is seeing the photographs themselves--not just their content--through the phosphorescent glow of night-vision glasses, as icons emerging from a black hole of history.

It would be difficult for anyone who has not travelled from a comparable point of origin to feel the momentousness of the shift to colour for certain photographers in the 1970s and early 1980s. Colour then involved a new way of seeing: the trick was to use it in full recognition of its reality without adopting 'good design,' painterly cliches or, in Steichen's word, the 'coloriferous.' The New Colour approach, as it was called, aimed to claim more and more of the world for the empire of art, in the face of what seemed the burned out cliches, pun intended, of black and white photography. The movement arose as mainstream curators were learning about conceptualism, feminism and postmodernism: they misleadingly tagged New Colour work 'formalist,' and it is yet to receive its due in Australia.

This modest exhibition is a step towards redress. Kimber made his colour shift in 1979 as an art photography student, finding warrant for his way of using flash in the work of United States photographers Steve Fitch and Richard Misrach. In these works Kimber replaced the fine craft of black and white pre-visualisation with post-visualisation: the unpredictable effects of flash, reciprocity failure and, sometimes, a hand-held camera. If the eight works exhibit subtle differences of mood, their imagery is all from beach and suburban haunts of Kimber's childhood, night allowing the past and present to blur, for him, like dreams. Good vibrations.

Ian North, 2001

· The Eyes in the Wall, Mark Kimber, 2011
[essays should not be reproduced without permission from the authors]
Mark Kimber
Bachelor of Arts (Visual Arts), South Australian School of Art
1993 ANAT Winter School in Computer Generated Imagery, Adelaide, SA
Kodak Photo CD Project, Adelaide, SA
1996 Kodak Study, New York, USA
2000 MA Fine Art, Chelsea School of Art, The London Institute, UK
2002 & 4
Polaroid Studio project, New York, USA
Currently Studio Head of Photography and New Media, SA School of Art, University of South Australia
2011 The Cloud Chamber, Greenaway Art Gallery, Adelaide
2010 All That Glisters, Stills Gallery, Sydney
All That Glisters, John Buckley Gallery, Melbourne
2009 Edgeland, Greenaway Art Gallery, Adelaide
Edgeland, Chaffers Gallery, Wellington, New Zealand
2008 Edgeland, Stills Gallery, Sydney
Sun Pictures, John Buckley Gallery, Melbourne
2007 Moonrise, Greenaway Art Gallery, Adelaide
Sun Pictures, Stills Gallery, NSW
Fictive Landscapes, Johnston Gallery, Perth
By the dawn's early light, Maitland Regional Arts Gallery, NSW

Fictive Landscapes, Greenaway Art Gallery, Adelaide

2005 By the dawn’s early light, Greenaway Art Gallery, Adelaide & Monash Gallery of Art, Melbourne
Fictive Landscapes, Stills Gallery, Sydney
Twilight, The Church Gallery, Perth International Arts Festival, WA
2003 Night Falls, Polaroid 20x24, Stills Gallery, Sydney & Espacio Minimo Gallery, Madrid, Spain
2002 Twilight, Dianne Tanzer Gallery, Melbourne & Riddoch Art Gallery, Mt Gambier, SA in
2000 Dissonant Melodies, Greenaway Art Gallery, Adelaide & Byron Mapp Gallery, Sydney
1997-99 Greenaway Art Gallery, Adelaide
1994 Umbra, Greenaway Art Gallery, Adelaide & Waverley City Art Gallery, Melbourne
1993 Cadence, Greenaway Art Gallery, Adelaide
1989 The Inventory of Memory, Christine Abrahams Gallery, Melbourne
2011 Intangibles in Terra Australis, Flinders University City Gallery, Adelaide
2010 Season10, Stills Gallery, Sydney
Australian Digital Exchange Exhibition, Clara Hotton Gallery, Colorado, USA
In[two]art, Maitland Regional Art Gallery, NSW
Phantasia, Wollongong City Gallery, NSW
Intangibles in Terra Australis, Kubo-Kuxta, San Sebastian, Spain
2009 Phantasia, ACP touring exhibition, Anne and Gordon Samstag Museum of Art, Adelaide, SA, Lake Macquarie City Art Gallery, Booragul, NSW, and Photoquai Festival, Australian Embassy, Paris
roadmovies, 2009 Adelaide Film Festival, Contemporary Art Centre of SA, Adelaide
Dystopia: Portraits of the Urban Landscape, Adelaide Central Gallery, Adelaide
Group exhibition, Bundaberg Arts Centre, Queensland
2008 Opening exhibition, National Portrait Gallery, Canberra
Phantasia, Australian Centre for Photography, Sydney, NSW
Platinum, SALA Festival exhibition, Gallery 139, Adelaide, SA
2008 Josephine Ulrick and Win Schubert Photography Award exhibition, Gold Coast City Art Gallery, Queensland
2007 Perfect for every occasion, Photography today, Heide Museum of Modern Art, VIC
Fotonoviembre 2007, photographic biennial, Centro de Fotografia, Tenerife, Canary Islands, Spain
William and Winifred Bowness Proze for Photography 2007, Monash Gallery of Art, VIC
Transmission, SASA Gallery, Adelaide, SA
2006 Mentor Mentored II, CACSA, SA
Concord 2, SA School of Art, Adelaide
2006 Gold Coast Ulrick Schubert Photographic Award, Gold Coast City Art Gallery, Qld
City of Perth Photomedia Award, PICA, WA
2005 Untold Stories, Warrnambool Art Gallery, VIC
Concord, South Australian School of Art Gallery, Adelaide
2004 Make Believe: photographic fictions, Sir Hermann Black Gallery 2003 & Stills Gallery, Sydney
Universal Playground, 2004 Adelaide Festival of Arts, Adelaide, South Australia
Six Senses, Adelaide Central Gallery, South Australia
Melbourne Affordable Art Show, Royal Exhibition Hall, Melbourne
Written with Darkness, University of Technology Sydney Gallery, Sydney
Open Borders, Fleurieu Peninsula Biennale, Penny’s Hill Winery, McLaren Vale, SA
2003 Street Lights, Digital Projection, National Museum of Australia, Canberra
Citigroup Private Bank Australian Photographic Portrait Prize, Art Gallery of NSW
Night Landscapes, Watch This Space, Alice Springs, NT
6 ft. and Clean, touring 2003 & 2004 in conjunction with the Gold Coast City Art Gallery
Sydney Affordable Art Show, Fox Studios, Sydney
Fotonoviembre 2003, photographic biennial, Centro de Fotografía, Tenerife, Spain
2002 2002 Gold Coast Ulrick Schubert Photographic Award, Qld
Play, Plimsoll Gallery, Hobart, TAS
Melbourne Art Fair, Greenaway Art Gallery stand, Royal Exhibition Hall, Melbourne
6 ft. and Clean, Gold Coast City Art Gallery, Qld
South Australian Photography, SALA Week, Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide
The Syntax of Style, Australian Centre for Photography, Sydney, NSW
City of Hobart Art Prize 2000 Exhibition, Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery, TAS
Stellar, Centre for Contemporary Photography, VIC
2002 MA Fine Art Exhibition, Chelsea College of Art & Design, The London Institute,UK
Dust Up Two Down, collaborative exhibition, The House Gallery, London, UK
1999 The Measured Room, Centre for Contemporary Photography, VIC
Curated, Picture This, SATEP Touring Exhibition, touring throughout Australia
Brainstorm, Curating Space, Goldsmiths College, New Cross, London, UK
1989 South Australian Photography, SALA Week, Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide
1997 The Measured Room, Contemporary Art Centre of South Australia
AGFA National Photographic Award Exhibition, Albury Regional Art Centre, NSW
1995 Recent Australian Photography, Art Gallery of Western Australia, WA
1994 Brighter than a Thousand Suns, Technillusions, Adelaide Festival of Arts, Adelaide
Shadows on the Wall, New Technologies, Adelaide Fringe Festival, Lynx Gallery, Adelaide
1993 Australians Exposed, Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide
1992 Recent South Australian Acquisitions, Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide
1991 Hagiography, Artspace, Adelaide Festival Centre, Adelaide
1990 Fragmentation & Fabrication, Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide
Terminal Garden, Experimental Art Foundation, Adelaide
National Gallery of Australia
Art Gallery of SA
Art Gallery of WA
Parliament House Collection, Canberra
Gold Coast City Art Gallery, Qld
Monash Gallery of Art, VIC
Albury Regional Art Centre, NSW
Araluen Centre for Arts & Entertainment, NT
Waverley City Council, VIC
SA School of Art
South Australian Law Courts
Corporation of the City of Elizabeth, SA
Corrigan Collection, NSW
Queensland Centre for Photography
Maitland Regional Art Gallery, NSW
National Portrait Gallery, Canberra
Sir Elton John Collection