Shock of the New
The Tennant Creek Brio transform mining maps, dead TVs, and frontier wreckage into new cultural claims—rejecting imposed “otherness” and forcing the settler gaze into confrontation. If their art is a shock, who’s really being unsettled?
“Hell is others.” It’s probably not the best way to introduce an artist collective founded on the idea that strength comes from working together, that the harmonious whole is greater than the individual parts. But “hell” and its various connotations does relate to the work of the Tennant Creek Brio and to the Italian word “brio” itself, which signifies “fire” as both a destructive and creative force. “Hell” might relate to contemporary life at Tennant Creek, or at least how it’s generally depicted in mainstream reports as a broken-down town best passed through on the way to and from Alice Springs or the so-called Devil’s Marbles nearby.
Related
Derek Jarman’s Blue (1993) is a film without images—just a luminous ultramarine field and an evocative soundtrack. Made as he was dying of AIDS-related illness, Blue resists spectacle, embracing abstraction, memory, and loss. Thirty years on, it continues to evolve, expanding across artists, mediums, and generations.
A little over a decade after Brenda Ann Spencer’s 1979 school shooting at Grover Cleveland Elementary School in San Diego, California, Karen Kilimnik used the crime as the premise for an artwork.
Tim Burns’s art blurs fiction and reality, often staging disasters before they happen. His 1972 Ghost Train redesign eerily foreshadowed the 1979 Luna Park fire, just as his 1977 film Why Cars? uncannily prefigured 9/11. Through rupture, collision, and shock, Burns’s work remains less prophetic than provocatively attuned to history’s unfolding disasters.
