A way in, A way out
In conversation with Mariam Arcilla
Publication interview, A way in, A way out
March 2019

Our conversation takes place in the artist’s Sydney studio, in the lead-up to Davidson’s 2019 exhibition ‘A Way In, A Way Out’ at Dominik Mersch Gallery, Sydney.

MA: Let’s start with the title ‘A Way In, A Way Out.’ It evokes a directional yet dualistic tone, a feeling of being in limbo and in free flow. How does this title speak to your arts making process?  

LD: I initially connected with the title ‘A Way In, A Way Out’ because it spoke about the way I work in the studio. There is often a cyclical process that occurs within the making, where I return to certain ideas and images over and over again in the lead up to a final work. I have this quote in my notes by the Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard: who said ‘Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards’ and this for me is something that makes a lot of sense in relation to my studio practice. I often don’t set out to make something that has a particular outcome. I work in a way that is experimental, attempting to tease out ideas, which lead to mistakes. After a period of time these mistakes or failures start to form their own language, and that's when the understanding and narrative of the work begins to form. For this exhibition, I wanted to include some of those earlier decisions as part of a broader dialogue that informs the final works. So publishing an artist book to accompany the show seemed like the most appropriate way to demonstrate the process.

MA: What drives your art making and why photography as a medium?

LD: I have always had a compulsion to make. When working in the studio I like to work on multiple things at the same time, experimenting with different mediums and processes while looking for things that draw me in. When you find one thing that requires your full attention, everything else begins to recede and you become focused. This is a sweet spot in my practice that I’m continually working towards. With photography I was initially drawn to its immediacy. Photography is a medium that I grew up with and experimented with, and the more I tested the medium the more I was drawn to the point where the photograph or the material no longer operated in the way it should. I’ve been working with photographic emulsion for over a decade now. So when I found that I could transform a still image into a moving image by separating the print away from paper, this became something that captured my attention. It is essentially a photograph yet it doesn’t have the qualities of a photograph because the still image is changeable. [Davidson motions me over to his studio table. Here, he demonstrates an experiment in a perspex dish that is pooled with water. He nudges the photographic paper, causing the top layer to dance like seaweed as it peels away from the paper.]

LD: I’m interested in how the temporality of an image can immediately change the reading of a work. When we look at photography there is a preconceived notion that there is a sense of truth and authenticity to the image, but as soon as the image or medium is altered we begin to question its authority. With these photographic works, I use water to breakdown the medium, to disrupt this inherent authority, once the material has separated from the paper I then stretch the material to its breaking point. The fragility of the medium is a theme that I continue to return to, a point where all things arrive at sooner or later.

MA: You also make site-specific installations. Tell me more about your work with mirrors.

LD: The installations go a step further than the photographs by incorporating the viewer’s body. When viewing these works, it is difficult to see your own self-image as a whole image. The stacked mirrors boxes create a myriad of reflections that highlight how fluid the boundaries of perception can be. This ability to change how we read our reflection requires us to slow down and look more carefully at the how we perceive information. Like the photographs, there is a questioning of boundaries: where does the thing I’m viewing begin and end, and how much of what I’m perceiving is filled in by my own assumptions? [I follow Davidson to the edge of the room, where multi-layered mirror boxes are spread across the timber floor. Through their fractured portions, I make out reflections of shoes and legs (his and mine), rising floor crevices, and the skinny bounce of fluorescent roof lights. Davidson moves a mirror piece from the series and places it atop of another block.

MA: How many mirrors are in this conglomeration?

LD: There must be close to a hundred pieces. Although, when stacked on top of one another, they don’t look like a hundred pieces, do they?

MA: Honestly, from where I stand, they look like a thousand pieces.  Actually, this kaleidoscopic view feels similar to how we present our online personas, through these mirrored fragments. We engage in a visual cacophony of selfies, superlikes, scrolls and swipes—an endless stacking of thoughts and reactions.

LD: We're obviously spending more time online, and this fragmented way of viewing and scrolling through masses of images and information is changing how we think. There is a tendency to scan over most things these days and to move on to the next thing. With my works, and especially the installations, I’m attempting to slow down the process of looking and thinking, these works require time. I’m interested in creating conversations around the importance of being present in contemporary life, even if it is just for a moment. This type of introspective or contemplative thinking is less practiced today, but for me it adds an incredible amount of value to the way I engage with the world.

MA: How did you arrive at this state of presentness and self-reflection?

LD: There are moments in the studio where I become completely consumed by what I’m doing when making work. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi describes this state as ‘flow’, and whenever I find myself in this state I just go with it. I have been practicing yoga and meditation since my 20’s, and both of these disciplines aim to focus and quieten the mind. This self-reflective approach is something that I attempt to foster in the studio. When I’m fully engaged with what I’m making, things begin to happen automatically, my thought processes quieten and I become lost in the work. The narrative and rational explanation of the work always comes much later for me, either through conversations - like the one we’re having now - or through research and writing about the work.

MA: Looking at the bodily terrains of your photographs—fields of hair, roadmap veins, and bulbous skin— I’m reminded of the close-up scan montages in the Nine Inch Nails music video for ‘Into The Void,’ which turned body parts into this familiar-yet-alien constellation.

LD: I haven’t seen that video, but it sounds like I’m doing something similar in that I'm presenting images that most people recognise as bodily or human. At the same time, these images don't provide easy references as to where they're located on the body. I'm trying to present a framework that sits between representation and abstraction. My body is the most familiar thing I know, but there is also a huge disconnect with my own body. I’m not aware of the daily inner workings of my own anatomy, as it's always in a continual state of change.

MA: On that, you fell ill last year. You went through an arduous journey of recuperation, and I’m wondering if the act of documenting your body as you went through these changes elicited a cathartic experience for you?

LD: That’s an interesting observation, I hadn’t thought about it in that way before. My photographic works have always explored the body through themes of temporality and impermanence, there is definitely an element of regeneration within the works.[Davidson points to a band of five coloured photographs pinned to a wall. Coated in a glossy gradient swirl of peach and amethyst, their bodily scans carry an emulsive aftermath of bubbles, ripples and fractures.]

MA: There seems to be a gravity of transcendence to these works; a healing-like nourishment that comes from its luminous palette and texture. Knowing your tendency for the monochromatic, I’m assuming this venture into colour is symbolic of a new exploration for you? 

LD:   Yes, I’ve been restrained in my use of colour in the past. My previous black-and-white works use a reductive process that breaks down the photographic material. The earlier works present fragmented images that address the fragility of the human condition. With this new colour series, the cyan and magenta hues offer a more emotive, optimistic outlook. When you look closely at the surface of these works you can see intricate lines that appear like tidal marks throughout the work. There is still an element of fluidity and change within the work but colour comes with its own luminosity and presence. The new colour works add to the ongoing dialogue, that all things are in cyclical process of change. Either they are in a process of being destroyed or rebuilt, and for me, this series feels like I’m rebuilding. I am enjoying this new direction, so maybe this is the beginning of a new path for me.