Water Medicine

Water medicine is an exhibition of works by artists that use water. As a setting for their works, the exhibition considers the story of C.Y. O'Connor, the engineer who, a hundred years ago, designed the pipeline that links Perth and Kalgoorlie in Western Australia. Like the water in that pipeline, this exhibition also takes a journey east¾ following the weather from Western to eastern Australia, and from Judeo-Christian to Buddhist world views.

The 2000 Olympics reminded the world audience of Australia's prowess in the water. Swimming, rowing, diving and water polo provided stages on which to demonstrate the aquatic talents of the Australian population. We find gold in water. It is worth considering whether this identification with water spills over into pursuits beyond sport?

The Olympics is much more than a sporting event. In a world bristling with conflict, it remains a sacred occasion for global cooperation. In local terms, the Olympics challenges capacity of Australia to act as a tolerant host for peoples of widely different race, religion and politics. As we have learnt recently, multiculturalism cannot be instantly applied to a community like a concrete pour. More like netting, its strength comes from opposing threads interweaving. Water Medicine is designed to invite a link between two contrary threads in Australian cultural life: it develops a dialogue between Judeo-Christian and Buddhist perspectives.

Western art has defined itself in opposition to more venal pursuits, such as science and commerce. Traditionally, its role was to provide a mirror to the world. This role was challenged with the advent of photography, which robbed painting of its pictorial authority. Critics such as Umberto Eco have noted that by the beginning of this century, the school of impressionism had developed as an attempt to re-define the pictorial dimension of painting after the advent of photography.

Now it is time for photography itself to be displaced. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, photography has to re-define itself against digital technologies. The accumulated printing techniques of developing, dodging, burning and toning have become obsolete as digital imaging reaches equivalent accuracy. Just as painting developed impressionism in response to photography, so a new 'wet photography' emerges in response to digital technologies. 'Wet photography' looks to the unique traces of darkroom processing that cannot be simulated on a desktop.

The relevance of 'wetness' goes beyond photography. We might predict that this new category of 'wetness' will grow in significance as art accommodates itself into an information society. In traditional forms of western art, the use of water is incidental. It is used primarily as a means of maintaining materials and tools. As an expressive material, it is not suitable for mark making. But it is this very ephemerality that makes it suitable to a post-material age, where physical manifestations are increasingly replaced by communication technologies- from books to computer files, from theatre to television.

Water is nature's virtual reality. Actions in water have few lasting consequences. No one ends up in hospital after a water fight. While suspended in water we are immune to the effect gravity and can fly, virtually.

Yet despite this ephemerality, water is antithetical to digital technologies. Comprised of electrical circuits, computers cannot cope with water. While a typewriter might eventually get a little rusty with continual exposure to water, one coffee spill on a computer keyboard is an immediate disaster. In cyber-punk, human intelligence is called 'Wetware', to place it alongside hardware and software. The digital economy, based on service rather than product, also matches the value of water, which relative to other materials is worthless beyond the infrastructure that pumps it.

We are familiar with the Buddhist attitude to water as a subject of meditation. The paradox of water-its formlessness, yet strength-provides an important locus for spiritual development. In the 6^th century BC Taoism of Lao-Tzu, thus:

These sentiments are expressed in a number of Buddhist texts, but reach further refinement in the Zen understanding of enlightenment, or dharma. Zen enlightenment is a 'being with the world' rather than its transcendence. In the key teaching of Dogen, the founder of Zen Buddhism, enlightenment is compared to the moon's reflection on water:

A passage such as this suggests the easeful contemplation that is characteristic of the Zen position. It is because of its very commonness and lack of identity that water so often suggests itself for contemplation.

How does this compare with the uses of water in Western religion? We are much more likely to find water used as means of ritual purification rather than a subject of meditation. Today's various Christian churches share a common element in the ritual of baptism, in which a person is initiated into the church through a cleansing of their pagan self. This certainly is not unique to Christian religions, but has roots in the Judaic and other Semitic religions of the Middle East, which focused on rituals of sacrifice. The burning of offerings was complemented by the cleansing of participants. Remnants of this ritual are still present in the Christian 'Asperges', when the priest sprinkles the congregation with lustrated water before commencement of service. In the Orthodox festival of Theophany, houses are blessed by a priest with basil dipped in holy water. Apart from this ritual use, there is nothing about the commonness of water that grants it special status, particularly compared to the epic narratives of sacrifice.

It is easy to establish differences between the Western and Eastern approaches to water. One is an active ingredient in spiritual health, while the other is passive object of enlightenment. How might they come together?

It would be in keeping with the Zen approach to turn our attention inside, to the water rituals that are already part of our ordinary lives. By coincidence, a turn of events in south-eastern Australia brought one such ritual to the fore. In October 1998, Victorian gas supplies were shut down after an explosion in its main processing plant. As a result, millions of Australians were forced to eke out a life without gas. This meant learning to do without the daily hot shower. The Age newspaper ran a series of articles exploring the psychological impact of shower deprivation. One article celebrated the collective trauma with a semi-spiritual response, titled 'A tale of survival: Zen and the art of bodily maintenance' ³. A follow-up article quoted social historian Dr Janet McCalman who claimed of the shower, 'Somehow it has become a national obsession.' ⁴ According to McCalman, this obsession arose from a desire to escape poverty.

While there may be truth to this sociological narrative, a poetic analysis such as Les Murray's gives more sense of the peculiar nature of the shower experience. The 'good blast of trance' alludes to the dreaminess of the shower. It is a time between dream and reality, when the tone-deaf become divas and some of our most creative thinking occurs. In terms of the day, the shower stands between sleep and daytime reality. As provides a space for our minds to be guided back down to reality and for tasks of the day to re-introduce themselves.

There are many ways of enjoying water that are characteristic of the Australian domestic life. Water in washing dishes, floors and clothes helps maintain the life of things at home. As well as beginning our day in the shower, water also ends our day with a glass at the bedside and a hot water bottle within.

There is nothing particularly Zen about these phenomena. They are rather more Christian in nature, using water as a cleansing agent. However, the moment when we experience them as rituals¾ as aesthetic acts¾ is the point at which Western and Eastern viewpoints meet.

The exhibition Water Medicine has this meeting as its destination. But along with the cultural detour east, a self-understanding through Eastern ways, it takes a physical journey east from its origin Perth to the eastern coast or Australia. This journey underlines the story of water in this exhibition.

Currently, the lateral relationship between coasts concerns two opposing trends: the weather moves eastwards whereas culture moves westwards. The internal tyranny of distance means that it is rare for galleries on the eastern seaboard to host art that emanates from the other side of the continent. Yet this very distance is what makes a city like Perth special. Built on sand, Perth is one of the most isolated cities in the world. Between it and the rest of Australia stands the endless Nullarbor Plain.

While a core of artists in this exhibition is from Perth, it is not exclusively a Perth show. As a dialogue between east and west, it provides an opportunity to look at works by artists on the eastern side of Australia, but from a Perth perspective. It is easy to take certain things for granted on the east-our European lifestyle and our sense of connection. In Perth, these luxuries are victories against adversity. The most monumental victor, being the life of C.Y. O'Connor. In their own way, artists in this exhibition have pushed water in a direction it was not meant to go. In their imaginative and skilful way, they have made something precious out of the most common element.

And the title Water Medicine? It is meant firstly to suggest the various alternative medicines that capture our imaginations, such as Chinese, herbal or bush medicine. However, making it a 'water' medicine seems to counter that very exoticism¾ what could be plainer than water. While there have been certain 'hydrotherapies' over time, they remain on the fringes of medicine. Its medicinal quality comes rather from the context of application, such as the morning shower or a simple glass of water to concentrate the mind. If it cures ailments, then they are likely to be hidden from view.

In the end Water Medicine is a framework for considering the works by eleven artists. If this framework enables us to look a little more closely at those works, then it has served its purpose. If some visitors respond in other directions, so be it. Good art overflows whatever idea attempts to contain it.

Water Medicine was curated by Kevin Murray contains works by Robert Baines, Ros Bandt, Clare Belfrage, Bronwyn Goss, Jacqui Gropp, Adrian Jones, Janie Matthews, Anne Neil, Susan Purdy, Sue Saxon, and Liz Williamson. For images of individual artist works and exhibition tour, please see website at kitezh.com/watermedicine.