05/09 Ladder Art Space – Susan Hase

Before I get stuck into it I wanted to mention this blog contains zero sardine-wine content and I apologise to all the avid fish-wine-drinkers in advance. The exhibition was awesome. I’d been looking forward to it all week and despite all my meticulous planning around my super busy schedule to allow for any hiccups and arrive on time, I was late… again… but this time without floss. (Not that I had floss with me last time… or any time for that matter… this night however I was in dire need of floss) – you’ll have to listen to my silly ramble for context 🙂

FORGET ME NOT! 

I’m writing this in the month of September, (How the fuck is it already September), which holds personal significance for Susan Hase as it’s widely recognised as World Alzheimer’s Month. A time to raise awareness all around the world, a time for people to fight the stigma around the disease, and for Hase, it’s a time to honour her late husband through her creative practice. I purposefully selected this exhibition for my second blog post to raise awareness during September and demonstrate how art and social gatherings, such as exhibition openings, are excellent means of learning about people’s experiences and offering simple support. One in ten Australians over 65 suffer from Alzheimer’s, which means that a great number of friends, family members, and loved ones are continuously losing the fight against this illness. Hase uses her exhibition ‘Forget Me Not’ as a means of remembering her husband, paying tribute to his life, and showing sympathy to others who have experienced similar suffering.

Hase’s story shook me. She was born in Hungary and arrived in Australia in 1957 as a refugee with her family. After losing her husband to LWB (Lewy Body Dementia), a form of Alzheimer’s 13 years ago, she’s been creating and exhibiting ever since. From 2014-2022, Hase held 6 exhibitions and won the St Vincent’s Medical Art prize in 2013. Her works are also in permanent collections in the Federal Court of Australia and St Vincent’s Hospital Melbourne. What shook me even more when reading up on Hase was this scarily brief artist description by the Surf Coast Arts Trail website:

• “Completed Masters of Fine Arts (Painting) 2005. Still Lives, Landscapes, Figures mainly in Oils.”

I assume “Still Lives” was referring to the style and subject matter of her impressive paintings and not her current state of still being alive. Now I’m no grammatical genius as I’m sure many of you have realised through reading my blog, however, it truly scared me reading an artist’s description that they still live, like shit mate. Thanks.

Side note, imagine you’re talking to somebody about someone. Anyone. A good friend, your dog, even the dishy at work you barely speak to and when asked about them your response is simply, “Yeah they’re good I guess, still breathing.” Like what? As I mentioned I’m no English teacher, but I do think the plural of ‘still-life’ as a painting style is ‘still-life’s’ and not a confusion or reminder that people are still alive, just want to clarify. If I’m wrong, let me know so I can delete this post. (it would be so embarrassing if I’m wrong)

The show was such a nice and wholesome environment. Hase’s three works that occupied the entrance of Ladder beautifully described the amyloid plaque that builds up in the human brain cells and causes them to stop functioning. Her works are a celebration of his life and her ability to communicate to our audience about the damaging effects of dementia and the pivotal toll it takes on our brains, presented attractively and vibrantly instils this sense of celebratory honouring. I was immediately filled with joy as soon as I walked in and saw Susan’s infectious smile. It almost brought a tear to my eye to watch her interact with friends and visitors and talk about her late husband in such a loving manner. One of her two paintings, Red and Gold Seaweeds, was hanging in the front window. An artwork made of mixed media on linen canvas that gleamed against the headlights that streamed down Denmark Street. It was like those inflatable car dealership guys, only way prettier, and it caught my eye as I drove by. 

It was nice to see paintings by Hase so different to her usual style. Her still-life paintings are heavily textured with big, thick brushstroke impressions detailing her subjects. The paintings on display here however see a finer, more detailed side of her work. Words jumping off the canvas; mind, loss, life, and memory all repeated sentence after sentence created this array of patterns that we viewers could read. The longer I stood there, the more I read and the more I read the more I gained an understanding of the memories she and her husband shared, (half the sentences I couldn’t actually read because my illiterate dysfunctional brain can’t wrap its head around cursive writing so I’m just referring to the words I could read).

The exhibition was just held on the bottom floor of the gallery meaning it was widely accessible for all. I was the youngest among the crowd, chaperoned by my boss/ex-VCE studio art teacher of course, and it was great to see and interact with an elderly crowd. In this case, in such a crammed area, exhibitions are a great way to bring different sets of people together so we can learn from each other and expand our understanding of the artwork on display. In addition to my boss, a former classmate made an appearance to support the artwork of one of his coworkers. What makes openings so great is that I almost always manage to run into someone I wouldn’t expect to see, whether it’s on the way, at the event, or after the show. Regardless of the outcome, it enhances the evening and, in my opinion, makes the trip somewhat more worthwhile.

There was plenty of art to see, 30+ easy, and space to move around in the three rooms available, but I must admit that I got very distracted when I noticed five Maltese dogs running underneath me while they were dressed in bibs and bows. (While writing this, I looked up “small white old lady dogs” on Google because, well, I’m bad at knowing dog breeds when it comes to small, fluffy white dogs. Not that I’m calling the elderly women at the show “old,” I was just referring to them using terms that people may have seen connected to this dog breed online.) Having these dogs in the central room was so fitting as the second artist involved in the show was displaying painterly portraits of dogs. It added to the wholesome aesthetic of the show and created a welcoming and playful environment. Dogs and art, the perfect combo. Kind of got me thinking as I’m writing this, one of those dogs could’ve very well been a model in the portrait. Like what if those dogs were looking at themselves displayed… just a thought. 

Due to the terrible PTV services on the night and proximity reasons from my steak dinner to the show in Kew, I was bound to soda waters for the night as I drove. For those interested, the bar was situated in the front room offering both white and red. I would’ve loved to give another little insight/review of the wine for you enthusiastic alcoholics reading (kidding x) but I wasn’t going to ask guests if I could smell their wine, so you’ll have to come back next week for my intricate detailing of fishy nodes.  

In the end, the night was dope. The turnout was large, and I think that’s the main part of it. A small, community-led space In Kew, and for Susan Hase to have so much support in raising awareness and honouring her late husband was so special to be a part of. I didn’t get to speak to Hase as she was immensely popular throughout the night, but I could tell from kind of lurking and listening in to her convos in a non-weird way that she was so grateful for the turnout. As I said earlier, could’ve brought a tear to my eye if I wasn’t such a strong-hairy-man who never cries. I urge you guys to go to some smaller spaces on an opening night such as Ladder Artspace. It’s a community gallery, privately owned and runs painting classes and community events regularly. It’s these sorts of places where people wear colour and don’t just dress in black, where people come up to you and chat rather than the stereotypical mysterious Melbourne art critic type that intimidates me whenever I make eye contact with them (not referring to my fear of Melbourne artsy people…) I stayed for an hour and a half and totally forgot about the steak in my teeth.