STATIC
exhibition
Static Opening Night - 30th July 2025
A term paradoxical by nature, Static describes both presence and absence, stillness and movement, change and unchanging change. This exhibition sombrely materialises a void where still and moving images intersect and interfere. Flicker, grain, and fluctuations in light and shadow connect the works, evoking an atmosphere of unrest.
The artists collectively seek the unexpected and imperfect contradictions between post-photography and the resurgence of analogue methods. By exploring the tensions between machine, place, and the (often unseen) trace of experience that connects them, Static gestures toward an uncanny, lingering nostalgia.
Static Exhibition 2025
The Static
still yet never moving,
relative and unaware,
i long to be the Static
unburdened,
active without care
there's a loss of information
sitting inside your Tv,
it's a thing they call the Static
dancing, in
a cold black apple screen
when my sore mind begins to pulse,
and rock forms fall inside my chest,
i wish the Static would stop moving
one second,
honey,
take your rest
what’s the point of moving forwards
if it is never far enough?
and when you find it is a circle,
why not stop to swipe the dust?
i feel the weight of all i say,
watching Static everyday,
on the white plain painted wall,
on the ceiling,
by the floor
so i sit beside the river,
underneath the nearest tree,
and i observe the Static
in the light,
the shade,
the breeze
will i ever see you clearly?
will we ever be aligned?
will we ever find the stillness
in a body,
so confined?
and the Static seems to whisper,
seems to lean on me and say,
“honey, you would be so bored
if it were any other way.
what is water if not fluid?
what are leaves without a breeze?
what would earth be with no dawn or dusk,
no spaces in between?
the Static is a force of life,
a space-time in four-D,
it gives you intuition,
it’s in the bloody air you breathe!”
as i leave the Maiwar river,
i take a photo of my sight,
to exist without the movement,
eternal holding in respite
i am still mortified by Static,
it never quite leaves me alone,
but now i bend it into motion,
I know I’ll never be unknown.
The Noise of Still Images: a Review of Static on the Opening Night
By Miranda Westaway
On the opening night of Static, the gallery shifted from hushed anticipation to a low, constant hum. Viewers moved between pools of light, pausing in front of Dullat’s photographs, then drifting towards the soft glow of CRT screens that housed the work of Foster, Dixon, and Kostoglou. Their bodies, blurring with motion, activated the space; breaking the stillness with a slow choreography of looking, leaning, and lingering. The air, once hollow and echoing, thickened as voices layered over the ambient crackle of Hill's slide projector, clicking to a rhythmic beat, like the quiet whirr of machines.
The exhibition’s premise, where still and moving images intersect, felt amplified by this collective presence. Light spilled across faces as shadows folded into the flicker of analogue film, making each viewer momentarily part of the work's restless and moving surface. Conversations clustered and dissolved, a living rhythm echoing the show’s tensions between stasis and change.
The interplay between analogue textures and digital’s cold precision took on a new vitality in this social exchange. Here, nostalgia was not solitary, but rather shared in glances, gestures, and the subtle awareness of others’ looking. By the night’s end, Static had become less about images on walls and more about the shifting field between them; an ever-changing static charge of bodies, sound, and light, dissolving the boundary between artwork and audience.