Pauline Hanson: The Senate Performance Artist | Escalating Political Stunts as Avant-Garde Art What if Australian Senator Pauline Hanson channelled her controversial political persona into provocative, escalating performance art pieces that blur the lines between politics and theatre? This thought experiment explores three 'Acts' of outrage designed to amplify division, nationalism, and anti-'woke' themes live in the Senate Gallery: "Swamped by Symbols" - Using altered Australian flags and props to critique multiculturalism, escalating her infamous 'swamped by Asians' line. "Burqa Bonfire" - A shocking mid-level provocation building on her real-life burqa stunts, incorporating banned slogans and effigies of critics. "Piss Off Pavilion" - The high-octane climax featuring a mock 'border wall,' loyalty tests, and red liquid symbolising 'taxpayer blood,' all risking her expulsion. Watch as we examine how weaponising sh...
Jonus: scene 1 slide 1
Jonus works in an office. He has worked in this office for 20 years. He wants more but he doesn't know how to get more. Jonus feels anxious and threatened.
Jonus: scene 1 slide 2
Jonus would dwell on detail. The detail would observe him. For hours Jonus would stare and ponder. Stance could feel the coldness. It worried her. It took her concentration. She new things were visualizing and as they appeared to become real Jonus looked more and more dangerous. Jonus was now disappearing into himself daily. Stance could hear water, feel heat and feel weight. She knew it was anxiety. She had to take action.
Jonus: scene 1 slide 3
Into his mind did Jonus leap. His rock was safe. The river flowed strong. The flames were growing. Impending doom. Impending fear. Anxiety glassed his lungs. There was nothing to do but fall. The time is now. It was to happen. Jonus was lost from control. He needed to sleep. As long as the river flowed he could sleep. Sleep Jonus demanded of himself.
Jonus: scene 1 slide 4
Get out of my head. I want you out of my head. Sure you want to belong but I do not feel safe. There is some beauty in this fear but I still want you out of my head.
Jonus: scene 1 slide 5
Jonus felt the heat of each flame. He rested for a moment and perched within contemplation he waited for something to happen. And happening did pass him by. Jonus couldn't tell if it was an angle, spirit or memory but it knew him. In a fleeting moment the happening reflected a transcendental understanding. “You will be confronted and you will become frustrated, angry and full of hate. It will happen and you will gain control through revenge. In a short moment you will understand me and through misadventure become me.” Jonus understood a contract was made but couldn't be sure consent occurred. Motionless Jonus contemplate fate and reflected on his many missed opportunities.
Jonus and the 3 sisters
Jonus: scene 1 slide 6
And then the three sisters motioned towards Jonus. They were beautiful in threat, size and power. Veiled with petals of flame their beauty radiated. Jonus was in want. Wake up Jonus the sisters giggled. You have much to do. Your journey to enlightenment is to begin. We have waited so long for you to be with us.
Situation - The Tempest’s Reflection JB , a spaceship pilot, has been placed into a cryo cocoon to revive and transform his life essence. Inside the cocoon, he experiences his mind as a "relentless tempest of clashing thoughts, swirling and churning, mirroring the furious chaos outside of the machine." JB also sees his older self trapped in the same transitory state. The Storm in my Looking Glass A cinematic close-up of JB’s face behind the curved glass of the cryo-cocoon . The glass reflects not the room but a "relentless tempest" of swirling dark clouds and lightning , symbolising his churning thoughts. In the storm's reflection, a ghostly older version of JB is visible, trapped and silent, mirroring the pilot's current state. Cryogenic Rejuvenation Chamber - Night This trapped specter is the true mirror of our pilot's current, suspended state: a mind caught between two ages, the man he was refusing to be silenced, terrified of the man he is about to ...
The Struggle for Authenticity in Art I want to speak today about authenticity . And about what we quietly give up to be accepted. We’re told that contemporary political art values autonomy . That artists are free. That inquiry sits at the centre of practice. But autonomy, in reality, is often something we *perform*— not something we’re allowed to exercise. Freedom is celebrated rhetorically, while legitimacy is granted only when work conforms to approved languages , approved theories , approved causes . Autonomy isn’t denied outright. It’s curated. This system doesn’t fail artists by accident. It functions mechanically. It rewards work that aligns with predetermined frameworks and filters out work that doesn’t speak the sanctioned dialect . Many voices are excluded not because they lack skill or meaning, but because they refuse to translate their experience into institutionally legible language. I’m not saying all excluded work is good. I am saying much of it is never heard. An...
Creation doesn’t save. Art stabilises. That’s why art continues after belief has died. Not because it promises something— But because consciousness cannot stop itself. The will to create isn’t heroic. It’s involuntary. A reflex. The art of futility A spoken monologue I don’t make art because it matters. I make it because consciousness produces excess. And excess demands release. That’s the first lie we’re taught—that art points toward truth. Truth doesn’t need us. It existed before our gestures and will remain after our silence. Art isn’t revelation. It’s a regulation. An overdeveloped mind can’t remain idle. Thought accumulates. Pressure builds. Expression becomes a discharge—not a message. This isn’t noble. It’s biological. Paintings. Texts. Sounds. Images. All variations of the same maneuver. Not transcendence . Containment . Once you see this, ambition collapses. Influence. Legacy . Relevance. These are metaphysical debts art can no longer pay. The work is finished the mome...
Comments
Post a Comment