26 July to 24 August 2019
My doctor told me that jogging could add years to my life. I think he was right. I feel ten years older already.
The one thing I’ve learned in the last ten years is that successful artists don’t get paid to write and sing songs, they get paid for the psychological roller coaster they’re going to have to ride. For ten years Caesar ruled with an iron hand. Then with a wooden foot, and finally with a piece of string. One must change one’s tactics every ten years if one wishes to maintain one’s superiority.
I think it’s very important that whatever you’re trying to make or sell, or teach has to be basically good. A bad product and you know what? You won’t be here in ten years. The real questions are: Does it solve a problem? Is it serviceable? How is it going to look in ten years?
Ten years from now, I would like to see myself successful as a brand, like Jessica Simpson, with babies running around and a beautiful husband and my own reality show. I think maybe ten years from now, I’m hopefully going to be in, like Tahiti or something. Kicking back, like in my huge mansion. Frankly, despite my horror of the press, I’d love to rise from the grave every ten years or so and go buy a few newspapers.
I don’t rhyme right now, but I may ten years from now.
Sarah Scout Presents Ten Years…
Tradition dictates that tin or aluminium are symbolic of tenth anniversaries. Apparently, the pliability of tin and aluminium reminds us how a successful marriage needs to be flexible and durable – and how it can be bent without being broken. As the relationship between artist and gallery might be seen as akin to that of a marriage, this seems apt as a starting point for an exhibition… metals, alchemy, transformation, bending and even breaking. Perhaps, one day, rhyming.
I don’t rhyme right now features new and recent work by Fiona Abicare, Nadine Christensen, Cate Consandine, Greg Creek, Kate Daw, Carolyn