Juz Kitson on Bones, Buddhism and Bull (Testes)
I hesitantly knock on the flimsy ply door of the Australian National University’s Ceramics Workshop residency space and venture in. Usually a blank and uninspired space of mismatched worktables and drying racks set to the audio accompaniment of humming electrical mains, it is transformed by each resident artist into a world of their creation.
This time the room evokes Kubla Khan’s pleasure dome; the racks are filled with pearlescent erotic forms that seem to pulsate behind pieces of languidly draped fur that obscure them from view. The floor is covered with work, a matrix barrier that separates subject from self. Sitting cross-legged, all fiery curls and delicate hand movements, Juz deftly places each hand-rolled petal-like form onto its friend, pressing them together at the base, leaving the fronds to wave free. Anemone-like they invite touch but, as with a lot of Juz’s work, refute easy classification.
“Nice bull testicles,” I say, gesturing at the floor where bulbous pink balloons almost swing in their conjoined union.
“Thanks,” Juz replies brightly. “Lucky you didn’t think they were hearts. Want to sit outside?” Canberra has been bitterly cold for months and this, one of the first days with a suggestion of warmth, must be made the most of. The sun is delightfully warming, the sky almost electric and the glare? It is so impressive my laptop screen is rendered useless, as are my eyes, which immediately begin to tear. Professional Interviewing 101 right here I think, and resolve to sort-of mostly wing it.
HFB: So, ah, I thought we’d start with some basic background …
JK: I was raised in Sydney, by my Australian/Greek family who are hardworking and entrepreneurial, and it was always clear to me from an early age that I had to be able to provide for myself. So, they didn’t push a career per se but a path of being self-sufficient. My mum was quite creative, though she didn’t have an outlet for it herself, and I’m grateful to her for providing me with resources to explore my own creativity as I grew up. I went to a high school that wasn’t academic at all but had a great art and drama department, and I became close with one of the visual arts teachers and she used to give me the key to the photography dark room where I would spend hours outside of class developing images.
HFB: That must have been wonderful, an immersive escape.
: Yeah, I could close the door on the world. There was a reality and
