Penny Shirley Helena Lu Miranda Malini Ruth Tom Patricia
Y37 is an independent picture and word programme based in Melbourne, Australia. Homed upstairs at YOGA37, we are a not-for-profit curation project with available white walls.
Y37 aims to promote a liaison between both art forms.
Thank you to all who contributed.
I'm learning to do the same, slowly, I promise. An exhibition by Patricia sofra. Opened for the month of February 2018.
Morocco An exhibition by Tom Hvala. Opened for the month of November 2017.
Japan. An exhibition by Ruth Clifford , Opened for the month of October 2017.
Ruth Clifford is an emerging photographer from Melbourne, Australia who creates documentary and still life work. Ruth’s keen eye for detail allows her to draw attention to often overlooked aspects of her subjects, allowing the viewer to glimpse something private and unseen.
An exhibition by Malini Maunsell with words by Flävia M Dent, Opened for the month of June 2017.
A remedy for blue Deep ecstatic Silence. Warm of the night, in from the dark to breath rhythms, mixed with those of their’s.
Crowded thoughts loosen, from inner and out A remedy for fader blues
On a note, focus back to breath,
all as one, upturned and supple.
Freedom of thought and stronger core.
Remedy blue, clearer view.
Silence of body.
on ordinary days, stroll through, to lie on a greyed earth, palms bleeding blue.
velour warmth rises to carry you to
the next dawn of flair.
threading water An exhibition by Lucy Foster with words by Miranda J Weindling, Opened for the months of February to June 2017.
what are our lives except event, pricked by time Technology’s embodied Chronos by fire, dark, water, sand and then the Ticks to softly remind us of each escaping second as we then strived to memorialise the moment through the shutter click because its a way of certifying an experience, taking photographs is also a way of refusing it – by limiting experience to... the photogenic... an image... a souvenir. Travel becomes a strategy for accumulating photographs. The very activity of taking pictures is soothing... Most (tourists) feel compelled to put the camera between themselves and whatever is remarkable (uncomfortable?) that they encounter. This gives shape to experience: stop, take a photograph, and move on. The method appeals especially to people who are handicapped by a ruthless work ethic
But although they beat death’s drum for embalmed bodies and times and spaces, deprived now of their chemical corpus displaced now amongst the cloud. Have they not now animation and energy breathed into them by the rectangles in my hands and on my screen and on your walls in front of your eyes. Through You. Is to be broken by time and caught in space And then to hum again, what – Fate. that measures time not our time
In pricks of finger tips and imperfect circles with edges that echoing blue-grey-green in wiring flexing branches, lest we forget to listen to each tick-click in which we fail to ask Do I dare Disturb the universe?
Its in the futility of this weave as we drain through claiming fingers caught in this endless reflecting net that you think you own, as do I, and you again only to find its no- bodies and yet all Ours
Through misplaced lenses that cannot help but slip and slide and fail to meet the Measures [of] time not our time, rung by the unhurried Ground swell, a time Older than the time of chronometers, older Than time counted by anxious worried women Lying awake, calculating the future, Trying to unweave, unwind, unravel And piece together the past and the future, Between midnight and dawn, when the past is all deception, The future futureless, before the morning watch When time stops and time is never ending...
IN: State to State An exhibition by Flävia M Dent and Helena Crabtree, Opened for the month of December 2016.
Sister, Six O’clock Sister, six o clock, beads in hand, Turning one after the other. A reshuffle and a handful of biscuits Offered. 5pm, Platform 5, carriage S5 Scheduled for a 5am arrival. Bengaluru to Kochi. Lights ON above seat 41, Upper deck. Upstaged by his falling shadow Across seat 36 to 38. Below, two girls, limbs entangled Never ending heat and cries, but Sister. The smell of Jasmine suffocated by Rubbish and shit. Wait till Diner is served in this Dense machine.
12pm Train Station, Bengaluru No sense of personal space, Fighting for a moment at the hole in The Perspex. Pushed aside, a call for a Re-struggle.
7pm A pinked sky through the caged window, A newcomer at 39. Distant lights, sundown and a sleepless Night. The stream of five o clock sun hitting The worn blue seat, bars hatched on the Fake leather, 3 black stripes covering Seat 40 long gone... Just a weak fan and an unforgiving Strip light attracts a cloud of flies as its New dawn shade. Station stops, shadows cross the line, Tracks vibrating under feet.
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