Viewers were invited to navigate a set of playful yet provocative interventions at the Queensland Multicultural Centre for Melt Festival 2024. Some Days My Skin Just Isn’t So Thick offered an insight into the intersectionality experienced by emerging artist Mark du Potiers. The hard-hitting, possibly foreign subject matter is conveyed through materials that are comforting in both physical composition and familiarity.
Cantonese speakers among the readers may attest to the literal nature of their language: “刮头路” (scratch, head and road) alludes to a ‘blind alley’ and ‘鹹濕’ (salty and moist) is equivalent to ‘erotic’. Born in Meanjin (Brisbane) during the 1980s, to migrants from Guangdong Province and Hong Kong, Potiers deftly deciphers terms applied to the queer aspect of his person like ‘f****t‘.
The volatility of the subsequent self-deprecating bundles of ‘sticks’ in his aptly named Trials (2024) series is heightened by the late spring climate in Queensland, a time in which fire bans often apply. They protrude from or are adorned by doll limbs, the pallor of the legs and arms masked by a thick layer of faux gold paint.
An aesthetic that could be interpreted as Arte Povera, may as easily be read as referential of the ingenuity and resourcefulness of the Southerners – if not all Asians. Also captured is a common concern with superstition as opposed to observance of recognised religions.
Potiers’ pathway from denaturing to ‘supernaturing’ is most apparent in the assemblages positioned in vitrines. Three are wallpapered with singularly dated green and red calendar pages. Two contain mirrors. The order of the former appears sporadic, despite the deep-seated concerns over the affects of numbers among community members. In addition to literally providing a means of reflection, mirrors are used by some Asians to deflect ghosts. Are the objects, and ultimately the subject of queerness, being exalted or exorcised within these culturally-specific constructs? The vitrines may remind some viewers of the altars within and around Asian retail outlets.
However, Potiers’ engagement of these fittings also lends to more scientific – albeit quasi – interpretations. Suspended above the main entrance, protruding from a balustrade on the first floor, is a slow-stitched skeleton. In The Blood (2024) is a fabric approximation of a dinosaur. With pronounced hind legs, it appears to have been carnivorous. Yet, the flaccidity of the form undermines what may have been ferocious. It’s a poignant statement about the vulnerability shared by all beneath our skins, which can be as much a point of division as a layer of protection.
Crush Syndrome (2024) is an equally intriguing suspended artwork, which adorns an adjacent hallway on the ground floor. In this case, the cords are strung through a concatenation of fixtures. Left is an impression that one wrong step enroute to the bathroom could trigger the descent of an enormous cushion.
Potiers has machined together colourful fabric strips with the intention of representing sedimentary layers. Stripes can signal viewers to apply an LGBITQA+ lens. Are queer members of Asian communities being suppressed by traditionally patriarchal values? Or is the weight of expressing their queerness crushing?
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Viewers are offered multiple lenses via Potier’s intersectionality, including being both queer and Asian. Are his ‘trials’ in navigating these communities being recounted? The latter appears to be particularly suspicious – if not condemning – of difference. Or are his tribulations in negotiating distinct aspects of his own person being told? Good autoethnographic artwork draws on deeply personal sentiments to critique social phenomena. Potiers appears to plunge into the fundamental fears of being persecuted for difference. While not wrapping viewers in cotton wool, the subject matter is unpacked with great sensitivity. All in all, the exhibition may offer a cathartic experience.
Mark du Potiers: Some Days My Skin Just Isn’t So Thick is being presented by BEMAC at the Queensland Multicultural Centre until 6 December 2024.
