I can’t quite remember my first interaction with Ed, but what I do remember is from every conversation since I have left with a clear understanding that he is deeply curious. A chat with him always feels quietly layered, often resulting in a thought or two that linger with you long after the conversation is over. His work runs on that same instinct. Nothing made for its own sake, all of it layered with what he actually finds interesting.
ONSITE is the name of his latest body of work, alluding to his practice which leans towards processes within construction, with a little nod to the art world through exhibition terminology. In this body of work, Ed continues his exploration of salvaging discarded signs, and working with them slowly and carefully to turn them into something more permanent, without completely erasing its past life.
Before we get into your most recent body of work for ONSITE, I’d love to understand how you came to be the artist you are today.
I never really had a choice. Both my mother and father were artists in Sydney, and I went to art school in utero, as my mother became pregnant during her studies. From then on, it was always my calling, even through the awareness that the pursuit of art assured a difficult path in life. After studying design, my friends and I opened our creative studio in Surry Hills during the early 2000s, which quickly became the gallery space China Heights.
Could you tell me a bit more about how you arrived at the name ONSITE for this exhibition?
Onsite is a reference to my fascination with how construction materials and methods are effectively more archival than traditional art-making materials. My entire process sits closer to that of a construction site than of a classical artist: tools and building substrates are used more so than oils and canvas. Steel and timber become my canvas, bound together with chemical fasteners and enamel paints.
In this body of work, you’re working with signs as having been painted hastily and discarded. What drew you to working on something that had already finished its life?
By using discarded promotional materials, I'm directing the craft of the anonymous maker, revering their mark and layering a permanent composition on top. It is about encapsulating something temporary and installing permanence.
These signs you use were likely painted quite quickly, with a single purpose. The process and materials you’ve been using for this body of work require time. What does it feel like to work slowly with something that was made in a hurry?
I follow an equation of rearranging the base material of dissected signage to remove the intended messaging and highlight the inherent beauty of the mark-making. My composition sits atop this base, effectively disregarding it; any reveal of the existing sign is unintentional and unplanned, allowing only cryptic clues of the material's former life to peek through.
Of all the abandoned objects out there, why signs specifically?
I've always been drawn to abandoned signs, as they are generally an optimum size for artwork, having been intentionally designed to attract attention in both ratio and materiality. They are effectively a "ready-made" artwork, built to last even once decommissioned.
Beyond the cut geometry and under the fresh enamel, older marks are still visible. You chose not to hide them completely. What do those previous marks mean to you?
The previous marks are a tribute to the creator of the sign, championing an otherwise overlooked artisanal process. The moments and pops of contrasting colour and shapes create a visual disruption to the high-gloss painted treatment, generating a visual loop and a circular viewing experience.
And how do you know when a composition has found its harmony with what it once was and what it is becoming?
With all of my work, it is created as an entire body, following a systematic process. Once the full cycle is complete, the work is finalised. Art is a divine vessel, and the artist is purely a conduit for output. Once the work is complete, it belongs to the world in its final form.
Your works play with the idea of permanence. What does permanence mean to you in the context of something that was meant to be momentary?
Permanence in the work is crucial, and this is enforced not only through material choice, but also through process. Salvaged materials offer a form of tribute in an otherwise disposable world.
Finally, if this exhibition was a song, what would it be and why?
'Heat' by Station Model Violence. It's new but old, familiar but foreign, rhythmically pleasing but lyrically complex. Jagged but harmonious.
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ONSITE opens on Friday, 19 June 2 at China Heights Gallery, Surry Hills.
Words by Atia Rahim, Photos by Banjo McLachlan, Shaun Daniel Allen (Shal), and Edward Woodley