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dragonbagel · 7 years

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Show Me Why You’re Strong - Rhysha

Rhys didn't expect his visit to the con artist sisters to end in an inadvertent sleepover, and he especially didn't expect it to be the time he was forced to reveal the secrets he kept buried deep inside.

(trans siren rhys hell yeah! read it on ao3 here)

“So then, just as he was about to set his skag back on us, Sasha shot that fucker right between the eyes,” Fiona said, leaning over the edge of the armchair she was sitting on and mimicking the shot by firing a finger gun. The motion coincided with a clap of thunder outside, a dramatic coincidence that Fiona was more than happy to claim to be of her own doing. “It was amazing!”

“Nice work, Sash,” Rhys said, smiling at the woman next to him.

“Yeah, well,” she tried to reply nonchalantly (because she definitely wasn’t blushing). “He had a sick-ass gun.”

“Damn right he did!” Fiona laughed, giving her sister a high-five overtop Rhys that had the taller man scrambling to lean out of the way.

“The Hyperion Yellow Jacket,” Sasha said dreamily, waving her hand as if gesturing to an invisible marquee.

“And that’s… good?” Rhys asked, yelping as Sasha elbowed him.

“Yes, dumbass,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll show it to you later.”

“Heh, really, you don’t have to,” Rhys said nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck and hoping the rain pelting the roof masked the tremor in his voice.

“Come on, Atlas,” Fiona said with a smirk. “Don’t be such a wimp.”

Rhys scoffed. “Not wanting to be around a death machine doesn’t make me a wimp. It makes me… self-preserving.”

Sasha was about to completely demolish his wimpy defense when he suddenly held his hand up, head cocked to the side as his ECHOeye glowed yellow.

“Hello?”

There was a pause, which the sisters assumed was the response of whoever was on the other end of the call.

“No, listen, I’m a bit...occupied right now. Can’t it- can’t it wait? Seriously?” Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers as Fiona and Sasha exchanged glances. “You asked Vaughn already? And Yvette?”

Rhys groaned at the squabbling of demands, sinking lower onto the couch as one of his strategists unloaded an entire week’s worth of problems directly into his brain. He mouthed an apology at the sisters as he stood, already pulling up his palm display to the spreadsheet of Atlas’ latest requisitions.

Fiona and Sasha could still hear every word from the tiny living room where they sat, considering their small home wasn’t exactly spacious. He was saying something about a line of shields, a topic so unimportant that, in Sasha’s opinion, he didn’t need to prioritize over hanging out with his friends. His friend and his girlfriend, her mind amended. It was only these stupid mushy feelings (and the knowledge that Atlas was basically Rhys’ poor, struggling child) that allowed her to look past the annoyance and instead wait for Rhys to finish his call.

Fiona soon lost interest in eavesdropping on Rhys’ decidedly boring business call and stood from her seat, adjusting her hat before heading into their shared bedroom. Sasha remained on the tattered sofa, watching Rhys spout statistics and go through a hilarious array of frustrated facial expressions that she just wanted to kiss right off his stupid face.

Oh god. Did she really just think that?

She tried to mentally chastise herself, but found that she couldn’t really be upset about it. She liked Rhys-- sue her. Sure, he sometimes acted… questionably, and was still a bit too bougie for her total comfort; but he was also a goofball and a genius and actually a complete sweetheart when he wanted to be. Which, funnily enough, happened to be whenever he was around her.

“Fine! I don’t care, I’ll sign it when I get back! Just tell R&D we need them ready to ship out by Monday, no excuses.”

Rhys let out a long sigh, clenching his cybernetic fist as he disconnected the call. “Sorry,” he said, offering an apologetic smile. “Assholes can’t do anything by themselves.”

“Seems like it,” Sasha replied, making room for him next to her.

He nodded his thanks as he slumped back into the seat, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

“How bad was it?” Sasha asked, leaning against his side.

“Hmm?”

“You’re messing with your hair,” Sasha said with a snort as Rhys blushed.

“I, uh,” Rhys faltered, attempting to force his hands back onto his lap. “I don’t want to talk about it. I didn’t come all the way out here for this shit.”

Sasha took the opportunity to slide her hand into his, and chuckled as a bolt of lightning had Rhys practically flinching right into her arms. He made to pull away, but Sasha held him while she placed a quick kiss on his lips. When she let go, his face was a brilliant red.

“That was, um,” he paused, mind reeling with the aftereffects of the kiss. “That was nice.”

Sasha laughed, the pure, angelic sound abruptly cut off by more thunder.

“Urgh,” Rhys said, shuddering. “I hate storms.”

Sasha stuck out her tongue at him. “Baby.”

“I’ll be yours if you’ll be mine,” Rhys shot back.

Even he couldn’t completely mask his surprise at turning an insult into such a smooth come-on-- which, of course, returned him to his image of being a complete doofus.

“Aww, would you look at Ross and Rachel?” Fiona’s smug voice carried over from where she stood leaning in the doorway, grinning at her own commentary.

Sasha launched herself off the couch towards her sister, immediately starting a counter argument complete with wild hand gestures. At one point she paused and looked at Rhys for his input, which no doubt would bolster her own standing that she was nothing like that flimsy pushover. However, Rhys just stared back in confusion.

“Rhys? Say something!” Sasha ordered, exasperated.

“This may be a bad time to ask, but… who are Ross and Rachel?”

Fiona’s laugh was practically a cackle, and the way she sunk to her knees in giggles didn’t appear to just be for the sake of theatrics. “Damn, Sasha,” she wheezed out. “You really know how to pick ‘em.”

“Shut up,” Sasha muttered, averting her gaze from her sister’s and stalking off towards the kitchen. “Rhys, do you like your skag meat cooked?” she asked after a moment.

“My what?” Rhys spluttered, confusion growing.

“Skag meat. For dinner. Keep up, Atlas,” Fiona said, her hysteria at Rhys’ lack of Friends knowledge finally winding down.

“Dinner? I, uh, I actually told Vaughn I’d eat with him tonight so--”

“Come on,” Sasha whined, putting on the largest pout she could muster. “You drove all the way out here.”

Rhys jumped as more thunder clapped above him, the anxiety propelling him towards the door. “Which is why I should, y’know, start heading back.”

“No way,” Fiona said, blocking his path. “Even I wouldn’t try driving through this storm. You’re staying.”

She must’ve noticed Rhys twitch, because she arched her brow in a challenge. “Think you can take me in a fight, string bean?”

He sighed after a moment, raising his hands in defeat. “Okay, you win. I’ll stay for dinner. And, for the record, I started going to the gym with Vaughn so if we did fight, I could maybe possibly win.”

“Whatever you say, Rhys,” Fiona said, clearly not believing him. Her chiding tone grated on him a bit, but he shrugged it off.

“Cook it well done, Sash,” he said, opting to answer Sasha’s question rather than rise to Fiona’s bait.

He pretended not to hear the sound of disgust Fiona made at his request, instead grabbing a chair at the tiny table. Sure, he and Fiona had gotten closer throughout their nightmarish vault hunting experiences; but that by no means made them friends. Their commonalities ended at “opened a creepy Eridian vault together”, and the fact that Rhys had started dating her sister wasn’t helping his case. It was fine, though; the less Fiona knew (or cared to know) the better, for his sake. If she hadn’t been so enthralled by all the loot in the vault, maybe she would’ve seen that… would’ve seen Rhys… would’ve known that he…

“You still there, Rhys?”

He glanced up to find Sasha staring at him, a platter of what he could only assume to be skag meat in her hands. “Sorry, I, uh, must’ve zoned out there for a second.”

Sasha rolled her eyes and slid the plate in front of him. “Eat up, it’ll make you feel better.”

Rhys was prepared to put on a game face and swallow as much of the probably inedible food as he could manage when he picked up his fork and found Sasha’s eyes on him. However, once the first bite entered his mouth, he found that acting wasn’t even necessary.

“Shit, Sasha,” Rhys said around the food still in his mouth. “This is so good.”

“Ha!” Sasha gloated, socking Fiona in the arm. “Told ya. Pay up, sista.”

“He’s totally faking it,” Fiona replied, taking a bite of her own food.

“No way! You’ve seen him try to act before. He looks like he’s dying!”

Rhys tried to laugh along with the bickering, but it was becoming increasingly hard to do so. It wasn’t so much his being the butt end of a joke that bothered him, but rather the knowledge that every second that he stayed with the sisters was another second too late.

“Well,” he said finally, halting a heated discussion over who the best Batman was as he scraped back his chair and stood. “Thanks for the food, but I really should- should really be going.”

“Are you insane?” Sasha asked incredulously. “It’s like the freaking apocalypse out there!”

Another bolt of lightning dashed through the sky as if to prove her point, and the wind was strong enough that the whirring sound of it was noticeable even from inside.

“You’re staying here tonight,” Sasha said, her tone unallowing of any protests.

He turned to Fiona for help, but she simply shrugged. “She’s got a point.”

Sasha took that as a victory, and began dashing around the house in search of blankets and pillows and old pajamas of Felix’s that probably wouldn’t fit Rhys right but were definitely better than nothing in her opinion. Rhys could only stare blankly at what was happening, barely even registering the pile of cloth being dumped in his lap.

“You can have the couch,” Fiona said, jerking her thumb at the piece of furniture over her shoulder. “And don’t you dare try anything funny.”

Rhys bit his lip, unsure of what to say. Fiona didn’t trust him. Duh. Fiona didn’t trust anyone. But somehow this felt more personal. Did she know? Oh god, she must’ve found out, she must’ve--

“Jeez, Fi, what’d you say to him? He looks like a deer in the headlights.” Sasha’s voice was comforting to him, calming his thoughts.

“Nothing you wouldn’t,” Fiona said, folding her arms over her chest and exiting the room.

Sasha sighed, nuzzling her head against Rhys’. “Just ignore her. She doesn’t even know what she’s saying half the time.”

That makes two of us, Rhys thought to himself.

“I think it’s time for me to hit the hay too, but if you need anything, I’ll be right next door.” She ended her sentence with a kiss, which sent Rhys’ heart pounding at a mile a minute.

He grinned against her mouth. “Yeah, right next to the she-devil.”

Sasha laughed, kissing Rhys once more before heading through the doorway Fiona had used moments before. He waited for the door to click shut before carefully setting up his makeshift bed, uneasy but trying to make the most of it. He’d definitely been through worse, that was for sure. He stared at the pile of ill-fitting clothes for a moment, half tempted to put them on because despite the storm, it was still pretty hot and stuffy indoors. He quickly thought better of it, instead just shedding his outer suit jacket and sliding under the blanket in his long-sleeved button down and dress pants. There was no need to go cause a whole mess over just one night; he’d take a shower once he returned back to Atlas and take his soon to be wrinkled clothes to the dry cleaner. It would be fine.

But as Rhys’ shitty track record of shitty luck could attest to, it probably, most definitely would not be fine.

"Oh ho ho, what do we have here?”

Rhys looked up at that familiar, snarky voice, his eyes meeting those of the blue hologram floating before him. “What do you want, Jack?” he said through gritted teeth.

“I want to know what all of this is, cupcake,” he said, his face morphing into an all too familiar glower.

“It’s nothing,” Rhys replied, attempting to shield his naked body. “Now shut up and let me shower, I feel disgusting.”

“No way, kitten. I thought we were past this whole lying thing, but it’s okay; I’ll just take a little peruse through your empty brain.”

Rhys sucked in a breath as he stood under the warm spray, keeping his voice low lest Scooter hear him. “Don’t. Please- please don’t Jack.”

Jack didn’t respond, instead appearing to be deep in thought. His head was cocked to the side, and it was only after a few minutes that his attention returned to the present.

“You little shit!” Jack yelled, getting all up in Rhys’ face and causing him to flinch at the outburst. “You ungrateful twerp!”

Rhys took an involuntary step backwards, suddenly wishing that he hadn’t taken up the mechanic’s offer to use his shower while he fixed up the rocket for them.

“I- I-”

Jack cut off Rhys’ rambling with an angry roar. “When were you gonna tell them? Tell me? Huh? That you’re one of them.”

He jabbed an accusing finger at the blue tattoos swirling around Rhys’ chest-- and not the ones that he’d voluntarily received. “I didn’t-- I’m not--”

“Fuck, you’re just like Angel,” he laughed dryly, humorlessly. “Pretending you don’t have an amazing gift, one that could change the whole fucking world.”

“I never wanted this!” Rhys spluttered. “I never wanted any of this!”

“Yeah, well,” Jack said, clenching his fist and causing an uncontrollable motion in Rhys’ cybernetic arm. “That’s too fucking bad, sweetheart.”

The arm latched around his throat before he could even process Jack’s words, fingers squeezing the air out of his lungs. “Jack, please,” he rasped, struggling in vain to pry the arm off of him with his flesh hand.

“Nah,” Jack hissed, his glare something straight out of a horror book. “I’m gonna make you pay for this, bitch.”

Rhys didn’t expect that word to break him, but he felt tears threatening to fall even as he tried to blink them away. Suddenly, he was back with Stacey, his face stinging in the aftermath of the slap she’d struck him with.

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare fucking do this to me.”

Rhys stared with wide eyes at his girlfriend, disbelieving as the storm raged outside their apartment. Stacey spoke again before he could even get a word in.

“Am I not good enough? Is that what it is?”

“No, it’s not--”

“Then why, Rachel? Why now, huh?”

Rhys clenched his teeth. “I told you not to call me that.”

Stacey laughed, crowding him against the wall. “Didn’t seem to mind it before when I was moaning out your name.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Rhys said, trying to wriggle away from her.

“So you lied to me?” Stacey asked angrily, waving the pamphlet for a gender reassignment clinic she’d found on Rhys’ nightstand in his face. “Were you just going to go through with this without telling me?”

Rhys didn’t know what to do, his entire body screaming at him to just run away.

“Answer me, asshole!” Stacey yelled, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and slamming him against the wall.

Rhys could feel that familiar energy starting to thrum through him, the one that he tried so desperately to control. His tattoos were starting to burn a bright blue, one that was visible even underneath his shirt.

“Fucking bitch,” Stacey growled.

The glow flashed through his body, and suddenly Stacey was flung onto the ground by an invisible energy. Rhys could feel it in his veins, feel the translucent wings emerging from his back, an electrical current that radiated from his entire being. He pretended not to see the hurt look on Stacey’s face as he threw open the door and rushed out into the night. The lightning flashed in front of him, and then he was no longer on Eden-5; he was back on Pandora, the metallic grip choking the life out of him as he stood in the wreckage of Helios, the rain drenching him from above.

“You’re worthless,” Jack wheezed, his form flickering. “That’s all you’ll ever be, Rhys.”

“Rhys!”

“Even your so-called friends know you’re better off dead, especially after all you’ve done is lie to them.”

“Rhys!”

Rhys’ vision was starting to go splotchy, and he barely managed to drag himself towards the piece of metal shrapnel a few steps away. He hooked his arm to it at the joint where cybernetics met flesh, and pulled. He screamed, although no sound came out, the pressure on his shoulder overwhelming.

“Rhys, wake up!”

Rhys jolted as he realized the pressure wasn’t only in his dream, panting as Sasha continued to shake his shoulders. He nearly fell off the couch in shock, which would have been embarrassing had he not been so distracted by the burning tearing through his body.

“I need to- need to go,” he said breathlessly, attempting to push past Sasha before she saw, before it would all be over.

She didn’t let up from where she sat on the couch next to him, and Rhys was too weak to shove her off with his energy focused on keeping his powers under control. They’d been acting up lately, after the vault. He shouldn’t have gone in, he should’ve known how the eridium would affect him, he should’ve--

“Rhys!”

He hadn’t realized Sasha was trying to talk to him again as he was so caught up in his own panic.

“Rhys, what are these?”

Rhys realized too late that his tattoos were shining through his dress shirt, and attempted to cover himself up with the blanket. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“That’s not nothing, Rhys,” she said softly, brushing a sweat-damp lock of hair from where it had fallen limply onto his forehead.

“I- Sasha please, I really need to go, I--”

“Rhys.” The way she said his name sounded almost pleading, yet gentle and kind in the way Stacey’s hadn’t, in the way Jack’s hadn’t; he quickly shook those thoughts away. “I need you to trust me.”

“I- I do trust you,” Rhys stammered.

“Then tell me what’s going on.” She didn’t sound angry, but Rhys probably wasn’t even awake enough to be able to tell if she was.

“It was just a nightmare,” Rhys said, averting his gaze. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Don’t be sorry, Rhys,” Sasha said, moving to caress his face but drawing back as he flinched.

She didn’t know exactly what had happened; one moment she was scavenging the kitchen for a late-night snack, and the next she’d heard Rhys’ trembling form starting to scream from where he was sprawled on the couch. It was a good thing Fiona was a heavy sleeper (she trusted her sister to be the one to wake her if there was an emergency), because her lack of sympathy definitely wouldn’t help in this situation.

She made a slow move to unbutton his shirt (why was he even sleeping in it?), but Rhys grabbed her wrist to stop her. “Please, don’t. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Sasha snorted. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t think you could hurt me if you tried.”

“I can’t- I can’t control it, Sash. Not anymore, not since the vault,” he said, voice cracking.

“It’s okay,” she said, regarding him cautiously. She wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but those tattoos-- that glowing pattern-- looked all too familiar. Was it even possible? “I just- I really like you, okay?” It was scary to admit, and she knew her cheeks must be completely flushed. “And I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.”

Rhys sucked in a breath, forcing himself to meet Sasha’s eyes if only to confirm her sincerity. He was met with a combination of concern and love that he’d only before seen from Vaughn (although his love was of the platonic nature), and he found himself slowly nodding. “Okay.”

He quietly undid his shirt buttons one by one, and if Sasha noticed the way his hands were shaking, she didn’t comment on it. He hadn’t shown anyone his chest in a long time, keeping himself constantly covered in case someone would react the way Jack did. No, don’t think about him, Rhys mentally reprimanded himself. Don’t think about either of them.

Once his shirt was unbuttoned, he slowly shrugged it off his shoulders so that his chest was bare. His tattoos were on full display, still glowing in response to the volatile emotions coursing through him. Sasha’s eyes widened, causing Rhys to grimace. Here came the rejection.

“Rhys, are you--”

“A siren?” he interrupted, just wanting to rip the bandaid off. “Unfortunately.”

“But how?” Sasha asked, and Rhys closed his eyes as he waited for the inevitable. “I thought only girls could be-- oh.”

He bit his lip; she’d noticed his scars.

“I didn’t realize-- that time that we--”

He knew she was referring to the one time they’d had sex when Fiona had been away on the job. He’d left his shirt on throughout the ordeal, and he supposed the condom he’d been wearing masked the fact that what was down there wasn’t… natural.

“I wasn’t born with it,” he said with a sigh. “I wasn’t born with any of it. Except for, y’know, the whole siren thing.”

Sasha was remaining oddly quiet, which was unsettling coming from the usually talkative woman.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” he said, guilt hitting him like the rain pelting the roof. “It’s just, well, the last time I told anyone other than Vaughn didn’t exactly go, um, well.”

Sasha nodded, as if processing his words. “Do you mind if I…?” She’d raised her hand, looking at Rhys’ chest curiously.

Rhys shrugged. “I guess. Just be careful. The tattoos can get hot.”

Gingerly, Sasha traced a finger along the tattoos adorning Rhys’ chest. She’d flinched at the heat at first, but soon adjusted to it. The glow of his tattoos illuminated the stark contrast between her darker skin and his paleness, and Rhys was so absorbed by this observation that he didn’t even realize he was shaking.

“It’s okay,” Sasha soothed, gently rubbing her palm in calming circles on his chest. Rhys sighed, his anxiety tampering until it suddenly reignited.

Sasha was touching his scars.

He waited for the disgust, the rejection, as her fingers ghosted over the two incisions below his pecs, her expression more curious than anything else. She must have noticed Rhys’ apprehension, because she offered him a smile.

“Has anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?”

Rhys blushed, and couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. “Usually the word they use is disgusting.”

He immediately bit his tongue, wishing he’d just kept his mouth shut for once in the goddamn life. Sasha frowned, gently cupping his face between her hands. Rather than giving him an answer, she slowly, tenderly, pressed her lips against his. Once Rhys got over the initial shock, he returned the gesture, his hand reaching to thread his fingers through Sasha’s braided hair.

“You’re perfect, Rhys,” she said between kisses. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”

Rhys’ entire being thrilled at the compliment, and it was only when Sasha hissed in pain at the heat that he realized he should probably bring himself back down from cloud nine. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, chuckling. “Guess I got a little too excited.”

Sasha snorted. “Dork.”

Rhys reattached his mouth to hers, kissing her with a contentedness he could feel in his bones. “Thank you,” he said, pressing his forehead against hers. “Would you- would you mind staying?”

Sasha chuckled, lightly pushing Rhys to move over so she could lay down next to him. She hummed happily as Rhys held her from behind, her back against his chest.

“Thank you,” he said again, the words sending a hot breath across her neck and a chill down her spine as he began to press kisses into her skin.

“Yeah, yeah,” she replied, trying to wave him off lest he find out how completely, nauseatingly enamored with him she was. “Get some sleep, idiot.”

Rhys kissed her neck one more time. “Gladly.”

#rhysha #rhysha fic #trans rhys #siren rhys #trans siren rhys #Rhys the Company man #sasha the kid sister #hurt/comfort #fiona the con artist #trash writing

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jeremystrele · 6 years

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7 Women Shaking Up The Australian Art Scene

Roundup

by Elle Murrell

Del Kathryn Barton at ‘The Highway is a Disco‘, her incredible solo show at NGV Australia, which ran November 2017 to March 2018.

My Frogs Are Blazing artwork by Del Kathryn Barton. Photo – courtesy of Del Kathryn Barton.

The Fever Is Here artwork by Del Kathryn Barton. Photo – courtesy of Del Kathryn Barton.

Del Kathryn Barton

Mid-May 2018 saw a historic moment for Australian Art. Del Kathryn Barton’s artwork Of Pollen (2013) saw her bust through the glass ceiling, into what has historically been an exclusive boy’s club. Changing hands for $378,000, this six-figure sale propelled Del into the elite echelon of Australia’s top 10-selling living Australian artists.

Last year, the Sydney-based painter exhibited The Highway Is A Disco at NGV’s Ian Potter Centre (from November 2017 to March 2018), and also unveiled a commercial show in New York, before focussing on art films. Nevertheless, the highlight for Del has simply been ‘surviving while being a working Mum!’.

This year, she is looking forward to a solo show in Albertz Benda in New York City in February, followed by another solo exhibition in Sydney at Roslyn Oxley 9 Gallery alongside a group show in London, both in October. She’ll also be making films and caring ‘more for [her] mental health!’.

‘It has never been MORE meaningful for me to be an Australian female creative. Especially in the context of showing more internationally. I am passionate about growing our undernourished-cultural-pride across all creative sectors!’ Del explains. ‘The only way I can do this is just… f*cking heads-down and keep doing the best work that I can, day, after day, after day!’.

For young women aspiring to follow in her colossal footsteps, Del’s advice is simple: ‘give everything to the work, let the work sustain you. If you can live without making the work, live without it!’

Melbourne-based artist Esther Stewart. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

Esther works on her exhibition for Melbourne Art Fair 2018. Photo – Caitlin Mills.

Esther exhibited with at Sarah Cottier Gallery at the 2018 Melbourne Art Fair. – Caitlin Mills.

Esther Stewart

After a two-year hiatus, Melbourne Art Fair returned as the flagship event of the 2018 Melbourne Art Week. The most buzzing stand was that of Sarah Cottier Gallery, exhibiting a solo exhibition of new work by Esther Stewart.

Focussing not only on her canvases but the experience of the entire booth, Esther designed an innovative and extremely Instagram-able space, featuring structures that provided multiple discrete displays for complicated paintings and textile works. Among the high calibre of Australian artists represented, Esther and Sarah Cottier Gallery took out the inaugural YarraBend Stand Prize.

With her distinctive geometric works bordering on optical art, the VCA-trained creative has established herself as one of Australia’s most collectable and celebrated young contemporary artists. (We can’t say we didn’t call it early!)

Next up, Esther will unveil new work at Gertrude Contemporary’s GlassHouse on March 7th. We can’t wait to see how her architectural considerations, from paintings to space design, come together at this location. Along with countless others exhibition-goers, we will again be lining up for a closer look!

Kaylene Whisky, represented by Iwantja Arts and a member of the APY Art Centre Collective. Photo – courtesy of APY Art Centre Collective.

Wonder Woman from Kaylene’s series: Seven Sistas (2018) Acrylic on Linen, 51 x 76cm. Photo – courtesy of the artist and Iwantja Arts.

Dolly Parton from Kaylene’s series: Seven Sistas (2018) Acrylic on Linen, 51 x 76cm. Photo – Courtesy of the artist and Iwantja Arts.

Kaylene’s Sulman-Prize-Winning artwork, Kaylene TV (2018), acrylic on Linen, 76 x 101cm. Photo – Courtesy of the artist and Iwantja Arts.

Kaylene Whisky

Represented by Iwantja Arts and a member of APY Art Centre Collective, Kaylene Whisky took out the 2018 Sulman Art Prize for her imaginative and empowering portrayal of two strong kungkas (women): Dolly Barton and Cher in a lounge room, entitled ‘Kaylene TV’. This bright, boisterous scene instilled joy, and opened minds to the vast, diverse possibilities of Australian Indigenous art.

In the work, Cher is seen singing a song on a microphone, ‘having a great time because her boots have silver spurs and are really tall above her knees’, while Dolly, in pink overalls with pockets, has arrived after skateboarding at the shops. ‘She must have bought that Christmas present for Cher because they are good friends, they like to sing together!’ details Kaylene, whose TV music program is playing in the background, beside ‘a big mingkulpa (local native tobacco) plant growing underneath the good boomerangs’.

Along with a prize of $40,000, winning this prestigious accolade has given Kaylene’s art wide exposure. ‘It was a huge surprise to win and to have all these other artists wanting to meet me and say, “Well done Kaylene!”, she recalls.

Looking ahead, the artist is proud and excited to be included in The National at the MCA this year, alongside many other great Australian artists.‘Where I live in Indulkana Community on the APY Lands there are a lot of strong women artists,’ Kaylene tells. ‘We all support each other, sometimes the older ladies will look at my paintings and say ‘Kutjupa Way! Wiru!’ (‘Wow, that’s something different! That’s great!’). I think that’s important: being yourself and finding your own way with art.

Installation view of Patricia Piccinini’s exhibition Through Love at Tarrawarra Museum of Art. Kindred displayed alongside works by Australian modernist Joy Hester. Photo – courtesy of Patricia Piccinini.

Patricia in her Collingwood studio. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

With artwork, Kindred, in progress. Photo – Amelia Stanwix for The Design Files.

The Skywhale in flight. Photo – courtesy of Patricia Piccinini.

Patricia Piccinini

One of the most talked about Australian artworks, Patricia Piccinini‘s The Skywhale (2013), flew again late last year! It took to the air to coincide with the artist’s current Tarrawarra Museum of Art exhibition, Through Love, alongside one of her heroes, Australian modernist Joy Hester. This show, on until March, follows the staging of the biggest show Patricia has ever unveiled: the immersive ‘Curious Affection’ at Brisbane’s QAGOMA. Prior to that, there was her key inclusion in The National Gallery of Australia’s mind-boggling blockbuster, Hyper Real, along with other major art institutions and fairs, from the United States and Austria to Turkey and New Zealand.

This year will see the industrious artist tread new ground once more, with her first major solo museum show in Scandinavia at Arken Museum, Copenhagen, before unveiling new work at Cairns Art Gallery, which will address the local ecology and climate change.

With her life-like sculptures of hybrid forms, often fusing together human and animal characteristics to examine the increasingly blurred boundary between the artificial and natural worlds, Patricia sees her practice as ‘definitely feminist and very much also female’. ‘This is more a reflection of what I’m interested in, rather than my professional status as a woman, which, to be honest, is not something I think about much,’ she clarifies. ‘However, the statistics tell us that there is still a distance to go on an institutional level. As a young artist, I guess you need to have one eye on that, but you can’t be blinded by it’. Patricia stresses having the conviction to stay focused on your personal artistic goals and work towards them. ‘Ultimately, it’s all about the work, and working, and it always has been’.

Endangered 3 by Tamara Dean. Photo – Tamara Dean.

Endangered 7 by Tamara Dean. Photo – Tamara Dean.

Photographic artist Tamara Dean.

Elephant Ear (Alocasia odora) in Autumn. Photo – Tamara Dean.

Tamara Dean

Tamara is one of an increasing number of young creatives exploring critical social and environmental concerns through art.

Last year brought about life-changing career highlights for the Sydney-based photographic artist. Foremost, a trip to Heron Island with The Climate Council led her to embark on an exciting ongoing series, Endangered. Prior to this, Tamara was selected by curator Erica Green to create two new major works – the photographic series In Our Nature and multi-sensory installation Stream of Consciousness – for the 2018 Adelaide Biennial of Australian Art.

This year she will venture to Illaroo’s Bundanon, the cultural and environmental asset gifted by Arthur and Yvonne Boyd, for an artist residency in April, before exhibiting Endangered at Martin Browne Contemporary in August.

For Tamara, talking about being a women artist in a male-dominated occupation is a complicated subject. ‘I have had to work harder than many of my male contemporaries. But I am happy with where I’m at in my career and can see a long and inspiring journey ahead,’ she tells. ‘I would advise other female artists that tenacity and perseverance pay off.’

Artist Yvette Coppersmith. Photo – Annette O’Brien for The Design Files.

Yvette Coppersmith Self-portrait with red and ochre (2018). Photo – courtesy of Yvette Coppersmith.

Yvette’s Self-portrait after George Lambert saw her take home The Archibald Prize last year. Photo – courtesy of Yvette Coppersmith.

The Melbourne-based artist in her studio. Photo – Annette O’Brien for The Design Files.

Yvette Coppersmith

Last year, Melbourne-based artist Yvette Coppersmith took out Australia’s most prestigious portrait painting award, The Archibald Prize. From 793 entries, her ‘Self portrait after George Lambert’ saw her take home the $100,000 accolade.

In her acceptance speech, the Melbourne-based creative thanked other artists and the community for their support, identifying that ‘the most important things in the art world are the conversations you have with other artists’.

As the 10th female prize winner (in the 97 years that the award has run) Yvette recognises she is now in a privileged position. She praises The Countess Report, a brilliant research project counting gender representation during 2014 in the Australian visual arts sector, which identifies that though the pool of Australian artists comprises a lot more women than men, there are many more men showing in our galleries and museums. The Report advocates for ongoing research and education on the topic, and compels ‘stakeholders in the Australian visual art sector [to] promote and advocate for gender equality in their management activities, operations, and programming’.

Throughout her career, Yvette has been fortunate to paint some brilliant, pioneering women: the late Justice Rosemary Balmford, who was the first female judge appointed to the Supreme Court of Victoria; Emeritus Professor Gillian Triggs, who was President of the Australian Human Rights Commission from 2012 to 2017; and Emeritus Professor Anne Green, who was the first woman PhD candidate and first head of the Department of Astrophysics at the University of Sydney (this artwork will be unveiled this year).

After what feels like an ‘overshare’ of herself and her work in the wake of the Archibald win, Yvette is keen to become more fully engaged in her practice and find time for herself in 2019. She will take up a residency through Byron School of Art later in the year, as well as run a series of drawing sessions at NGV, and partake in the not-to-be-missed group show, Fem-Affinity, at Arts Projects Australia in June.

‘Any artist in Australia aspires to have the means to make work and pay the bills, simultaneously,’ she concludes. ‘All I can advise is that it takes persistence, resilience, and development of other areas to support one’s practice for the lean times’.

Art photographer and activist Leila Jeffreys pictured with Ivy. Photo – Bo Wong.

Rainbow Bee-eater from Leila’s 2018 exhibition at Taronga Zoo. ‘Leila’s art will help connect or reconnect our zoo guests with birds and create advocates for their conservation,’ said Elle Bombonato of Taronga Zoo. Photo – Leila Jeffreys.Photo – Leila Jeffreys.

Leila’s art as part of a display at Bergdorf Goodman department store in New York City. Photo – courtesy of Leila Jeffreys.

Photo – Leila Jeffreys.

Leila Jeffreys

Another lens-lady worthy of highlighting, and one who we have followed enthusiastically over the years is Sydney-based Leila Jeffreys. From introducing us to the incredible story of Penguin Bloom (see Leila photographing Penguin below) to highlighting endangered bird species through the astounding exhibitions and books she pours her heart into, Leila has become an unofficial poster girl for native Australian bird life.

While bird-art seems to be in abundance, from the nationalistic to replica decorative and kitsch illustrations… Leila’s meticulously staged portraits offer something more. They command your attention for their tremendously beautiful detail, and offer a powerful conservation message, bringing us eye-to-eye with these flighty, feathered subjects, at human scale.

In October last year, Leila held her first exhibition outside of Australia, Ornithurae, at Olsen Gruin Gallery in New York City. It garnered rave reviews, and will see Leila return for another show in November. This body of work will first go on show at Olsen Gallery in Sydney in October, marking her first major showcase in Australia in five years.

‘I will never forget that feeling, after years of being unimpressed with my photography, capturing my first bird portrait. It was an excitement that is burnt into my memory,’ reflects Leila. Surrounded by a wonderful community of both female and male artists at her galleries, Leila feels supported, with everyone treating each other with respect, ‘just how it should be’.

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