by Dan Glover, Jess van Heerden, Nalinie See & Sam Beard.

For anyone who’s been through an Australian art school in the last thirty years, Hatched needs little introduction. It remains the only annual exhibition to present a selection of the works of graduates from across Australia's art schools. Since 1992, the output of these art schools have culminated at the Perth Institute of Contemporary Art, making the show a prime opportunity to gain insights into trends, tendencies, trappings, and trailblazers. In this spirit, four critics set about selecting works that each demonstrate qualities of interest. Hatched Curatorial Fellow, Brent Harrison, has accomplished a difficult task in his last year in the role—to present a disparate and varied selection of work cohesively. It’s nice to see PICA so fully utilised, yet uncluttered. But, what do the critics think?

In an exhibition filled with hits and misses, highs and real lows, the four paintings by Edie Duffy emerge as a highlight. Take, for instance, the meticulous, captivating banality of Duffy’s Tischlampe. The painting depicts a ceramic lamp surrounded by the familiar clutter of home storage; the image pervaded by a monochromatic aura. But the subject of the painting isn’t really the lamp, nor the mismatched dining chairs that frame it. Instead, the subject is a reference photo, pulled from eBay’s endless stream of sale listings. Like a laser printer, Duffy fuses the marks of her brush into a unified image that reproduces the two-dimensionality of these ad hoc digital photographs. But with precisely rendered tears, cracks, scratches and fingerprints upon the surfaces within the scene, the image now emphasises the traces of a life surrounded by these objects. It is impossible to avoid reflecting on the all-consuming digital realm which surrounds us, its invisible signals constantly flying above, behind and through our bodies at all times. In this online sphere the bodies and memories of friends, family, and strangers coalesce into flat pages that interrupt the meme chain of 2am doomscrolls—a quest for excitement and giggles. The internet has become a merciless being who attempts to strip the world of all sense of reality. But Duffy’s tender renderings of random images return these meaningless objects to reality. She reminds us of the intricacies of our world, encouraging us to find the beauty in the ordinary and dull.
        — Dan Glover

At its simplest, Thomas Hannah’s diptych pairs the “you know you shoulds” with the “or I could justs” that compete (usually not valiantly) during periods of low mood, emotional struggle, or turbulent mental health. But before I proceed, and slightly overshare in the name of mediocre art writing, let’s pause on the first. Simple, the work certainly is. Seven Type written instructions are shadowed by their frantic, tangerine texta shadows below—an oversized scrawl that matches the handwriting of a boy who mailed me a love letter and ghosted me within the fortnight. A total of 14 low-quality A3s pinned to the wall. Yet there is no hesitance in my embrace of these painfully self-aware pages. Even as someone who didn’t make the grade for this very exhibition, I cannot muster any traces of bitterness or contempt. Responsible for this, is the unshakable sense that these messages were extracted, rather than constructed. It is as if Hannah has pulled this text directly from my reluctant grasp, and I am lighter for it. A Gen Z shaped readymade. There is something deliciously laughable about Hannah’s brand of notes app nihilism. A well traversed loop (starting and ending with identical sets of ‘remember’ and ‘forget’) is no longer an isolating, personal failure. Hannah’s work is a love letter to the post-post irony of the chronically contactable, who will occasionally ignore your messages for ten to fifteen business days. 
        —Jess van Heerden

Katey Smoker’s works are an intriguing encounter within Hatched’s overwhelmingly lack-lustre second floor display—marked by a mismatched bag of narratives and executions that perhaps didn’t quite fit the sombre vibe of the first-floor gallery. Here Smoker’s I’ve never been one to fit into a box and Subconsciously drawn to defiance disrupt the ground I tread on. Each work is constructed from dried—yet visually fluid—sheets of house paint as an act of meditation upon her childhood desire for domestic stability. Yet, my attempts to connect with the works are ultimately eclipsed by a sad, limp rope that tries to protect the vulnerable paintings. It feels as if the viewer and the work are not capable of a meaningful engagement under the over-watchful eyes of PICA. Instead, a forcefield of threads meekly commands “You shall not pass!” Granted, PICA has since removed the rope—what caused them to trust those rowdy, eastern-states visitors we’ll never know. But what remains now are paintings that look like rugs, awkwardly placed in a gallery that appears more like an old arts classroom, filled with a hodgepodge of student experiments, fuckups, and triumphs. The floors remind me of those classrooms too, especially when the revered wooden floorboards of the first-floor gallery offer themselves as a far greater canvas for Smoker’s disruptions. Sturdy and shiny, the varnished wood reminds me of time spent in the homes of friends and family, analogising itself as that stable environment for which Smoker’s inner child yearns. Although, the ceramics of Lily Trnovsky were similarly roped off down here, so perhaps PICA didn’t want their lack of faith in the brain-rotted hoi polloi to be too obvious.
        —Dan Glover

Thomas Hannah’s digital print series, Can I just say something is raw and unfiltered, however, it lacks the refinement and creativity one would expect from a national graduate exhibition. Am I missing something, or is there more to this piece than meets the eye? While Hannah attempts to navigate the dissonance between well-intended advice and the demoralisation felt by individuals struggling with mental health, the execution of the work falls flat. In constructive suggestions like ‘be grateful’ and the defiant response of ‘hide from loved ones and the world’ there is a tension that is inadequately depicted. Although the simplicity of his materials, when paired with the provided context, offers an authentic sensibility towards mental health challenges, it also raises the question: could more have been done? The typed text contrasted with the scrawl of orange texta conjures images of a last-minute brainstorm for an assignment with a looming deadline. Frankly, Hannah’s work comes across as amateurish and tacky, more like a draft than a finished piece. I find it hard to swallow that this represents the gold standard of work to which Fine Art students ought to aspire. Seemingly, Thomas Hannah’s work required little to no effort to produce. Where is the “extent of inventiveness” and the “level of appropriate technical skill” that lecturers relentlessly demand? In the end, the 14-piece confessional raised more doubts than it did admiration for what’s expected at this level of artistic achievement.
        —Nalinie See

Laura Ward’s intoxicating installation is pure betrayal. Floating forms of delicately draped lace, billowing satin, and intricate beadwork compel the viewer toward them with tantalising grace. But the promise of a peaceful haven withers upon closer acquaintance. We are disrupted from our gossamer daydreams and left to deal with the stuff that we would rather avoid. The stuff that we are made of: flesh, bone, pore, skin, scab, all so beautifully rendered that they dare us to look on. PICA serves as an accomplice. The dark room installation and staggered hang create a labyrinth that viewers must weave through, falling deeper and deeper into the clutches of Ward’s shadowed, glittering world. Then, suddenly, it’s too late! The final blow lands in the ambiguous rhythms spewed sporadically from an out-of-sight speaker—now behind me, hedging me in. These unfamiliar twinkling sounds were only a guise for inconsistent choruses of bodily functions. The cruellest of tricks!
        —Jess van Heerden

‘There’s nowhere I’d rather be’ in Hatched than sitting in front of Katie McGuinness’ I like long walks on Paramatta Road, a spellbinding short film that takes viewers into the hidden gems of New South Wales’ original east-west artery. McGuinness’ keen eye snags details of eclectic rundown shops along the bitumen stretch that only a seasoned traveller could spy. This isn’t some fly-by-night film school project, but the artful output of impassioned remembering—of time spent loitering, wandering, and killing time with eyes on the street. Vividly shot, it exudes the heat of the highway and the humour to be found amongst the strangeness of rundown businesses, out of time and out of place with contemporary life. In this way, the work captures the very nature of contemporary suburban life—its out-of-timeness—, the anachronisms banished to decay in the outer suburbs, discarded from the supercharged economy of the inner city. One can only hope that McGuinness’s impressive film marks the first in a line of great work to come.
        —Sam Beard

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Artwork credits:

1. Kate McGuinness, I like long walks on Parramatta Road, 2023, Hatched: National Graduate Show 2024, installation view, Perth Institute of Contemporary Arts (PICA), 2024. Photo: Dan McCabe.

2. Vedika Rampal, Pilgrimage II, 2023, Hatched: National Graduates Show 2024, installation view, Perth Institute of Contemporary Arts (PICA), 2024. Photo: Dan McCabe.

3. Hatched: National Graduate Show 2024, installation view, Perth Institute of Contemporary Arts (PICA), 2024. Photo Dan McCabe.

4. Kate McGuinness, I like long walks on Parramatta Road, 2023, Hatched: National Graduate Show 2024, installation view, Perth Institute of Contemporary Arts (PICA), 2024. Photo: Dan McCabe.

5. Hatched: National Graduate Show 2024, installation view, Perth Institute of Contemporary Arts (PICA), 2024. Photo Dan McCabe.

6. Vedika Rampal, Pilgrimage II, 2023, Hatched: National Graduates Show 2024, installation view, Perth Institute of Contemporary Arts (PICA), 2024. Photo: Dan McCabe.