It’s a late Sunday afternoon, I make my way through Battersea Park in autumn twilight, and a forgiving breeze spurs me on towards rays of gentle sunset. I arrive at Pump House Gallery with the common relief of finding something unfamiliar.
Annie and two other visitors stand adjacent to the door. I am caught in her eye view as I make my way towards the entrance. Her lingering gaze draws an awkward ‘hello’ from me, and I hear my name stumble out of my mouth by way of introduction. Once inside, I am immediately assaulted by the myriad of ways in which the interaction could’ve gone better, and how I should watch another YouTube tutorial on networking and meeting new people, lol. I spent the rest of the time seized by her easy manner, her generous smile, and her eruptious laughter. (‘eruptious’ is only defined in Urban Dictionary, use with caution’).
The talk starts swiftly afterward on the ground floor of the gallery. I have come to see the art, to hear Annie speak about her process but I am also curious about Tabish Khan. The pair are as unpretentious as they come. Tabish, with a standing reputation for championing emerging artists, loosely guides the conversion and our gathering through the 3-story gallery. His conversational tone projects our focus onto the works and artist. The evening is a moment of collective improvisation, unrehearsed, stripped down.
Curator, Francesca Dobbe, completes the hosting trio. She takes us through her choices and journey with the pieces, oscillating between thick inspiration and the practical influences of a given space. She is unimposing, her hands aiding her speech, drawing out her thoughts before us.
A marble-until-you-touch-it sculpture sits heavy on the floor. When Annie asks a visitor to touch the piece, Seed Pod rocks freely, revealing its deception. The marble-like work is carved from firm foam and coated with resin to give the glamour of trophy material. It is an introduction to Annie’s imaginative guile to which she warns – ‘nothing is quite as it seems’.
A similar technique of material disguise is seen on the second floor with the piece Predator 1. A seemingly thorn-edged, robust female plant turns soft and squishy to the touch. It takes a second for all our minds to connect what we see to what we feel, and swoon in chorus. Predator 1 bears the allure or danger of clitoral features, an ode to ecofeminism.
The Triffids exhibition explores the boundaries between human and non-human forms, imagining a post-apocalyptic takeover by mutant plant life. It invites us to decentre human life and see ourselves as co-inhabitants within the earthly and universal ecosystem.
Annie’s, like that of her plant subjects, is a story of emergence and the cultivation of a thriving career in the last 4 years. She explains that when creating, her vision is so clear that she is often certain of the result. What excites her is the surprises that come with the process and being able to improvise and find new ways to express an idea. A note of playfulness strengthens her work, allowing it to exist in its own right, independent of showmanship.
If you ever have the chance to, her world is a place worth walking into.
Note to self: The exhibition ties well into my personal theme of play and curiosity as tools for finding creative avenues. I am inspired to think of how my work can hold opposing ideas/sensations/experiences while maintaining aesthetic harmony.
Triffids
Artist: Annie Travorah. Curator: Francesca Dobbe. Advisor: Kensu Oteng
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