Sarah Rudledge

Nicolás Dumit Estévez Raful Espejo Ovalles Morel: During these conversations I always like to highlight connections and how networks of support within the arts are formed. We met through Sean Lowry, who I met through Irina Danilova, who I met through Franklin Furnace… This is to bring to the forefront that everything and everyone is interconnected and to counter the celebration of individualism, which is pretty much part of the art industry. No question so far. The conversation is formally open and you can enter the dialogue in any way you wish.

Sarah Rudledge: Thank you, Nicolás. It’s a pleasure to be in conversation with you! I am talking with you from Narrm/Melbourne, Australia on the unceded lands of the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin nation. Thank you for remembering the good people who connect us and bring us into each other’s orbit. And for shining the light on the interconnectedness of all beings and things, let’s begin!  

NDEREOM: You mention the focus on rituals in your work. Where do you trace this practice to, personally, and how do your rituals unfold in a place such as Australia where, like in the US, the conversation on occupied, unceded, or stolen territory is so relevant and weighs so heavily?

SR: What a wonderful place to begin; thank you, Nicolás. When I think of the importance of ritual to my practice, two experiences from my childhood come dancing and shimmying up before me—being outdoors and dressing up. From a young age, my sense of being outside was about communing with and paying careful attention to the natural world around me. From our ramshackle garden, the lone sheep that lived next door and further afield, over the back fence where the creek ran beneath giant old river red gums—there was so much to call in on and learn from. I found it was important and enlivening to go and converse with everything often. I think of these little repeated pilgrimages—to greet, play and gather knowledge—as my first rituals. I hold this time in my memory like a beautiful, messy map of great spiritual importance from my six-year-old self.

At the same time, I had this magical parallel experience of having clothing made for me by my mother. In the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, it was cheaper to make clothes than to buy them, especially with four children. The intimate process of repeatedly trying on a garment before my mum was perhaps my earliest embodied experience of the transformative power of clothing. Undressing before her, being carefully helped into the pinned fabric, then gently turned around under her gaze, waiting for the frown to relax once she’d made a few neat adjustments and finally being released until the next fitting. The sweetness of that suspended maternal moment is perhaps why I find such comfort in handmade or second-hand clothing. I also loved the quiet action of physically and emotionally ‘trying on’ another aspect of who I might be.

Now, I am well into my forties. These two early experiences continue to guide and illuminate my approach to rituals in my art-making, which I see we get to talk about some more in a moment. To the second part of your question, though.

Yes, as a nation, we have yet to reconcile our violent colonial past. This continues in the present, an unhealed wound that runs across every part of daily life. I am a white, first-generation Australian on my father’s side and third-generation on my mother’s side; my heritage is English and Welsh, respectively. That makes me an uninvited visitor who has benefitted from the dispossession of these lands, yet this is the place I call home. Within this context, my rituals tend to unfold slowly. Devising repeated actions and durational performances gives me the time and space to listen, observe, sit with the discomfort and comfort of being here, and remember the interconnectedness of all beings and non-beings. Doing this work—of being curious about how to relate well with the world—on stolen land shakes me up. As it should. Years ago, I thought I would stop making art—which in itself is an action of giving up and turning away from the situation. Now, I see that practising these rituals, which require attentiveness, repeatedly reminds me of exactly where I am and my responsibility to become a better ally for First Nations people.

Tangibly, there’s a lot of positive collective grass-roots action happening here and now in Australia. I love participating in this, and it informs my art practice. I am learning from a couple of Indigenous-led organisations: Clothing the Gaps and Pay the Rent. These are two of many. If you have the chance, I highly recommend the documentary series, The Australian Wars, by filmmaker Rachel Perkins. Gosh, it’s a vital piece of the education I never had. I watched it last year at the Araluen Arts Centre as part of the annual Parrtjima Festival in Mparntwe/Alice Springs, Northern Territory (also a fantastic experience for when you come to Australia!)

Lastly and joyously, I recently began working at a beautiful public library in Melbourne called narrm ngarrgu. It is like a gallery with books! Maree Clarke, a Mutti Mutti/Yorta Yorta and Wemba Wemba/Boon Wurrung artist has worked collaboratively to create a space that shares stories of Country and the impact of colonisation across the library's three floors. It’s incredible. I hope to spend years there learning, listening and welcoming people to narrm ngarrgu.

NDEREOM: With repair in mind, I would like to talk about Kicking the Bucket, or perhaps I should say, I would like for you to discuss this action, which you undertook at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, which hit Australia so hard, emotionally–with the several lockdowns that you went through. What did this action teach you and how are you keeping this learning alive?

SR: Oh my word, the COVID-19 restrictions here in Australia were tough! Particularly in Melbourne, can you believe we spent 262 days in various stages of ‘hard’ lockdown? We hold the unenviable title of ‘The world’s most locked-down city’. I counted myself lucky. I had my husband, a garden and the most gorgeous street cat for company—but still, I was struggling with social isolation and maintaining a sense of purpose. About halfway through the lockdowns, I began the daily ritual of kicking a green plastic bucket across my backyard and repairing it with red tape. The performance became a punctuation point in my day—something I had to attend to. Documenting the performance through the camera became a way to reimagine this time.

It is interesting for me to reflect on what the action of repair taught me. Strangely, and I was not alone here, it took me a long time to want to leave the house after the restrictions were lifted. For one, I wasn’t sure how to have an extended in-person conversation with another human—how to start, where to end, what to say, how to look at one another or touch each other. It felt as though I’d lost the language of my body in conversation. This is where my learning from the repair work helped. I came to know that repair happens in relation—not in isolation—whether that’s in relation with a broken bucket or a human, it doesn’t matter. And so, post-COVID lockdowns, I began slowly repairing all sorts of kinships—venturing out to visit friends, family, trees, rocks, rivers, you name it. On an emotional level, I learnt that to re-pair something is to work to bring the parts back together again. To meet again, familiar but changed. Then, be present with one another and, with the current conditions, find a way to move gently forward without seeking to return to some previously imagined ideal.

As I mentioned earlier, alongside my art practice, I now work in a public library, in a makerspace specifically, where people come to use all sorts of creative technology (3D printers, sewing machines, embroidery machines, soldering irons, etc) to make new creations and repair the things they value. I love the repair work. I love it when someone brings in a well-loved piece of clothing, and we sit together and work out how they might begin the mend. This practice of repair has become deeply embedded in my life and my relationships. It brings me a great sense of joy and tenderness.

NDEREOM: Talking about relationships, I always like to shed light on my mentors, teachers and elders, and there is a great deal of lip service that goes on when many institutions and artists use these currently overused terms just to be trendy. I can’t hear the word ancestor one more time! Now, to put these words into practice is a whole different animal (human or non-human). You presented an action for Linda Mary Montano’s 80th birthday at Franklin Furnace. Linda has been is a dear friend, teacher and mentor of mine of 20 years. Your action for her gathering had to do with planting seeds. With your consent, I would like to refresh this in my mind and keep the herstory of this performance alive. 

SR: Yes, let’s relive this wonderful experience together for Linda. I might start by saying I first encountered Linda Mary Montano’s art practice and performance works in a book when I was a young thing at art school. Discovering her work was like, oh… oh! Life can be art; art can be life! This discovery of what constituted art and life reorientated my practice—the seed was planted. Thank you, Linda! When your invitation to create a performance for Linda’s 80th birthday celebration at Franklin Furnace arrived, I thought, this is very special. What can I give that celebrates Linda’s art and life? A Celebratory Seeding Event was a live-streamed performance for Linda’s birthday gathering. From my backyard in Melbourne, I planted 80 herb, flower and vegetable seeds in brightly coloured pots. The seeds were collected from local community gardens and my vegetable patch. As a birthday gift, the performance celebrated the special communal, life-affirming, future-hopeful action of planting seeds. Over the following weeks, I nurtured the seedlings until they were strong enough to be given away to people in the local community. Tending to the plants, I imagined all the creative ideas and learnings Linda must have seeded in people’s hearts and minds with her practice over the years. And that the pulse of those ideas continued to be shared, cherished and birthed in different ways—what a beautiful dispersal of creative energy.

Thank you for inviting me to perform with the Interior Beauty Salon artists. It is an honour to revisit this action with you, Nicolás.

NDEREOM: Gosh! You have me laughing with your 28 Days in Other People’s Clothing. I am glad that you articulated this work into the world. Many decades ago, I had an idea for a very similar action but never implemented it. You did it and it is great. I would like to hear you speak from an introspectively perspective about this experience? And can we do a collaboration for which we mail each other a box of clothing for 28 days and wear them in Melbourne and the South Bronx respectively? I believe in the flow and expansion of ideas and you got me going this time!

SR: I’m glad this work made you laugh! I made 28 Days in Other People’s Clothing ten years ago, in 2014. It brings me great joy to circle back to it with you now. And, of course, I love your idea to collaborate and expand these ideas—it’s time.

As with much of my practice, this work began with paying attention to the happenings in my daily routine. At the time, this was my tram ride in and out of the city, where I got to sit with people and quietly observe. I became so curious about how people dressed for the day. How did they decide who they would be on any given day? How much choice did they have? How did their clothing make them feel? And then, who would I be in that person’s jacket, her hat, those fabulous shoes? What would it be like to give up my own clothing?

To begin, I literally and physically gave up my clothing by installing everything I owned as a suspended soft sculpture outside my studio. I was studying at the Victorian College of the Arts in Melbourne at the time. I put the word out that I was looking for clothing donations—I began the first day wearing my husband’s clothing (argh, we are not the same shoe size) and then moved on to whatever clothing people placed in the garbage outside my studio.

Now, I can look back and laugh. But those 28 days were tough! I very much felt like I was out of my skin, exposed, and constantly trying to make myself again, to locate myself, through these clothes that weren’t mine. Sometimes, the clothes were ill-fitting or at the point of breaking—one day, the soles of my donated shoes came off while I was wearing them! I glued, taped and stitched items back together. While I was grateful for the donations, I felt so humble in these clothes, at times ashamed, and suddenly acutely aware of how fortunate I was to choose what I wore every day. My own clothing offered me comfort, self-expression, safety and social acceptance. I found it difficult to dress appropriately for work meetings or more formal occasions in the donated clothing. I often had to resist providing a disclaimer or excuse for my appearance. While I felt uncomfortable most of the time, I was also wholly determined to learn, through this embodied performance, why clothing was so important to my life. The duration of the performance gave me time to reaffirm and remember how much I cherish the intimacy, agency and fluidity of being able to choose and shape what I wear and how I appear in the world. It was a transformative experience. I hope this hasn’t put you off, Nicolás! I am so excited to take this creative journey together; when can we start?

NDEREOM: I need to find some ground before I do this! I am laughing. For some reason I like to wear other people’s clothing. I used to kind of do this without them knowing. That was a while back when I was 20 or so. I remember wearing my stepfather’s pajamas top. It was blue and white and it looked like something out of the psychedelic era. You and I would have to arrange how to ship things from the Americas to Australia.

I was on my way to Melbourne several times. The pandemic arrived and the trip got canceled. The idea was to bring to Melbourne As Far as the Heart Can See, the exhibition that I curated with Elizabeth Foundation Project Space. I am planting the seed again by talking about it. Almost everything that I envision somehow materializes. I have the feeling that I will be walking through Australia sooner or later. Who are your performance art kin there? I started to learn about the community when we used to hold our regular Zoom meetings.

SR: I’m so glad you’re planting the seed for this beautiful project to come to Australia. Since our initial Zoom meetings and all that’s happened since, I have remained quietly confident that As Far as the Heart Can See will make it to our shores one day—at just the right time, no doubt.

We are lucky to have a vibrant arts ecology here in Melbourne, which has come alive again after the COVID lockdowns, although this has taken some time. As for my performance art kin, I’ve put together a mixed tape of my nearest and dearest and some tentative connections with local artists I’m incredibly inspired by. I’ll begin with my teachers and mentors, who include Kim Donaldson, Sean Lowry (co-curators at Project8 Gallery), Selina Ou, Jude Walton, Aleks Danko, Helen Herbertson, and Barbara Bolt.

Recently, I collaborated with ten extraordinary artists on an exhibition as part of the Collective Polyphony festival organised by artist Nina Sanadze. These artist-kin include Chris Fontana, Corinna Berndt, Josephine Mead, Leila Gerges, Lucy Foster, Marcela Alejandra Gómez-Escudero, Nina Sanadze, Sofi Basseghi, Tara Gilbee and Tina Stefanou. Two additional collectives I’d like to mention are the LAST Collective with artists Beth Arnold, Melanie Irwin, Katie Lee, Clare Rae and Hanna Tai, and ShrewD Collective with Chris Fontana, Tracey Lamb, Amanda Laming, Nina Sanadze and Mimmalisa Trifilò. As well as several independent artists, Archie Barry, Chelsea Coon, Steven Rhall and Siying Zhou. I love the strength and bravery of their respective practices. There are many more!

Lastly, my dear friend Luke Hockley. An incredible thinker, mover and maker. We have known each other for over twenty years and continue sharing our creative journeys, performances and curiousness for life.

I hope to share some of these connections with you, Nicolás, when you come to Australia.

NDEREOM: How are you? How are you? How are you?

SR: Nicolás, I’m so very well! Thank you for asking. It is a unique and clarifying time of new beginnings for me. There have been some hard yards these last few years, and those learnings are giving me great strength and an appreciation for the here and now. And what do you know? Joy has danced on over and stepped back into my life! I don’t take her for granted. Life is good and precious.

NDEREOM: Thank you for putting a smile on my aging face on an unusually cold and dark day in Austin, Texas. I needed this.

SR: You’re welcome, Nicolás. It is my pleasure to bring some warmth to your day. Your questions were so thoughtful, such little treasures for me to respond to. Thank you for this gift and the opportunity to be in conversation with you.

All images Courtesy of Sarah Rudledge

Sarah Rudledge’s links: Website / Instagram

Sarah Rudledge is a visual artist based in Narrm/Melbourne. In her practice she explores daily rituals, tactics and actions for artistically reimagining lived experience. Conceived and enacted in places where she lives and spends time, her practice is invariably informed by the cultural, geographical, and social conditions of particular locations. Using a variety of site-orientated and lens-based methods, she speculates upon ways that daily routines and events can be utilised as forms of restoration, resistance and care.

Rudledge was awarded her Master of Fine Arts, with first class honours, from the University of Melbourne (UoM), Faculty of Fine Arts and Musicin 2021. Prior to this her studies included the Master of Contemporary Art(UoM,2015) and the Graduate Certificate in Visual Art, (UoM, 2013). Rudledge has participated in numerous exhibitions, and collective performances as well as initiating her own live performance events. In 2020 she was awarded the Peter Redlich Memorial Art Prize and in 2015 she was the recipient of the Fiona Myer Travelling Scholarship.