Craft Australia presents Counterpose: fresh directions in Australian studio glass as part of the Craft Australia Emerging Writers Program. The program has been initiated to encourage emerging craft writers to voice their views and opinions on the state of play.

The subject of this article is a modest exhibition in an unobtrusive glass gallery in quiet, leafy Canberra. Hardly unusual in the general scheme of things. The noteworthiness, however, lies in the philosophical thrust of the work presented, and in a deliberate staking of ground in the 'turf war' of new millennium craft practice. Hyperbolic? Of course! (And an obeisant courtesy nod to the currently mandated propagandist regime…greetings, The Right Honorable.) The artists in the exhibition in question, Masahiro Asaka and Tevita Havea, are both makers of due and unpretentious diligence, not given to careless superlative. To make sense, therefore, of this rather bold declaration of import, it might be useful to first define the context. So - a little background music, maestro, per favore ...

2005 found Australian studio glass in a peculiar state of flux - it has, dare one suggest, reached a rather significant threshold. In a year marked by any number of consequential milestones - not the least being some three decades of sustained studio practice - the state of the craft was commemorated accordingly; heralded by The Corning Museum of Glass Roadshow 'Tour DownUnder' and the Glass Art Society of America (GAS) Conference in Adelaide. There followed, across the breadth of the nation, a rash of 'events' and a strut of exhibitions that duly culminated in the prestigious Ranomok Glass Prize, an annual competition professed to represent the very best that Australia and New Zealand have to offer. And there lies the rub. Given that glass is (technically speaking) a very broad church, the strength and charm of the Ranamok romp has always been in the eclectic nature of its entries. But that notwithstanding, the 2005 field yielded a very mixed bag indeed - with an anomalous irregularity in quality control that was most curious given the deliberative selection process. Alarming, even - if only in the benign sense of 'a timely wake-up call.' Clearly this (one hopes) temporary laxity will in no way seriously lessen the status of the Ranomok. (Nor should it detract from the winner and the majority of the entrants - because there were some truly breathtaking pieces in the show.) However, it is indicative of a broader and endemic lack of proactive critical process that effectively gags the studio glass community at large. So intent are we on the grand promotional plan that we aid and abet a flaccid culture of blanketed approval - and expose ourselves as parvenus, still gushing over all that glitters, tedious with self-congratulatory cant. Too harsh? Perhaps. But maturity comes with divers responsibilities, sagacious objectivity being but one. We appear to be in the midst of a generational change. It is the management of that change that will be crucial to the reputable progression and future integrity of our craft.

Therein lies the other major challenge. How to yoke the bullish trend towards 'product' in the arts/crafts sector, where an only too familiar process of market repositioning is currently, aggressively, underway (the latest manifestation of a 'relevancy rationale' that has seen craft re-branded periodically ever since William Morris's original manifesto). The cyclical putsch of the design agenda is not, of itself, problematic - production ware has always been a bone fide arm, and mainstay even, of professional glass practice. The real danger lurks in the venal commodification of that practice - with the attendant ascendency of the Style Police, the undignified scuffle for 'celebrity' status, and the ghastly phenomenon that is Corporate Trophy Art. This is surely the shallowest of paths, and one that leads inexorably to creative bankruptcy. Maintaining the vigour of the Australian glass scene requires scrupulous nurturing at the studio practice level, not flash exhortations to 'go forth and market thyself'. We need to project beyond a shop mentality, to pursue instead the business of enlightened appreciation. Because art and production ought never to be confused (and not because they are mutually exclusive, but simply because they are entirely different beasties.) All that glitters really is not gold, and homewares banged out as interior décor patently don't constitute objets d'arte.

The above diatribe will no doubt strike the reader as extreme. A little dramatic even. Nonetheless these are sentiments freely aired and debated within the glass community itself. Rarely publicly, alas. We are bound by self-interest not to rock the boat (shades of a Masonic styled code of silence, perhaps!) Public forums adhere to the party line, and we smile dutifully in the face of earnest and, more often than not, indiscriminate praise. Glass, the material, rarely fails to seduce. Amen. But it's time to beard the dragon, if only to shake the tree and reinvigorate the faithful. The prevailing pressure towards marketing Craft as mere Product is hardly surprising, given the tenor of the current political and social climate - ever tightening funding considerations compel arts and craft agencies and administrators to deal in 'strategic outcomes' and sundry 'managerialisms'. But should artists themselves really have to buy in? I thoroughly enjoyed Don Watson's book Death Sentence, safe in the smug assurance of an insulated bohemian distance - until I started to stumble across it in my own…well, sector (oh heavy irony). The slick creep of market-speak and faux-corporate conduct is on the rise. It's ... disappointing. But, surely, not inescapable.

The good news is that there is still a pulse in the heartland. The legacy of integrity to craft/material/concept - as initiated by the likes of Klaus Moje and Stephen Procter - remains strong. And it is surely no small irony that the newly emerged contemporary practitioners of greatest renown - the likes of Jess Loughlin, Mel Douglas, Giles Bettison, Tom Rowney, Tom Moore, and Deb Jones, to name but a few - haven't gone down the production road. They might earn their keep teaching, gaffing, or working in some capacity or other in the arts, but they've not diverted their creative juices away from their own core studio practice. It's an exemplary lesson in relative value, and a fitting counter-pose to the 'identify-a-market-and-pump-out-product' school of practice. Less is more. Limit the edition, maintain the currency of worth - this is a familiar principle, well worth preserving. And it's one that is obviously, thankfully, being heeded by a new crop of emerging artists - which finally leads us back to Masahiro Asaka and Tevita Havea.

Both Asaka and Havea are recent graduates from the ANU School of Art glass programme, and each makes signature work that indicates a clear intention of remaining firmly and philosophically positioned at the high/art end of the glass game. Their two-man exhibition, Counterpose: Art on the Pacific Rim at the Kamberra Wine Company's Glass Gallery illustrates the dynamic individuality of both - and at the same time reveals a platform of common impetus; the cross-cultural investigation, the sculptural inclination, a certain predilection for balance. Both stand resolute on opposite sides of the Pacific Rim - equi-distantly straddling, in a metaphoric sense, an Australian culture with which they now strongly identify. In a show that is primarily concerned with materiality, Asaka's constructed Japanese sensibility provides a wonderful counterpoint to Havea's Tongan islander aesthetic. The upshot is a truly enriching experience, with glass the clear winner.

After some seven years of study and practice, Masahiro Asaka perceives his work to have developed in such a way that it now lies squarely between the East and the West. His initial interest in Kiriko, a traditional Japanese glass cutting method, proved to be creatively limiting, and a timely offer of work in Australia at Edols and Elliot studio gave him not only the opportunity to hone his cold-working skills, but prompted a major shift in focus. Having transplanted himself into an alien Western culture he suddenly became acutely aware of - and, consequently, curious about - 'being Japanese'. This curiosity led in turn to a study of the ancient Japanese religion Shinto, to a deepening appreciation of the fundamental compositional properties of glass, and to an ensuing interest in the relationship between art and nature. He now draws his inspiration from the evident, perpetual force of nature - specifically in the form of stone/crystal/mineral - and is moved to express the 'frozen moments of immortality', the 'sense of silence', and that growing-moving-heaving transience in nature so analogous with glass as material, which he fittingly interprets through the judicious use of light and formalist construct.

Never tempted into the hot-shop he employs an uncommon - for a glass artist, at least - methodology in his casting; instead of putting the creative energy into the mould or wax, he casts a solid block or slab of glass, which he later chisels and carves like a stone or wood sculptor. This direct connection with the material allows for a functional intimacy; it enables him 'to read' more precisely the shift of light and density, and to sense the very moment when the piece reaches 'the critical point of balance'. There is a purist element to this work, and an emphasis on exquisite finish that solicits genuine admiration. One suspects, however, that natural artistic progression will lead towards a roughening up. But always with the same deft touch. Indeed, since the initial writing of this article, he has already started to produce pieces with rough-hewn, chipped surfaces.

Tevita Havea, also, is on a quest for balance - though his is of an anthropological bent. A self-proclaimed 'contemporary primitive', he is drawn to investigate and express the inevitable tensions between the rituals and traditions of his native Tonga (from childhood memory) and the modern dictates of a now long adopted western existence. As he says of his work

I find myself in-between worlds. There are always contradictions when there are two opposing forces, but instead of one dominating the other, I aim to create pieces that are neither ancient nor contemporary, but operate to explore the tensions of the space between."

The Polynesian referencing is deliberately blurred in order to address the more primal question of universal humanity - we live, after all, in a state of post-modern urbanity where the seduction of culture and the lure and practice of tribalism (tattooing, scarification, costume) continue undiminished. Not that Havea's work carries any macho relevancy (in an aggressive sense, at least), nor is it to be read in terms of 'cultural artefact.' The weaving, for instance, is not a mere decorative device. In Polynesian culture, women weave, men carve. A man weaves only out of practical necessity, for construction purposes (housing, et cetera) - and it is precisely in this context that Havea uses the hemp; to bind, or lash together, the sculptural elements of wood and glass. The former alludes to traditional (and spiritual) craft and custom (he's carved wood habitually, since childhood), the latter represents the (con)temporal.

In this his oeuvre is compelling, not the least because it conveys a grounded authenticity. There is a surety and wisdom in the work that generates a sense of timeless dignity - a principle affirmation of humanity that we instinctively respond to.

Neither of these artists could be accused of jumping on the glass bandwagon. They demonstrate a gravity of approach that signals a sincere respect for the craft - and, perhaps more importantly, a wholesome respect for the wider, ever more discerning art audience. Both make work that dutifully references the conjunction of traditional and contemporary technique, and both are clearly in for the long haul. But even more importantly, the work is refreshingly original - there's not a whiff of pale imitation of any that has gone before. Which is no mean feat in a discipline that perpetually struggles over the difficulty of re-inventing the wheel. The integrity of the artisan truly is alive and well.

Megan Bottari, February, 2006

Megan Bottari is a glass artist, writer, and curator at the Kamberra Glass Gallery, Canberra

This review has been assisted by the Australian Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body, as part of its Craft-in-Site Initiative managed by Craft ACT.