The first solo show I ever did at the Floating Goose was called “You Look Great”. In fact, it
was the first solo show I ever did, period. The theme of my show was something to the effect
of “Excepting yourself for who you are”. The phrase “You look great” was a reference to a
scene from the animated Cartoon Network show ‘Adventure time’. I can’t remember the
exact nature of the reference. It wasn’t a particularly prominent scene. I think there was
simply a smashed mirror with a post-it note reading “You look great”. I loved that. Like
despite your appearance, you look great. It was a statement, I thought, we all could learn
from. I mean, of course, you have to actually apply that logic, which is far harder than just
speaking the words. Despite being wholesome at its core, it honestly seems a little corny
now. A broad and ambitious statement from a young and naïve individual with the best of
intentions but lacking the life skills to actually truly implement them. Years later and I still
don’t really know what self acceptance truly looks like. But one thing I’m almost certain of is
that you won’t find it in a mirror.

What does it even mean to look “great”? Especially, seeing as though attractive aesthetic
appearance is entirely subjective. I guess, by this context of the word great, I didn’t
necessarily mean greatness. Not in the same way as our good friend Alexander. No, I guess
“great” in this context must mean you are simply enough. You, in all your stinking glory are
entirely adequate. Warts and all. Yeah, that’s never going to stick. If the self-help industry
teaches us anything, it’s to never be content. Well, I’m generalising. But in a way, they are all
banking on you looking in the mirror and not liking what you see. Of course, some of this
mentality feels intrinsically human, to be constantly striving for more, because of course,
enough is never enough. As they say, “otherwise we would have never come down from the
trees.”

During the period my show was open at the Goose, someone stole two of my paintings. Right
off the wall. In broad daylight. I don’t remember being particularly concerned, which is
strange, seeing as in my everyday life sweating the small things is quite commonplace. I
think the idea of theft is often more exciting than the actual event. What’s interesting is that I
had decorated the space to look a rather run down and dilapidated, with walls that perhaps
went a little too far with its resemblance to something of a crack-den. I overheard a few
people commenting on the state of the gallery, sharing words such as “they really need to
clean that place up” and “gross”. Absolute music to my ears. It is quite possible that given the
appearance of the gallery, someone walked past thinking the works were just a piece of
furniture destined for disposal. I mean, I guess, I’m trying to give them the benefit of the
doubt, because otherwise they just steal shit to steal shit and they are slowly draining all the
good from the world and we’re all doom. Well, regardless, I thought they demanded a little
more respect than that, but I don’t know. There has to be some correlation.

Without drawing out any level of suspense, you can indeed shuffle back from the edge of
your seat because someone found the works only a day after they went missing. Apparently,
some guy was just walking past with them under his arm. According to him, they were sitting
by a dumpster around the corner of the gallery. My guess was someone took them over to
Cash Converters. They didn’t offer him (or her, but let’s be honest, far more likely him) any
money, so he (again, or her. But again, definitely him) bailed and dumped them. So, all’s well
that ends well. I guess?

I think it’s easy to have an experience like a theft and become embittered, but that’s sort of the risk you take when you are vulnerable. People will often take things from you when you
take risks, whether that’s the positive feeling you get from liking a song before reading it got
terrible reviews, or the smile on someone’s face when they realise they are the butt of a joke.
In a lot of ways, the theft highlighted the theme of the show. Despite the loss, the act of
sharing your imperfections ultimately reinforces the journey towards self-acceptance, a road
paved with both positive and negative experiences. Every show I’ve made since “You Look
Great” has been in a similar vein, but in many ways, it seems the goal post of self-acceptance
is ever-moving. I really wanted to end this thing with some sort of epiphany that tied
everything in a neat little bow, but I’ve got to admit, my conclusion feels a little forced. In
reality, I’m beginning to think there isn’t one. We fumble about yelling into the void these
grand endeavours for revelation but put simply, it’s hard. I share an equal amount of disdain
for the weirdo looking back at me on any given reflexive surface as the next guy. I do not
have the answers, but if I ever figure it out, you will be the first to know.

I love digging. I couldn’t imagine going a day without at least doing some digging. If I had all the time in the world, I would spend every second excavating wherever I can. Of course, as a 14-year-old, I have all the time in the world, so I can spend a lot of it turning over dirt. I won’t lie though, it can get somewhat tiresome. And, for fear of losing those valuable seconds taking a break, I find it useful spending some of that time thinking about the next place I want to dig and planning accordingly. You might ask yourself, “Why the hell would you want to be digging all the time? That sounds like a lot of effort.” Well, I don’t quite know. I suppose I just always have dug, so it’s just a part of me now. Like an itch in my middle back that I can’t seem to reach, no matter what angle I bend. It’s honestly a compulsion more than anything at this point. It feels akin to my need to eat, or drink, or sleep. While others are mingling about on the surface, I’m always wondering what’s going on underneath.

My mum has always been supportive, well, as supportive as you can be when you have a limited understanding of the motives behind your child’s actions. She definitely thought it strange of me to be constantly digging. Although she eventually came around on the matter, the tone in her voice in these early conversations often felt both befuddled and concerned. Like the idea of digging holes was simply a waste of my time. 

“Everything we need is here on the surface. Why would you bother getting your hands filthy digging in the dirt?” she would say. 

My response would invariably be both unsatisfying and a little confusing to both of us. Which didn’t help my case. After some debate and despite her early grievances, in time she began to understand. Truth is, I didn’t know why I was digging either.  My need to dig felt like some divine task assigned to me by an otherworldly being. It outlined that if I was to dig deep and diligently enough, it would begin the unending pursuit of answering all of my questions. 

I do like asking questions. And trust me, I have a million of them. One thing I realised early on in my efforts is the act of digging may be the question, but the things you find don’t always necessitate a definitive answer. It’s far more likely that any answer you receive, will simply lead to more questions. It feels like only continued excavations could hope to get you anywhere near something that might resemble an answer. Or sometimes there simply isn’t an answer at all. Sometimes physical and mental limitations will hold you back from discovering whatever it is you are looking for, and the thrill of the continued search will be the only thing that motivates you to keep going. 

I started digging when I was young. In fact, the moment that I became conscious of the idea of being conscious, I started my journey downward. I always felt like there was something there, something interesting that others could not see, or too lazy to look for. Even in that infantile stage, I found it perplexing how others, especially adults, were so inattentive. They would move about the surface, not once thinking about the treasures that could hide just below their feet. While other kids were milling around pushing crayons up their noses and making macaroni pictures, I’d be outside digging. While their parents would be watching Days of Our Lives and paying income taxes, I would be outside digging. At the time, I was too small to use my dad’s shovel, so I would use my bare hands. Which seems to me, both now and then, an inefficient and ineffective method. I would try to use the shovel, but as you can imagine, it was far too big and cumbersome for a child to wield. My dad, knowing how much I loved digging, would come out and help me from time to time. We would dig a hole big enough for me to stand in and then fill it back in before dinner. These holes were simple and inelegant; dad was just following my lead and I had no idea what I was doing, but what I lacked in know-how, I made up for with pure unbridled enthusiasm. 

 I sometimes find things. Pieces of metal, plastic, bone. Most things I unearth hold very little value, but sometimes they’re worth a lot of money. Of course, money is only one measure of value and it’s certainly not the metric that I use. Although, when I do find things worth a lot of money, people seem to be a lot more interested in my holes. I don’t really care how much money something is worth and honestly, the idea of putting a dollar value on what I dig up feels like it misses the point. It’s all the same to me. I really don’t do it to find things. It’s more about the journey, and the pure satisfaction of a job well done. I always know there are more holes to dig, or even holes I’ve already dug that I could always go deeper. With all that said, don’t get me wrong, finding things can be exceedingly exciting. I just try to remember that the best holes contain many things, which means you need to approach each discovery with a subdued enthusiasm. More often than not, there is more to be found just below. 

 Some holes are easier to dig than others, which is to say, not all holes are fun to dig. When I was about 9, my pet rabbit died. His name, which I’ll admit was a little on the nose, was Doug. I wanted to dig a hole for him to be buried in, but I just couldn’t find the right spot. It seemed to me impossible to find the right spot. The “right” spot just simply didn’t exist. Every hole I dug seemed inadequate to contain the multitude of experience that was Doug. So I just kept digging and digging. In the end, Dad just dug a small hole to put him in and said, “Some holes will never seem appropriate. Sometimes you’ve just got to be satisfied with whatever hole you’ve dug and try to move forward with your life.” This seemed to be entirely unsatisfactory and in that moment I decided I would make great strides to continue to dig holes for Doug until I found one that was adequate. Why did his death feel so unceremonious? And for that matter, why did he have to die at all? I was, and still am, completely unable to get anywhere near an answer. And I was sure this question had an answer, after all, if it didn’t, then what was the point? I firmly believed that digging could solve any problem, so I would do this in his honour. Eventually, I would surely find something that would indicate to me I was digging in the right place. 

I often think about the future. I’m sure I’ll continue to work out how to be more efficient and effective in my pursuit of excavational glory. Enlisting the efforts of a team of people, seemed like an obvious and largely beneficial next step. The team would comprise individuals who are also experienced hole diggers, and together we would dig holes much larger than what one person could achieve. A group of people all focused on the same goal could, and no doubt would, achieve great things. Maybe then I could find the right hole for Doug. We’d be able to work on large-scale projects, larger than anything I’m capable of on my own. The biggest hole I ever dug was deeper than the top of my head, and wider than both my arms extended from my side but I still feel like I barely scratched the surface. Even though I’m big enough now to use my dad’s shovel,  I still feel like I’m digging with my bare hands. Which, I’ll admit, is an idea that used to really upset me. It occurred to me that it might never be enough. It’s likely that every improvement or advancement I make will be made redundant by the proceeding improvement or advancement. And while part of me is saddened by that thought, It seems entirely preferable. The idea of the “perfect hole” is so final. It indicates an end point that I never really want to see. There is no such thing as perfection and nor should there be. The striving for perfection gives me a constantly moving goal post and I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

I’m so thankful for my parents’ encouragement. Despite occasional reluctance, they have never hindered me and have always shown overwhelming support for my pursuit. While they clearly don’t always understand why I do the things I do, I feel like at their core, they just want me to pursue what makes me happy. They have bought me all the tools necessary for my craft and have nurtured my engagement in digging in a way that has allowed for projects at a greater magnitude than thought previously possible. At its core, digging is honestly just fun, so I’m going to keep doing it. I don’t know what else I would be doing and I really don’t feel like I need to over think it. Im going to keep digging until I’m old and frail, and while it likely still wouldn’t be good enough for Doug, maybe one day they’ll bury me in one of my holes. I think that sounds nice. It’ll put a nice little bow on what was a life well lived. I just hope they bury me with a shovel, so I can continue to dig in the after-life.

Joshua: Hey Josh, it’s great to talk to you about your new show and your practice as a whole. Thanks for taking your time.  

Josh: No, thank you for having me. Anyone that knows me knows that I could talk about my work until the cows come home so I love being given the opportunity.  

Joshua: Well, that should make my job easier. Tell me about GILDED CAGE, was this work much of a deviation from your previous work, either conceptually or technically?  

Josh: Honestly, I constantly feel like I’m deviating somewhat from my previous work. It may not be super obvious at times but I’m always trying to improve how effectively I communicate an idea in my work. This show I have taken a bit more care technically and really worked hard on fully realising the rendering of each object. My usual mode of working was to make as much work as fast as humanly possible, where as with GILDED CAGE I really wanted to reduce the number of works and increase the quality of each piece.  

Joshua: There certainly is pressure nowadays to be producing a large amount of work. Especially with social media apps like Instagram rewarding artists who have a quick turnaround on works so they can post consistently, to appease the ever-hungry algorithm.  

Josh: For sure. Don’t even get me started. Its funny how choosing to slow down and create less work at a higher quality feels like a form of protest against the way in which these apps seem to be pushing us to create, meaning more work at a lower quality.  

Joshua: Yeah, creating work which caters to that sort of landscape definitely doesn’t feel conducive to making strong, well thought out and well-constructed work. Tell me about the show’s conceptual meaning. 

Josh: Well, it honestly changed a bit as I was making the work. Just in scope, I guess. But I’d say, the idea of GILDED CAGE came from wanting to make a series of work about the feeling of being trapped in one’s mind. I engage quite deeply with the idea of the separation between the mind and body, and I have often loved the idea of making work about the plight of the little voice in my head as documented by the consciousness observing it. I like to think about it sort of like my practice is a way for me to get to know me. You know what I mean?  

Joshua: Yeah, totally. Sort of like a meditation on the idea of the self?  

Josh: Exactly. As I started making the work I realised that quite a lot of them related to the idea of responsibly.  From that I started to think about the idea of the gilded cage being perhaps a bit more specifically being related to the nature of those responsibilities and how often being tied to things can feel like an inescapable trap as well as giving our lives meaning. 

Joshua: Can you give me an example from one of the works from the show? 

Josh: Yeah, so the painting “And That’s A Wrap” refers to my relationship with my partner’s dog, her name is Honey and she is the cutest little bundle of joy. When we got her, we were told she has some weird health condition where she has some neurological issue that causes her to not be able to feel her feet. Which right now just causes her to have an adorable little prancing walk but it actually neurodegenerative and there is nothing you can do to stop it so it may at some point mean we could have to put her down. I don’t even know if I have to tell you how upset even thinking about that makes me. So anyway, in this situation, I am responsible for the well-being of this sweet baby which can be a lot, with the looming threat of her condition but I would not trade Honey in for anything. It is a responsibility with a reward of getting the spend time with an adorable little puppy. Hence the gilded cage. And yeah, I feel like that same logic applies to all the works.  

Joshua: Okay, yeah. I can see that. That poor baby. Give her a cuddle for me. 

Josh: I will.  

Joshua: So, the gilded cage is in a broad sense a reference to the mind being observed by consciousness, trapped inside the body, but more specifically it refers to the specific instances of those similar kinds of relationships existing in the life of that mind? 

Josh: Yeah, Something like that. I feel like my work can at times get a little convoluted when I keep digging and digging for meaning. It’s something I both love and hate about myself. But I mean, even that kind of ties into the gilded cage thing. Actually, that’s even pretty much exactly what the work “ Your Change Is Zero Dollars And Zero Cent”, is about, spending too much time in my head.  

Joshua: Do you find it helpful to spend a lot of time talking to yourself when you’re thinking of new work?  

Josh: Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I tend to like a lot more the work that I really labored over conceptually. Which often finds me asking myself a lot of questions and spending a lot of time in my own head. But you get trapped in there, you know.

Joshua: Do you find it hard to switch off? 

Josh: For sure. I feel like I don’t shut up. My mind is just constantly in chatter and honestly it can get pretty frustrating but I guess sometimes something interesting surfaces and I get to make a painting about so I don’t know, trying the make the best of a bad situation, I guess.  

Joshua: I hear you. It can definitely be hard to find that peace. At least it sounds like you’ve found a way to see it as a somewhat positive thing. Do you find the painting process helps to find a little quiet? 

Josh: Yes and no. It helps. 

Joshua: Do you see existence in general as a bit of a gilded cage? 

Josh: I definitely do. I mean, I enjoy existing. But it can be hard sometimes. I’ve certainly gone through some really challenging periods in my life.  When I was younger, I had a really hard time with anxiety and even now I wouldn’t say I’ve fully resolved it, but I have come to terms with it slightly. But that was a hard pill to swallow. And you know, that kind of ties into the responsibility thing. If I want to learn to enjoy existing, I must learn to take the good with the bad.  

Joshua: Learning to cope with suffering is one of the hardest parts of being conscious. In fact, it is THE  hard part of being conscious. A good life is one with as little suffering as possible but unfortunately it seems like suffering is an inescapable part of existing and yeah, you do have to learn to take the good with the bad.  

Josh: What a fun note to end the interview on. Existence is pain.  

Joshua: Yeah, I guess I’ll go now and try to come to terms with this newly found existential dread.  

Josh: Welcome to my world.  

Joshua: Did you have a positive note to end on? Any final thoughts, or details you’d like to share about your show?  

Josh: Umm… Yeah, I’m really proud of this work and I really am beginning to feel like I’m finding my voice as a visual artist. I mean, my future self may look back on this and snicker but yeah, this show really feels like the type of work I want to make and I’m excited to start working on the next project, which is sure to be even more depressing than this one! Fun! 

Joshua: Im also excited to see what you make next and thanks again for talking with me about your new show.  

Josh: No problem. Thanks!