Robbie Fraser's practice explores colour, shape and harmony – not the articulation of untroublesome relationships, but an exploration of what happens when these relations miss the mark; get difficult.
This work insists on stopping short of expectation, insists on slipping from propriety – not as a declaration of perversity that sets out to fuck things up, but more as a probing of boundaries and a critical examination of rectitude itself. It draws up close to fine-tuned beauty, but at the last moment shies away from the anaesthetic affect of complacent aesthetics, and turns towards the more enlivening sensation of discomfort. What happens when things get a little disorientated, nauseous? What happens when harmony plays with dissonance, or when purity turns – starts to curdle or cloy? What happens when colour’s singing takes on a hard aspect, or when its hosting shape goes out of whack?
Robbie Fraser's practice explores colour, shape and harmony – not the articulation of untroublesome relationships, but an exploration of what happens when these relations miss the mark; get difficult.
This work insists on stopping short of expectation, insists on slipping from propriety – not as a declaration of perversity that sets out to fuck things up, but more as a probing of boundaries and a critical examination of rectitude itself. It draws up close to fine-tuned beauty, but at the last moment shies away from the anaesthetic affect of complacent aesthetics, and turns towards the more enlivening sensation of discomfort. What happens when things get a little disorientated, nauseous? What happens when harmony plays with dissonance, or when purity turns – starts to curdle or cloy? What happens when colour’s singing takes on a hard aspect, or when its hosting shape goes out of whack?