Okay, I said it: real art should be out on the streets, not under the sanctified lights of a gallery. If only some people can see it, can you even call it art?
So when I first came across the Washing Machine near the Newtown police station 2 years ago, it instantly piqued my interest. Of course, it’s not actually a washing machine, but a concrete replica of one that’s so meticulously detailed to the point that you can’t really tell from afar. With the word “finite” etched on its side, among the rest of the graffiti tags sprawled all around it, the piece sits at an angle on a raised platform, looking like it’s sinking into the earth. As its layers of paint start to peel off and vandals continue to deface it, the Washing Machine slowly deteriorates day by day as if acting out the very word that is written on it.
But that wasn’t the end of it. I soon noticed other concrete sculptures lying around the area: a retro telephone under the streetlights, a crushed can at the foot of a wall, an oil gallon beneath another streetlight, each with their own ironic inscriptions. Once I began noticing casts like these in other suburbs (gloves near Erskineville oval with “gone” written on it, a Louis-Vuitton handbag saying “fake” in Paddington), I realised that they must be a series of related works. I began to be on the lookout for these hidden trinkets every time I would venture out into the city, a kind of little treasure hunt to inject more colour into my university life.
What are they? And where can I find them?
In many ways they are like sculptural graffiti, a way of challenging the city and marking — or should I say tagging — its walls. Except instead of words or images, they are replicas of objects taken out of context; from everyday items like electronics, gloves, shoes, and bags, to more politically charged items such as balaclavas, guns with their barrels bent, and AK-47s, and even more abstract, poetic forms like skull plaques and dead birds.
Hidden throughout the streets in Sydney, in corners and alleyways, nooks and crannies, you can find these cast objects in the most unsuspecting places. In fact, you’ve probably come across one yourself if you’ve been here for sometime. A balaclava, for instance, lies on a transformer box across the Commonwealth Bank branch in the CBD. On Trafalgar street down Enmore road, the same balaclava rests on a wall covered with graffiti.
I could tell you all the places where you could find them, but where’s the fun in that? (Although a quick google search would probably help you find some of them, courtesy of enthusiasts sharing their findings online.)
Who made these things and left them there?
A travelling artist from Europe, Will Coles migrated to Sydney sometime in the 1990s, and continued to live here up until 2015, during which he left his casts around the streets in the dead of night. He is a guerilla artist, leaving his unsolicited works to be found by anyone and everyone, not just those who spend their days roaming art galleries and public parks with state sponsored artwork.
But why? And why should I care?
A recurring theme in each of the casts seems to be ephemerality and irony. Besides the iconic Washing Machine one for instance, crushed cans have “eternity” written on them, and gloves and shoes are “forgotten”. Taken out of their original contexts, these objects provoke passersby to question the values that we live by simply by being there. Besides, wouldn’t you feel at least a little bit lucky to serendipitously come across one of them by chance?
It’s not for everyone, and it doesn’t try to be. Coles doesn’t spoon feed us a prescribed message like a catalogue or statement in a gallery piece would. The joy of art is in discovery, and these pieces demand precisely that — pushing us to find our own meanings with each encounter.
Maybe it’s not for you, and that’s okay. But for those of us who appreciate little surprises and revel in exploring the city, there’s a whole world of art waiting to be found: you only need to look closer.
Two years later, I walk past the Newtown Police Station and notice that a yellow cube sits on the platform where the Washing Machine used to be. At the end of King Street, the forgotten shoe has been removed from its corner.