Harold David is deep in thought, crouched over an expansive mosaic of frames as they wait to be mounted. Carriageworks, the height of industrial chic – cavernous, sleekly impersonal – must be a tough gig for an artist. The curator wanders past lugging another picture and it’s clear the organising process has been going on for some time.
One of Australia’s leading fashion and portraiture photographers, American born David seems slightly overwhelmed as we take a seat to speak (or shout) over the furious noise of a construction team next door. ‘I had an exhibition at the Sydney Fringe Festival in ‘96 on Bondi’s skaters,’ he explains, when asked how one goes about building such an enviable career. ‘Some magazine people saw it and, yeah.’ By ‘yeah’ he means: Harpers, Grazia, GQ, Instyle, Oyster, Russh … the list goes on.
Tracksuits of St Marys fits into a more personal stream of work, which has seen him photograph and exhibit as far-flung subjects as disadvantaged people in the Appalachian mountains of Kentucky. Starting with the symbolic element of the tracksuit, Harold David and curator Victoria Harbutt have constructed a fairly unusual patchwork of community life. ‘Victoria had noticed a lot of tracksuit-wearing people in St Marys,’ says David. ‘She asked if I was interested in a project. I said yes because all of my exhibitions have been about different tribes. Modern day tribes.’
Approaching a modern day urban suburb as a ‘tribe’ is a curious angle. It assumes a sort of social solidarity that many others would assume is lacking in a densely populated city full of walls and strangers. ‘We found out what community groups were in the area – a sewing group, a bicycle-racing group, a children’s recreational group, a swimming group, etcetera – and we talked to the head of each of the groups and asked if they would mind wearing their favourite tracksuits and I would photograph them.’ They also approached the local high school. ‘We organised dance classes,’ he continues, ‘drum dance classes, hip-hop classes; the only prerequisite was that the kids had to wear tracksuits.’
In confirmation of David and Harbutt’s choice of approaching St Marys as a ‘tribe’, the exhibition is highly effective at conjuring a real sense of community. A woman poses with one leg hoisted on a chair, genuine despite her awkwardness. A boy stands illuminated in a sports-oval floodlights. A family stands for a portrait outside a shop with a sign that says, strangely, Duckland. ‘I treat everyone the same,’ affirms David. ‘I try to see what they’re about and get their personality to shine through.’
One particular photograph has two girls spot-lit on an expanse of black, grimacing, red-eyed from the on-camera flash, poorly framed. The photograph feels candid, a quick ‘snap’ that stands in marked contrast to the composed beauty – and quality – of the illuminated boy. But it’s a great photograph for precisely these reasons. The ‘rawness’ evokes a real place, real people. Harold David’s choice to shoot on both a Hasselblad and Leica point-and-shoot (producing different sorts of photographs, carefully composed or casual), means St Marys gets remarkable definition. Here are the people as they are, and as they choose to construct themselves.
But what do the tracksuits actually mean to this community? David is momentarily thrown, as if the question had never occurred to him before. ‘They’re comfortable?’ he volunteers. ‘I think everyone gets around in – I don’t, but a lot of them get around in a tracksuit. It’s easy to wear. It means different things to different people. For some, it’s about comfort; for some of the kids it’s definitely about a look and style.’ Harbutt is responsible for the connection to the ‘Black Power’ salute at the 1968 Mexico Olympic Games, where the tracksuit got its defining moment. ‘It started there,’ says David. ‘Then the black kids wore the tracksuit. It was a fashion statement. And then that led into hip-hop and then that filtered right down through to suburban culture …’
The connection feels a little unnecessary. Its evocation, as well as the choice to actively portray this group of people in tracksuits, lends a moral ambiguity to the exhibition. The catalogue describes the tracksuit as ‘an accepted signifier of criminality, sloth, depression, and the Australian standard for primary school winter uniform … affordable, always appreciated and often cherished.’ With its multiple meanings, what does the deliberate construction of a picture of St Marys through tracksuits actually imply about these people?
The power of the individuals in the photographs is such that the actual item of clothing becomes invisible after a while. The faces are far more interesting, funny, charming, warm … why not just photograph them as they were, without telling them what to wear?
‘I think the tracksuit is like the great democratiser,’ says David. ‘I think these photos signify that. I think these photos put a smile on someone’s face.’
Tracksuits of St Marys shows at Carriageworks until August 29.
All About:
Your Thoughts
To post a comment, you need to be a SameSame Member
