Notes to Self and Two Other People

Please ensure to Cite the Author Kerrie Warren adequately to Avoid Plagiarism


Notes to Self and Two Other People

An essay by Kerrie Warren 2016, Master of Contemporary Art



Notes to self and two other people is an essay based on the thoughts and questions brought about by an academic opportunity to step away from the studio and critically analyse my current work.  From this new perspective I gain a valuable insight into my practice overall and have developed a deeper understanding of the enquiry this form of questioning has initiated. hrough intuitively based artworks that include paintings, wheel thrown ceramics and readymade items, I strive to evoke a sense of pause within a visually perceived momentum in order to explore life’s delicate balance, its vulnerable fragility and sublime impermanence.  By bringing a variety of elements together, both made by my own hand and readymade, I aim to link and intertwine various systems of existence into poetic assemblages and installations that act as one exuberant and cohesive form of expression.  This paper loosely discusses the materials used and suggests that they might already be activated with life prior to artistic consideration.  It examines peer response to the presentation of recent experiments, and here I have made reference to Professor Arthur P. Shimamura who investigates the aesthetic response to art.  Influential works by artists and writers; Zbigniew Herbert, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Rosalie Gascoigne, Grayson Perry and Ai Weiwei have also been referenced.  My intention in this paper is not to refer to their artworks as any comparison to my own, but through their work gain a better understanding of what it is that I am striving to achieve.  I trust that by following intuition I have tapped into my own sense of truth, in essence an essay written from the heart to get to the heart of what I do.



How do I write about my work as a visual artist and where should I begin?  I had just asked myself this question when one of my lecturers presented a photocopied page from the book Still Life With A Bridle and proceeded to read aloud the first paragraph on page eighteen under the heading of “The Price of Art” – an essay written by the author Zbigniew Herbert.[1]  Doctor Edward Colless repeated the first two sentences three times at a very slow and deliberate pace.  In the quiet of the room, the measured words fell into a rhythm and childhood memories were instantly evoked.  I remembered listening to my parents read The Rime of the Ancient Mariner 1797 – 1798 written by the English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772 – 1834)[2], a poem that I have read myself many times since.  I still have my mother’s precious little book which houses this melodious poem, The Poets’ Way Stage 11(2), a form 2 reader that had been handed down from her older sister.  The dark blue cover is a little dishevelled now and the spine is beginning to fall apart.  It has been carefully elevated to a higher shelf for its own protection.  Dr Colless repeated the first sentence once again before proceeding, I realised in that moment that Herbert’s words too had affected me.  A sense of rhythm and momentum had been achieved in their compelling composition – my soul had been aroused.  Years ago as a young child I had become aware that my feelings could be evoked through the lyrical assemblage of words, enchanted by simply sighting their rhythmic structure on a page.


“All in a hot and copper sky,

The bloody Sun, at noon,

Right up above the mast did stand,

No bigger than the Moon.


“Day after day, day after day,

We stuck, nor breath nor motion;

As idle as a painted ship

Upon a painted ocean.[3]


Words assembled and composed ‘in a particular way’ continue to have a powerful and lingering effect on the way I feel today.  Though years have passed since my first introduction to The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, its poetic assemblage of words still contain the power to shift my emotions and seduce me with their sense of rhythm and life.  As my lecturer continued to read from the photocopied page it became clear that it would be remiss of me not start here. Poetic compositions of text were what had initially inspired me to read, write and create.  An example of one of my early poems I Fell in Love with a Black Ocean Deep 1989 features on the last page of this essay.

As a contemporary visual artist today I find myself searching for new ways to explore rhythm and the various sensations it can inspire when influenced by my own perception of life.  I work intuitively with clay, paint and collected items to create individual pieces, assemblages and proposed installations.  My current explorations pose questions such as:  Am I able to create a sense of life’s delicate balance, its vulnerable fragility and sublime impermanence through two and three dimensional compositions?  Is it possible to create a sense of pause and capture a visual momentum? By working intuitively am I tapping into my own sense of truth, and through the work does this personal truth extend itself to the spectator?  Each question seems to inspire another – not only for me as an engrossed artist but also for me as a devoted spectator. I find myself drawn to particular artworks that evoke a compelling sense of rhythm and balance:- such as Rosalie Gascoigne’s Monaro 1989, Ai Weiwei’s Grapes 2011 and Grayson Perry’s series of lustrous vases that were recently exhibited in a survey of his work titled Grayson Perry: My Pretty Little Art Career 2016, a stimulating experience even in memory.  I wonder what it is about them that holds my undivided attention for so long, why do the sensations they evoke continue to arouse my interest just as Coleridge’s poem?  I feel a powerful synergy between these works and what I strive to achieve in my own.

Evoking Sensation

When I visually absorb Monaro 1989 I clearly see a palpable rhythm.  I sense a distinct liveliness and feel impressed by its physical presence.  Rosalie Gascoigne, a New Zealand born Australian sculptor (1917 – 1999) effectively achieves the perception of visual motion through her poetic arrangement of split and sawn wooden soft drink crates that she was inspired to collect from the contemporary landscape around her. This is a large two dimensional wall piece, a panorama in itself that stretches 465 cm across four plywood panels.  Its undulating bands of yellow and black fragments evoke the sensation akin to that of perceiving wind move across the Monaro district grasslands in Southern New South Wales.[4]  The enjambment of incomplete fragments swell before me and once again I think of Coleridge, another contemporary of his time who produced work that alluded to the existence of an interior force.[5]

It is this sense of rhythmic, undulating movement and poetic configuration of line, form and colour from which a sense of liveliness is perceived that intrigues me most.  These are qualities that I seek and strive for in my work.  The painting Impermanence – Nature’s Embrace 2016 (Fig. 1.) is a large piece, a similar size to Monaro being 430 cm in length.  Acrylic paint has been thrown onto linen to capture a panorama that I believe successfully encapsulates visual momentum and animation in suspension.

Impermanence - Nature's Embrace 2016, 190 x 430 cm

Fig. 1. Impermanence – Nature’s Embrace 2016, Acrylic on Linen, 190 cm x 430 cm


This particular piece excites me as I feel that I have achieved a visual sense of rhythm, a delicate balance of composition, a vulnerable fragility, a sense of liveliness and sublime impermanence seemingly paused forever in a physical presence.  I believe these are similar sensations to that evoked by Gascoigne’s Monaro.  So what is it about these works that trigger my perception of visual motion and life?  Dr Richard Morris in his essay “Visualizing Monaro: Contributing Factors to the Viewers Perception of Motion in Rosalie Gascoigne’s, Monaro, 1989”, writes about this in detail;

This visualisation can largely be attributed to the visual tensions inherent in the undulating linear trajectories attending the organic grid the artist has used, the multiple fragments of incomplete typography on many of the components, as well as the numerous interstices surrounding each of the components.  The presence of these pictorial qualities has the effect of interrupting the viewer’s formation of a cohesive Gestalt, thus triggering the visualisation of a living, moving environment.[6]

Morris refers to the artist’s use of an organic grid.  The word organic relates to or derives from living matter, so one would assume that it was derived from deep within Gascoigne herself whose processes were instinctive.  I wonder if and how this might relate to my own work as I push my weight instinctively into the raw materials – the paint, the clay, to form an organic base from which a concept builds.  Am I too creating an organic grid of sorts?  I see the multiple fragments in Monaro as being similar to the irregularly shaped colour spots in my own painting, complete with numerous, variably sized intervening spaces that surround each component and heighten the pictorial rupture.  Morris writes that it is the presence of these pictorial qualities that interrupt the viewer’s formation of a cohesive Gestalt – an integrated, organised whole:  that this is what triggers the perception of a living, moving environment ‘life’.  In Monaro, this animated state has been achieved through Gascoigne’s intuitive arrangement of a multitude of black and yellow fragments, their irregular shapes and intervening spaces which have been aligned into wave like rows – triggering a visual perception of motion.[7]  Shortly after the artists passing in 1999 Judith White wrote in the Australian Art Collector that Gascoigne had created numerous stunning and decisive constructions of an extra ordinary transcendental nature, making a unique contribution to Australian Art.[8]  To this day Rosalie Gascoigne’s two and three dimensional assemblages continue to emanate with her feelings and evoke sensation – continuing a perceptual rhythm that extends itself beyond the life of the artist.

It seems inconsequential as to the medium, whether it be drawing, painting or ceramics that I make a start with.  I push, pull and place various materials without having any preconception of the overall end result.  This is how I make an initial connection and possibly construct my own version of an organic grid upon which a concept develops.  I throw the paint, I throw the clay – there is an organic randomness that exhibits a purpose and order in the final product.  As I physically work and move around in the space I gain a more acute sense of rhythm which I postulate is my own personal connection to this existential experience of life.  Nature is inherently rhythmic; the tide rolls in and the tide rolls out, a cycle that is consistently repeated over time.  Like the blood that courses through our veins, it has a tempo and I often wonder if it is an external or an internal rhythm that I have become more physically and visually aware of in the work.  Or does it represent something other, a connection between the two maybe?  Is it possible for an artwork to evoke a sense of pause and hold a moment in suspension? One question seems only to be replaced by a multitude of others.

Rooftop 2016 (Fig. 2.), is an experimental piece that consists of wheel thrown ceramics, a piece of roofing iron, new and used timber, water, porcelain and a taxidermy-like rat.  It was installed at the Victorian College of the Arts, Student Gallery in August 2016 where it was presented to lecturers and peers for their critical response along with two other sculptural pieces.   General comments included; – suspension of time, sense of pause, dreamlike, both real and surreal, sense of vibrancy, sense of balance and a play on the angle of repose – a sense of suspended animation.  I felt satisfied to know that the Rooftop assemblage had evoked similar sensations in my colleagues that it had in myself, evidence that it was possible for me to create a perception of animation and suspension in the work.  The taxidermy-like rat (hidden in the shadows beneath the roof) received a more mixed and slightly heated response.  Comments ranged from it looking like a fake ‘add on’ that wasn’t necessary, to it providing yet another tension that heightened the sensation of animation – intrinsic to the work.  Personally I quite liked the rat as it provided yet another form of perceived liveliness that was momentarily and forever held on pause.  Its soft grey form in the shadows on the floor were only obvious to the most observant spectator.  What I found even more interesting was the fact that the wheel thrown ceramic components in each sculpture received much less attention – an outcome that I had not expected.  During pack up later that day I wondered if this is what artist Grayson Perry meant by the invisibility of the pot?  Further research was inspired.


Fig. 2. Rooftop 2016

Stoneware ceramics, porcelain, new and used timber, roofing iron, tin, water, taxidermy-like rat

Fig. 3. Detail Image

Rooftop Detail_Kerrie Warren

The Invisible Pot 

Grayson Perry, an English artist best known for his ceramic vases that depict shocking imagery and colourful cross-dressing, disputes that pottery is an entirely decorative or functional object that cannot express artistic ideas.  He refers to his classically shaped ceramics as ‘classical invisible’, acting like frames that surround a painting.  Seemingly homely craft objects they go unnoticed until an observer steps closer only to discover their tantalising surface decoration is constructed of strikingly unconventional content, provocative imagery and perverse humour – stealth bombs as Perry calls them.[9]  Their classical forms provide a base that is easily understood and therefore not questioned, however working with the ‘classical invisible’ comes with its own set of challenges.  Grayson Perry in a recent essay on his work writes:

Almost unwittingly I had set myself quite a challenge: how to get something that was materially and formally indistinguishable from the product of a long-applied art / craft tradition accepted by the gatekeepers of the fine art palaces?  It was a big ask.  Even today I sense that had I not branched out into many other media, as well as curating and television, I would never have had the career I have enjoyed.  I don’t think I would have had to justify my position in such a way had I been a painter and not a potter.[10]

In February this year I flew to Sydney especially to see Perry’s survey of work Grayson Perry: My Pretty Little Art Career installed at the Museum of Contemporary Art Australia.  As I meandered through, moving from one outstanding ceramic vase to the next I couldn’t help but notice the aesthetic elegance and skilful construction of form that not only acted as a base for explicit content but added to the objects dynamic presence.  Maybe I could see the classical invisible forms only because I have a passion for ceramics myself?  I could sense a liveliness from Perry’s vases.  It not only emanated from the visual rhythm that had been cleverly created in the complex layers of surface design, but from a rhythm that had been evoked through dexterous hands as they had worked the clay – the implication of life and the labour of time seemingly stored within the fired work.  I found Perry’s classical invisible shapes of great interest but am now even more fascinated by what could possibly be a contrasting experience for those who are not familiar with this medium.  The ceramic forms presented within my assemblage Rooftop are wheel thrown and altered.  Far from being classical shapes, they too did not receive the level of commentary that I had expected.  So how does the invisible pot make its way into the contemporary art scene?  Maybe Perry’s stealth bomb idea provides the answer!

The response in general to the sculptures I put forward for critical analyses (each piece contained wheel thrown ceramics) seemed to prove Perry’s theory correct.  I noticed that the main thrust of critical banter focused on other materials and the sensation they together evoked as a statement in form.  Individual items were seen as part of the whole and total sum.  The Perilous Inquiry 2016 (Fig. 4.) did not receive quite the same attention as Rooftop which was referred to throughout the discussion as the central piece.  Elements in this sculpture include a wheel thrown ceramic urn, a readymade timber pedestal and a taxidermy-like rat.  The lighting was another crucial element as it was used to throw the two rat like shadows on either side of the corner wall, adding to the visual rhythm which is enhanced by the repeated shapes.  The eye is seduced into making its way up the pedestal to the tip of the tail, and down around to the right where it proceeds to bounce across the shadows before wandering back up the pedestal again to the tip of the tail, and down around to the right in a continuous cycle – caught in a visual rhythm. Did I forget to mention the ceramics?  Did the eye stop and linger long enough to take in its shapeliness, the intricate carving, the beautifully balanced lid, its vibrancy of colour and evidence of a dexterous hand, the labour of time?  The ceramic urn is not the piece of art here – it is but one element within a playful configuration.  There is no distinction between it and its support, no distinction between it and its own shadow.


Ceramic Sculpture by Kerrie Warren

Fig. 4. The Perilous Inquiry 2016

Wheel thrown stoneware ceramics, pre used timber pedestal, taxidermy-like rat


A Personal Perspective

Personally I feel a sense of satisfaction with The Perilous Inquiry, it appears to me suspended in a moment of time.  It is easy to imagine that when I turn my back the rat’s activity will resume, the delicate lid might just topple to the floor – I can almost hear it now.  In order to evoke this perception of a paused moment, the work is required to visually trigger a perception of movement.  The taxidermy-like rat I believe adds to this perception, whilst its precarious positioning evokes a very real and physical sense of balance.  The ceramic urn naturally heightens the overall sense of fragility as gravity pulls down on it from below.  The spectator’s imagination activates the experience through visual perception. Arthur P. Shimamura, a professor of psychology and author of Experiencing Art: In the Brain of the Beholder points out that the aesthetic response may be different for each person.  He writes that our interpretations will be largely influenced by our unique memories and personal points of view.[11] Perceptions of art are as diverse and varied as the artworks themselves, my own perception of Rime of the Ancient Mariner differed greatly to that of my siblings who to this day remain unaffected.

Chinese artist Ai Weiwei is a master at drawing our attention to looking and perceiving.  Earlier this year I found great pleasure in viewing Grapes 2011, an installation that featured within the Andy Warhol / Ai Weiwei exhibition at the National Gallery of Victoria.[12]  The cluster of Qing stools – beautifully balanced and suspended within their energetic cycle of physical motion took hold of me as past and present were magnificently brought together as one.  My eyes oscillated back and forth as I became swept up in the momentum of their poetic arrangement, forever paused.  Their reassembly had been constructed by traditional techniques, without the use of glue or nails. The meaning and function of these cultural artefacts had been transformed and the collection of wooden stools were reconfigured to resemble a cluster of grapes that serve as a metaphor for the relationship between the individual and the collective.[13] This arrangement emanates with potential energy, it is charged. The statement it makes is much more complex than its appearance, tensions have been activated on a multitude of political levels whether the spectator is aware of them or not. Qing Dynasty stools – simple forms from which we sense Ai Weiwei’s great respect for craftsmanship do not display evidence of the artist’s hand.  It is instead the artist’s powerful concept of configuration that makes an artistic statement in form.  Whilst I stood there feeling enchanted by Weiwei’s transcendental Grapes, other visitors to the gallery strolled right past unaffected.  It had been a personal experience.


Bringing it Together

My own personal experience of an artwork, the way I perceive it and how I feel about it is uniquely individual and highly subjective.[14] This in turn can be said for each respondent to my own work, however their responses remain of great interest and intrigue and have certainly inspired further research.  I can only imagine that this additional knowledge becomes part of who I am and therefore part of what I create.  My thoughts jump ahead to an installation idea, a current work in progress (Fig. 5.) that is consuming my thoughts, and I wonder if the end result will reveal any influence of these discussions?  Recently on YouTube I listened to Rosalie Gascoigne being interviewed about her practise.  Her own strict opinions were what had mattered most to her, she needed to feel that the work was self-respecting before she felt that she could in turn respect the work.  Her aim was to capture vitality and life as she wove past experience into her intuitive arrangements, believing that it was dependant on something the famous poet Wordsworth (1770 – 1850) had said about emotion being recollected in tranquillity.  What a coincidence I thought, we had both been influenced by the two poets who had worked on a joint publication of Lyrical Ballads and had together inspired the launch of the Romantic Age in English Literature.[15] Gascoigne was more concerned about how her poetic assemblages felt to her rather than how they looked.[16]  For me this is the most vital component in the entire process, the work must feel true to who I am.

Feeling ones way through the creative process and working without a preconceived idea invites in the exciting element of unpredictability.  It presents a kaleidoscope of unforeseen possibilities that are pushed and pulled, played with, tested and filtered along the way – intuition being the guiding factor toward a sense of direction and meaning within the work.  Gascoigne felt that it was important to keep her hands moving as ideas would emerge in the process.[17] She strove for a sense of vitality in her assemblages and spent hours walking through the countryside to collect old, weathered and battered items in which she sensed the presence of life.[18]  Interior forces that allude to another existence can also be felt in the preloved timber furniture and old building materials that I have either stumbled upon or dragged in from the paddocks myself.  I sense their potential energy and feel compelled to include them in my work; to interweave and integrate them with artistic objects created by my own hand.  Like Grayson Perry I too enjoy seeing my own hand within the work and find the unpredictability of the raw materials motivating.[19]  Perry takes this a step further however and is outwardly critical of those artists who have disconnected themselves from the physical processes to create ‘art by phone’.[20]  In the past I have held a similar opinion but I must admit that my perspective has begun to shift slightly.

In recent times I have felt more inclined to experiment, compelled to incorporate other materials including the informal aesthetic of the ready-made which I must admit was completely unexpected.  By bringing a variety of elements together, both made by my own hand and readymade, I aim to link and intertwine various systems of existence into poetic assemblages and installations that act as one exuberant and cohesive form of expression.  Initial experiments have been trialled and presented to my lecturers and peers for critical analysis during two seminars this year.  The incorporation of other materials, including taxidermy-like rats, resulted in vigorous conversation, a slight of humour in the work, and a renewed enthusiasm within my practice.  Further research has inspired me to think bigger, literally.  Big thinking artists such as Ai Weiwei are a great inspiration, however at this stage of my career I can only dream of taking over the ground floor of the National Gallery of Victoria – but dream we artists do.



Writing these Notes to Self and Two Other People presented an opportunity for me to step outside the studio to research, investigate and observe.  From this perspective I have gained a better overall understanding of my work, the direction I can feel it wanting to take and what lies at the heart of my inspiration.  Numerous questions have arisen throughout the process – a small percentage of them touched on being answered but most only inspired more questions such as; through art am I able to create a sense of pause in life’s continual momentum in order to gain a better understanding of its delicate balance, its vulnerable fragility and sublime impermanence?  By working intuitively am I tapping into my own sense of truth, and through the work does this personal truth extend itself to the spectator?  As a naïve poet I think I sought answers to similar questions.  It has become clear to me that I have an insatiable curiosity for how life works.  Professor Shimamura explains how experiencing art is in the brain of the beholder which only confirms to me that I am on a solitary quest, questioning my own existence within the whole and total sum of this experience.

Artists such as Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Rosalie Gascoigne, Grayson Perry and Ai Weiwei are a great inspiration; their works provide me with a sense of being that is close to that which I strive to achieve.  As I have stood before artworks such as Gascoigne’s Monaro, Weiwei’s Grapes and Perry’s series of provocative vases, I have sensed the rhythm of life that emanates out through them and beyond their creator.  Where does this rhythm begin and to which point does it extend I wonder?  Are the raw materials and pre used items already activated with life before the artist has even considered them?  Do I as a spectator activate the experience?  Question after question continues to arise and I think of the famous dictum once uttered by Socrates during his trial, ‘The unexamined life is not worth living’.[21] On this note I conclude that like my artwork, this research is in a constant state of exploration and forever a work in progress.


Table Totem 2016_Kerrie Warren

Fig. 5. Table Ceramics 2016 A sculpture that extends itself from the floor to the ceiling with variable dimensions.  Materials used are wheel thrown stoneware ceramics, preloved timber tables, taxidermy-like black birds and plastic cockroaches.  I see this developing not only as an individual, highly charged sculpture but as a central element that would sit within and be part of an entire installation.




 An early poem by Kerrie Warren, inspired by the works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge


The sun strikes hard but never reaches your depths,

It leaves me still feeling cold.

I must have known you for a million years,

I fell in love with your reflection gold.


It’s been you and me for a very long time,

One and one never needing a crew.

You are my friend and you are my love,

I fell in love with your waters blue.


I devoted my time and have devoted my life,

All your secrets I have seen.

My eyes have stared deep into your soul,

And fell in love with your soul so green.


I watch in awe as the sun sinks down,

And glimpse the top of his burning head.

I helplessly watch flailing arms of gold,

Drown in your love so red.


Sometimes my eyes cannot see through the mist,

But I can still feel your movement and sway.

When the rain falls down and the mist rises up,

I fall in love with your sight so grey.


You made me feel young yet grow very old,

Through your current my life seemed to seep.

I have given you my life and I will give you my death,

I fell in love with a black ocean deep.[22]


Kerrie Warren 1989




Biography Samuel Taylor Coleridge.” Poetry Foundation, Date of Access 13/09/2016

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor. The Poets’ Way. Edited by A.R. Moon. Stage 2 ed.  London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1936.

Delany, Max, Eric C. Shiner, and John J. Curley. Andy Warhol, Ai Weiwei.  Victoria: National Gallery of Victoria, 2015.

Herbert, Zbigniew. Still Life with a Bridle : Essays and Apocryphas.  New York: Ecco Press, 1991.

Klein, Jacky, and Grayson Perry. Grayson Perry.  Vol. Updated and expanded edition., London: Thames & Hudson, 2013.

Morris, Richard. “Visualizing Monaro: Contributing Factors to the Viewers Perception of Motion in Rosalie Gascoigne’s, Monaro, 1989.” International Journal of the Image 4, no. 1 (2014).

Perry, Grayson, Rachel Kent, Louisa Buck, and Julian Baggini. Grayson Perry : My Pretty Little Art Career. Edited by Rachel Kent: Royal Exchange NSW : Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, 2015.

Plato, and Benjamin Jowett. Apology. [Electronic Resource].   Project Gutenberg, 1999. Book.

Shimamura, Arthur P. Experiencing Art : In the Brain of the Beholder New York : Oxford University Press, 2013.

twopointsix. “Interview with Rosalie Gascoigne.”, 2007.

Victoria, National Gallery of. “Grapes 2011.” NGV,

Warren, Kerrie. New Directions.  Surfers Paradise, Queensland: Tobago Pty Ltd, 1990.

White, Judith. “Rosalie Gascoigne.” Australian Art Collector, 2000.


[1] Zbigniew Herbert, Still Life with a Bridle : Essays and Apocryphas (New York: Ecco Press, 1991), 18.

[2] “Biography Samuel Taylor Coleridge,” Poetry Foundation, Date of Access 13/09/2016

[3] Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Poets’ Way, ed. A.R. Moon, Stage 2 ed. (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1936), 250.

[4] Richard Morris, “Visualizing Monaro: Contributing Factors to the Viewers Perception of Motion in Rosalie Gascoigne’s, Monaro, 1989,” International Journal of the Image 4, no. 1 (2014): 27.

[5] “Biography Samuel Taylor Coleridge”.

[6] Ibid., 27.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Judith White, “Rosalie Gascoigne,” Australian Art Collector2000, 55.

[9] Jacky Klein and Grayson Perry, Grayson Perry, vol. Updated and expanded edition. (London: Thames & Hudson, 2013), 39.

[10] Grayson Perry et al., Grayson Perry : My Pretty Little Art Career, ed. Rachel Kent (Royal Exchange NSW : Museum of Contemporary Art Australia, 2015), 40.

[11] Arthur P. Shimamura, Experiencing Art : In the Brain of the Beholder (New York : Oxford University Press, 2013), 128.

[12] Max Delany, Eric C. Shiner, and John J. Curley, Andy Warhol, Ai Weiwei (Victoria: National Gallery of Victoria, 2015), 58.

[13] National Gallery of Victoria, “Grapes 2011,” NGV,

[14] Shimamura, 128.

[15] “Biography Samuel Taylor Coleridge”.

[16] twopointsix, “Interview with Rosalie Gascoigne,” (, 2007).

[17] White,  56.

[18] twopointsix.

[19] Perry et al., 18.

[20] Klein and Perry, Updated and expanded edition., 227.

[21] Plato and Benjamin Jowett, Apology. [Electronic Resource], (Project Gutenberg, 1999), Book.

[22] Kerrie Warren, New Directions (Surfers Paradise, Queensland: Tobago Pty Ltd, 1990), 228.