Jamin (b. 1976, Sydney) is a Tasmanian artist who has worked and exhibited extensively in local, national and international contexts since 2004. He is known for his challenging contemporary approaches to visual art, harnessing and combining the street styles of stencil, aerosol and graffiti methodologies with experimental approaches to develop works that challenge the hierarchies and divisions of traditional frameworks driven by art history and theory. Drawing from contemporary theoreticians the artist’s informed conceptual approaches underpin the experimental material aspects of his oeuvre. His work has been acclaimed through awards, commissions and international residencies, and he retains his commitment to grass-roots community levels of working, where he has worked regularly as a mentor for a cross-section of youth and others interested in extending their interest in street culture.
Jamin has been selected for the inaugural 2018BOAA (Biennale of Australian Art)in Ballarat, and in 2008 was selected for Contemporary Australia: Optimismat the Gallery of Modern Art (GoMA) in Brisbane. In 2011 he was the recipient of the Rosamond McCulloch Studio Residency, Paris; and he was the Artistic Director / Curator of the visual environment of MONA FOMA’s Faux Mofestival from 2015-2017. Jamin is a PhD candidate at the Tasmanian College of the Arts, University of Tasmania, where his thesis explores connections between camouflage, the non-human and assemblage theory.
Jamin is represented by Despard Gallery in Hobart.
A Life Mediated (A life lived)
Oh to be like a bird, eating the berry, catching the wind and doing other bird like things. Or like a rock, ponderously witnessing such ancient and slow accretion and dissolution – unconcerned, apparently, by the immediate nature of my rockishness or after-rockishness or before-rockishness. Instead I cling like a many-headed-leech to a multiplicity of filters, mirrors, constructs and contraptions; shaping and shaped – mediated – by the blood-flow of fashionable consumption. My thoughts and desires are disingenuous, and yet I struggle to place where it is they originate from and why I am left with a residual feeling of futility. My identity is not some essential thing. My fingerprints remain a point of continuity but their surrounding flesh has changed, aged, calcified. I guess in a certain kind of modality I am human– like that Verve song – yet I’m told that on a sub-atomic level I’m not that different to the bird or the rock. My other experiences and perceptions of self seem contiguous, linked, to some other mutable thing – a book, a person, a word, an event – seemingly fixed but itself in a state flux , contingent to yet more things enfolded within elaborate mesh works. For instance, I often find a song to be compelling, so I press a button that deletes money – which only existed as a virtual contingent – from my bank account, of no fixed location. That virtual currency is then distributed amongst a collection of interested parties that probably had something to do with making the music. Probably. It is a tiny step in a colossal process that gathers, mines, produces, destroys, builds, empties and fills my desire. Seemingly instantly. In my cynical acknowledgement of this process – I only introduce yet more fashionable consumptions into the flow. Each time I attempt to ‘choose’ a different option – I am left poorer, further indebted and indentured to the culture-society-food-and-house-making-system I live in. Either that, or something new has arisen from the meshwork to assuage my thirst. A book about assemblage theory. A yoga class. A new movement. Some strings for my guitar so that I can write songs critiquing my indentured subscription to life-as-I-know-it. So then what? Well, for a brief moment – a mask slips, or a filter tears – and I glimpse into a void, an emptiness that is pregnant with possibility. It’s very brief. The filter stitches itself back together like a Mk2 Terminator or a granny on steroids, and what was void becomes mirror. I see myself in the round and am left with a feeling, in no uncertain terms, that the life-mediated, is all that’s left of me. – Jamin, 2015