In Bed with Autobiography: Unravelling the Fabric of Gender and Genre in Women’s Bed(room) Confessions

This thesis consists of a confessional narrative, What My Mother Doesn’t Know, and an accompanying exegesis, And Why I Should (Maybe) Tell Her. The creative piece employs the confessional mode as a subversive device in three separate narratives, each of which situates the bed as a site of resistance. The exegesis investigates how this self-disclosure in a domestic space flouts the governing rules of self-representation, specifically: telling the truth, respecting privacy and displaying normalcy. The female confession, I argue, creates an alternative space in women’s autobiography where notions of truth-telling can be undermined, the political dimensions of personal experience can be uncovered and the discourse of normality can be negotiated. In particular, women’s confessions told in, on or about the bed, dismantle the genre’s illusion of self and confirm the representative aspects of women’s experience. Framed within these parameters of power and powerlessness, the exegesis includes textual analyses of Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s The Yellow Wallpaper (1892), Tracey Emin’s My Bed (1999) and Lauren Slater’s Lying (2000), each of which exposes in a bedroom space, the author’s most obscure, intimate and traumatic experiences. Situated firmly within and against the genre’s traditional masculine domain, the exegesis also includes mediations on the creative work that validate the bed as my fabric for confession.

Peace unknown

In this freestanding sculpture, domestic ‘in-wall’ speakers are mounted in custom-built cabinets. The speakers play a calming stock music soundtrack. The cabinets are faced with photographic mural wallpaper of a stereotypical waterfall scene. This work examines how we construct, represent and deploy notions of nature in our contemporary lives. It mixes the languages of furniture design, landscape photography and sculpture. Drawing on Zygmunt Bauman’s theoretical work on “liquid modernity”, this work questions how and where we find space for contemplation and reflection in a contemporary context increasingly defined by temporary social bonds and consumer choices.

Tragedy and assimilation : reciprocity between surface and subject

Here we unveil a tragic triptych of three Australian women painfully painted onto the walls of interior surfaces. The woman at the centre of the triptych is Florence Broadhurst whose tragic death still remains a mystery. To the right is Australian skin illustrator Emma Hack who recreates Broadhurst’s wallpapers, mimicking their colourful patterns onto live models. Hack perfectly assimilates the models’ body into the wallpaper, camouflaging bodies except for small hints at something more in the foreground. In the process of Hack’s images, the models become statues, standing painfully still holding their breath for minutes at a time. The third woman, to the left of the triptych, is the fictional character Candy from the 2006 Australian film Candy. Candy’s traumatic struggle with addiction ends with her conveying her pain in a poem she writes on the walls of her home; culminating her tragic story into a disturbed domestic wall surface. This research tries to understand this relationship with the surface through tragedy as a reciprocal agreement between surface and subject and not a permanent transference between one state and another. What the surface provides in times of personal struggle and turmoil is a method for us to come to terms with out material existence.

Tragedy and assimilation: Occupying the patterned surface

This chapter draws on biographical data about two notable pattern designers of wall surfaces in the interior. Both had personal histories of multiple careers and geographical locations and both their lives ended in mysterious circumstances. One of the pattern designers, Jim Thompson, disappeared in the Malaysian highlands in 1967 and was never found. The other, Florence Broadhurst, was brutally murdered in 1977; her case remains unsolved. This chapter theorizes that the patterned surface attracted Broadhurst and Thompson as a space to occupy and record their divergent pasts, and questions what it is to lose oneself in the surface of the interior, to find freedom (or slavery) in the abdication of control. This notion is further evidenced in creative works, including the Australian film Candy and the work by skin illustrator Emma Hack. What is it to work with the self as a two-dimensional representation in the outside world? Occupying the surface suggests a reflexive relationship with identity, that makes-over and re-shapes truths, lies and re-constructions. The chapter reminds us that the surface is never in stasis.

Space within the surface : the patterned surfaces of Florence Broadhurst and Jim Thompson

The Woods Bagot 2007 refurbishment of the Qantas and British Airways Bangkok Business lounge in the Survarnabhumi Airport features wall finishes designed by wallpaper designer, Florence Broadhurst (1899-1977) and Thai Silk trader, Jim Thompson (1906-1967). This distinctive selection, which is proclaimed on the airport’s website, of patterned wall surfaces side by side draws attention to their striking similarities and their defining differences . Thompson and Broadhurst would appear to be worlds apart, but here in the airport their work brings them together. Thompson, the son of a wealthy cotton family in America, worked as an architect before joining the army. He moved to Bangkok to start The Thai Silk Company in 1948. Broadhurst was born on a farm in Mt. Perry, Queensland. She began her career as a performance artist, as part of an Australian troupe in Shanghai, moving onto pursue a career in fashion design, catering to the middle and upper classes in London. Upon her return to Australia, Broadhurst started a print design company in 1959. Both Broadhurst and Thompson pursued multiple careers, lived many lives, and died under mysterious circumstances. Broadhurst was murdered in 1977 at her Sydney print warehouse, which remains an unsolved crime. Thompson disappeared in Malaysia in 1967 and his body has never been found. This chapter investigates the parallels between Thompson and Broadhurst and what lead them to design such popular patterns for wall surfaces towards the end of their careers. While neither designer was a household name, their work is familiar to most, seen in the costume and set design of films, on the walls of restaurants and cafes and even in family homes. The reason for the popularity of their patterns has not previously been analysed. However, this chapter suggests that the patterns are intriguing because they contain something of their designers’ identities. It suggests that the coloured surface provides a way of camouflaging and hiding its subjects’ histories, such that Broadhurst and Thompson, consciously or unconsciously, used the patterned surface as a plane in which their past lives could be buried. The revealing nature of the stark white wall, compared with the forgiveness provided by the pattern in which to hide, is elaborated by painter and advocate for polychromatic architecture, Fernand Léger in his essay, “The Wall, The Architect, The Painter (1965).” Léger writes that, “the modern architect has gone too far in his magnificent attempts to cleanse through emptiness,” and that the resultant white walls of modernity create ‘an impalpability of air, of slick, brilliant new surfaces where nothing can be hidden any longer …even shadows don’t dare to enter’. To counter the exposure produced by the white wall, Thompson and Broadhurst designed patterned surfaces that could harbour their personal histories. Broadhurst and Thompson’s works share a number of commonalities in their design production, even though their work in print design commenced a decade apart. Both designers opted to work more with traditional methods of pattern making. Broadhurst used hand-operated screens, and Thompson outsourced work to local weavers and refrained from operating out of a factory. Despite humble beginnings, Broadhurst and Thompson enjoyed international success with their wall patterns being featured in a number of renowned international hotels in Bahrain, Singapore, Sydney, and London in the 1970s and 1980s. Their patterns were also transferred to fabric for soft furnishings and clothing. Thompson’s patterns were used for costumes in films including the King and I and Ben Hur. Broadhurst’s patterns were also widely used by fashion designers and artists, such as Akira Isogowa‘s costume design for Salome, a 1998 production by the Sydney Dance Company. Most recently her print designs have been used by skin illustrator Emma Hack, in a series of works painting female bodies into Broadhurst’s patterns. Hack’s works camouflage the models’ bodies into the patterned surface, assimilating subject and surface, hinting at there being something living within the patterned wall. More than four decades after Broadhurst’s murder and five decades since Thompson’s disappearance, their print designs persist as more than just a legacy. They are applied as surface finishes with the same fervour as when the designs were first released. This chapter argues that the reason for the ongoing celebration of their work is that there is the impalpable presence of the creator in the patterns. It suggests that the patterns blur the boundary between subject and surface.