The Sanctuary — Jessica McNicol

The Sanctuary, first solo exhibition for Brisbane / Meanjin based illustrator Shonnie Lea seems to be at odds with itself. As a title The Sanctuary feels safe, projects solemn comfort — a steadfast ideology that seems disconnected from the subject matter here. Lea’s collection of hyper realistic greyscale pencil illustrations are incredible in their delicacy, however, isolated in each frame, the softly rendered curves of a young woman is repeatedly marred by cracks, wounds, and hopelessly entangled with viscera. To see the subjects on display here — Lea’s work does not feel ‘safe’.

However striking in its vulnerability, The Sanctuary appears to be an unflinching monologue that speaks in a figurative language both direct and unambiguous. In style and image, these works are a montage of turmoil.

Lea developed her practice of tonal realism as a lens for communing with the world around her, and it's not surprising that the silent procession of tortured young women here are all selves. Until recently, she never revealed her face in the work, but — introspective and observant by nature — has accepted the acute connection between her own image and the ritualistic nature of her practice. In creating work for The Sanctuary, Lea’s process of posing, photographing and meticulously recreating her own body in tortured and vulnerable positions allowed her agency over the rawness of her own emotion.

In this way, the work in this collection is a kind of radical self indulgence, but not the vain and wallowy kind. In what she calls a ‘shameless display of shame’, Lea turns her observant nature inward, re-creating herself over and over again in the thrall of invisible torment as a kind of diary — a reckoning of her own experience.

Symbolic duplications, scenarios, and disfigurements that translate Lea’s complicated relationship with herself speak to themes of exposure, insecurity, and self sabotage, while her own figure is often alone in the centre of each work, isolated on all sides by harsh white expanse of the cotton paper.

Lea suggests these works as figures born of shame, hurt and guilt, but as a viewer, the labour of love is the most impactful message. Although each illustrated version of the artist plays scapegoat to her real experiences, the tenderness expressed in her thoughtful rendering of the self — soft curves and folds, the compassionate ways each figure cares for herself, holds herself, even after such violence — create the most lasting impression.

Lea chose the title of the show specifically to counter the overt nature of the collection. The term does project an ideological refuge that many of her duplicated selves can not reach. For the artist, the individual works here are vessels for uncomfortable catharsis, but in the process of posing herself, rendering herself and finally — displaying herself, these images together speak to a quiet confidence and tender understanding that forms its own kind of sanctuary.

About the Curator

Laura Brinin

Laura Brinin is a curator of contemporary art, currently facilitating the vibrant program at Side Gallery in the heart of Red Hill, Brisbane. With an unwavering passion for nurturing connections with emerging and established creatives, Laura is dedicated to fostering artistic growth through avenues such as social media, branding, and identity development.

Laura has exhibited her own work both in Australia and overseas, as well as working as an independent freelance curator across Brisbane for over ten years. In her downtime, you can find her reading, travelling, or stalking dogs.

—   laura@sidegallery.com.au