Exhibition casts Tassie as invisible state

Having lived in urban Britain for three decades, Hamish Thompson picked up in the midst of the global pandemic last year and relocated half a world away to the wilds of Tasmania.

Landing initially in Hobart, he hired a Toyota Hiace with a bed in the back and set off to find somewhere to call his own.

He knew nobody in Fingal, population 405 and about half an hour from the state's remote northeastern oyster capital, St Helens, but settle there he did.

Despite being "always hopeless" at the art of DIY, he paid cash for and moved into a "dilapidated, leaking 1850s gold rush bank" and began refurbishing it.

Yet perhaps equally obscure, the career publicist also experienced something of an epiphany upon his arrival which triggered a year-long obsession and a decision to open an art exhibition with a difference.

Thompson happened to notice that the earings worn by a waitress in a local cafe were in the shape of mainland Australia but minus the island state.

Baffled by the omission, he felt the jewellery looked incomplete, like "a question mark without a dot".

A quest followed. He set off in search of items that similarly cast Tasmania as non-existent.

There were luggage labels, federal parliament souvenirs, federation mementos, royal visit keepsakes, brooches, postcards, jigsaws and tea towels.

Thompson trawled antique shops up-and-down the east coast of the mainland, throughout Tassie and beyond.

"I've plundered eBay's vast digital warehouse worldwide, Facebook Marketplace, Gumtree and Google," he says.

"I've read widely about attitudes to Tasmania and Tasmanians and I've listened intently to Tasmanians' feelings about their identity and the perceptions and clichés that are foisted on them."

The result is State of Invisibility, more than 100 depictions of the shape of Australia without Tassie assembled at Thompson's MINA gallery in the foyer of his Fingal doer-upper.

The mix of logos, sheet music, trench art, fruit tins, salt and pepper pots, lemonade, Worcestershire Sauce, ashtrays, keys and spoons he was eventually able to source is, by his own estimation, staggering in range.

Considering there's even a Kangaroo scrotum bottle opener among the assortment, it's hard to disagree.

"It started as a collector's whim but then I noticed how strongly Tasmanians feel about being excluded," Thompson says.

"It has morphed into another route into a discussion about Australian identity and inclusiveness.

"This exhibition is a counter-intuitive love letter to my new home."

Three rules were set for inclusion: the objects must post-date the beginning of Australia's federation process, there can't be a technical reason for Tasmania's absence and they need to be affordable everyday items.

"After Brexit and the recent Royal succession, questions of national identity have probably never been more high profile than they are today," Thompson says.

"What I find amazing is that a state that is 70 per cent of the land mass of England can just disappear from maps of Australia."

While not claiming any expertise around the nuances of Australian identity, he thinks there's something in the idea of entering into a thought process about such topics via an analogy. 

The exhibition also features posters that turn the tables and randomly exclude other states, and a vending machine that issues Tasmania air in 'flavours' including the Roaring 40s, Southerly Buster and 'Huonglade'.

Customers are obliged to bring their own packaging or just cup their hands under the dispenser.

Thompson lists some of his other interests as space suits, old stationery and crime and horror knitting patterns. 

A public display for State of Invisibility is planned but for now, Thompson occasionally opens the thought-provoking MINA exhibition, usually by appointment via Twitter: @hamishmthompson