In a world where our fingers seem permanently glued to our screens, the Slow Read exhibition at Town Hall Gallery in Hawthorn, Victoria, feels like a breath of fresh air—or perhaps, a much-needed pause button. Personally, I think this exhibition couldn’t have come at a better time. We’re all guilty of doom-scrolling, that mindless habit of endlessly flicking through social media feeds, only to look up and realize hours have vanished. What makes this particularly fascinating is how the exhibition doesn’t just critique this behavior but offers a tangible alternative: art that demands—and rewards—our full attention.
One thing that immediately stands out is the way these artists transform books into multi-dimensional, tactile experiences. It’s not just about reading; it’s about feeling the texture of paper, seeing the layers of meaning, and engaging with the work on a deeper level. Take Jacky Cheng’s piece, Thrums, for example. Her use of kozo paper offcuts and old calendars, stitched together with nylon, is a masterclass in repurposing the past. What many people don’t realize is that weaving, as a process, is inherently meditative. Cheng’s work isn’t just a visual treat; it’s a metaphor for how identities are formed—through overlapping experiences, memories, and cultural influences. If you take a step back and think about it, her cardboard phone replacement is both hilarious and profound. It’s a physical reminder of our digital detachment, a way to reclaim time and focus.
From my perspective, the most compelling aspect of Slow Read is its ability to bridge the past and present. Jayda Wilson’s (un)silenced is a prime example. By engaging with their grandmother’s speech about the suppression of First Nations languages, Wilson doesn’t just revisit history—they reimagine it. Their use of archival documents and hand-traced notes creates a dialogue between generations, a weaving of stories that feels both personal and universal. What this really suggests is that art isn’t just about preservation; it’s about transformation. Wilson’s work invites us to slow down, to look between the lines, and to unpack layers of meaning that aren’t immediately apparent.
A detail that I find especially interesting is curator Rachel Keir-Smith’s emphasis on the health benefits of engaging with art. Studies show it reduces anxiety and improves concentration, which, in our hyper-stimulated world, feels like a lifeline. But what’s even more intriguing is her assertion that art requires time and attention—something our digital lives rarely afford. This raises a deeper question: What are we losing in our rush to consume content? The exhibition challenges us to reconsider the value of slowness, of deliberate engagement, and of treating books and archives as ‘privileged sites of learning.’
If you’re like me, you might find the idea of slowing down intimidating. We’re so conditioned to instant gratification that the thought of spending hours—or even minutes—with a single piece of art feels almost foreign. But Keir-Smith reminds us that we already have the tools: looking, noticing, feeling, questioning. It’s not about expertise; it’s about presence. In my opinion, that’s the real takeaway from Slow Read. It’s not just an exhibition; it’s an invitation to reconnect with ourselves, with history, and with the tactile beauty of the printed page.
As I reflect on this, I can’t help but wonder: Could this be the start of a broader cultural shift? What if more of us ditched our phones for a few hours each day to engage with art, literature, or even just our own thoughts? The exhibition ends on July 25, but its message feels timeless. Personally, I think it’s a call to action—not just to visit the gallery, but to rethink how we spend our time. After all, in a world of endless scrolling, the act of slowing down might just be revolutionary.
