Lonely

Think of this canvas as a VHS-era mixtape: a Boss 302 idling at the curb like freedom with a learner’s permit. Above, a couple looking as though they were lifted from a Japanese action poster.
In the centre, LONELY in ’90s gothic tattoo type floats like a confession scrawled on a school diary. And a Nokia 3410, a symbol of first independence and endless text threads where identity and friendship were thumbed out in pixelated green. Hovering below, a red Panton chair - pure aspiration, the kind you only saw in movies and swore you’d own when life got bigger.

Altogether it’s a scrapbook of what I thought adult life might be - horsepower, hero myths, screen-born design and endless freedom.

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Coris Evans is a visual artist based on Bundjalung Country in Byron Bay, Australia. Her practice explores memory and longing, using familiar objects and symbols to trace how personal history lingers in everyday life.

After losing her mother to cancer as a teenager, memory became something to return to - a place where time slowed, where tenderness endured, and where her mother still lived. Evans’ paintings and sculptural works draw on ordinary objects as emotional anchors: a well-worn mug kept beyond its use, an old mobile phone once filled with teenage secrets, the lingering scent of a parent’s hair product. These details become quiet carriers of feeling, transforming intimate memory into shared experience.

Working primarily with sustainable and recycled materials, Evans views care for the environment as inseparable from care for memory itself. Her process is slow and deliberate, guided by responsibility - to material, to narrative, and to the world her work inhabits. Through her practice, Evans invites viewers to reflect on what we hold onto, what we lose, and the objects we return to when we want to remember who we were.