Karla Dickens, Gardian 3, 2013, mixed medium, dimensions variable. Image courtesy of artist

The title for the 2014 TarraWarra Biennial is drawn from a jaunty 1981 Grace Jones song, Art Groupie. The song straddles 70s disco and 80s synth pop, and its odd, haunting lyrics are somehow lost in Jones’ staccato diction. Whisper in My Mask leaves the pop sensibility behind, and we are left with Jones’ lyrics: like them, the exhibition is dark, mysterious, threatening, probing and intimate.

The Biennial is the signature exhibition for the TarraWarra Museum of Art, a privately funded public museum opened in 2003 and nestled in the Yarra Valley. The Biennial has been running since 2006, and is presented not as a survey but rather a particular reading of contemporary practice, with artists brought together to create new connections and dialogue within the landscape of contemporary Australian art.

Whisper in My Mask installation view with work by Tony Garifalakis. Image by Rebecca Gallo for RAVEN

One of the defining architectural features of the Museum is its floor-to-ceiling picture window that frames an idyllic view of the valley beyond. The vista is visible from one end of the galleries to the other, and usually serves dual purposes of flooding the space with light, and situating any exhibited art firmly in context. For Whisper in My Mask, Daniel Boyd has veiled this window with black vinyl, punctuated by constellations of circular holes. Light and the landscape are filtered through these punctures, and this sense of obscuring and shrouding is carried through the exhibition.

Curators Natalie King and Djon Mundine have selected a range of Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal artists working mainly in photography, installation, sculpture and video. Many of the works feature audio elements, and although headphones accompany some video works, a cacophony of sounds carries throughout the space. The most aurally insistent is emerging Perth artist Elizabeth Pedler’s interactive installation Smokescreen. In a purpose-built room, a series of floor-mounted fans stirs up a sea of small white polystyrene balls in a flurry of hissing and swooshing. Visitors don disposable dust masks and enter the fray, swimming or making snow angels in remarkable displays of abandon. The masks confer anonymity, but later on throughout the exhibition, tell-tale white spheres are seen stuck in hair, on shoelaces, shuffled to the floor in the corners of each room.

Elizabeth Pedler, Smokescreen 2013-14, Styrofoam beans, fans, paint, electricity supply, wood, PVC plastic, construction materials. Courtesy of the artist. Photo: Elizabeth Pedler

Some works reference masking directly, and meaning can be found in the way in which faces are partially or entirely obscured. Søren Dahlgaard’s series of portraits, in which locals are photographed with raw dough placed on their head and stretching pendulously down to neck level, are playful and absurd. In Polixeni Papapetrou’s photographic portraits, demurely seated models are dressed in clown or jester regalia, complete with full-head masks of comically wrinkled and exaggerated faces. The complete obfuscation of the face leads to a certain level of discomfort in its departure from our expectations of the human form. Tony Garifalakis’ doctored photographs set a threatening and disturbing tone. Faces of royalty are covered in dripping black paint, with only staring eyes and rictus grins left showing through. Crowns and elaborate jewels – symbols of wealth and power – frame these blackened cavities.

A number of projects are based on community involvement, including Fiona Hall’s collaboration with twelve artists from the Tjanpi Desert Weavers collective. This has resulted in two striking installations of fibre sculptures: one representing endangered species, the other depicting a complex tjukurrpa story in which nothing is what it seems. For You Winsome, You Lose Some, Karla Dickens has worked with a group of homeless, socially challenged individuals in northern NSW. The masks they have created from recycled materials are powerful and disturbing. They bear traces of Hannibal Lecter with their grilles and rusted metal protrusions, but the photographs of Dickens’ collaborators holding the masks to their faces speak of self-protection and camouflage rather than aggression or deception.

Fiona Hall and Tjanpi Desert Weavers, Kuka Irititja installation detail. Image by Rebecca Gallo for RAVEN

Showcasing work by sixteen artists and artist groups, Whisper in My Mask is a powerful compilation that weaves a complex tale of identity, perception, concealment and discovery. Notions of repressed or forgotten histories, power and corruption, reflection and protection are woven throughout this collection of works that is in turns political, personal, solemn and playful. Never mind what Grace Jones says, this show will have resonance for more than just the art groupies.

Whisper in My Mask, Tue to Sun 11am-5pm until 16 November; TarraWarra Museum of Art, 311 Healesville-Yarra Glen Road, Healesville; (03) 5957 3100, twma.com.au, Museum admission: adults $7.50, seniors $5, concessions and children free

Søren Dahlgaard, Jack Charles, Dough Portrait, 2014, type C photograph.
Courtesy of the artist

Whisper in My Mask installation view with work by Polixeni Papapetrou, Fiona Foley and boat-people. Image by Rebecca Gallo for RAVEN