By Seth Khouri
In her debut exhibition, artist Anika Percival turns the family archive into a painterly language of memory. Working from photographs taken decades before her own childhood, the works capture fleeting gestures of intimacy—a blessing, a wedding, a moment between relatives—translating them into images that feel both personal and strangely universal. What begins as an exploration of family history ultimately becomes something broader: a reflection on how memory, nostalgia, and love continue to echo across generations.
SETH KHOURI: Tell us about why we’re here
ANIKA PERCIVAL : A friend from university and I had an assignment last year where we had to propose an exhibition to a gallery. She’s Chilean and I’m Sri Lankan, so both of our practices are strongly tied to culture. At the last minute she decided to actually apply to a gallery here in Sydney. We’re still uni students, so we didn’t think much would come of it. Then we received an email saying they’d host the exhibition.
SK: That’s awesome! From a bird eye perspective, what was it like viewing your art outside your university environment for the first time?
AP: It was strange in the best way. The feedback I’m used to getting comes from friends, family, and teachers, which can be a little biased. Hearing people I didn’t know speak about the work was really special. I sold two pieces that night as well, which was amazing.
SK: Wow, congratulations! I guess it’s quite difficult to envision your work in an exhibition space. Was there a moment throughout this process that made it all make sense?
AP: There was a clear half moment. When we began physically building the space. Seeing the work come together on the walls made it feel real, especially in those final hours before opening night.
SK: Did the artwork change to you when you saw it in the gallery space?
AP: It really cemented how I understood it. I wanted the paintings to feel like family photographs, almost as if the viewer is intruding on warm moments of joy
SK: You just said something I quite like. “Intruding on warm moments of joy” is a wonderful concept. Can you share where this idea started?
AK: At home we have a shelf filled with old photo albums from when we were kids. I often go downstairs just to sit and look through them. My work almost always begins with photographs. Every time I revisit those albums I end up crying, especially when I see images of my parents before I existed. They share these memories that connect us, yet I’m not part of them. It feels like I’m intruding on a life they lived before me. At the same time, it feels like a privilege, having access to those moments twenty, thirty, even forty years later.
SK: Can you recount the first image that spurred this on?
AP: It was a photograph of my mum. Most of the albums belong to my dad’s side of the family, so I didn’t realise we had photos from my mum’s childhood as well. She grew up in Sri Lanka and didn’t move to Australia until she was twenty. Seeing images of her as a child with friends and family she eventually left behind really moved me. There was one photograph of my uncle at his wedding with my mum’s dad. It affected me quite deeply, because he wasn’t present at my mum’s wedding years later. Seeing that moment and knowing what followed stayed with me.
SK: There’s a closeness that an artist shares with their art. What’s unique here is that closeness is shared with your family. Is there a piece that either your parents feel especially close to.
AP: Definitely. The largest painting in the exhibition titled Amma’s Kiss shows my grandmother blessing my mum. In Sri Lankan culture there’s a ceremony when girls enter womanhood after their first period. The family gathers and pours water and flowers over your head. My sisters and I experienced the same tradition. At first I didn’t know what the photograph showed. After speaking with my mum I realised how significant that ceremony is in Sri Lanka. Most of my memories of my grandmother are from when she was much older. She didn’t remember much, but she would always kiss us on both cheeks and hold our faces, smiling. The painting reminded me of that maternal touch.
SK: It’s clear your ideas are very deliberate and nothing is half considered. I wanted to ask how much intuition plays into this. What was your selection process like?
AP: There’s definitely intuition involved. I did have a selection process, for example, I tried not to choose too many photos where people were looking directly into the camera. The ones where they seemed unaware felt more natural to me. There’s also intuition in knowing when to stop painting. Sometimes I look back and realise I could have stopped earlier, and other times I can see I probably overworked a piece.
SK: It’s the halfway point of an artist’s work is never finished except when it is. Memory clearly infiltrates your work, however, they’re not your memories. What was it like to have your parents experience this body of work that’s in some ways a living archive for them.
AP: Honestly, it’s quite difficult for me to talk about emotional things with my parents, so I didn’t really explain the work while I was making it. I expressed it visually instead. When they saw the exhibition, my mum was especially drawn to the painting of her and her mother. After finishing it we had a long conversation about her life in Sri Lanka, which created a deeper emotional connection between us. Showing the work to strangers felt one way, but showing it to my family was definitely more confronting.
SK: Presenting anything to those around you is of course quite daunting. Presenting something to your family which also honours them is a different weight altogether.
AP: Oh definitely!
SK: Do memories and nostalgia interest you as an artist or was this occasion specific?
AP: It’s definitely something I keep returning to. Almost everything I’ve made since high school has been rooted in memory in some way. The body of work before this one was about holding on, and that also used family photographs. Even earlier works centred around summer were influenced by those images. Every project feels like an opportunity to try something new, but I keep circling back to this. It seems to be what my hand naturally wants to paint.
SK: How out of body was it seeing people encounter your work for the first time?
AP: My biggest wish was to experience the evening invisibly. Most people didn’t know I was the artist, so I could just listen to what they were saying. It was really special when someone described something that aligned exactly with what I had hoped to communicate.
SK: Did anyone’s reactions change the way you viewed the art?
AP: Definitely. Someone spoke to me about the painting of my mum and grandmother. She said that even though she didn’t know them, she still felt connected to the act of love in the image. I found that really moving. I’m essentially asking viewers to look at my family, and you never know how people will receive that. Knowing it can resonate universally was very fulfilling.
SK: Do you think about your viewer when creating?
AP: Partially. Mostly I’m thinking about how to express what I’m feeling and how that might translate visually. But everything carries intention, even if meaning is discovered later. In that sense, the viewer is always present in some way. There’s no way around it, there will always be an element of curation with the viewer at the centre
SK: Has this first exhibition taught you much?
AP: Definitely. It’s helped me believe in myself a lot more. In my mind, having an exhibition felt like something impossible, yet it happened. It also showed me that work about my family can have a place somewhere, whether that’s in a gallery or in someone’s home.
SK: How does it feel returning to your studio space? Is there something new to begin or are you happy to sit in this for a while?
AP: I’m happy to sit with it for a while. I want to continue exploring this subject, but it needs a bit of distance first. In some ways the body of work feels like both a beginning and an ending. I know there’s more I could do, but it also feels complete in itself. What I do know is that documenting my family and our memories isn’t something I’m ready to leave behind.
