‘We’re so intermeshed’: The art of sharing clothes, shoes – and even a phone

There are moments in life when you just know what you have to do. Gracia was one of those moments.

Louise Jennison

We were recently called out to rescue a flying fox that was caught in a kids’ soccer net. When you’ve got a precious threatened species in your hands, sometimes it’s like, “Can I do this?” Gracia says, “It’s okay. We’ll let them have a rest and approach this with fresh confidence.”

You know when something’s special and important. And I’ve always known Gracia’s that. There are moments in life when you just know what you have to do. She was one of those moments and the flying foxes were another.

Gracia: I don’t remember what I thought as a 19-year-old. The past is a cold, foreign landscape to me – we’re so much about the present. I only remember meeting Louise in the blur of art school. I responded to her loyalty, care and empathy. We always wanted to be around each other, you know, for the entirety of our lifetime journey. I remember thinking that if we pursued the romantic side of things, we might not be friends for the rest of our lives. But that was just nerves, foolishness. Then you just plunge in, and why would you not? You could miss everything.

Now we’re so intermeshed. We finish each other’s sentences. We share the same Instagram account, the same shoes. We share clothes and have similar tastes, except Louise wears dresses and you’ll never see me in a dress. She loves the freedom of a dress but, to me, a dress is the complete opposite. We have one mobile phone, partly for financial reasons so we could get a good one for our work, but also it just makes sense because we’re nearly always together.

One of the beautiful things is that you’ve always got each other.

Gracia Haby

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People are always very keen to know who does what. But we don’t even see it like that. We each do an equal part. A digital collage is something we make side by side, every single step. It’s on the same computer – and while one person might move the mouse, it’s a conversation.

One of the beautiful things is that you’ve always got each other. You draw strength from the other person and can relax: your shoulders drop down from your ears. If one person is finding something hard, the other person lifts them up, then it just always stays in that sort of balance.

I think Louise has incredible determination, a selfless devotion to things bigger than herself. Her empathy, wanting to help other people, has always been there.

There are a few things that we do as separate people: Louise teaches the making of artists’ books at RMIT and I write about dance. But generally, we do our artwork and wildlife-caring as if the two of us are one and the same.

I can always rely on Louise’s positivity. In January 2022, we had a big, rolled-up collage that had been exhibited and we no longer needed it, so we dragged it out for the hard-rubbish collection. It was difficult to look at this physical lump lying out there waiting to be taken, not knowing what work would come next. But Louise knew that we needed to make space in the studio for new things to come. She didn’t see it as an end at all.

We never go to bed on an argument. We do clash, because we’re people, but you make sure you work through what’s upset you. And in a prickly moment, neither of us is afraid to tell the other to pull her socks up.

I only worry about our co-dependence when I think about the day when only one of us is left. But if it’s curtains for me first, I’d love to think of Louise charging ahead and doing all of the things – raising flying fox pups and chopping fruit for them – and taking me with her.

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