Would The Last Person…
…to leave Surry Hills please turn out the lights? Aside from me and a few backpackers, everyone else seems to have left.
This was not your normal Monday afternoon traffic on Crown Street.
Merry Christmas, by the way…
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Tender Comrade
You step into an art exhibition, you stroll through the rooms, you glance at the works, perhaps read a few artist statements. It’s a perfectly valid way to experience art. But sometimes, to truly feel the art, to unravel its layers and connect with its heartbeat, a guided tour is indispensable.
And that’s exactly what I did today at Sydney’s White Rabbit Gallery, for their current exhibition “Tender Comrade”. There were only three of us on the tour, so it was a really intimate experience, and the guide was both knowledgeable and seemed genuinely interested in the works,
The exhibition, running from June 18 to November 16, explores LGBTQIA+ themes from China. Our guide revealed that roughly half the artists featured identify as queer, while the other half are non-queer allies. The sheer variety of media on display is impressive: video art, immersive installations, evocative paintings, and striking photography.
One particular multi-panel video work on the top floor initially left me bewildered. The video works by Isaac Chong Wai depicted moments of violence, but without context, it felt somewhat abstract to me, the first time I saw the works. However, once our guide explained that the violence derived from the artists own experience of being gay bashed, it made so much more sense.
Then there’s the showstopper at the very beginning of the exhibition, right on the bottom floor: a bold, unmissable piece that portrays what could be described as a “glory hole,” featuring a figure bent over, with their genitals vividly displayed. It’s a huge, blown-up creation that instantly grabs your attention, typical of White Rabbit’s penchant for “big, stunning works – those showstoppers.” What makes this work particularly fascinating, as our guide pointed out, is that it’s modeled on the artist himself. This raw self-exposure, presented on such a grand scale, speaks volumes.
This same artist also has a captivating video work on the ground floor that delves into role-playing games and how they serve as a platform for exploring, emphasizing, and covering notions of gender identity. It’s a brilliant insight into how contemporary culture, even seemingly niche activities, can become spaces for self-discovery and expression.
Among the other video works that truly stood out, one cleverly deconstructs the concept of a boy band, reimagining and dissecting the different character archetypes within such a group. In a nearby room, another video work transports viewers to an “intergalactic TV news program,” subtly weaving in elements of Taoist philosophy. These pieces offer a fascinating blend of contemporary commentary and ancient wisdom.
While the exhibition comes with an explicit warning, I personally didn’t find anything overtly shocking. However, I did observe that some visitors who were likely not queer seemed a little uncomfortable with certain elements, quickly moving on when things got a little “raunchy”.
One piece that truly resonated with me was a beautiful video work simply titled “Passion.” It beautifully explores classic homoerotic imagery, particularly of sailors, evoking a sense of timeless desire and longing. It’s a work that embraces classic homoeroticism with a tender and evocative touch, and I found myself utterly captivated.
If you have the chance, don’t just go and look – join a tour. It will undoubtedly add immeasurable depth to your experience and truly unlock the powerful narratives held within these remarkable works.
Lewis Morley
I spent an hour or so of this afternoon at the Lewis Morley exhibition at the Art Gallery of NSW. The two most compelling (and memorable) photographs are quite similar in many ways: those of Joe Orton and Christine Keeler.
In a very brief shoot, Keeler is photographed nude sitting on a chair, belying both a naivety and provocativeness. Morley describes it as an example of where the photograph was almost, if not more significant than the incident. It’s no surprise that Orton, then requested a similar photograph. By the way, I recently purchased a copy of the “Prick Up Your Ears” DVD and remain fascinated by Orton’s life.
I really love the history of 1960s UK theatre that Orton was part of. Reflecting my own personal tastes in life, I wasn’t at all moved by the many fashion photographs, but I really loved the theatre photographs and the celebrity portraits. In particular, there is a wonderful, informal photograph of Judy Dench, taken in 1965, providing both an insight into theatre and celebrity.
Other interesting portraits include Charlotte Rampling (disturbingly beautiful), Salvador Dali (dishevelled, taken by surprise), Somerset Maugham (a photograph capturing both the integrity and humour of older age) and Victor Spinetti (who looks remarkably like modern day actor, Matthew McFadyen).
With many of the photographs, Morley likes to play around with the subject, including the artists, Tracey Emin (who is photographed with her eyes closed, almost like a death mask, in a pose that reminded me of Frida Kahlo) and Christo (who is “wrapped”), as well as Helen Glad (Norman Lindsay’s grand-daughter who insisted on a full-frontal nude, and who is photographed with a Lindsay image project onto her body).
As with his portraits, shadows play an important part in the construction of his more abstract photographs, (such as the almost obscene Coco de mer and aubergine), giving even the abstract and man-main a wonderful sensuality.
This is a really terrific exhibition.
How are you, really?
“How are you REALLY?” has been a question that’s been asked of me quite frequently in the last weeks.
My answer has consistently been “I’ve had a couple of tough days, but mostly I feel good”. I should note the “tough days” have been more physical than emotinal or intellectual. The day when my body sugar fell dramatically, sapping me of energy and enthusiasm, is an example.
As I’ve engaged with people, whether in person or through social media, I’ve noticed two main groups of responses.
There are those who take my positivity at face value, offering encouraging affirmations like “you’re amazing.”
Then there are others who approach the situation differently, perhaps sensing that I may be hiding my true emotions about what’s happened. They wonder if, once I leave the comfort and support of the hospital environment, I might experience a deep depression when the reality of it all sinks in. And maybe that’s a possibility.
Speaking of recovery, I’ve noticed some “phantom feelings” in the area of my amputation. People around me have suggested that it’s my mind and body grieving, and maybe there’s some truth to that. But I can’t ignore the 57 years of neurological responses that my body and brain have built together, which may also play a part.
Visitors and well-wishers have been keenly interested in hearing about the forty-eight to seventy-two hours when I rapidly lost my sense of what was occurring. I understand their curiosity, and to be honest, I enjoy recounting the story. After all, I’ve always had a deep desire to tell engaging stories, evident both in my career choice and this blog.
However, I’ve come to a point where I want to shift my focus away from the past and towards the future.
In the grand scheme of things, there are millions of people around the world who’ve lost partial limbs (or more). And they’ve done so without the privileges I’ve enjoyed living in an affluent country with a first world health system.
For now at least , I’m choosing to focus less on what has already transpired and more on what lies ahead.
Even if this newfound perspective could be considered a sort of false consciousness – too optimistic? – is that really a bad thing?
Eurovision 2013
“So do you think all the Eurovision Parties in Sydney will always be shit, or do you think they’ll ever get better?”, a friend of mine asked me as we shared a drink last night. She’s from England, she’s attended Eurovision, and for the last few years she’s been living in Sydney. That’s how we met, actually.
“I think the problem is that in Australia we’ve fallen for the UK-mindset about Eurovision. That it’s camp, it’s trashy, it’s tragic, and it’s terrible”, I told her. In many respects, I think the media coverage of Eurovision treats the contest as a bit of a joke. It’s ABBA. It’s Disco Balls. It’s Mardi Gras. It’s all of that “stuff” you laugh at if you want to re-inforce an insular world-view.
Having been to a few of the bigger parties in Sydney over the last few years, I’ve yet to find one that takes the contest seriously. A contest where they don’t rely on the usual cliches about tacky costumes, bad English, and so-called “voting blocks”. The reality of this year’s contest is that Eurovision is generally speaking very slick, sophisticated, and definitely not the “amateur hour” that’s it’s often portrayed to be.
This is particularly the case with this year’s contest hosted by Petra Mede, who I think should be made the permanent host of Eurovision. She’s such a class act. She delivers the script beautifully, but then she can also deliver a wonderful dead-pan remark right off the cuff. For example, when one of the country officials was delivering the votes and was gushing about how good the contest was, she simply said “Oh that’s nice”. And when it was clear next year’s contest would be held in Denmark, she simply said “That’s twenty minutes down the road”.
One of the great highlights of this year’s concert was the interval act. Through a song and dance number, Petra sought to explain Sweden to the rest of the world. Of course, there were lots of jokes about ABBA, IKEA, Vikings, The Muppet Chef (and so on), but there were also some very funny jokes which probably made little sense outside of Scandinavia. The recycling, the queues, not talking on public transport, meatballs “seasoned with a bit of horse”. The bit about milk? It’s because something like 60% of the Swedish population is lactose intolerant, the highest level in the world, apparently. I’ve watched the clip several times now, and every time I watch it, I pick up a new line. Fantastic stuff, which showed the Swedes could laugh at themselves with sophistication.
The last time I really enjoyed an interval act was when Norway hosted the contest and they staged an international flash mob. In stark contrast to the humour of Petra’s half-time act, this was a beautifully touching moment about Europe coming together in song.
I eschewed the ritual of watching the SBS delayed Sunday night telecast of the Eurovision Song Contest this year and instead got up early to watch the contest live. As the votes from the different countries coming through were beginning to indicate Denmark was probably going to win I faced the dilemma: I couldn’t actually remember the song. In contrast, there were lovely sweet songs like “Tomorrow” by Gianluca Bezzina from Malta and “Love Kills” by Roberto Bellarosa from Belgium; the vocally amazing performance of “It’s My Life” by Romanian counter-tenor, Cezar; and the pop protest, “Marry Me” by Krista Sigfrieds from Finland. Despite the earlier memory-loss, I finally remembered the winning song. It’s quite good, though I doubt it will go down in history as one of the great moments of Eurovision.
Having watched it earlier in the morning, I was able to spend my Sunday in a fairly normal way. I didn’t have to avoid the media all day for spoilers and I didn’t have to sit up until nearly mid-night to find out the results. Personally, I would love to see SBS do what they’ve done with the Academy Awards, The Grammys and so on, and run it live, and then replay it later at night. The media world has changed, and the idea of people having to wait twelve hours to know the results is all a bit silly. They could run the version without commentary at 5am, and then have Sam and Julia on, as per usual on Sunday night. I doubt it would have much of an impact on night-time viewing figures.
Four Day Week
At work today I got chatting with a colleague.
We both agreed we had a case of Monday-itis, mostly because we were both a bit tired from a busy social life on the weekend.
“The problem with a busy weekend is that you never have time to sit on the couch and do nothing”, I told him.
And that’s when he said to me, “A four day week would be great. A long-weekend every weekend is the way to go”, he said.
I actually disagree with having Monday or Friday off, as I’d rather have a day off in the middle of the week. You work a couple of days, you have a catchup, you work a couple of days, you have a catchup if my preferred option.
I’d love to have every Wednesday off to do some of the things I really want to do.
I’d love a day in the middle of the week to go out for lunch with friends without needing to go back to work.
I’d love to have Wednesdays to do chores that you never have time to do during the week.
It would be like having two Friday nights where you could go out with friends, have a few drinks, and not feel like you have to worry about the next morning.
What do you think?
As I came home tonight, I sat down for half an hour and went through a few things I couldn’t get my head around at work today and now feel much better.
But deep inside me, there’s still a desire for a four day week, though of course I’d want to be still paid for five.