When policy is not a priority

This piece of writing was presented as a speech. It was written to ask questions rather than offer solutions. It’s purpose is to begin to understand the definition of culture, cultural identity, art and the arts when it comes to policy writing and development. It is purely a personal observation of my time living in Saigon, witnessing the challenge surrounding a developing nation’s cultural identity. The who are we, how are we communicating this and where have we come from? Questions that are met with confusion among the Vietnamese and perhaps clouded by a sense of Singaporean and American envy. The questions are not easily answered. 

” My name is Zoe Keystone and I am going to talk about living in a city where cultural policy development is not a priority.”

I lived in Saigon for two years while teaching Art at an international school. The city is developing at an incredible rate. In the time I was there I watched the construction of a subway, multiple high rise apartment blocks and plans for the development of the Thu Thiem marina.

As a westerner I couldn’t help notice a lack of arts and cultural opportunities in a city as diverse and vibrant as Saigon. It was devastating to see French colonial buildings in District 1 marked for demolition with a red X. Buildings that help us understand the past as we look towards the future. The plans for the marina included a safari park, a water park and a shopping mall and had zero indication of public art, green space or even a museum or gallery. Vietnam’s development seems urgently driven by Singapore envy or worse still American envy.

In Australia we rely heavily on government and Australia Council grants and funding opportunities. In fact as artists, arts managers and art institutions we compete with one another for the funds. We are not necessarily a united “industry.”  However it was evident in Saigon and Vietnam that if you wanted to start something creative you had to find a way to do it yourself. The expectation that the government funded arts and culture was not even a consideration. Private enterprise was a clear measure of success.

Apart from the big annual new year Tet flower show and festivities, street food tours and traditional lacquer and hand crafts being sold in dozens upon dozens of markets it was clear that cultural offerings were purely for economic gain. There was a perceived consumerist agenda. The magnificent Opera House has been offering the same program night after night for many years. I watched the government threaten closure of artist run space San Art on the basis of being controversial. The Ho Chi Minh City museum of fine arts is in desperate need of a conservation team to maintain and repair damaged artwork to ensure their survival.

However, it wasn’t all bad, there was some tiny signs of understanding the way cultural and creative industries can generate both economic and cultural value. In District 2 a predominately expat neighbourhood I saw the construction of a wonderful gallery and workshop space The Factory dedicated to contemporary Vietnamese arts development, challenging the current social systems.

So who is responsible for this perceived lack of cultural development in Vietnam? In Australia, we’re likely to point the finger at the government, policy makers and art haters. Consider the $1.41 billion development at Thu Thiem marina in Saigon, imagine if it was the responsibility of the corporate developers to provide some arts and cultural opportunities as part of the plans. They are certainly wealthy enough to fund an arts and cultural enterprise. Would it generate wealth and income in the same way as a safari park or shopping mall would? Or could the value be measured by the way it communicates social meaning, values and aspirations. It’s hard to compare Australia to Vietnam as the economies are extraordinary different. However I feel that if a company has massive plans for development approved someone needs to ask what cultural opportunities are you offering?

Tet flower show

Tet flower show

Tet flower show

Dad and I at a gallery opening a Vin Gallery

Mum, Dad and I outside The Factory

 

 

Female artists in ‘Modern Mexico’

People close to me know about my long-standing girl crush on Frida Kahlo, long before her iconic portraits adorned tea towels in gift shops across the world. In fact it was a desire to visit Casa Azul that first took me to Mexico City for the first time. Throughout my teaching career I have received various “Frida” related gifts, including a raspberry flavoured car air freshener one that hangs from the rear vision mirror.

In short, during 1910 & 1911 the Mexican people unseated the corrupt dictatorship of Porifirio Diaz, who had been ruling for decades with authoritarian rigour. The dictatorship is remembered by years of violence, civil war and assassinations. Once Porifirio Diaz was overthrown Mexico stabilised under an “institutional” revolutionary party which sadly grew increasingly autocratic.

Frida Kahlo was born in 1907, although she regularly stated she was born on 7th July 1910, the year when Emiliano Zapata began the revolution against Diaz. Frida like to say that she and modern Mexico were ‘born together.’ In 1928 she joined the Communist Party, met Diego Rivera and both were active participants in Mexican political life.

Until recently, I was unaware of other important female figures in the Mexican art scene who, like Frida, made significant works during the years of the revolution. In ‘Modern Mexico’ after 1920 many European artists sought refuge and asylum in Mexico City due to the Spanish Civil War and the beginning of WWII. European artists bought interesting new artistic styles to Mexico including Surrealism. Among these artists was Leonora Carrington an English-born artist who had been living in Paris with surrealist Max Ernst. In Paris she mingled among other Surrealist: Andre Breton, Salvador Dali and Yves Tanguy. After Ernst was interned as an “enemy alien in a Nazi prison camp” a distraught Carrington left France for Spain. Then in 1942 after suffering a breakdown, Carrington escaped to New York. Reunited with other exiled surrealists in New York, she continued to paint before immigrating to Mexico. Mexico is where she lived for the remainder of her life. Like Frida, Carrington painted self portraits which demonstrate a surrealist style and characteristics.

 

Leonora Carrington Self Portrait 1937-1938 (Image Sourced from: https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/492697)

While in Mexico, Carrington met Remedios Varo and Kati Horna whom had also found a safe sanctuary in Mexico City. The three women settled in Colonia Roma and forged a tight friendship and artistic working relationship. Much of Carrington and Varo’s works communicated their response to the conflict in Europe. Horna a photographer, created works reflecting trauma of the frontline of the Spanish Civil War. Horna’s photographic style leans towards being more documentary, Carrington and Varo’s subject matter is more dream like and surreal. Carrington and Varo enjoyed studying alchemy, magic, Tarot and astrology with these themes being explored in their artworks in combination with feminism. The theme of female domesticity is present in the works of all three artists and in Carrington’s work titled: The Old Maids (1947), the kitchen setting is transformed from a site of feminine oppression into a site of power, creativity, friendship. Female autonomy and agency is explored in feminine domestic sites such as in Varo’s work titled: Harmony (1956).

Leonora Carrington The Old Maids 1947 (Image sourced from: https://www.tate.org.uk/context-comment/articles/love-friendship-rivalry-surreal-friends)

Remedios Varo Harmony 1956 (Image sourced from: https://www.wikiart.org/en/remedios-varo/harmony-1956)

 

On a recent trip to Austin Texas I visited a wonderful gallery called Mexic-Arte where I also discovered the works of female Cuban printmaker Belkis Ayon and Mexican female muralist and political activist Elena Huerta. As it turns out Frida Kahlo is one of many influential female artists working in Mexico when “Modern Mexico” was being shaped. 

Indigenous art needs our attention

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I went to Sydney recently on a mission to see some friends, visit my Aunty and Uncle and soak up the unmistakable beauty of the harbour. Sydney doesn’t have to try very hard to wow me. Without sounding like a cliche, I love the harbour views, the ferry ride to Manly, the cliff top walk from Coogee to Bondi and the buses. I like that Sydney doesn’t pretend to be anything other than what it is, it’s like “yep we have beautiful beaches, warm weather and good looking people so deal with it.” And “yep we wear active wear even when we aren’t being active.” The beaches are spectacular.

I also like going to Sydney because I quite like the museums. The Art Gallery of NSW home to the Archibald Prize, houses some of the most iconic pieces of Australian art work by Howard Arkley and Peter Booth and International works by Gilbert and George and Jeff Koons. The MCA (Museum of Contemporary Art) focuses on the collecting and exhibiting of contemporary Australian art. There’s the White Rabbit Gallery, a unique and significant collection of Chinese art, the Power House – renamed the Museum of Applied Arts and Sciences. Wendy Whiteley’s garden in Lavender Bay and Brett Whiteley’s studio in Surry Hills are iconic hot spots for arts enthusiasts.

This trip I managed to get to the MCA for the retrospective of John Mawurndjul. John Mawurndjul is one of the most successful contemporary Indigenous artists practising today. He is a celebrated master of rarrk (fine-painted cross-hatching), a traditional technique shared by generations of Kuninjku artists. The exhibition John Mawurndjul: I am the old and the new at MCA was a “comprehensive survey” of works from various collections made over the duration of an extensive 40 year career. The exhibition of bark paintings and sculptures told the stories of Kuninjku culture and the significant locations surrounding Mawurndjul’s home in western Arnhem Land.

The exhibition threw me into an immediate realm of noticeable discomfort. Discomfort in the realisation that this is one of the most successful contemporary Australian artists that I wasn’t familiar with, or so I thought. It was more of a case I realised that I had never paid any attention to the work. This epiphany I realised when I popped into the book shop after seeing the exhibition. I spotted a book cover that seemed familiar. A book which had sat on a bookshelf in my old classroom for 6 or more years which I hadn’t explored with any sort of curiosity. Among the discomfort while in the gallery space was a heightened lack of contextual understanding for the array of Indigenous language groups in Australia as well as a lack of historical knowledge of anything to do with Indigenous culture pre-colonisation.

The beauty I discovered in Mawurndjul’s work is obvious when seen close up. It fast becomes clear that every brush stroke is concisely measured and offers some layer of meaning for the stories that offer deep cultural significance. We encounter animals and spirit beings of Mawurndjul’s land including female water spirits (yawkyawk), rainbow serpents (ngalyod) and mimih spirits. The room full of Lorrokkon (see images below) was extraordinary and breathtaking. Their purpose, hollow log coffins for the bones of the deceased although one could mistakenly be fooled into thinking they were purely for decorative purposes. The detail on them exquisite. Mawurndjul’s art making processes are also worth some attention. Mawurndjul’s pallet is limited to four basic colours that come from soils, I must admit I have never seen the colour white with such intense luminosity as is in Mawurndjul’s work. The bark Mawurndjul uses is commonly sourced from the stringybark trees immediately after the wet season. The bark is then smoked on the heat of hot coals to remove the moisture. 

Seeing this exhibition sparked a curiosity for Indigenous art and culture. I have since seen two other astounding exhibitions in Melbourne on the topic of Indigenous art. A lightness of spirit is the measure of happiness at ACCA, and Colony: frontier wars at NGV each exhibition offering different themes and ideas and encouraging me to become acquainted with an art form which I seemed to be frightened of. Through art I have been able to admire the work of Indigenous artists and activists using the artworks in the exhibitions as a guide through traditional stories about an artist’s country, cosmology and culture. Many of the works in the exhibitions explored themes which captured life in contemporary Indigenous communities. The often confronting and falsely represented impact of British colonisation was not ignored in the exhibitions, especially in the NGV exhibition. I think it was important for me to recognise the discomfort I felt towards Indigenous art and to acknowledge that it’s ok that I don’t understand a lot of it. However, this is not a reason to avoid it all together. In fact art can offer a viewer the opportunity through imagery to learn about a culture, much like we have through the works of artists such as Frida Kahlo, Ai WeiWei and Jean Michel Basquiat. 

Since viewing the exhibitions at MCA, ACCA and NGV I purchased a copy of Prof. Larissa Behrendt’s book Indigenous Australia for Dummies and Welcome to Country by Aunty Joy Murphy and Lisa Kennedy in the hope that I can accurately and appropriately teach with excitement and admiration, the art of our first nation people to students in the future. 

Please don’t tell me you can’t draw

As an art lover, art educator and occasional artist I find it really awkward when people announce to me they “can’t draw.” I’m never really to sure of a suitable response so usually I respond with “um…ok.” I used to try and convince the person they were in fact incorrect but it was usually met with what seemed like a pre-planned argument. The argument going something like “I can’t draw much more than a stick figure,” or “I don’t have a creative bone in my body” or “I’ve never been good at drawing” or “I can’t even draw a straight line.” Well neither can I without a ruler I’d think to myself and your argument is wrong. People seem to think because they didn’t enter the world on the day of their birth with a 4B pencil in one hand and a piece of willow charcoal in the other “they’ve NEVER been good at drawing.” I find this conversation weird, annoying and defeatist. Yet I always seem to find myself having this conversation, even with people I don’t know that well. It’s like they feel they need to share with me how they are not good at drawing and I’m not sure what they want me to do about it. Maybe because I am an art teacher people think I can instantly cure them of their “not good at drawing” self diagnoses. I wonder if it was WebMD that gave the diagnoses. 

The reason I find it the whole conversation weird is because there are lots of things I’m not good at either and there are a lot of reasons why I’m not good at them. Like, I’m not good at cooking steak – probably because I’m vegetarian. I’m also not good at running marathons – probably because I don’t ever go for runs and I don’t like running. I’m also terrible at solving algebraic equations – probably because in my daily life I don’t need to and I find the concept of solving algebraic equations dull and boring. However, if I did practise all of these things REGULARLY I would probably be quite good at them and guess what…I honestly believe (and have seen it in my classroom) drawing and art making is no different. When we decide we want to learn the violin, or take Spanish lessons or have a desire make the perfect lemon meringue pie we must learn the skills and practise these skills to be “good at it.”

As children, the way we first learn to communicate before reading and writing is drawing. Believe it or not there was actually a moment in your life when you thought you were “good at drawing.” You would have drawn to communicate ideas in your brain and other people would have understood what you were trying to communicate. Some research suggest that when we are younger the right-side of the brain (the creative side) is more dominant than the left. There is a (sad) moment in our development when the left side of the brain – the logic and reasoning side – starts to become active. It is at this moment when you were a child that you probably uttered the words “but I can’t draw” and they stop dancing like no one is watching. In my opinion, the truth is everyone can actually draw and can be creative. I’ve seen adults who claim they “can’t draw” and after teaching them some basic skills, some continual practise and equipping them with the necessary tool kit they suddenly became “good at drawing.” 

Also, drawing is merely one form of art making and yet it’s usually the art form that defines whether we are “good at art” or not. This concept is so bizarre to me because there are so many different ways to draw. Take Alberto Giacometti’s drawings and compare them to Keith Haring’s drawings. Now look at Pablo Picasso’s drawings and compare them to Jean Michel Basquiat’s drawings. Who does drawing better? You might be drawn to a certain style of drawing but it is hard to argue that one is better than the other. When I was younger I always wanted to draw like Joy Hester. I was drawn to the way she was able to use ink in such a way that her image evoked so much emotion. I was envious of the way Hester could control black ink without making a mess. As my individual drawing style has evolved, I now aspire to adopt a similar approach to drawing as Egon Schiele. When I’m really in the habit of practising, sometimes I succeed. There is no question drawing is hard and like any skill it requires practise, persistence and patience. What if you had a teacher that encouraged you to develop your own approach and individual drawing style and gave you the tool kit to do so? I think you would find you were actually “good at drawing” and “good at art.” It’s worth knowing I have moments when I feel really confident and moments when I can’t even draw a circle and I want to set fire to my drawings.

Back to what I was saying about drawing being only one way to make art. Have you ever considered you might not be good at drawing about you are really handy with a camera? Or find creative writing a breeze? Can you sew, sculpt or sing? Have you been to a dress up party lately and created your own costume for the big night? Maybe macrame is your niche. These are different “creative bones” that might exist in your body that you are probably using without realising. So next time you want to tell me over a glass of pinot that you are “not good at drawing” admit that maybe you haven’t been practising or you actually have no interest in learning. It’s ok, I won’t be offended…

This is a drawing of a robot eating an ice-cream from one of my Foundation level students

This is a drawing of a monkey from one of my Foundation level students

 

stuff I heard and other random facts…

Image source: http://vhd.heritagecouncil.vic.gov.au/places/4742

The other day I heard (a possible rumour) that Melbourne’s road infrastructure will be complete (as in finished) by 2021. I also heard (and then read an article) that the Darebin council is enforcing a ban on balloons. In the same week I heard on a podcast that if your fence is tagged (graffitied) in the City of Yarra that someone in the local council will supply you with the paint to paint over the graffiti…AND…they will even colour match the paint. The council has a jobs for colour matchers…apparently.

After hearing these seemingly random facts, I started googling other seemingly random facts to find the answer to some seemingly random questions. (Just so you know the City Baths are open until 10pm Monday – Thursday and they also opened in 1860).

Random facts I have found out about Fitzroy pool: 

The meaning of the famous sign on the west facing wall of the Fitzroy pool. “AQUA PROFONDA” means “ DANGER DEEP WATER” and painted around 1953-1954. The pool manager at the time observed the number of (possibly Italian) migrant children that were being rescued from the deeper end of the pool. So he asked his Italian mate how to say ‘danger deep water’ in Italian. Interestingly, the Italian way of spelling ‘aqua’ is actually ‘acqua.’ The sign is historically significant and is a timely reminder of the post war migration program in Melbourne which has helped shape the city.

Anecdotal fact about Fitzroy Pool and the closure: 

Today the pool often goes by the hipster nickname ‘Fitzroy Back Beach.’ A concrete oasis that was once threatened closure by the City of Yarra and state government (1994) until the local community rallied – with the media – to keep the pool open. “The Save Our Pool Campaign” is often sited as one of the most successful grassroots campaigns.

Interesting fact about RMIT building numbering system:

About 3 weeks ago I started my post graduate studies at RMIT City Campus. “City Campus” is a term I use loosely. It seems RMIT buildings span for suburbs beyond the “City.” However, what is a fun activity is trying to locate the buildings. Turns out building 80 is located right next to building 39 and building 70 is next door to building 94. But why is this the case? Well, RMIT developed a numbering system that numbers the buildings in order of the acquisition. So building 1 was the first building the university acquired.

I attend classes in Building 13 on Russell Street. This building was acquired by RMIT in 1979 when the Domestic Economics College amalgamated with the university. According to an unreliable source the Domestic Economics College was a college for women to where they could learn about, you guessed it, Domestic Economics (economics and management in the home).

Playing RMIT building ‘spotto’:

My housemate and I are playing a game of RMIT building spotto as we commute around the city. It’s hard to tell but it would seem that RMIT “City” Campus has 113 buildings – 113 (the most recent acquisition) is The Capitol Theatre. The aim of the game is to spot/find each building in number order. You must photograph the building when you have found it…no looking at the campus map. We are currently looking for building 4…

Who put the flagstaff in Flagstaff Garden?

Seems like an obvious one but I hadn’t really put two and two together until I heard this. Firstly, Flagstaff Garden used to be called ‘Burial Hill’ because it was Melbourne’s first burial ground (1830’s). The gardens are named for the flagstaff positioned on a hilly mound of grass. The flagstaff was first erected in 1840. It was part of a signalling system between the land and the sea (the ships sailing into the Port of Melbourne). When the flag was flying it meant a shipping arrival had entered the bay. Today the actual flagstaff (it’s still there) is almost useless because like many things in Melbourne it has been out built. In fact you can’t really see across to the port from the hilly mound.

Why so many random facts?

I feel like since I came back from living abroad I’ve become obsessed with googling facts about buildings and significant cultural events that have shaped Melbourne. It’s interesting to learn about how neighbourhoods and communities have been created, especially during the Post Second World War migration boom.

Lygon Street is so often associated with Italians, Lonsdale Street with Greeks and Victoria Street with Vietnamese communities. However it’s more than this that interests me. It’s learning that Fitzroy was a neighbourhood for housing workers for the fact they could walk to work in the factories in Collingwood, Carlton, North Melbourne. Factories that included flour mills, footwear factories, a brewery, joinery works and timber yards. It’s trade unionists working in the abattoirs and meat workers in Footscray rallying together in 1974 to establish the Footscray Community Arts Centre as a place for community creativity and well being. It’s knowing that during the 1920s a group of women ran the largest industrial laundry in one of the buildings at Abbotsford Convent.

We learn so much about other cities when we travel that often we know more about the city we’ve travelled to than our own. Speaking from experience, I encourage you to ask google a random fact about Melbourne…

What About The Context?

The reaction I often receive from people when I’m asked ‘who are your top 5 artists’ is often an eye roll at the mention of Andy Warhol. I’ve never questioned the eye roll nor has the conversation got as far as to why the man wearing a white cloud on his head makes the list.

I think I used to have the same eye rolling response when people would tell me Vincent Van Gogh was in their top 5. Sure, The Sunflowers (1889) and The Starry Night (1889) are spectacular but the amount of times I had seen them printed on tea towels, t-shirts, hanging in bathrooms, replicated and appropriated in primary school art rooms and in popular culture was enough to make me eye roll at the cliche…Wait, am I reacting the same way people react when I say I like Andy Warhol? Is the eye roll because they bought their mum a Marilyn (1962) tea towel for mother’s day or they own a mug with the Soup Can (1962) printed on it. Did these images become ‘so mainstream’ ‘so cliche’ that we no longer identify them as someone’s piece of art. There’s something in this…

When I was in Amsterdam I went to the Van Gogh Museum. Although the attraction wasn’t high on my priority list I still went. In this visit I learnt a lot about Van Gogh and saw a lot of his work – many pieces I had forgotten because my brain seems only to remember the works on tea towels. His work is mystical, magical and marvellous when viewed all together. I realised while at the museum, it’s hard to appreciate the depth and beauty of Van Gogh’s work when you see it out of context like a one-off Sunflower hanging in a one-off collection.

This is about context. As an art lover, I love nothing more than seeing an artist’s work in context. I have travelled to Frida Kahlo’s Casa Azul and Salvador Dali’s house. Add Monet’s Garden to that list and now an entire museum dedicated to the very short life of Vincent Van Gogh. It would be rude not to mention being in New York and acknowledging the wanderings of Andy Warhol, seeing the Chelsea Hotel and the locations of The Factory. So is understanding the context important in the understanding of the artist and their work? It seems so given that when asked often my top 5 list includes Frida, Salvador, Claude, Andy and now Vincent.

Last night I saw a film called Loving Vincent. A film painted entirely by a team of 100 artists – yes the film was painted. It was set in the year after Van Gogh’s death. I watched much of the film feeling like a proud parent at a Christmas dance concert. ‘Oooo-ing’ and ‘ahhh-ing’ at the wonders of modern art, waiting for the big numbers to grace the screen/stage – The Starry Night, The Sunflowers, The Irises.

I reflected on why all of a sudden Van Gogh has made it to the list. Why after all this time? It was a comment to my companion for the evening, Nicole that made me realise. At the beginning of the film I said to her “you’ll see his work when you go to Amsterdam and Holland,” as if saying “it will make sense.” Then I realised the value I place on understanding context. Does context help my brain to understand and appreciate art? The story of the artist, the historical relevance of their work etc. This idea can even be applied to contemporary artists I really like – Ai Weiwei, Yayoi Kusama, Damien Hurst. I like their art and I also like their story.

As an art educator, I see the need to give students a context to really understand an artist and their work. Try showing teenagers a slide show of Andy’s work without showing them the photographs of the wild parties inside The Factory. Or teaching Frida’s work without actually explaining her battle with illness and injury. Or showing the Waterlilies without a real life image of the waterlilies. Those teenage brains would have turned to Instagram before I could even turn on the data projector.

On the flip side, I do understand and appreciate why places like ACCA in Melbourne or New Museum in NY has a “no labels or didactic text” policy, encouraging us to actually think for ourselves…yes this is a foreign concept I understand. Instead of text telling us what to think we think about what we bring to the work, what we get from the work and what the work says to us. This is often based on our age, culture, gender, life experience etc. Sometimes I like to be challenged and forced to think instead of asking google or Siri for the answers. THIS IS HARD.

I think I have said this before, it’s ok if you know nothing about Jackson Pollock and his work reminds you of the socks you are wearing or the cake you will eat in the gallery cafe after your visit because that is YOUR interpretation and you are allowed to interpret art in anyway you like. Try asking a bunch of 10 year olds what they think of when they look at Mondrian’s Broadway Boogie-Woogie knowing full well that 92.5% of those 12 year old couldn’t even point to NYC on a map.

Anyway back to Vincent. Something happened when I went to that museum in Amsterdam. When I heard his story, watched the development of his very short career and life and saw the world through his eyes. It was the same epiphany as going into Monet’s Garden and walking around New York City. Seeing the film last night ignited that memory and appreciation for his work – an appreciation that is only recent. Now I will search every gift shop in Melbourne for a Van Gogh tea towel, Frida Kahlo drink bottle and in the first few weeks back in a class room will probably have every 10 year old painting Sunflowers, Soup Cans and Waterlilies – in context of course.

“Walking Out”

I, by chance, came across a film festival last week at Film Hallen in Amsterdam called Paff. It was fortunate because I love film festivals. This was a 3 day festival which had a heap of film premiers (eg – the new Blade Runner was on the program). I didn’t know the festival was on until I arrived for an advertised mid-day screening of Woodshock  and before I knew it I was lining up to see my third film for the day.

What I love about a film festival is finding cinematic gems that you wouldn’t normally see because they often don’t get mainstream distribution. At a film festival it’s ok to spend a whole day in the dark watching multiple films.

It seems that a film festival also gives you permission to walk out of films (part way through) if you don’t like them. I’d previously seen this happen at the Melbourne International Film Festival and thought it was just because the person had accidentally double booked their sessions needing to rush off to another screening. Actually it turns out it is because the person isn’t enjoying the film.

I saw 3 films on Friday at Paff, films I would describe as ‘non-mainstream’ and ‘alternative.’ Woodshock, The Killing of a Sacred Deer and Manifesto. During Woodshock – 3 people left at around the 45 minute mark, The Killing of a Sacred Deer – 1 person left and came back after a while and Manifesto – 2 people left during the middle.

Coincidentally, last week I had a conversation with my Dad about films we’d recently seen. I shared that I had seen just seen (among others) Mother. Dad told me that a friend of his went to see it and “walked out.” This, in combination with the Paff walk outs, got me thinking.

Honestly there were times in Woodshock I didn’t know what I was watching or what was happening. I mean I had a vague idea but I felt confused and spent most of the film waiting for something to happen. The film was very intense and very haunting and very confusing and very strange. I wouldn’t have wanted to be a critic writing a review for Woodshock because the review probably would’ve contained a page filled with rainbows and unicorns…

At one point during the film I turned on my phone and checked my Instagram feed (I NEVER do this when I’m at the cinema), let’s call it a mini personal interval/rest from watching. I also googled the film mid-way through to read the synopsis on IMDB maybe because I wanted to check if what I thought the film was about was correct. Perhaps I was a little uncomfortable with the fact that I didn’t initially ‘understand’ the film. However, in the discomfort of not knowing it didn’t occur to me to leave. I was too invested in seeing it through to the end – in case something happened – I’d come this far.

Manifesto took me three quarters of the film to catch on to the obvious point of the film, an ‘ah ha…derr’ moment, which, was super satisfying and worth staying until the end. The third film, The Killing of a Sacred Deer by the same director as The Lobster. None of the films are what I would term “Hollywood” mainstream. Woodshock definitely doesn’t have an obvious three-act-narrative which mades it confusing, Manifesto has one actress playing 12 roles, delivering 12 different monologues and The Killing of a Sacred Deer is…um…odd, thematically (like The Lobster).

So the questions are:

Is there a difference between being uncomfortable with what we are watching and just not really liking something? Or are they connected? In the case of the films I saw at Paff, I was uncomfortable but wouldn’t say I didn’t like them. I actually liked and would recommend all of them for different reasons.

Is it that we ‘just don’t have time’ to see/watch/read content we don’t like because there is so much out there? Maybe in the case of Dad’s friend watching half of Mother, maybe they used the time (after walking out) to read a few chapters of a good book they were reading.

Is walking out ‘giving up’ on trying to understand what’s going on? I do this regularly with tasks involving mathematics, I don’t even try to understand.

Has going to the cinema become such a common activity that we don’t need to stay for the comfy seats, snacks and the experience? I still really enjoy the whole cinema experience even if the film is not that great. The conversations you can have after the film are often worth staying for the end.

If I can relate the first question back to visual art – I think I am aware that I’m drawn to art works that I like and I don’t give art work I don’t like the time of day. I certainly skim over periods of art in museums that I don’t have any contextual knowledge or understanding of so perhaps I am just as guilty of ‘walking out.’

Wonderful Women of the World

For the past 2 years I have been living a very lovely expat existence in Saigon with all the bells and whistles you would expect from an expat life. As I slowly make my way back to Australia (via everywhere in Europe) it has become clear that many women have made an impact during this journey. I want to acknowledge these wonderful women of the world who have shaped, influenced, challenged and enriched my life whilst being abroad in a vast number of different contexts. So without further ado I present the following wonderful women of the world.

Thanh

Thanh was an angel sent to me in Saigon. Thanh worked once a week to ensure that I didn’t starve (she did my grocery shopping), or live in a pile of filth (cleaned my apartment), that I cooked nutritious meals (she sliced and diced my fruit and vegetables ready for cooking). She fixed my shoes when they needed repairing, ensured my bills were paid on time, put clean sheets on my bed and helped me to understand and negotiate the crazy world of Saigon. A remarkable woman who was my connection to local Vietnamese community. She could literally do any task I needed help with and if she didn’t know how she found a way.

Hoa

My tailor who ensured I always looked 100% glamorous (?). Hoa understood my ‘style’ and created outfits and garments that I could only dream of. I return to Australia with a wardrobe full of tropical print dresses,  hawaiian print shirts and animal print shorts. Hoa understood my quirky colourful fashion existence and was never shocked by the fabric that I managed to find at the fabric market. I coined the phrase “this item is an experiment” when she gave me the look of “um really you want to make that?”

Hannah Gadsby

I saw Hannah Gadsby’s show titled Nanette at Edinburgh Fringe Festival. An extraordinary performance which Gadsby announces “I’m quitting comedy. Done. Bored.” She describes that she has had enough of making her story into a joke. There are jokes in Nanette, but there are more thought provoking and confronting explorations which challenge patriarchy and gender norms. Among the shows content, she shares growing up gay in Tasmania and her experience of gender targeted violence. Her attack on Pablo Picasso, and Woody Allen (Gadsby is an art history major) accuses the men of being child abusers but yet we hold these men in our culture with such prestige and esteem. On Picasso Gadsby states [he is] “a child abuser”, whose cubist style was just “putting a kaleidoscope filter on his dick.”

Charlize Theron

Recently, I saw a film called Atomic Blonde. An action spy thriller which stars Charlize Theron as a kick ass/bad ass, vodka drinking, ice cold spy queen. The feelings this film elicited were powerful. Life was great in the initial hours after seeing this film. Perhaps having just spent time in Berlin, absorbing this part of the history, the film had a relevant context. It was also made so enjoyable by the performance of Charlize Theron. She executed the role of Lorraine Broughton – an agent working to solve the murder of a British agent just before the Berlin Wall falls – superbly.  Like her role in Mad Max: Fury Road, Theron plays a strong female lead that does not give into the male gaze. She has a mission and is not distracted by her obvious sex appeal. It must be noted the romantic encounters her character has in the in the film challenge the typical action style romance we see in films like Bond. It was refreshing. Theron producer of Atomic Blonde explains that she “is trying to break the rules for women in action movies.” I absolutely loved this film.

Kathe Kollwitz

Undoubtedly one of then most important female artists in Germany in the late 19th and early 20th Centuries, Kathe Kollwitz made art that depicted women and the working class. She represented life and the suffering of the working class during and not exclusively to the First World War. Her subject matter is a dark and confronting recount of war. Her style is characterised by the use of lithography, etching and charcoal/graphite drawings. Losing her son in World War I, led Kollwitz to explore themes relating to a mother’s grief and mourning. She represents the stark reality of war and its victims. In her series titled War (1921-22) Kollwitz depicts the body of a mother in distress, lying flat on the ground while holding her limp child. This is the harsh reality of war through Kollwitz’s eyes.

Kathe Kollwitz Museum Berlin

Emmelie Koster

Emmelie Koster has welcomed me into the No Man’s Art Gallery (Amsterdam) family for the last 6 weeks. She is a passionate art gallery founder, owner, manager and coordinator. I have been fortunate enough to work with the mighty force that is Emmelie Koster. I have observed in admiration her energy and commitment to working on countless projects. Previously working as a Lawyer, Koster made the move into the arts industry in 2012 founding her own establishment No Man’s Art Gallery, all before she turned 30. Koster’s passion and go-get-‘em approach to her work is contagious and captivating. When I met Koster, I immediately knew I wanted to work with this woman.

Emmelie Koster

Other notable women in this story doing wonderful things include (not exhausted to); the women at a post office in the UK who helped me arrange shipping of two years of belongings back to Australia whilst I was in the middle of a ‘melt-down’, PJ Harvey – currently touring The Hope Six Demolition Project – leading a 10 piece all male band, the women who used their bodies to perform at this months’ Highs and Lows performance at Overtoom 301 in Amsterdam, Anna Funder for her book Stasiland and Sophie Scholl who was executed for her involvement in the non-violent resistance to the Nazi party. Rae Dohar – wonder woman and yogini in chief at Home Yoga Saigon, Abbi Jacobson for the insightful podcast set at MOMA called A Piece of Work and Myf and Zan for Bang On (podcast). Helen Razer for being everywhere and writing everything worth reading right now. This is only a small list.

PJ Harvey

Anna Funder’s Stasiland

Sophie Scholl

This list will continue to evolve and grow. As women we are a powerful force when we unite and often we forget to acknowledge the special bond we have as well as acknowledge the incredible achievements we make in dominantly patriarchal society. To my fellow sisters out there, long live the sisterhood.

No sighting of celebrity pregnancies, royal weddings or fad diets.

What’s the difference between a magazine and a zine? Thanks for asking. See in the last week I’ve had 2 seperate conversations about ‘zines’ (pronounced zeen) so I thought I’d investigate. My research took me to an exhibition at Framer Framed titled It Won’t Be Long Now Comrades. At the exhibition I picked up a small pocket size booklet (a zine) called Instructions for a Protester by Polish artist Agnieszka Piksa. The black and white zine contained comic like drawings with hand written speech bubbles giving the reader instructions for protesting.

The zine is about the act of protest. It’s a timely reminder that protest is sometimes an inherent part of everyday life. It’s a short publication, no more than 15 pages in length. In the context of the exhibition it was lovely to interact with the artists’ ideas in this form. It’s not often in a gallery environment that the audience can engage with an artwork by touch nor are we able to take the work out of the gallery. Usually such publication would be found for purchase in the bookshop (a commercial enterprise), but in this case the zine was available on a table by the front doors FOR FREE. An interesting concept when you consider that the zine will continue to exist outside of the exhibition.

Athenaeum Nieuwscentrum in Amsterdam was next for research. This is a carefully curated selection of publications sorted into genres and areas of interest. Travel, food, art, fashion, photography, gender, sexuality, both commercial and independent publications. The selection at Athenaeum Nieuwscentrum is exhausting and is both zines and magazines. I’d never seen so much ‘Helvetica’ font in one space. They stock publications that appear handmade and photocopied as well as the glossy publication we know as a magazine. I discovered a zine is a non-commercial, sometimes non-professional publication. The type of publication that is not annoyingly littered with heavily stylised (photoshopped) Dior or Calvin Klein advertisements (*cough* Vanity Fair *cough*). Hence, the main difference between a zine and a magazine is that a zine is not published to make a profit and is often published to bring unheard voices into the media arena. A zine is often produced on mass by low budget means such as a photocopier and held together with staples, commonly it’s printed in black and white.

I guess what was the most interesting part of this investigation was the array of publications on specialised topics. It was wonderful to think that there is an audience interested in the production of these zines and magazines. Many voices are being heard. For example, there was a magazine from NYC called Drift. Published twice a year it devotes its attention to coffee culture around the world. Visually it was a beautifully laid out publication (containing no ads). The current volume (#5) focuses on the coffee culture in Melbourne – the next volume will explore coffee culture in Mexico. Drift call themselves a magazine, the absence of advertising with high quality printing it lands somewhere between a zine and a magazine. I looked up Drift online and it turns out it has quite the following. What’s really nice is that discussion of coffee is continuing outside of the magazines’ pages and in a range of different contexts (online). The online presence is a ‘behind-the-scenes’ documentary into the making of the biannual publication, the Facebook page is a beautifully curated photo story.

Filmme Fatales #8 is a ‘Melbourne-made, internationally-read feminist film zine’ that has been in print since 2013. I could hardly believe my luck when I found it – Melbourne based and feminist! Although I am yet to finish reading the entire zine, this issue contains interviews with female film makers and directors, explores the often taboo representation of menstruation in cinema, analyses films with female leads – most notably an analysis of My Year Without Sex (2009) an Australia film with a strong female protagonist. The zine wouldn’t be complete without some commentary and reference to the ‘male gaze’ which is littered through the articles. Like Drift, this zine is beautifully curated, each article is splendidly illustrated in addition to the text. No ads, it’s definitely a zine.

I walked out of Athenaeum Nieuwscentrum having spent my daily travel allowance, all in the name of research. Each publication I purchased is uniquely different and is sparking a conversation on various topics. Torchlight (in its first volume) is ‘A Publication about Asking for Help’ which discusses depression, anxiety, breakdowns and recovery – the founder of this zine suffered a ‘major depressive’ episode in Berlin so decided to write and publish his experience. So Young is a magazine (it has ads) ‘with a community spirit. We aim to bridge the gap between some of the newest talents within illustration and the thriving underground guitar music scene.’ It has a glossy finish and contains interviews with creative types.

I was very keen to secure a locally produced zine and found Parking Lot #3 which is an ‘independent non-commercial hand-made publication addressing inquisitive minds. Based in Amsterdam, it acts as a platform for original works and activities by international contemporary artists, thinkers, poets, writers, and activists.’ This zine is giving a voice to people who are intelligent and who are not having their voices heard or read in mainstream media. Not an article about celebrity weight loss or pregnancy in sight! I also purchased a copy of Subway and Girls Like Us.

So this week I learnt a lot about zines and magazines as a relevant form of communication. It was apparent there is still an audience for this type of print media. It was refreshing to see publications that were independent from the Murdoch empire. Although Rupert Murdoch might not see the value of zine culture, let’s face it it’s not going to pay for his next exotic holiday (or divorce settlement), in a society that is saturated with fake news and a mainstream media which is dictated by media tycoons this underground culture of voices is very important.

(Re) Developing a Love for Photography

Once upon a time I did an Arts Degree with a major in photography. Back when you still had to make a booking to use an enlarger in the darkroom and you spent afternoons inside developing rolls of film in the hope that there was at least one exposure that was calculated perfectly.

Even though I technically don’t practice photography as an art form all that much anymore, rather using it as a form of documentation, I still enjoy stumbling across photographic artworks in museums. I can instantly recognise Jeff Wall’s work or a Diane Arbus. I feel a sense of nostalgia and familiarity, remembering the discussions about photographic masters at university.

Jeff Wall (A Sudden Gust of Wind after Hokusai, 1993)

Diane Arbus (Identical twins, Roselle, NJ, 1967)

In 2004, Facebook was launched and by 2011 an estimated 100 billion photographs had been shared on the social network. Things were shifting in the photography world. During this period I was teaching photography (digital) to high school students and I realised everyone was now a photographer, you didn’t need an Arts Degree. Most of the students had camera phones and for me photography as an art form started to lose it’s magic. Students didn’t need to learn how to take photographs (or process them) because they could already do it instantly with their phones. I disengaged with contemporary photography and instead engaged with other forms of image making. The art form started to feel repetitive and it seemed like it was ‘nothing new.’ The function of photography had changed. It was hard to convince 15 year olds of the stillness and mystique of an Ansel Adams or the exquisite beauty and detail that went into a Annie Leibovitz…probably when I was doing this selfies were being uploaded to Facebook. It left me to question is there any real skill in photography these days when we all carry a camera around in our pockets? How do I feel about instant digital image making?

Last year in New York I was exposed to photographic works at the New Museum (The Keeper) and MOMA (Nan Goldin Ballard of Sexual Dependency) which redeveloped my love for photography as an art form. I’m again engaging with photography, visiting contemporary art spaces in Kansas City (Spencer Museum of Art), London (Saatchi Gallery), Rotterdam (Kunsthal) I’m drawn to the photography works. I’ve noticed a freshness to contemporary photography and the innovative ways it is being used to communicate ideas. I’m loving the inclusion of technology both in the production of the images and the displaying of images through screens and data projectors. I’m appreciating the combination and merging of still and moving images.

Juno Calypso The Honeymoon Suite 2015

At Saatchi’s From Selfie to Self Expression exhibition, photography was used as a way to explore the history of the “selfie,” from the 16th century to the present day. This exhibition was challenging. The show opened with a room full of screens containing self portraits from the old masters (Van Gogh, Frida Kahlo, Rembrandt, Picasso). Like a slide show, the actual paintings are on a screen – pictures of them not the actual physical artworks. The audience is encouraged to approach the screens and touch them to ‘love’ the art work like you would on Instagram or Facebook. The other rooms contained more contemporary artists who explore the theme of the selfie, Nan Goldin, Colombian artist Juan Pablo Echeverri, Juno Calypso and a great image of George Harrison taking a picture of himself in front of the Taj Mahal in 1966.

“The selfie is by far the most expansionist form of visual self-expression, whether you like it or not … The art world cannot really afford to ignore it.” – Nigel Hurst Chief Executive Saatchi

George Harrison at the Taj Mahal 1966

In Amsterdam I have visited Foam Gallery a total of 4 times. It’s a gallery dedicated to the exhibition of contemporary photography. The current exhibition is an annually held show called Talent. A collection of “20 young artists shaping the future of photography…The annual Talent Call is always an intriguing barometer of the state of contemporary photography.” This year they received 1,790 submissions from 75 countries. This exhibition is one of the most inspiring exhibitions of emerging photographers I have ever seen. It is dynamic and completely captivating. Photography as an art form is represented with such diversity and variety of different approaches.

A sculptural photographic work by Alix Marie (Bleu), miniatures by Sushant Chhabria (In Loving Memory Of), heavily stylised fashion images by Namsa Leuba  (Next Generation Lagos), images associated with surveillance, security and spying by Clement Lambelet (Collateral Visions) and digital constructed realities by Harit Srikhao (Mt Meru) are among the extensive collection. As well, the exhibition proved that photography is an exceptional choice of medium for social commentary on a range of contemporary and current social issues. Digital works explore “the American dream” by Weronika Gesickt (Traces) and an absolutely thought provoking work by Mark Dorf (Transposition) that combines photography and sculpture and explores a link between the constructed environment of nature (in the form of a botanical garden) and the constructed environment of digital image making. In his images he intentionally exposes his use of photoshop tools such as the clone stamp and blending effects to indicate a ‘man-made’ image. Wang Nan (Fluorite) uses dark imagery to capture children labeled as “problem children” in a rigid and academically focused Chinese education system, perhaps commenting on the current state of education in China. Wang focuses on children who are labeled as ‘difficult’ because of a curiosity and wonder in their interior worlds. These images give the children a freedom to play and explore in front of the camera.

Mark Dorf (from Transposition)

Weronika Gesicka (from Trace)

Many of the artists in the exhibition work in a digital environment. I still don’t know how I feel about digital photography given the amount of painstaking hours I spent in the darkroom processing and reprocessing film and images. However, what I am realising is that photography is an art form and a way of communicating that has not lost its power since the rise of the selfie, camera phones and Facebook. There is so much innovation and such variety possibilities and opportunities that the medium offers.