Artsy partsy
The other day I found myself in Canberra, our terrifying capital city. It is the weirdest place I know. Everytime I've been there I'm bemused by the entire apparent lack of people: it seems just vast freeways, always curving towards the distance, traversed in the bleak streetlight and the freezing dark by lone figures trudging haplessly (and yet purposefully) towards some unknown and unseeable destination. I nearly cried with joy when after my own trudging in said freezing dark I found a Korean restaurant with intelligent life inside.
But I did dash into the National Gallery, as it is the only thing I know of to do in Canberra, and did find some excellent, excellent art that made me all excited. They had an Assemblage Art exhibition, complete with beloved Rosalie Gascoigne pieces, an Lindy Ivemy cow, and, in another part of the gallery, the most beautiful exquisite things by an artist called Fiona Hall who is my new hero. I WANT.
This is a little film showing some of her stuff, including her magical series of sardine boxes cut to make perfect trees, and inside the box, a sequence of erotic scenes of tiny tin cocks and vaginas.
Here is a still picture of one, sadly un-peeled to show whatever treasure is inside.
Then, tracking links, I found the page of this madwoman who makes wonderful art out of crochet. Barnacles, vegetation and other marvels. How wonderful!
Then I went and stared at The Slip, one of the Nolan Ned Kelly series, which has a profound and mysterious effect on me (a horse falling off a cliff? Why is it quite so ominous and terrible?) and then realised I was nearly going to miss my plane, which would have been a disaster, as though Canberra is probably full of lovely people, the city itself is like going down the rabbit hole and I wouldn't want to get stuck there without a lunchbox.
But I did dash into the National Gallery, as it is the only thing I know of to do in Canberra, and did find some excellent, excellent art that made me all excited. They had an Assemblage Art exhibition, complete with beloved Rosalie Gascoigne pieces, an Lindy Ivemy cow, and, in another part of the gallery, the most beautiful exquisite things by an artist called Fiona Hall who is my new hero. I WANT.
This is a little film showing some of her stuff, including her magical series of sardine boxes cut to make perfect trees, and inside the box, a sequence of erotic scenes of tiny tin cocks and vaginas.
Here is a still picture of one, sadly un-peeled to show whatever treasure is inside.
Then, tracking links, I found the page of this madwoman who makes wonderful art out of crochet. Barnacles, vegetation and other marvels. How wonderful!
Then I went and stared at The Slip, one of the Nolan Ned Kelly series, which has a profound and mysterious effect on me (a horse falling off a cliff? Why is it quite so ominous and terrible?) and then realised I was nearly going to miss my plane, which would have been a disaster, as though Canberra is probably full of lovely people, the city itself is like going down the rabbit hole and I wouldn't want to get stuck there without a lunchbox.
