wideyedkid

The Source

Kentonian
Witty Wittonski
Lovely Hen
Wham Bam Thankyou Pham
Number One Redhead: Marko Mykyta
Simon Clegg
Dan of Butler
‘Mo Davidge
Mr Ed
Eli
and Dallas
The Beautiful Miss Llara Loveday
Reet Petite Reitano
Ky Ote
Blender Crew
Kieran Tool-box Stewart
Hey-Hey AMK
Jodie B
Aunty Christ
Bimbo Pizza Gang
Trashbag Traci Fawcett
Michael Pulsford (whom I’ve never met)
Mum
& Dad

can't thank you enough

Stronger, Better, Smarter

Now that I’ve managed to top up my reserves, here’s what I’ve had strength for lately:

• Two exhibition catalogue essays and two magazine articles
• Quitting my gallery Board position of 3 years
• One job application, Curator [fail]
• One Board position application, Gallery [fail]
• Moving house in the midst of Melbourne’s Rental Crisis
• Voting in my local election
• De-cluttering 10 years worth of clutter for a cluttered friend
• Fronting up at my 20 Year High-school Reunion
• 55 art exhibitions
• Getting my braces off
• Six interstate trips
• Seven interstate houseguests
• One workshop application, Curatorial [win!]
• Selling my house in the midst of Global Economic Crisis
• Delivering a speech at my father’s 60th Birthday Party (attended by Melbourne and Adelaide Arts n’ Academia literati)
• One university application, Master of Art Curatorship [pending]

Open Letter to Aunty Christ

Dear Aunty Christ,

Guess where I’ve been for last 11 months? At Camp Broken Spirit™ on your Plan of Attack™ Strength Regeneration Program, that’s where!

I’ve been working my ass off on feeling better tomorrow, then buildin’ on it and buildin’ on it [that’s a genius and rather lucrative mission statement right there, might I say] - now I’m fightin’ fit baby! Thanks so much for the sideline cheer… sources of strength sure do come from the darndest places sometimes ;)

I hope you’re feeling readier to rumble too. Shit has been *tough* lately. I know you know it.

Mainly because we’ve got some weird-assed parallel thing going on. I’ve refrained from commenting on it in the past ‘cause of the whole possibly slightly creepy or bordering on stalky tone that generally accompanies such comments… but c’mon, I think you might be Bizarro me:

Evidence that Aunty Christ and Wideyedkid could, in fact, be the same person; Exhibits A through to M:

a) Both blonde (genetically)
b) Both in the 30 something age bracket
c) Both of the virgo variety
d) Both spent large amounts of time being single and lamenting the fact with hilarious, self deprecating accounts of failed romance on Gen X modes of technology such as Blogger.
e) Both spent large amounts of time living in own house, alone, with a pair of [insert thug dogs or viking cats here] who serve alarmingly effectively as emotional substitutes in lieu of actual human relationships
f) Both had shithouse longterm chronic back pain in recent times
g) Both sold houses in recent times (and are awesome at being financially independent)
h) Both got the sack in recent times (despite being awesome at their day job no matter how much they hate it)
i) Both hate people and are a shell of their former selves, but just. can’t. help. a propensity for self analysis and compulsion to be a better person
j) Both going back to [insert college or university here]?
k) Both shameless in blogspace, but totally poker face around real, actual people… except for Aunty Christ who has had a few shameless episodes in a few bars… oh wait… nevermind.
l) Both now have an extremely refined, kick-ass, job application cover letter - locked, loaded and ready to go at a moment’s notice
m) Neither have ever been seen in the same room at the same time

Am I wrong?

Hang in there lady, everything's gonna be aaaaaaaalright.

Yours Sincerely,

Wideyedkid

Strength is a resource, not a personality trait.

Wow. I can't believe how excited and optimistic I was in 2004. I honestly believed that if I kept my integrity and worked as hard as I could, that good things would happen. I had faith back then. I even had faith right through 2006: The Year of Rejection.

But somewhere in 2008 I ran out of whatever it is that you pull out when you need to 'dig deep'. Maybe it was the year of chronic, debilitating back pain. Or maybe it's been the steady demise of moral integrity in my work place. Or my continued 'dis-connection' and intolerable loneliness. Maybe my emotional wasteland is the final culmination of one blow after another - with no respite - no time to get back on my feet in between bouts - and no evidence that integrity or love or hard work make any difference to anything much at all. So now I have no care. I have no faith, no hope, and I'm learning not to love.

I've been told by a whole bunch of people that I am 'strong'. My shrink has said it. My counsellor has said it. My father has said it. My partners have said it. And my friends have said it. I think people say 'you're strong' to reassure themselves. Someone else's strength is a comforting alibi. People say 'you're strong' like it's a personality trait... like it can't be used up or beaten out of you.

I pretty much used up all my strength not committing suicide after the home invasion. And after the first 2 years of that, every tiny amount of regenerated strength was put toward the maintenance of my sanity. I haven't had enough spare to get on top of things since 2003. And now I've been comprehensively drained once more. Strength is a resource, that needs to be replenished. What I once had in abundance, now needs complete and total regeneration. But I don't know how. I wish I had the reserves to try things out, to be irresponsible and have fun, to experiment and take risks. I wish I had the mental fortitude to think about big, important, conceptual things - life, love, art, ethics. But I don't know how.

For now I only have strength enough for the banal.

Today I:

* made a coffee
* fed my cats
* washed the dishes
* washed my clothes
* pruned my bonsai tree
* made a cup of tea for a visiting friend
* re-heated some soup

I Do It Because I Love It: Part 2

The 2nd annual list of all the exhibitions I saw (vol. 2007). A PB!

Edgewood: Aerial Photography of New Suburbia; Liminal; New Work: Expanded and Compressed; if... so... then, Centre for Contemporary Photography (CCP), Fitzroy
Debut III, Blindside, Melbourne
Trixie Triksta; Stack; Susurus, Bus, Melbourne
Pascale Mira Tschani & Michael Husmann Tschani, Until Never, Melbourne
Six Ft Hick, Tote
Studio 411 First Birthday, Nicholas Building, Melbourne
Empty 07, Melbourne
Skin & Bones, Bus, Melbourne
Black and Silver, Utopian Slumps, Collingwood
The Trouble with Boys, Until Never, Melbourne
Arlene Texta Queen; Michelle Hamer, Seventh, Fitzroy
1351841, Merda, The Autopsy, St Kilda
Character Wars (Rachee vs Damo), E55, Melbourne
Only One Way Out of Here, Lane Cormick, Neon Parc, Melbourne
Do You Like Me?; Identity, Kings ARI, Melbourne
Revolve (Andrew Gutteridge); Anno (Helena Leslie), Bus, Melbourne
Tea: The Global Infusion, Baillieu Library, University of Melbourne, Parkville
City Folk, Nathan Jurevicius, Outre, Melbourne
Street Art Focus, Phibs & Reka, Outre, Melbourne
The Opening, 696, Brunswick
Little Wooden Toyshop, Rancho Notorious, Melbourne
New Values, Tim Fleming, Utopian Slumps, Collingwood
Curvy4, Until Never, Melbourne
Curvy Live, Hosier Lane, Melbourne
Sneakers, NGV International, Melbourne
New07, ACCA, Southbank
No Comply, The Atrium, Federation Square
As It Is - As It Can Be, Downtown Art Space, Bus, Melbourne
Backwoods: The Everfresh Exhibition, Wooden Shadow, Richmond
London Police; Flying Fortress, Per Square Metre, Collingwood
Focus, Victoria Reichelt, Diane Tanzer Gallery, Fitzroy
Sex and the City, Inflight, Bus, Melbourne
Making Space, Platform, Melbourne
KMossed, Rosie Kavanavoch, Citylights Centre Place, Melbourne
Rich Text, Curated by Tai Snaith, RMIT Storey Hall, Melbourne
Blame it on the Rain 07, Roxanne Parlour, Melbourne
In House, Christina Hayes, Platform, Melbourne
Caught on Tape, Fed Square Big Screen, Melbourne
Stencil Festival 2007, Brunswick
Floats Like a Brick Doesn't, Bus, Melbourne
Salon de Tea, Until Never, Melbourne
Permanent Collection, Cowan Gallery, State Library of Victoria, Melbourne
Mirror of the World, Dome Galleries, State Library of Victoria, Melbourne
Bootlegger, Until Never, Melbourne
Peripheral Reverb, Roh Singh, Dianne Tanzer Gallery, Fitzroy
Emotional Landscapes and Sunsets, Troy-Anthony Baylis, Australian Dreaming Art, Fitzroy
Inland, Dale Cox, Dianne Tanzer Gallery, Fitzroy
Double Dutch, Bella Wells, Dianne Tanzer Gallery, Fitzroy
You Are Here X, Lucy Griggs, Seventh, Fitzroy
The Secret to Human Happiness, Sharon Billinge, Seventh, Fitzroy
Sista She, East Brunswick Club, East Brunswick
Urban Aboreal, City Gallery, Melbourne
Every Second is Like, Forever, and Every Year is Like 11.3 Centimetres, Louisa Bufardeci, Anna Schwartz Gallery, Melbourne
Everfresh, Hogan Gallery, Collingwood
Ashlee Laing; Katie Jacobs, Bus, Melbourne
Land of Milk and Honey, HAHA, Until Never, Melbourne
Don't Just Tell Them, Show Them, Jesse Marlow, Crossley & Scott, Melbourne
Passing Through the Old World, David Frazer, Dickerson, Richmond
Urban Myths and Legends, Robert Clinch, Dickerson, Richmond
Aeon, Per Square Metre, Colingwood
Orificeworks (Tim Sterling) Conversation (Anne Wilson) Uncontained Part 1 (Michael Needham), Bus, Melbourne
Guggenheim Collection, NGV International, Melbourne
History Set This Trap, Love Conquers F*ck All (Sandra Eterovic), Last Photo of Dick (Emma Morgan), Bus, Melbourne
Famous, Karin Catt, State Library of Victoria, Melbourne
Heavy, Viv Miller; Gavin Durant, Neon Parc, Melbourne
Studied Natures, Kirsten Bradley, West Space, Melbourne
Screen Deep: Artlink Launch, ACMI, Melbourne
Southwest, Mike Giant, Don't Come, Melbourne
Sketchbook, Brunswick Bound, Brunswick
Parched; Pascua Lama, Ash Keating, Diane Tanzer Gallery, Fitzroy
Tom O’Hearn, Peter Grziwotz, Elena Vlassova, Chay-ya Clancy, Bus, Melbourne
Pixar: 20 Years of Animation, ACMI, Melbourne
A Mysterious Land, Guan Wei, Arc One, Melbourne
Hung by the Sticky Bits, Until Never, Melbourne
Without Thread, Elefteria Vlavianos, Span, Melbourne
Beijing Olympic Panda, Josephine Do, Span, Melbourne
Trasharama Au Go Go, Glitch, North Fitzroy
Buff vs The Queen, Bus, Melbourne
Day of the Dead, Forepaw, Northcote
Vaucanson’s Duck; Museum of Lost Worlds Presents Passports from Forgotten Realms, Bus, Melbourne
New Paintings, Camilla Tadich, Flinders Lane Gallery, Melbourne
VCA Grad Show, Margaret Lawrence Gallry, Southbank
Vagabond: A Portable Exhibition by Niels Oeltjen, cnr Swanston and La Trobe Streets, Melbourne
Street Alliance Forum: The Position and Validity of Street Art in Melbourne’s Current Cultural Climate, BMW Edge, Melbourne
Permanent Collection, Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide
TS Gallery, Adelaide

100% Virgo 4 Life

Virgos are a proud clan (albeit subtly). And they band together something fierce. They'll exchange secret acknowledgement, put you up for the night, and show extra respect if you are a sista or a bro. And they'll remember yr birthday to boot. Here's the 2007 birthday honour roll... from just one Virgo's diary:

Jenny F
Willis G
Sidonie A
Dan S
Chris C
Yeshe A
Ade S
Rachel M
Sophie S
James D
Henry V
J2K
Tasmin A
Claire M
Marc D
Alex W
Annemarie K
Elendil A
Regan T
Lorraine B
Ann M
Drew J
Aunty Christ

Celebrating birthdays much?

Happy birthday to my people! xxx

What Xero Reckons... (or: the question of whether street art is art is becoming a bit of a chestnut).

the question of whether street art is art is becoming a bit of a chestnut. we were asked it in 'cut outs', an early rmit doco. haha said it's art and belongs on the gallery wall. i guess my position is that it's art and it belongs on the street and not in the gallery.

street art is a naive and spontaneous folk art movement. it sees itself a step removed from 80s style graf, itself a kind of action painting / performance art with next to no artistic pretensions or aspirations.

but piecing-&-tagging graf is the example that proves my point. as gallery art, it sucks. sure it looks great on the railway siding, brightening up what would otherwise be a kilometres-long expanse of grey concrete and grey fences. but this is not the same context as the white cube, all flat planes and right angles. here it falls flat.

in the street and railway cutting, graf and street art live. they burn like spring flowers, shortly consumed by the elements and the march of time, swallowed by yet more tags and graf and posters and stencils and stickers.

out here it is a living breathing beast, fast moving dripping sweat and drooling. made portable and commodified, street art ossifies. a fragment of poster torn from the street, framed and stuck on your wall. no-one will ever tag over it or buff it. and in this, it is robbed of its life.

paintings by street artists are not good paintings. street art and graf as an art form is maybe 20 or 30 years old, and when its practitioners say old-skool, that's what they mean. painting as an art form is maybe 7 or 800 years old. street art does not see its own continuity with leonardo and van gogh. painting is old and slow and wise. street art is young and brash and a little bit stupid. i welcome its presence on the street, but a bit of board that some 20-year-olds have written their names on, no matter how nicely, does not compete with a painting done by a mature adult with an understanding of painting's relation to history.

painting has earned its stripes and learned a thing or two. the best street artists are good designers. the only conceivable exception is banksy. his street art and actions will be in encyclopedias of art, and in this sense he is an artist like christo or andy goldsworthy. but his sticking something to the wall of the tate will be remembered far longer than the thing he stuck there. as gallery art it ultimately fails, and that's why he had to go in there with liquid nails in the first place.

street art is impatient and superficial. mostly it is a fashion and already well past its glory days. what will remain in the memory of art history were those beautiful street pieces, the work in the field. the few bits or board or canvas entrepreneurial gallery directors managed to get the artists to paint on remain mere ephemera, interesting as an opera ticket or shopping list.

[Hmm Controversial Tuesday? Street art, indeed, has a life cycle... but what's wrong with ephemera? I find shopping lists infinitely interesting, actually. Ed.]

Wek is Publicly Declaring the Merits of yr Heated Waterbed

Today is the coldest Melbourne day in nine years. That's what they say. And Melbourne's pretty cold to start with. So, you know, we're talking *FREAKIN' FREEZING* on the old scale.

Technically it's cold enough to snow. But it doesn't. Not in the city anyway. So nobody *really* acknowledges the coldness like they do in places where it actually snows... like Japan... or the North Pole - where they have central heating EVRYWHERE. Here, we live in un-insulated weatherboard houses with huge gaps under the doors and a struggling split system in an open plan cavern. For example.

It's like the difference between Gridiron players who pad up before a game and AFL Footy players who go in with only a mouthguard, come off with brain damage, and go on again as long as there isn't any actual blood coming out of them. (Internal bleeding is accepted)

Anyway it's cold.

It's so cold that I wear a coat and scarf at my office desk.

It's so cold that I eat 16 hot meals a day.

It's so cold, that the experience of cold has escalated from a sensation of temperature to a sensation of pain.

It's so cold that a new verb has been born: "to pom". As in, Frey and Gyl have become ridiculously fuzzy - naturally occurring pom-poms, if you will. Their pomicity decreases in direct relation to increased heat source... but as the temperature drops, they visibly pom. Used in conversational language: "What's Freya up to?" "She's in the kitchen, pomming."

Which brings me to my public declaration of the merits of yr heated waterbed.

Yes, I may have cringed in the face of my own teenage waterbed-related baggage dating back to the [*shudder*] eighties; and yes, I may have denounced it "yuk" and "cheesiest of the cheese"; and yes I may have unreasonably questioned the need of *anyone* to own a bed that pretty much fills an entire room (even 6' 2" giants); and yes, I may have surmised that the whole thing might just fall clear through the floor from the sheer weight of it... but I was wrong.

I take it back.

It's like sleeping on a giant hot water bottle.

I now have no need to pom :-)

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