Article, Art Info, Kirsty Hulm

Here is a recent article written by artist and mayoral candidate Carl Scrase at www.artinfo.com.au, on my project involving full body concept tattooing, for which he has volunteered his skin. Please take the time to have a look.

Also if you live in the Melbourne area and would like to take part in the project, and have no other tattoos, please contact me here.

Lena Dunham’s Girls Review- Why This Is The Best Thing I’ve Seen In A Long Time

A male friend of mine sat me down and said ‘you’ve gotta watch this new show Girls, I think you’re gonna love it. Actually you might hate it, I’m not sure, but it’s really good.’

He’d downloaded the first three episodes and we watched all three together. I was in awe. I cringed through much, yelled at the television, laughed hysterically and above all, sympathized. Most of the sex scenes were so realistic I had to watch them through hands thrown up over my face, as I remembered my own awkward or uncomfortable sexual encounters of my young twenties. It was a revelation to me to see this beamed back on the screen, but even more so that my male friend felt the same way- it was all too embarrassingly familiar for the both of us.

I’m not sure why the producers chose the title ‘Girls,’ because it segregates viewers into two types- those who are exhilarated to see a show ‘about them, for them,’  and may or may not feel that has been fulfilled, and those who are ready to tear it limb from limb as not representative of ‘their’ female experience. Read: Here

I have been reading countless reviews, but more closely the comments sections, always a hot bed of negativity from the oh-so-wise armchair critics, and the thing which keeps popping up time and time again is the offence many find that these girls are supposedly ‘archetypal.’ I understand the backlash of viewers bored of seeing sitcom after sitcom of rich kids living it up in some cosmopolitan haven which may as well be another planet but is usually just a trendy bar in Bed-Stuy, but I really, really, didn’t get that feeling from watching this.

This is no Friends or Sex in the City, which Dunham very carefully and wittily alludes to in the first episode in the form of a SATC poster adorning one of the girl’s ‘bachelorette pads’- flat, one dimensional and a bona fide relic of the 90’s, informing yet no longer representing the new demographic of young female college graduates who care more about how to be more DIY than what the new Manolo Blaaaahniks look like. Hooker heels are out and canning your own veg is in.

These characters while privileged, don’t seem particularly to revel in it. So many tiresome comments make constant and laughable references to why these girls are lazy shlubbs who should get jobs, bringing in everything from WWII and the age old ‘back in my day’ scenarios… In fact they live in shitty apartments, hold shitty jobs that most often don’t pay and are attempting to have some semblance of a career away from the reigns of their parents. The fact that they need monetary support should be irrelevant to the fact that they are trying in some fashion to find out who they are and achieve successes in a town which really couldn’t give a shit.

Compare to ‘How To Make It In America,’ which is almost an identical premise modeled on a group of young guys trying to ‘find themselves’ and live the dream in NY to become successful fashion designers. They spend a couple of episodes worrying about how their gonna ‘make it,’ then magically they have a hit fashion label on their hands, are constantly fucking beautiful models and/or highly successful women they use as step ladders in their careers, all in amidst gorgeous still shots of hip bars and the NY city skyline. Oh yeah, and one of them is a billionaire.

But I don’t hear the same bleating about the lack of diversity in that show as I do about Girls. Yeah, they’re all white in Girls, but so what? Many groups of people stick with their own race, not by choice, but possibly by chance. Is it really so ridiculous to think there isn’t small groups of four white girls who are best friends in NY? I find it more insulting when writers will inject a token person of colour into storylines to avoid this backlash- it’s only then that I cannot stop focusing on that character, it seems false and misrepresentative.  Is How To Make It In America less offensive simply because one of the leads is a Hispanic character, or is it really because when men go out on a limb and try to forge a career, they are seen as brave entrepreneurs trying their luck in the big bad world, and when women do the same they are touted as ‘lazy,’  ‘boring,’ and ‘privileged’: read- shunning her real duties of finding a husband to take care of her and popping out his sprog.

I find the critque of this show as unrealistic laughable. Minus living off of my parents cash (they are dirt poor), this series so aptly describes my life experience that, like I said, it’s embarrassing.

I moved from a country town full of hope to embark on my degree, believing as you are led to believe (through out-dated sitcoms such as Friends), that everything, even if it is eventually, falls in your lap in the big city- you’ll go to the right bar and accidentally spill your drink on a curator, which of course they’ll find charming, you end up with a show in Paris (note, two key characters in both SATC and Friends end the series in Paris, as though this is the ultimate fantasy playground for women (because we are all obsessed with falling in love, and, um, Chanel- duh!)) and married to some rich handsome so and so, who is a carbon copy of all the other rich handsome so-and so’s. Right? Isn’t this how the dream/reality scenario works?

I had mainly horrible relationships with distant men and some terribly uncomfortable sexual encounters with boys who only knew how to battle their own insecurity by oppressing you with not calling or being sexually domineering. Four of my close friends have had abortions. Four. Almost every girl I know has been sexually or otherwise assaulted at some point in their life, and many as adults. I am one them- its happened so many times I couldn’t remember to count for you. Some of the times have been by my boyfriends in our own bedroom. Seeing the way Hannah’s ‘not-boyfriend’ Adam dominates her as though she is a puppet for him to project his own fantasies on to, or when he plays with the flab of her stomach after sex and can’t understand why she cared, made me cringe, want to cry, I yelled out loud and wished someone would invent punch proof covers for tv’s. But you know what else it did? It made me burst out laughing. I was so, SO relieved to see this experience being shown to THE WORLD, this experience that for many young girls (and probably men) is humiliating and secret and a result of a society run by men obsessed with the consumption of pornographic ideals they are forced to enact behind closed doors on their unwitting female counterparts who remain submissive in the hope that IF I DO THIS MAYBE THEY WILL REPLY TO MY TEXT MESSAGES AND I WON’T HAVE TO HATE MYSELF ANY MORE.

Fucking hallelujah. I was already stoked when I saw in the first episode that two of the main characters were slightly chubby. It is APPALLING that this BLEW MY MIND.

I didn’t even care what happened after that- it was already so much more realistic to me than watching stick figures mash their faces together while shrouded in Gucci and baying at their miniature pets that I wanted to pop some champagne.

I am recommending this show to everyone I know, male and female. My best male friend is similarly blown away by it, and relieved himself to view a series that shows the real relationship struggles he himself has experienced with girlfriends and sexual partners. And no, he’s not some buff young stud living off his parents cash either (though he does live in their investment property- shock horror) and he can relate.

Viewers need to start looking at subtexts and stop looking for characters that visually or physically represent them- this in itself is a form of racism. I can see pieces of myself a little in all the characters, and isn’t that the point of all good writing?

Any show which within three episodes has aptly captured the excruciating awkwardness of a pap smear (a pap smear, on TELEVISION!!!), and the small talk you are forced to make/endure is considered essential viewing in my book, for everyone, everyone.

Viva la Girls- may you out-grow your critics and prosper!

Flux: You & Me, Exhibition invites

Ok, so the show, Flux: You & Me, that I’ve been curating/producing is fast approaching- less than a week now until opening night. It is a fantastic collection of local, interstate and two American artists, who have all created new works which will be for sale, to the brief provided by myself. There is collage, drawing, painting, photography and one video work.

There were so many debarcles in choosing the flyer to be used for advertising- no-one could agree on which style best represented the show, so there ended up being a number made. Here for your enjoyment, is, all of them, in chronological order. Decide for yourself which you like best, feel free to share- and please come down to the opening on Thursday the 30th of June, or frequent the show on one of the open days in the  next two weeks.

Here also, is the synopsis of the curatorial premise- the ‘inspiration’ if you like that the artists worked from:

When we create, we become characters in our own narrative- the work does not have to bear our likeness for this to be true- it becomes a reflection of our values, our ideals, our image we strive to cultivate, preserve and play with.

The premise of this show is to bring together a collection of works that explore current practices of the personal, in painting/drawing and sculpture, video and photography. Artists have long been fore-runners in soliciting and anticipating social change and dissecting prevalent attitudes, thus this show explores how figuration, or the implication of an individuals presence is used to explore current social, global and private situations, and what clues this might have for our future.

Many of the artists here have a strong relationship to pop culture, to the apocalypse, to themes of struggling for identity in a world which is confusing and occasionally frightening- but offer also moments of lightness, humour and humility- images of strength in open frailty.

The self exists in its often obscure relationship to its surroundings, to fictional narratives and performances, to cultural conditionings, and metaphysical meanings. We ask, whose environment are we in, and how can we play towards a deeper understanding of our relationship to it? What do I represent and what represents me? Am I, are we being the best we can be? 

 

Sucker Punch Review

I just watched Sucker Punch, much to my dismay. If only I had researched prior to downloading it exactly what its contents might hold- its advertising was shiny, and more importantly, BIG, showing sexualised (which bothered me) but strong looking (which gave me hope) girls. The giant puffy lips, doe eyes and baby doll hairstyle of the lead character made me uneasy, but I have the flu, and I wanted to see a no-brainer that wouldn’t take much to follow while I tried to ignore my pounding nasal headache.

I would take a two hour migraine any day over being made to watch this film again.

I haven’t been this disgusted with cinema for quite some time- or maybe I just haven’t been sick and dazed enough to dip into the Hollywood mainstream for a bit.

Sucker Punch is yet another plotless, sexist, glam over substance stretched out music video posing as a film for ‘kids.’ How this piece of trash managed to garner a PG13 rating both baffles and disturbs me. The film tries to position itself as lauding feminine strength, as showing female characters with ingenuity, grit and determination,  when all it manages to achieve is showing young women that you can ‘handle’ the most gruelling sexual and physical tortures by simply zoning out and regressing to your ‘happy place’ while they’re happening- oh and just to note, in your happy place, you will still remain a sexualised caricature of yourself which uses sex to get yourself out of  the trivialised ‘tight’ spots you seem to always get your silly little self mixed up in.

Problems are listed in point form, because there are too many to be bothered to string them together:

*Over-dramatised, cliched and outdated imagery of mental institutions. Seriously, do we really need to see the pastiche of yet another too dark to make anything out, creepy, run down asylum where all the orderlies are bad men who want to fondle and exploit the  inmates and all the women are crone like and ultimately uncaring? This trope is done so much to death in recent cinema that it would actually be much more frightening and compelling to see a genuinely realistic asylum setting. I realise this film is aiming for a steam punk aesthetic (which it fails dismally at), but really, enough already. It’s like the director got given a handbook for Most Successful Scary Settings For Films To Date for his 13th birthday, read the first page and got cracking on his ‘inspiration board,’ and ‘Presto!’ we have the whole mood of the film planned out.

* All of the male roles are sexually and physically violent, manipulative, capitalistic, greedy and opportunistic- there is not one redeeming male role who could give a counter argument to this disturbing portrait. Oh except for the man who exists in ‘Baby Doll’s’ dream state- the only older character, who flips from faux Japanese Zen master to Army Drill Sergeant in different ‘dreams’, but who maintains consistently the role of sage advisor (even as a hokey bus driver in the end). This character is castrated from the above mentioned ‘typically male’ characteristics by his age bracket-  through being older he has been rendered symbolically impotent and therefore he ceases to be sexually or physically threatening to the young women and can go about doling out his fantastic wisdom as he fancies- to which of course, the ecstatic girls listen and obey attentively. So the writers are simultaneously insulting all the little boys and girls with that one. Why would a girl who had been attempted raped and abused by multiple men choose a male apparition in her dream state to be her spiritual advisor? That is not only not believable, but also highly insulting. As any psychologist will explain, when an individual is beset with an over-ridingly negative internal voice (due often to abuse), that internal voice takes on a sex, that is, it is not asexual. It embodies the sex of the abuser, which continues to psychologically abuse the victim, long after the fact.  Did the male writer’s even consider this, or was it perhaps simply a case of, ‘oh all the other male characters are just so damned ghastly, let’s throw in a bit of cute  relief with the kind old granddad routine’? Another boring, outdated trope. Here’s one of his witticisms:

‘Don’t ever write a check with your mouth you can’t cash with your ass.’

Interesting advice to a band of girls’ trying to escape sexual exploitation. I’ll be sure to note that one on the old inspiration calendar…

* The disturbingly young appearance of the female lead is a major concern. As another reviewer points out, the writers clumsily make a point of mentioning the character of ‘Baby Doll’ is 20 (on her asylum admittance forms), because if they hadn’t, you could swear she wasn’t a day over 12 despite the make-up they absolutely slather all over her and the ridiculously over-sexualised costumes. In fact they do nought but enhance the fact that this girl looks like an animated Bratz doll.

Why is the fantasy of this girl so overtly sexual? We are given no indication through back story of why this may be the case, for which there could be made an excuse- any kind of tenuous plotline would do! Yet the audience is given no back story on the character, except that her mother died and of course that means her step father is evil. For a very good portion of the film, well after the intro, this character does not even utter a single word, even while watching her step father attempt (or succeed, you aren’t shown) to rape her younger sister or watching a friend and ally being shot point blank in the head, or stabbed in the chest (yes, that’s right folks, if you’re into watching young girls in corsets and fish nets being murdered then this film is for you!)- where are her screams for her safety, her cries for help? Why is this ‘heroine’ portrayed as silent? The girls never use their voices, their intelligence to get themselves out of trouble- the writers’ allow them two tools- exploiting themselves as sexual objects to manipulate the animalistic male characters, to stupid to see anything beyond sex, and in the first dream state- weapons- lots and lots of weapons. Here is a brief news flash to all you writers out there: IF YOUR CHARACTERS HAVE TO RELY ON A TRUCKLOAD OF MAGICALLY NEVER ENDING WEAPONS, THEY ARE NOT STRONG. There is a noticeable and disturbingly heavy over-use of weapons in this film, reiterating the intonation that the female characters are inherently weak and in need of man made intervention to defeat, well…men. So therefore the women don’t even ‘own’ their own victory, because in essence the men are simply defeating themselves by their own violent design.

* ‘Who’ exactly these girls are fighting in the film is also a problem. We have, steam punk zombie Nazis (wow, I guess this guy liked the Hellboy comics), who their spiritual leader assures them they don’t have to bother morally about killing because they are run on clockwork and steam, warlocks (guess he’s also read Lord of the Rings too) and some further faceless, seemingly medieval soldiers in one dream sequence involving a dragon.

The girls NEVER defeat anyone human. Even in her fantasy Baby Doll is not strong enough to defeat a man. The fight scene participants have to be reduced to mutant or re-animated (and thus disadvantaged) men to be defeated by the girls. I was most disturbed by the dragon slaying. It is unfathomable why the writers felt it necessary to assign a creature which is otherwise fairly asexual, the role of female. Until you think of the rest of the film that is- and then it makes perfect sense. If the idea of the film (as it appears to be) is to promote child-like, exuberant and unhindered female sexuality, then it makes sense for this sexy young woman to slit the throat of a baby ( even if it is disguised in the form of a fantastical creature) and unrepentently slay it’s grieving mother. Why are the girls told not to ‘feel bad’ about decimating a few re-animated corpse soldiers (all male), but they film quickly skims over the ruthless killing of a mother and child? The correlation between the first dream state (where the sex slaves have to procure fire to escape, by seducing a fat, sleazy mayor) and the second where the dragon killing takes place makes no sense. Why would you imagine murdering a mother and child to escape from the reality of having to simply steal a lighter from a man who was exploiting you? Again, no men we’re killed in this film, even though this film is supposedly about women overcoming abuse.

* The costumes:

The constumes really speak for themselves, I don’t think I can add much more than these images can. Suffice to say that this is how the girls appear throughout the duration of the film.

* The only female role holding a position of authority is a strip instructor who aids the men by training the girls to be sold more easily as sex slaves. It seems that this  is meant to be a nurturing, protective role, but this woman does nothing to show that she assists the girls in any way- her attempts are half hearted and weak. She does not once display intelligence, and is simpering, similarly over-sexed and powerless as the girls. They give her glasses though, and I guess they’re meant to signify that she has more going on behind the scenes? She doesn’t. She is still shown to hanker after sex from the man who is supposedly keeping her captive against her will, and basically plays the role of a trained concubine trussed up like a Stepford Wife. Charming. In the end she shows her ultimate stupidity- she thought SHE was running the hospital (what an idiot!!!), but is alerted to the fact that she is not by the MALE lobotomist (again we have a solitary female nurse as the assistant to the protagonist male characters crimes), who accidentally lets slip that all the MALE orderlies have been deceiving her. Silly woman! She never ran anything!

* In the end the female lead is lobotomised anyway. This makes the message of the film confusing and insulting. Actually, just confusing. Where is this supposed message of empowerment?

* The music is absolute dirge- I have no idea how they conned Bjork into letting them destroy one of her songs, but at least she didn’t suffer the indignity of the insipid covers of all the other great tracks. Turning Jefferson Airplane’s ‘White Rabbit,’ into a slowed down, de-vamped, ‘sexier’ trip hop version made me want to tear out my own ear drums.

* There is one token black guy, who plays an orderly at the very end. This film is overall, very ‘white’ and the only two indistinctly ethnic looking characters are shot point blank, while the white girls get to live (except for Sweet Pea who is stabbed by accident by a ‘stupid’ cook).

* The bad man orderly does not die, but we merely see him carted away by the police. So again, NO MALE CHARACTERS DIE IN THIS FILM, THOUGH WE SEE A GREAT NUMBER OF YOUNG WOMEN DIE IN VERY BRUTAL MANNERS.

How this film got rated PG13 is really beyond me.

I hope this film stops at least one unsuspecting girl seeing this disgusting film. I wish I never had- just another pointless, snivelling attempt at men with big money and even bigger egos craftily finding ways to put you down, while appearing like they’re empowering you- while you get more confused and powerless, and they get more certain and powerful. Don’t watch their bullshit. Don’t feed their machine. Stay away from their stereotypes of you, their commands to use your body as a weapon, to act  like a caricature of yourself. In your dreams you aren’t a fucking stripper. End. of. discussion.

Loving Creatively

If you only paid attention to the mainstream media, you could believe that there is only one way to love, or be loved. That there is a prescribed method, a formula, a recipe, that if followed guarantees success with the object of this desire- that there’s simply a number of finite buttons to push to get the result you want- even though, we admit sheepishly, we rarely understand the basis of our desires- what this means, where they come from, and how best they should be fulfilled. But let’s face it- these kind of philosophical musings are hardly the fodder of billion dollar box office takings now are they? If you’d rather just keep on thinking of Julia Robert’s lips as the ultimate symbolic metaphor for romantic love then may I suggest finding your way back to whichever your preferred Twilight fansite might be, while we take a look at a guy who puts us all to shame in the creative lovin’  department..

If you want be amazed at how silly and wonderful and unpredictable love can be (and really, who doesn’t?), then check out this amazing Dad!

Here’s a little article on his exploits in the Deseret News:

Teen’s dad spends school year waving at bus, embarrassing son

By Sam Penrod

Published: Friday, June 3, 2011 6:55 p.m. MDT

AMERICAN FORK — No matter how cool a teenager’s mom and dad might be, few teens get through high school without feeling their parents embarrassed them.

And one teen has his dad to thank for embarrassing him the entire school year — well, 170 days of it.

When the high school’s bus routes changed this year, 16-year-old Rain Price soon found out he’d be going right past his house every single morning. Much to his chagrin, he also found out his dad would be standing outside, waving.

“When he did it the first day, I was in shock,” Rain said. “It’s my first day of my sophomore year.”

The embarrassment was a thrill for his father.

The second day of school, there he was again, only this time Price was wearing a San Diego Chargers helmet and jersey. Day three, it was an Anakin Skywalker helmet, and the next day, swim trunks and a snorkel mask.

Other kids started to take note.

“Most of them like it, and we roll down our windows and wave. It’s fun,” Rain said.

His dad admits it took a lot of effort to keep it up, but said it was “a way of letting him know that we really care about him, but do something a little different.” He described it as “a father’s way” of saying I love you.

It ended up being a daily tradition for him, with a new costume each and every day.

“No recycling costumes, that’s the rule,” Price said. “I managed to adhere to that, and for better or for worse … we have some interesting costumes.”

Interesting, “or embarrassing,” according to Rain. He doesn’t plan on thanking his dad at all.

“I’m not going to reward him for this; his reward is seeing my embarrassment,” Rain said.

The elder Price could be seen — rain or shine — on the front porch of their home nearly every day of the school year, donning spandex, pleather, feathers, wigs, flip flops, suits, boots and even fur. He wore well-known costumes such as that of Batgirl, the scarecrow from Wizard of Oz, Elvis, the Little Mermaid, Princess Leia, Nacho Libre, Santa Claus and more. He also exhibited generic options, wearing every available variation of Army fatigues and winter wear, as well as several dresses — including one for a white wedding day.

“You don’t want to see your dad dressing up in a wedding dress, waving at you on the bus,” Rain said.

And never did his dad use the same character more than once. Several props aided interpretation as well. Like the day he hauled a porcelain toilet onto the porch. One of the days he was sick, so a cardboard cut-out of a Lord of the Rings character stood outside in his place.

“I hope this lives with him for the rest of his life,” Price said. “He can use it against his kids and tell them, ‘If you think you are embarrassed by me, you should have seen your grandfather.’”

Out-of-town relatives heard about the antics, and the family started documenting every costume, every school day, online, at www.waveatthebus.blogspot.com.

It was mentioned on the radio and on TV, and the excitement from that was enough to keep him going. But Dale Price has decided one year is enough. Next year, he said, “I am going to sleep in, no alarm, not getting out of bed.”

Perhaps that will give his son a chance to relax and enjoy the rest of his high school experience.

 

Although the tone of the article is slightly derisive, the quote from the father is wonderful:

‘His dad admits it took a lot of effort to keep it up, but said it was “a way of letting him know that we really care about him, but do something a little different.” He described it as “a father’s way” of saying I love you.’

 

Parents have the luxury of embarrassing you and loving you in equal measure, because they know you aren’t going anywhere- my Mother was just the same, dancing around, thinking it was hilarious to wear clothes I thought ‘just weren’t cool,’ in front of others kids while we rolled our eyes and tried to hide. But these are the moments I remember best now, when I see how much courage it takes as an adult to act silly, to put on a show, to be one of the kids. If we all put in the amount of effort that this man has in showing the world his love for his son, imagine the amazing, outrageous and sweet gestures we would be surrounded by each day, and the memories which would be so unique to each of us- rather than that time, for the 20th time, someone gave you an over priced bunch of flowers. What was that guys name again…?

Visit his blog for full accounts of all his inventive outfits.

www.waveatthebus.blogspot.com

The one below is a personal favourite. Have fun, and go forth and love weirdly, without embarrassment, and avoid Hallamark cards at all costs.

Will You Love Forever What You Love Now?

The show over the course of last week has been challenging and surprising, uplifting and disheartening in ways I wasn’t particularly prepared for or expecting. In truth, I hadn’t really thought about the emotional impact this show may have on me and others, although it is purportedly to do with love. I often do this, in my work and life- rush into grand gestures without comprehending their impacts or meanings. This is partly a blessing and partly creates an annoyance at my own ignorance.

But there have been some gorgeous moments. I have talked of love with strangers, the meaning of their lives and their tattoos as hopeful emblems of a future they’re giving strength to through their participation in the project.  Some of them have forced me to confront my debilitating shyness, my lack of interest in others (though I masquerade  somewhat as a samaritan, someone concerned with the welfare of the mass, the people, in being faced with this public it is often revealed to me in quiet ways that I do not in fact care at all, and work only to secure my relation to this faceless horde, to be liked, to be seen as cultured, caring, empathetic. At the moment I am reading Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, and I have been identifying strongly with the philosophical confusion of the character Levin-

‘…I imagine,’ he said, ‘that no sort of activity is likely to be lasting  if it is not founded on self-interest, that’s a universal principle, a philosophical principle.’ he said, repeating the word ‘philosophical’ with determination, as though wishing to show that he had as much right as anyone else to talk of philosophy.

This has long been an area of particularly painful interest to me- selflessness, virtue, positive action- where the line is drawn between self interest and that of the ‘common good’ is unclear to me. I have often been told not to dwell on these things, that this distinction doesn’t matter as long as one initiates positive effects around herself, but this does not sit right with me. To the point: Do I use my artwork, and therefore its audience, as a selfish tool of self congratulation, growth and neediness, rather than as its implied intention of the improvement of humankind? And I suppose it’s pertinent to throw in the question, does it even matter?)

So this has been a reward. At first I was hesitant, downright idle out of fear- I procrastinated on all my drawings, on setting the appointments, on all the necessary work I needed to do to prepare for the show. I paralysed myself with the fear of meeting these people, with their expectations of me. Afterward, it always baffles me as to what exactly I was so afraid of at these times. Failure is the obvious answer, but I think that is too simplistic a label. I have a generalised anxiety about trying anything which makes people look at me, focus on me…much of the individualised attention we would receive as children was negative- we would try to blend in, not stand out or that meant trouble ahead (stay in groups no need to be great). This is something I have been working on changing for a long time, and I believe if I ever manage to overcome its seemingly insurmountable limitations, I will be a far better artist, performer and person in general. It is easy to say ‘fuck fear, I am the master of my own happiness,’ but it is quite something else to actually achieve it.

So Will You Love Forever What You Love Now? has been somewhat therapeutic, as all great shows should manage to be.

Each interaction was so different, with expectations changing depending on how much contact I had had with the participant in the lead-up months. Inevitably, the pressure was palpable when dealing with people who had barely engaged in the project- they were extremely hesitant, not sure of what was expected of them and of the scenario, shy, awkward, withdrawn, under prepared.  My time with them was obviously hard for both of us, and often it made me shutdown too- I would focus on what I was doing, silently, rather than engaging in interaction. This was a large focus of my attention of the week, and I knew it was my responsibility to attend to these feelings and process them, by flipping the dynamic,  being chatty, charming, inquisitive, personable…at times I achieved this, at others, I didn’t- I shut up, sat there and did my job. At the end, they would walk out with a quick thanks and I would have an awkward sense of having been used for a free tattoo.

But I am not a fool, and know this was my fault- it was my obligation to facilitate the discussion necessary for the show to achieve its potential, and I, as I have so many other times in the past, have failed at this endeavour due to my inability to surmount my own irritating shyness. The irony is not lost on me, as the majority of my projects deal with assisting people to confront social phobia and fears of closeness. Hopefully we will all get there together some day.

And in other times, it really felt like this was the case. With a handful of the participants, they really understood where I was coming from with the work, that they were a part of something special, and they wanted to assist in making it so. They offered me personalised gifts to thank me for the work I had put in, things which were very dear to them- often their own hard work which they wanted to share with me. Even those that paid (the show was based on a donation basis), showed such immense gratitude in thanking me, I was overwhelmed a few times by their generosity and our feeling of connection. A few people didn’t want to leave. They wanted to hug me. They invited me out to lunch to meet their friends. I even got invited to an illegal rave in the Adelaide Hills, haha. In short, I felt that they were beautiful and we were bonded forever in a way which transcended the permanent tattoos- we had made a connection, that elusive thing we constantly dream of but are hardly ever proactive in getting.

Tattooing someone is easy. Allowing them to make their mark on you is much more difficult.

Part 2 will follow later…

If Only Minimalism was This Exciting

Just another example of why video can be so useful. Art mash ups? Seems like a great idea to me. If you haven’t seen the original, go to Youtube and type in ‘Double Rainbow,’ to see what this is all about.

Donald Judd/Double Rainbow Mash Up Video

Kid Robot Design Comp

I snobbishly pooh-poohed this competition as a corporate exercise in wankery, forcing artists to buy products just to have Kidrobot steal all the cultural kudos and probably the design ideas when I first saw the flyer. And lets face it, it probably is that. But the results are so stunning I couldn’t believe it- the amazing level of skill and effort  these artists have put in to transform this mediocre doll into so many weird and well made things blew me away. Have a look at last years winners here:

http://sites.kidrobot.com/munnymunth/winners.php

When We Gaze Into The Abyss…

A Canadian film-maker who lost an eye, has turned it into an amazing opportunity by collaborating with an engineer to implant a mini-camera into his prosthetic eye.

Oh what I imagine Jonas Mekas could have done with something like that…

The plan is to link his non-stop footage with a website so the world can ‘see what he sees.’

The video brings up interesting arguments about his upcoming role as a walking ‘surveillance machine,’ but I can’t see a particular problem with this new use of old technology- anyone already  has the capability of very easily concealing a tiny camera on their person at all times. In fact, most of us already do- our extremely portable and discreet mobile phones.

I find the grossly dramatic over-reactions to the photographing of the individual in the street these days very frightening. When did this sense of identity fear come from? It borders somewhat on hysteria, mixed in with more generalised anxiety about status, personal safety in a world of mythologised fear of violent crime, soul stealing…?

I think of all the beautiful street documentation of the past being lost in our future, and it’s a truly sad thought. Taking photos on beaches is basically banned in Australia now- where will our sense of shared cultural memory come from in 50 years? Advertising? Constructions made by film executives and share holders?

Bah…back to amusing yourselves with distracting technological trinkets. Enjoy.

Crikey Tirade On Next Wave Has Them Up In Arms

Below is an interesting critical exchange between one blogger criticizing the Next Wave Festival’s theatre component (and the Festival more broadly), and that articles detractors (you will have to follow links to view comments, as they would not paste here).

http://blogs.crikey.com.au/curtaincall/2010/06/01/riding-the-next-wave-to-half-baked-theatre/?source=cmailer

I prefer not to comment on the article directly as I unfortunately did not get a chance to view any of the Festival’s theatre components this year.

As a past Next Wave artist however, I have some insight into the arguments presented, mostly in the comments following. While the Crikey review  is perhaps skewed and skittishly written, it has clearly hit the mark  in generating a worthwhile debate on the nature of the Next Wave Festival’s programming, and touched upon more generalised emerging ‘category’ issues.

As a general rule of thumb it is seen as discouraging to criticize ‘emerging’ artists efforts- it’s usually done in hushed tones, and with ample others ready to pin you as some kind of retro-nostalgic innovation hating fascist. ( Like when I went to RAW Comedy this year, and we were forbidden from heckling).

When I participated in Next Wave 2008, my work became one of the main focal points of the festival, due to its size and public nature (‘Imagine Me & You, I Do,’ neon 2008, St Paul’s Cathedral (documentation can be found in previous entries on this site)). Reviewers were overwhelmingly positive, which, at 22 and still at university undergraduate level, was a huge relief. But later it became a sticking point for me that reviewers and peers consistently measured my work against my age, rather than against the art machine the work was made in and for. It seemed enough for viewers that I had managed to make something BIG and SHINY, and who cared what it meant or how it stood against other similar works? – because of my age it was a success no matter what.

In respect to Next Wave, there is no way I could have made that work without their support, particularly in their never ending efforts to secure the necessary funding (totalling $10,000, not including in-kind support), and negotiating meetings- in fact just their name on the top of my site applications made it strikingly easier to secure meetings with people who didn’t know me from a bar of soap.

But there are problems with situating the festival as ‘Next,’  and particularly, under this banner, as a curated event.

As John Bailey writes in response to the article below:

‘Jana, I think you’re overemphasising ‘new’ and ‘edgy’ as aesthetic criteria here – what if it’s the artists who are ‘new’ here, rather than the ideas they explore or forms they employ?

That said, there were plenty of Next Wave shows that weren’t as developed as they could have been, or that didn’t seem conscious of their own genealogy. That didn’t make them necessary write-offs; after all, there are plenty of audience members out there who are as new to these ideas as the creators themselves.’

So, what if the term ‘Next’ only applies to the ages of the artists presented?

Lack of knowledge in the your own field resulting in mediocre or repetitive work can only come down to laziness. It is laziness not only on the part of the artist, but, more crucially, the curators themselves. Each artist is given a producer to personally assist them with their project, for 2 YEARS. In the beginning of the ideas stage, surely the producer and artist in the very least can sit down once and map the history of their proposed idea, and research whether similar work has already been made, and how this new work will ADD to that history, not simply reiterate well flogged points. The curatorial and production aspect of the Next Wave Festival is nurturing, yes, but definitely not critical. Next Wave acts like a cradling and encouraging, ‘enabling’ mother, that tells their ugly child that they’re the most beautiful person in the whole world- it can help self esteem, sure, but isn’t it cruel to send the kid out into the world with such a false sense of security?

It is precisely a lot of constructive criticism and theoretical assistance that emerging artists need, having often had little or no exposure to the history of ideas that precede them (it must be pointed out that the artists need to have a willingness to learn these histories). It is not expressly the fault of a young artist if they, unaware of the history of their concept (which to them is new and exciting), proposes a  new work to a veritable BANK of curators and is not informed that it is perhaps too unoriginal, and given reference as to why. The artist could still be taken under the Next Wave wing, being recognised as having great artistic potential, but thereafter rigorously encouraged for the next two years to explore, research and develop innovative concepts that will truly serve the title of ‘Next.’

It is unfortunate that the artists come out looking as though they’re under-cooked, when as Jana writes:

‘Next Wave itself is the responsible institution in this case, not this or that project. Lyn Wallis, who I quote above, was herself working with Next Wave – and their working model, I believe, is helping artists develop work over a longer period of time (this is why it’s biennial). If so much that we see is underdeveloped, something is clearly not going right in this process.’

Holding a festival which is as overtly curated as Next Wave sets certain expectations which, if they are not criticizing and encouraging their stable of young artists in the correct ways, will inevitably never be met. Particularly when it is under such a loaded theme as ‘No Risk Too Great’- that is a very large and clunky concept if you aren’t given a background intro into just how risky some art of the past has been. I highly doubt anybody was expected, invited or encouraged by the curators to challenge the intensity of Chris Burden’s explosive work ‘Shoot,’ or (with reference to the widely criticized Next Wave 2010 theatre piece ‘The Short Message Service’) Marina Abramovic’s ‘Rhythm O’ (or in fact any of Abramovic’s back catalogue)’ where the artist invited her audience to act against her body however they chose with 72 objects she laid out on a table. Some objects could give pleasure, such as a feather, and some inflict pain, including a knife, scissors and a gun holding a single bullet. The piece concluded as one viewer held the loaded gun to Abramovic’s head (after numerous other tortures) and others in the audience forced him to stop. Now that’s what I call a risky artwork. Most of the works in the festival merely hinted at the idea of risk, without fully realising the potential for exploring concepts of genuine threat to the body, the artist, ideals, or audience participation and interaction.

Abamovic had this to say after the performance of Rhythm O: “The experience I learned was that…if you leave decision to the public, you can be killed…I felt really violated: they cut my clothes, stuck rose thorns in my stomach, one person aimed the gun at my head, and another took it away. It created an aggressive atmosphere.”

Everybody working at Next Wave must know this piece (being so canonical of 70′s performance art), so the question is, why did they not relay this information to the creators of The Short Message Service?

Perhaps the festival, audience and artist needs would be better met if Next Wave did away with theming the event and rather clustered artists with similar concepts and ideas into group shows, and continued their excellent exploration of art outside the gallery walls. If the work is good enough, the festival shouldn’t need a theme to tie it all together.

Please read the article and follow the link to the comments to form your own opinion.

Riding the Next Wave to half-baked theatre

June 1, 2010 – 4:02 pm, by Jana Perkovic

You are forgiven for not knowing that Next Wave — Melbourne’s biennial festival of new and edgy performance/art — has just finished. Chances are, you didn’t attend any of the shows. In all truth, it doesn’t matter. You didn’t miss anything.

Look, the emperor has no clothes, and yet the press keeps quiet, and regurgitates the same PR paroles over and over: ‘its great theme is risk’, ‘300 artists’, all incredible diverse/talented/accomplished/brave. In truth, I have been seeing, over and over, theatre shows underdone, underdeveloped, under-accomplished, and at times even, how to say… unnecessary. Shows where I wonder if anyone couldn’t have just stayed at home, doing their washing or some other more worthwhile pursuit. (I will refrain from naming names here; I don’t see the point.)

Some shows I have seen had a good initial idea, but looked like they had neither the time nor the creative input to develop them into meaningful theatre. (Here I ought to mention My Darling Patricia’s Hole in the Wall, which left me with a rare feeling of exuberant irritation: brilliant staging ideas were camouflaging a theatre that had nothing to say.)

Some shows, on the other hand, were accomplished — but the most accomplished were inevitably producing the same old, same old theatre we have been seeing in Australia for years. The highlights of this festival of the ‘emerging’, the ‘risky’ and the ‘new’ were shows like Urban Theatre Projects’ The Folding Wife, or Matthew Day’s Thousands — and both, despite being reasonably mediatic and conceptual, were essentially working with ideas that have already been explored quite well. The best shows in the festival were traditional, in other words. What made them stand out was their proficient execution. They clearly had something to say.

My problem is not the treatment of animals, nor am I averse to experimentation. Quite the opposite. I have been following new forms of theatre for years, here and overseas, with great interest. Of my favourite theatre pieces in 2009, one was eight hours of Shakespeare mash-up, and the other had no set, no performers, no stage and an audience of one.

But the overall quality of experiment in Next Wave, a festival that bases its identity on its daringness, was disconcertingly low. What we saw, instead of innovation, was lack of experience: we saw young artists turn half-baked ideas into half-hearted productions. I regularly see more exciting theatre in the Melbourne Fringe festival. Yes, Fringe is much bigger, but it also prides itself on its lack of curatorial policy. Next Wave is quite literally runby curators, yet it seems to produce mainly a lot of fumbling in the dark.

The main problem is that someone hasn’t grasped that there is a difference between breaking new ground, or producing theatre that challenges theatre-so-far, and just any work done by inexperienced artists. The first can be done by artists of any age, and any amount of experience. The second, on the other hand, won’t necessarily be any more challenging or innovative just because it was made by a 19-year-old with no formal training. It may be so, but it may also be simply made without skill, craft, or awareness of the history of theatre.

And this, in fact, is what we have been seeing: works that are repeats. After seeing young artists invent the wheel evening after evening, before the audience made out of their family and friends, one occasionally feels the terrible need to interrupt the celebration screaming: don’t you realise this was first done in 1970? And better? Do you know why you’re doing this? Is it just to use the last technology at hand? Should you perhaps go away for three years and think about what your question really is?

As an example, we have now seen theatre that incorporates text messaging. (No Twitter yet, but I’m sure it won’t be missing from the next festival.) With what result? An event that could have been done by using slips of paper instead, and equally well. On the horizon, there seemed to be a vague hint of using text messaging to interrogate questions of collective and individual responsibility, of interaction and closeness, but it remained the vaguest hint.

At core, it is a misapplication of resources, also known as the ‘Hot Young Thing Ballistic Arts Program’ (copyright Lyn Wallis): identify a hot new artist, shower them with praise, money and exposure, but without teaching them a single thing (including humility in front of what they don’t know), without applying meaningful criticism, without ever giving them enough time to turn from emerging artists into mature artists. As Wallis notes, with all our enthusiasm to recognise them while young, we might be “trampling our prodigies to death in the process”.

There is excellent, innovative and courageous theatre in Melbourne, but most of it is too decent and self-respectful to wave a banner of cutting-edge in the same blatant way. I believe in experimentation, but I also worry that events like this year’s Next Wave give experimentation a bad name. What’s more, it teaches young artists that there is nothing there to learn. To break new ground, you just need to be young and unskilled.

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