10 June 2009
Collins St, 5pm
In the Weekend Australian a couple of weeks ago I read an extended article about John Brack's work. It was largely critical, the author's main gripe being how remote Brack was from his subject, how unsympathetic. The painting below, Collins St, 5pm, is the example most often cited when discussing this aspect of his work.
If we're discussing his nudes I agree. I don't like them either, and for the same reason. But today I'd like to argue in favour of Collins St, 5pm.
A common interpretation of this painting is that it depicts the old faceless automaton, the mindless drones returning from slaving witlessly for The Man, heading back to their sterile boxes like sheep. Get a grip. That view is lazy and ignorant.
As most people who do it daily know, commuting is the only time in some people's day they have to themselves. That's certainly how it is for me. And it's a time when no-one asks too much of you. For me, it's that precious window between where-are-my-glasses-no-put-that-down-don't-bite-your-sister-eat-your-toast-don't-forget-to-hang-out-the-washing and have-you-sent-that-email-what's-the-deadline-on-that-and-can-I-have-an-extension-what's-to-be-done-about-the-coffee-machine. You can go into standby, conserve some energy or build some, or absorb yourself thoroughly in your thoughts. Prepare yourself. Just be.
And those faces that Brack put on that canvas all those decades ago are doing just that. To one person, they may be blank and moronic. To me, they are thoughtful, going over the events of the day and planning what to have for dinner, and perhaps just tired. Just as people are at peak hour.
If we're discussing his nudes I agree. I don't like them either, and for the same reason. But today I'd like to argue in favour of Collins St, 5pm.
A common interpretation of this painting is that it depicts the old faceless automaton, the mindless drones returning from slaving witlessly for The Man, heading back to their sterile boxes like sheep. Get a grip. That view is lazy and ignorant.
As most people who do it daily know, commuting is the only time in some people's day they have to themselves. That's certainly how it is for me. And it's a time when no-one asks too much of you. For me, it's that precious window between where-are-my-glasses-no-put-that-down-don't-bite-your-sister-eat-your-toast-don't-forget-to-hang-out-the-washing and have-you-sent-that-email-what's-the-deadline-on-that-and-can-I-have-an-extension-what's-to-be-done-about-the-coffee-machine. You can go into standby, conserve some energy or build some, or absorb yourself thoroughly in your thoughts. Prepare yourself. Just be.
And those faces that Brack put on that canvas all those decades ago are doing just that. To one person, they may be blank and moronic. To me, they are thoughtful, going over the events of the day and planning what to have for dinner, and perhaps just tired. Just as people are at peak hour.
1984
I've been reflective lately, and happily so. A couple of months ago I was among the first to be contacted by three women organising a reunion for our year at high school. It seemed like such a big job, so I duly offered to help. Immediately I wondered if I'd regret it, as I so often seem to when I make these offers. In fact it's been wonderful.
Over the past couple of months I've heard from people I'd not seen or even thought of for decades. The truly amazing thing is that they remember me. I always assume -- or perhaps hope -- that people won't.
One friend I heard from was amazed I'd tracked him down all the way to Trinity College, Dublin. The way he wrote it you'd think I'll physically tracked him across the globe following the trail of broken twigs and fibres snagged on fences. But despite the fact it wasn't me who found him at all, but another friend of ours, it isn't actually that great a feat. Trinity College is one of the the most famous universities there are, and we now have this remarkable thing called the internet. Being an academic perhaps he's not heard of it. I searched for him myself later, too lazy to look for the email containing the link, and he came up on the first page of Google results.
Another long-lost classmate got me thinking when, commenting on our year 10 photograph, he said, "Look at us - heads full of hair and the world at our feet."* My hair hasn't taken leave, but it's an interesting thought to reflect on. We do take changes like mobile phones and the internet for granted, but if those 15 year-olds in that photo had been shown these things in 1984 we would have been apoplectic with astonishment. We were told it was going to be all jet-packs and nuclear winter. And so much leisure time due to computers and robots taking over the lion's share of our labour that the industry of "leisure management" was where the smart folk were heading. (Seriously. I recall one of our Phys. Ed. teachers telling us this repeatedly, trying to urge us into this economic liferaft.)
Robot slave. On the left, a tin man.
Instead, life is quite ordinary; I don't go in a hover car to my two-hour-per-week job supervising robot slaves, nor do I have antennae implanted in my head. But the ordinariness of my world in the ordinary suburbs diverts attention from just how fantastic and "futuristic" it all is. As I sit in the bus writing this, most other passengers have MP3 players plugged into their ears. When I was at school everyone was excited about their Walkman, a portable cassette player about the size of a boot, that chewed through batteries like billy-o. MP3 players fit in a matchbox, carry hundreds of songs and can be plugged into the mains to recharge. Can you imagine being shown one 25 years ago? Or a laptop computer? For starters, it has colours on the screen! And for eveyone except our household, they boot up on under half an hour, and without cassette tapes! Even some of the fabrics we wear today would be foreign and wonderful to my 15 year old self.
But is it a better world? I think so. Today we are more accepting of people who aren't white, straight, able-bodied males. We are generally more self-aware, so we have more opportunity to develop ourselves and live happier and fuller lives. While I think we are polluting more, we are aware enough of that that big polluters like industry are beginning to be pulled into line. And in Queensland, we are blessed with a social and political world that is infinitely more kind than it was in the mid-Eighties.
About six months ago I dreamed that my current self woke up one morning in the body and life of my high school self. I was very grateful to wake up for real. As sentimental as this reunion business has made me recently, I would struggle terribly in 1984.
*It always seems to be about the hair when looking at old photographs. Women: Look at my hideous hair! Men: Look at all my beautiful hair!
Over the past couple of months I've heard from people I'd not seen or even thought of for decades. The truly amazing thing is that they remember me. I always assume -- or perhaps hope -- that people won't.
One friend I heard from was amazed I'd tracked him down all the way to Trinity College, Dublin. The way he wrote it you'd think I'll physically tracked him across the globe following the trail of broken twigs and fibres snagged on fences. But despite the fact it wasn't me who found him at all, but another friend of ours, it isn't actually that great a feat. Trinity College is one of the the most famous universities there are, and we now have this remarkable thing called the internet. Being an academic perhaps he's not heard of it. I searched for him myself later, too lazy to look for the email containing the link, and he came up on the first page of Google results.
Another long-lost classmate got me thinking when, commenting on our year 10 photograph, he said, "Look at us - heads full of hair and the world at our feet."* My hair hasn't taken leave, but it's an interesting thought to reflect on. We do take changes like mobile phones and the internet for granted, but if those 15 year-olds in that photo had been shown these things in 1984 we would have been apoplectic with astonishment. We were told it was going to be all jet-packs and nuclear winter. And so much leisure time due to computers and robots taking over the lion's share of our labour that the industry of "leisure management" was where the smart folk were heading. (Seriously. I recall one of our Phys. Ed. teachers telling us this repeatedly, trying to urge us into this economic liferaft.)
Robot slave. On the left, a tin man.
A Walkman, like the makeup, turned up too loud.
But is it a better world? I think so. Today we are more accepting of people who aren't white, straight, able-bodied males. We are generally more self-aware, so we have more opportunity to develop ourselves and live happier and fuller lives. While I think we are polluting more, we are aware enough of that that big polluters like industry are beginning to be pulled into line. And in Queensland, we are blessed with a social and political world that is infinitely more kind than it was in the mid-Eighties.
About six months ago I dreamed that my current self woke up one morning in the body and life of my high school self. I was very grateful to wake up for real. As sentimental as this reunion business has made me recently, I would struggle terribly in 1984.
*It always seems to be about the hair when looking at old photographs. Women: Look at my hideous hair! Men: Look at all my beautiful hair!
20 May 2009
Lord love a duck, it's hammering down here!
As I passed through the CBD on my way to work today I noted the phenomenon of the Alpha Umbrella. Men of a certain type carry very large umbrellas. Very large umbrellas that impinge upon other people's space and stab about willy-nilly near their eyes. The carriers of the Alpha umbrella seem completely oblivious to the discomfort they cause -- obviously, or they wouldn't carry such large umbrellas in congested spaces. I can only guess that these are the same men who perform the Alpha Male Leg Spread, whereby they take up as much space as possible by essentially performing the splits while sitting on, say, a seat on public transport.
Let it be known that I respect a man who has the confidence to carry a modestly-proportioned brolly.
As I passed through the CBD on my way to work today I noted the phenomenon of the Alpha Umbrella. Men of a certain type carry very large umbrellas. Very large umbrellas that impinge upon other people's space and stab about willy-nilly near their eyes. The carriers of the Alpha umbrella seem completely oblivious to the discomfort they cause -- obviously, or they wouldn't carry such large umbrellas in congested spaces. I can only guess that these are the same men who perform the Alpha Male Leg Spread, whereby they take up as much space as possible by essentially performing the splits while sitting on, say, a seat on public transport.
Let it be known that I respect a man who has the confidence to carry a modestly-proportioned brolly.
13 March 2009
Slick Work
What a week. The latest thing is that the entire local coast is thick with vile, heavy, carcinogenic, toxic, fumy shipping oil. Jolly. Likely, the person in charge of the Pacific Adventurer was under pressure to meet deadlines, fill quotas or whatever management tripe you like, and so didn't consider avoiding the cyclone area. Nope, just carried right on through dangerous seas with dangerous cargo. So thanks, mate, for the ammonium nitrate over the side, and the hundreds of thousands of litres of oil along our coastline. Nice work.
The usual solution to this kind of disaster is to throw money at it, but I don't really think that that's going to fix it this time. While a gigantic fine is appropriate, I'd like to see more appropriate punishments handed out, to not only the captain, but also to the people further up the pecking order. Be forced to live in a house where every surface is coated in oil, including all food, for example.
It's hard not to be despondent about this kind of thing. The people responsible will not be held accountable in any meaningful way, we'll be left to deal with the pollution, life will carry on as normal. I just can't believe that this kind of thing still happens, I really can't.
Being election time, The Borg has seen this primarily as an opportunity to throw his usual tiresome array of schoolyard taunts. This does nothing but turn me away. If he were truly interested in gaining a bit of respect, he'd be meeting with Anna Bligh and asking what he and his colleagues can do to help.
Heartbreakingly, in the cyclone a school friend's brother was lost at sea. We've had a big spoonful of malevolent nature in this country over the past few weeks.
The usual solution to this kind of disaster is to throw money at it, but I don't really think that that's going to fix it this time. While a gigantic fine is appropriate, I'd like to see more appropriate punishments handed out, to not only the captain, but also to the people further up the pecking order. Be forced to live in a house where every surface is coated in oil, including all food, for example.
It's hard not to be despondent about this kind of thing. The people responsible will not be held accountable in any meaningful way, we'll be left to deal with the pollution, life will carry on as normal. I just can't believe that this kind of thing still happens, I really can't.
Being election time, The Borg has seen this primarily as an opportunity to throw his usual tiresome array of schoolyard taunts. This does nothing but turn me away. If he were truly interested in gaining a bit of respect, he'd be meeting with Anna Bligh and asking what he and his colleagues can do to help.
Heartbreakingly, in the cyclone a school friend's brother was lost at sea. We've had a big spoonful of malevolent nature in this country over the past few weeks.
4 March 2009
For Ms P
My dear friend, Ms P, made a post on her blog recently about how, as a pregnant woman, childcare was something she was beginning to think about. This prompted some bully boy dick to copy her picture and post to his blog, make repulsive comments about her, and get all his mates to start harrassing her on her blog. Classy. The result is that she has pretty much dissappeared from the web. I'm pretty sad about that, because Ms P is one of my favorite people to read online, particularly since we haven't lived in the same town for such a long time. So, to Ms P, I offer this cartoon in the hope that it encourages you to not take it personally.
To the sad-arses who think their time is best spent anonymously bullying a pregnant woman they have never met, well, I hope life looks up for you at some point.
To the sad-arses who think their time is best spent anonymously bullying a pregnant woman they have never met, well, I hope life looks up for you at some point.
2 March 2009
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