I Want Change.

I remember the first time I encountered Meek's moving Begging for Change (2004) piece. I was 19 years old and had recently moved out of home for the first time. On one of my frequent aimless wanders around my culturally vibrant new hood of Collingwood I passed a gallery on a street corner. I saw a dark, sitting figure against a white background out of the corner of my eye. It made me pause and look, but only for a second. I thought to myself, 'how extraordinary' and then kept walking, to nowhere in particular. I thought about it a lot after that moment but at no point did I think to look it up or do some research. The concept had affected me immensely but I was, for some reason, not compelled to learn more about this poignant work. Perhaps because it said all it needed to. Since this moment, I had come to think of the piece as just something I had dreamt up. That is, of course, until I came face to face once more that with that familiar dark sitting figure asking for 'change'. And this was my introduction to the current LUMA exhibition, 'I Want Change: Two Decades of Artistic Defiance, Disapproval and Dissent'. 

 Meek's Begging For Change

Having only just come into a state of political awareness at the end of the 2000s (my family, while political, was always more concerned with musical and artistic pursuits), I missed being present for a lot of the actions that the exhibition comments on, and somehow I feel that makes it less personally meaningful. However, having lived in Australia my whole life I can certainly appreciate that as a nation it has not been as kind to all as it has been, fortunately, to me.

Festival of the Vagina

I first heard about the 101 Vagina Coffee Table Project, created by photographer Philip Werner, whilst on another one of my aimless wanders around Fitzroy. I was on the corner of Brunswick St and Elgin St, when I see a woman's naked pubic region staring me in the face. Naturally, I did a double take. Yes, I had seen correctly. Upon closer inspection, the image was a poster advertisement for an upcoming book launch for a project called 101 Vagina. It was being advertised as a celebratory party, and it was being held on the evening of a day that I had to hand in an assignment – and would probably be feeling the need to party – it was fate. In the diary it went. In the weeks leading up to the event, I mentioned it to every one of my friends, sussing out whether they'd join me or whether I'd be going alone. I wasn't afraid, but there was certainly a level of apprehension there, however small. Luckily my boyfriend agreed to accompany me (with a questionable amount of enthusiasm). In the weeks leading up to the event, I didn't do much research on the project, except for every now and then double checking the entertainment for the night to know what we'd be in for. This included things like 'Decorate your own muff muffin', 'Spoken word and poetry' and 'Vagina Monologues recital'. At the very least, it was certainly going to be an interesting evening.

[the poster]

So the evening of the launch finally rolled around and I was faced with another very serious dilemma: what on earth does one wear to a vagina party? Is the idea to dress up as a vagina? Or at least, lots of ruffles? In the end I decided that it probably didn't really matter. I felt that given the progressive nature of the book itself, and its emphasis on nudity, the clothes that the guests wear is probably not of much importance. As it turned out I was only partly right.

Men With Beards

I must admit, unless a concept is exceptionally intriguing to me, I don't generally frequent exhibitions – one of the reasons why I'm glad that university is strongly encouraging me to turn this around. Once I heard that Collingwood's charitable Off The Kerb gallery was exhibiting art celebrating men with beards, that was certainly enough to intrigue me. I was unaware of the charitable aspect and reasons for the exhibition prior to entering the gallery and seeing the sign asking for non-perishable food items. I felt terrible that I hadn't done my research and brought anything to help. At least, there is still time.

Street view of the gallery. 

The concept of the exhibition was not restricted to any one artistic medium, and so there were several different kinds on display, including videos and sculpture, but in particular paintings and illustrations. I often feel that there are certain emotions an artist or gallery curator have intended a consumer to experience as they are 'experiencing' the works they have chosen/created, but in this particular case I really couldn't figure out what that was supposed to be. After viewing the exhibition, and doing research I discovered that the gallery is donating all proceeds from sold artwork to Melbourne Citymission's Frontyard Youth Services, which supports those under 25 who are homeless or at risk of homelessness (Vadnjal, 2013). Was I supposed to be considering the homeless whilst perusing the many 'faces' of facial hair? Or was the exhibition supposed to stand on its own with the support for the homeless as merely incidental, in a sense? In hindsight, I don't think the exhibition was quite strong enough to do the latter, but it certainly got me thinking. Why beards as the face of homelessness?

Mixtape 1980s

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of visiting the National Gallery of Victoria's Mixtape 1980s: Appropriation, Subculture and Critical Style exhibition at the Ian Potter Centre in Fed Square. It was an unexpectedly hot day, and I was not looking forward to being in a confined space for any extended period of time. Luckily the room was cool. In both senses of the word.
I approached the exhibition with trepidation, unsure of what to expect. The 80s is one of my favourite nostalgia decades but there are certainly some aspects that needed to be left in the past. But upon coming closer to the entrance I was met with a fantastic piece by Leigh Bowery called The Metropolitan (1988). I had only heard of Leigh Bowery once before in a theatre class a few weeks previously. My tutor had gone on a long tangent about Bowery whilst waiting for a VHS about the works of Chekhov to rewind. I guess I can thank the ancient technology at La Trobe for this introduction. I don't consider myself to be a rebellious person, simply because I've never had a need to be. I fiercely admire those who are, because I know how difficult it is to break the mould, having never had the courage to, myself. Bowery's interdisciplinary work, and the period in which he was creating it, perfectly encapsulates the concept of productive rebellion in my eyes.

'Infamous artist Leigh Bowery was a key figure in London's nightclub scene throughout the 1980s. As the host and public face of Taboo, London's most progressive and decadent club, Bowery blurred the boundaries between art, fashion and performance with his perverse 'looks', which radically challenged ideas of normality. Through a combination of masquerade, costume and burlesque endeavours Bowery ingeniously explored ideas about identity and gender' (NGV, 2013).

Given the current discourse about gender equality and same-sex rights, and how far we've come since his time, the recognition of trailblazers like Bowery is all-the-more significant. The description mentions Bowery's talent for blurring the boundaries between art, fashion and performance. This speaks to me a great deal as these are three disciplines that I have been interested in delving into in my life. While I haven't consolidated these desires as such yet, I believe it is really important for someone in my position to be familiar with Bowery's work; to be made aware of the fact that there's no limit to creativity; that if one was interested in several artistic areas that one doesn't have to confine oneself to a singular discipline for all time.