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.

'I am not a human being, inside. I am other thing. I do not know what I am.'

In Your elusive creative genius (2009), author Elizabeth Gilbert gives one of the most popular TedTalks ever. It's not difficult to see why. In a time where fame and fortune are revered and sought after to extreme lengths, I can't help but think it's just nice to see a successful and well-known artist (of any kind) displaying humility. Self-deprecation, even. But therein lies Gilbert's point, exactly. During the talk she discusses the ancient Roman belief that artists were not responsible for their own creativity. It was thanks – at least partly – to a divine, mystical non-human entity living in the walls of the creative space, the 'genius' inspiring the artist with its own ideas. Therefore, an artist could not take credit for the success or failure of their work, at least not wholly. She raises this point to encourage a culture where contemporary artists and creative's can distance themselves from the pain that that success or failure may bring. It may seem far-fetched. But it resonated with me, personally, in a huge way. I do not consider myself an 'artist'. I believe that I have artistic tendencies, sure, and feel like I have a creative mind, but would never categorise myself this way simply because of the lack of artistic work I have produced. I hope to change that one day, and I certainly hope that by then we are all adopting this philosophy even a little by then. I am not alone in the pain I have felt in the past at not being able to produce a certain piece of creative work. I am not alone in the pain I have felt to proceed something 'successful'. There is something important to be learned here, and I for one am extremely glad I was given the opportunity.

'To be an artist is to be a victim, because if you don't do what you want, you die,' (Interview, 2007). On the other hand, we have artists such as Alejandro Jodorowsky, quoted, who appear to not really give a hoot what the reception to his work is. He creates because he simply couldn't live not creating. While many artists may feel this way, it takes a strong mind to create without care. What Jodorowsky does have in mind, it seems, is the experience his art can give to a consumer, to give 'an experience like LSD gives an experience'. Jodorowsky wants to make a picture than can 'open the mind of the person who sees that'. I guess in a sense, a film that can do this would be termed 'successful' for Jodorowsky (and thusly, a 'failure' if not) but the pain that goes along with either result appears to not exist in his world. While I found it somewhat difficult to understand what Jodrowsky was getting at in this interview, I couldn't help but wonder whether he is brilliant and operates on a separate plain, or a pretentious weirdo using this confusion he creates to his advantage. Discussing the fact that our mere existence, 'to have hands, to have fingers is weird', and using the changing definition of the 'telephone' to explain his intermediary practice as an artist, could really go either way. But in the end, does it really matter? Does it matter whether or I, or anyone else, thinks that this man could possibly be a hack if the work that he produces is enjoyable? In the spirit of going easier on artists, I say no. 

ROMANY

[title quote taken from Alejandro Jodorowsky Interview, 2007)]

REFERENCE LIST:

Elizabeth Gilbert: Your elusive creative genius, 2009, YouTube, TedTalks, 9 February, retrieved 2 April 2013, < http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=86x-u-tz0MA >

Alejandro Jodorowsky Interview, 2007, YouTube, BBCCollective, 8 August, retrieved 2 April 2013 < http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WstYV_soyMw >

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?

Notes on Trying to Change the World

I first became familiar with Tracey Moffatt when I was in late high school. I was taking a studio art class – which I was not very good at – and the first image from Moffatt's Something More (1989) series was hung up in the studio room. It always drew my eye: the colours, the sombre mood. I didn't know anything about the image for the longest time. One day in a theory class, we briefly covered Moffatt's works – it may have been not so brief, and more that I was simply not paying much attention, however. From then, I've had a vague knowledge of Moffatt's name, works and significance within the art community in the back of my mind, but have never paid too much attention to it. I sometimes feel so overwhelmed by the amount of art available in the world that it makes me retreat further into my lack of awareness.

Skip ahead to my first year of uni in 2011, and we're covering Aboriginal issues in my Gender and Diversity studies course. I was, again, not in the right frame of mind to be studying and I recall Moffatt's name being repeatedly brought up but I still didn't pay much attention.

But here I am today, reading up on Tracey Moffatt once again and I finally feel like I'm in a place to appreciate what it is she's bringing to the community. Whilst reading Gael Newton's piece on Moffatt, the comment that struck me most was this particular quote: 'Something More was Moffatt's next work and the one which established her modus operandi as a director of photo-narratives and her status as an up-and-coming artist who was Aboriginal, and a woman, but was not to be typecast as “an Aboriginal woman photographer”'. This is a concept that seems to be popping up in a lot of my classes. The idea of defining a person's work or even existence purely by their race, gender or religion, in particular in the discourse of the Australian media. By refusing to exhibit solely in Aboriginal-artist-themed exhibitions, Moffatt is challenging this notion and I commend her.

Aboriginal Art // It's a White thing

I must admit, I am all too familiar with this concept. In September of 2012, my family and I took a ten day trip to the Northern Territory. We started in Uluru, explored Kings Canyon, stayed in Kakadu National Park, moved on to a brief stay in Alice Springs and spent the rest of the trip in Darwin, where we visited Katherine and Litchfield National Park. This trip was part of a tour, and every day was spent with a guide and a group, exploring different historical and cultural sites in the state. 

Before the trip I was unaware of how much emphasis the tours would place on Aboriginal history and culture, including art. It was a beautiful, spiritual and enlightening experience, one that I would gladly repeat many times over. I think this was because, for me, it came out of nowhere. It was a complete pleasant surprise. My education had sadly not included as much about Aboriginal history as it should have, save the odd staunchly left-wing teacher who would pop up every few years to convince us that everything we'd ever learnt was wrong. 

While my high school was significantly more progressive than others, the system as a whole certainly fits into Neale's (p38, 2010) point about racism starting in school. Borne out of a fear of the unknown. Unknown simply because it has been absent from their education.

At the Uluru sunrise viewing. 

Was this trip introducing me to what Neale – calling out the disparagingly uninformed – describes as 'real Aborigine's' (p36) simply because they lived in the North and not the South, where I am from? If this ridiculous idea is to be believed, what are we then to make of someone like Bindi Cole? In her lecture, she discussed living in Victoria her whole life, being apart of the Victorian Aboriginal community. Does this make Cole's art less authentically Aboriginal simply because of her geographical placement in the country? Unfortunately, Cole has stated that she has been told this her whole life.

‘White people say what’s good. White people say what’s bad. White people buy it. White people sell it' (p36), is what Richard Bell has to say about the longstanding inequities of the Aboriginal Art market. I experienced this firsthand while on our trip last year. On many of our tours we were exposed to some truly inspired art created by Aboriginal artists, both established and locals creating pieces for tourist galleries. It was so natural, so earthy, so different from the art I had seen throughout my life. But the interesting part was the context. The galleries and centres were run by white people. The books written on the pieces for the galleries and centres were run by white people. The tours through the galleries and centres were run by white people. And the patrons of the galleries and centres were almost exclusively white people. 

Now, I don't know that there's anything inherently wrong with this as all artists encourage exposure, right? I think what did not sit so comfortably with me was the fact that I had not been exposed to this sort of art much outside these galleries and centres situated in remote areas of the Northern Territory. As Neale's article points out, and what the proppaNOW group seem to be instigating, is that the next step is bringing this highly significant flavour of art to the mainstream scene too, where it can get the recognition is deserves.  

ROMANY

REFERENCES

Neale, M 2010 'Learning to be proppa: Aboriginal artists collective ProppaNOW', Artlink, vol. 30, no. 1, retrieved 10 May < http://www.artlink.com.au/articles/3359/ >

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.

The Visual Atmosphere

Today we got talking about atmosphere: what it is, and how it can be created. Cinematic atmosphere was discussed in the most detail.
Having recently filled the role of camera operator/director of photography on a short film for a media subject, and given that the crew is currently spending most of our time in the editing suites, the importance of atmosphere becomes all the more apparent. In post-production sound, we've had to consider 'atmosphere tracks' for most of our scenes (as do all short and feature-length film crews). The atmosphere track can add many layers of depth to a scene and its characters. Through the simple use of a sound effect, a female character, for example, can be established as a mother -- perhaps even a strung-out mother, if that sound effect is a perpetually crying child; a location can be established through sound, for example, the visual may be of any room, but adding sounds of people fighting loudly, trains and traffic, and/or loud music, the location can be established as a busy apartment block on a main road.
An example from our film would be the adding of muffled voices off-screen during a scene featuring only our main female character, to establish her mind-set as unstable, anxious and distracted by the views and opinions of other people around her.

Atmosphere can also be established visually. Through photography (where there is no sound) the setting of atmosphere is perhaps even more crucial. Take, for example, Gregory Crewdson's 2007 photograph 'Birth'.

(image credit)

Crewdson sets the atmosphere with the snow on the ground; the dark/overcast tone outdoors contrasted with the bright, fluorescent lights inside the room. The woman turning her back to the child on the bed. This scene feels cold. Temperature-wise and emotionally.