last chance
On the eve of the introduction of the new anti-smoking laws I find myself strangely tempted to buy a packet of winnie blues and go and sit in a bar and smoke a couple.
But seriously, I am looking forward to drinking a lot more alcohol in pubs and bars without damaging my health.
Showing my age
Went to see Peeping Tom at the Forum last week to relive my early-twenties fascination with Mike Patton, who was the front man for Faith No More. Saw him at Alternative Nation in 1995 (I think) when he was 10 times better than headlining Trent and Nine Inch Nails who climaxed with a lame instrument smashing exit effort.
Mike was great then and is great now. He is funny and he has a great voice with awesome range and he assembled a diverse bunch of musicians ranging from a sultry songstress with Macy Gray hair to a slim girl with a huge beat box talent, to a dextrous DJ and a geeky guy on keyboards and close trio on drums and guitars. They did hip hoppy tunes and got the crowd involved and there was a bit of banter. It was great.
Until a bunch of morons in black tshirts in the front row started spitting. At Mike. He’s seen it all, being a festival heavy in the eighties and early nineties, but even Mr Patton commented on the gross gesture chosen by these supposed ‘fans’. They persisted. And so it was only right that he reciprocate. Good one Melbourne morons. Thanks for making us a memorable crowd for all the wrong reasons. And reminding us just how ‘base’ the Australian male can be.
I look forward to hearing him again, next time in a smoke free venue.
Travelling home
Sometimes when I’m travelling home from work on the tram I see a man carrying a painting get on. It’s quite a regular occurrence, sometimes several times a week. There doesn’t seem to be a pattern to where he gets on but its usually between 6 and 8 o’clock. The paintings are different every time.
Generally they are A3 size. Sometimes they are framed in decorative gold, sometimes they are not. He always carried them with one hand clutching the string at the back. Yesterday it was wrapped in clear plastic. There is nothing special about the way he looks. His hair is naturally grey but un-naturally burgundy/brown to the eye. His paintings are mostly landscapes, oils I think.
I quite like him. I always get a wry smile when I think about him. Irrespective of what his pictures look like or how you define art, there is something curiously interesting about a man with a painting regularly shuffling across a dark wet street to take his place in the crowded isle of sombre commuters swaying in unison. It makes me think about things.
The farmers are right
I was surprised to read in yesterday’s paper that the government had decided to step back from the requirement that all new houses include either a rainwater tank or solar panels, because this might add a bit of cost to the price of putting up your new dream home. How can we continue to talk about individual inconvenience in this era of dams falling to all-time lows and public money being spent in the billions to desalinate water (and do unknown damage to the environment with the salty leftovers)? Oh, wait, I see, we won’t encourage water tanks ‘cos then ‘people’ will have to buy water from the desalination factory…
But I digress. The farmers are right. City dwellers should learn about saving water. Living with a tank is the best tool for teaching users to turn off the tap. I have childhood memories of parents banging on the bathroom door to remind you to hurry up in the shower and of carrying the rinsing water from the washing machine down the driveway to water trees. And each time I pass those towering trees that were fostered by (resentful) teenagers bearing buckets through hot Northern Tableland summers, I know what water is worth. Learning how to save water is really easy stuff to get into the habit of doing and if you grow up with it, it will never leave you.
Beginning, middle, end
First of all there was a tube in a tyre on a bike.
Then there was an idea forming on a loom. Then there was a bag:
First there was a sheep, then unspun wool, then a felting exercise at TAFE, then another bag.
First there was a piece of fabric that got chopped into lengths then a length of fabric on a loom, then a little bag to ‘clutch’ to your person.
Now there is a really tired TAFE student.
Clean on Green
There has been a bit of a political tinge to some of my past posts and doubtless this will continue in the future.
So I’d better come clean.
Like many of my generation I have not been very politically active beyond the personal/individual level. I have come, belatedly, to the realisation that that is not enough.
For a long time now the policy landscape of the major parties has been little more than a battle for the mediocrity of the middle ground and a ‘just don’t fuck anything up’ mentailty.
So I have joined the Greens.
Here is a list of the Greens’ policies. See what you think. I find it refreshing and inspiring to see a real vision and one where sustainability and social justice are cornerstones of a guiding philosophy not just window dressing.
Orange
Our warm up exercise for the secondary colours is this.
Place a sheet of the colour (say orange) in the middle of a larger piece of white paper. Stare at it for about 30 seconds without focusing directly on it. Try and stare through/past it like looking at one of those 3d illusions. After a while the complementary colour starts to appear like a halo. When the orange sheet is taken away a luminous blue rectangle hangs like a mirage on the white board. It is quite magical.
Recycling at school
I haven’t blogged about it this year, but I am back at TAFE studying textiles.
I am doing a weaving subject and recently put out a call for old bicycle inner tubes to use in my final project (thanks Ben for the nice Continentals that added some yellow writing to the mix - see below).
I have been getting really interested in textiles and a subversive move to ‘refashion’ instead of obediently buying what fashion dictates, so decided to try to reuse/recycle/renew some textiles in my weaving project.
I decided to use leather thong (not recycled) as my warp (the long threads that run along the fabric parallel with the selvedge or edge) and recycled inner tubes and stockings as well as rag for my weft (the threads that run from selvedge to selvedge). Anyway, I took some shots today of the work on the loom so you can see what I am doing.
Stay tuned for the finished products - I am planning to make wristbands, bags and accessories from this lot!
Bank-rolling a brand
What an interesting industry branding has become. I am not talking about labelling your cow so that if it strays next door you can tell it from those in the the neighbour’s herd. I am talking about the ‘identities’ that companies are using to represent or describe what they have to offer consumers.
Take the 2012 London Olympic Games’ brand as a case in point. What does it say to the average Mohammed (recently reported as the most common boys name in the UK)? A friend has suggested that it harks back to those baggie trousers worn by MC Hammer. It certainly screams bad eighties fashion statements with its hot pink faux lightening bolts - the sort of thing your mother said looked “jazzy” as you went off to the school social.
It is always important to work out how your brand will perform in the many diverse mediums that are used to reach a global audience. Unfortunately London 2012 has reportedly caused epileptics fits in those unfortunate enough to sit through the motivational television ad screening in Britain.
The best thing about the London 2012 brand is the eighties price that was paid for this piece of design excellence. In the era of bigger is better, $900,000 would have been considered a bargain. In 2012 it would pay for offsetting a lot of carbon emissions.
Perhaps the organisers are seeing the error of their ways but have run out of money and hope someone will give them a new freebie via the invitation to Create your own design on the official site.
Armed for sound
Melbourne performance artist Stelarc has pulled off an unusual ‘installation’ with the insertion of a prosthetic ear into his left forearm. In a continuation of his unusual and sometimes unsettling body of work (sorry about all the puns) that explores the human body, he convinced a team of surgeons to implant the ear-like structure, which was grown in out of stuff called Medpore.
Stelarc is known for a series of performances in the seventies and eighties that involved him being suspended above the ground using hooks pushed through his flesh. As an arts student I remember being fascinated and repulsed at his original, memorable and bloody work.
He now plans to wire himself for sound - adding a microphone to the limb, which will be connected to a bluetooth transmitter so that you can listen to what the ear is hearing on the artist’s website.