Friday 14 December 2018

Friday Five: Top Theatre Picks of 2018

P.J. Williams as Poprishchin in Diary of a Madman
I saw 23 works of theatre this year across four cities. I saw a lot of comedy too, but I'm not including that in my reviews (apart from the one that was performed at the Comedy Festival and is, therefore, a cross-over). Obviously, we all know that a review is one person's opinion so my favourites may well be different from others' - that doesn't mean that anyone is right or wrong; just that we are different. For the record, my top five productions this year are (in alphabetical order):
  1. Diary of a Madman (produced by The Street at Street 2)With an excellent set, technical design (Imogen Keen), controlled direction (Caroline Stacey) and superb acting (P.J. Williams and Lily Constantine), this brilliant piece of theatre is both claustrophobic and expansive. The two actors occupy the entire space and their own minuscule territory, while the issues raised are both intimate and universal. Nikolai Gogol's bleak commentary on the madness within bureaucracy is sharply tuned by David Holman's stage adaptation. As an exploration of the way we mentally process mundanity and turn the monotonous into the momentous, this is scintillating drama. It deserves to be seen and discussed at length.
  2. Exclusion (produced by David Atfield at The Street Theatre)Imagine Closer meets Macbeth drenched in politics and The Pet Shop Boys, and you'll be somewhere near an appreciation of this play. It's a privilege to see new, local work of this calibre on stage. Well-written and sharply executed (David Atfield is the writer and director), it focuses on the big issues of honesty, ambition, integrity, sexuality, self-awareness and motivation; whether in the personal or public sphere, being true to oneself is often the hardest thing to face. And if these sound like weighty issues, don't worry; the cast carries them with passion and empathy. With searingly honest performances from Craig Alexander, Tracy Bourne, Ethan Gibson, Fiona Victoria Hopkins and Michael Sparks, we are in safe hands.
  3. Proof (produced by FREEFALL Productions at The Q, Queanbeyan) - Ylaria Rogers excels as Catherine, exhibiting all the vulnerability of a young woman with a brilliant mathematical mind whose father, Robert, has just died after she has cared for him in his latter years. Julia Christensen portrays the other daughter, Claire, as the one who got away, returning now to sell the family home and try and force Catherine to move on, even if she doesn't want to. Alexander Brown as one of Robert's students deftly walks the line between social awkwardness and competitive manipulation, and Gerard Carroll as Robert puts in a controlled and controlling performance. Bluntly addressing the nature of genius, academia, sexism, sibling rivalry, grief and insanity, this production manages to be amazing, moving, and overwhelming: I loved it.
  4. Shit-Faced Shakespeare: Romeo & Juliet (produced by A-List Entertainment, UK at The Street Theatre) - This was presented as part of the Canberra Comedy Festival, so it was always going to be a riot or a write-off. Fortunately, it is very much in the former camp. The troupe consists of six classically-trained actors who perform the Shakespearean play, one of whom is plied with alcohol before the show - it is a different actor each night who interrupts the performance of the others by missing lines, skipping ahead, changing the plot, tripping over and basically behaving as an inebriated person does. On stage. One cast member acts the stage manager/ MC to manage the risk, and has to ensure that the actor does no harm to himself or anyone else. It could be completely irresponsible, but it is instead clever and very funny i'faith. These guys know their shit as inspired improvisation leads to excellent entertainment. 'So raise your glass and have a drink/ Cos it's much better shitfaced, don't you think?'
  5. Wild (produced by Melbourne Theatre Company at The Southbank Theatre, Melbourne) - Described as a psychological thriller for the digital age, this is a brilliant piece of theatre. Mike Bartlett's dark and comic twist on the Edward Snowden story literally turns the world upside down. A whistle-blower, Andrew (Nicholas Denton) hides out in a hotel room, terrified of the consequences of his actions, while believing in his convictions. He is teased and taunted by a characters known only as Woman (Anna Lise Phillips) and Man (Toby Schmitz) until he is no longer sure of the truth and the nature of reality. The acting and direction (Dean Bryant) are totally solid, while the set is artfully deconstructed as the blinds are drawn and walls removed in more than just metaphorical ways. It is creatively stunning and a mind-blowing exercise in bringing the truth to light.
Anna Lise Phillips as Woman in Wild
Honourable mentions for:
  • The Aspirations of Daisie Morrow (produced by Brink Productions at The Playhouse, Canberra Theatre Centre) - Four actors (Paul Blackwell, Lucy Lehman, Genevieve Picot and James Smith) play a number of characters and narrate events in this adaptation of a Patrick White story. The physical shifts and slight changes of costume, props and vocals, make it beautiful, moving and touching in its simplicity. With an innovative setting, fantastic design elements, consummate acting and a gorgeous musical accompaniment, this is a spectacularly engaging production.
  • Henry V (produced by Oregon Shakespeare Festival at Thomas Theatre, Oregon, USA) - in which director Rosa Joshi incorporates innovative costume and set design to keep the pace moving briskly and precisely. The lead performance from Daniel Jose Molina is supremely confident (verging on psychotic) and the American accent and modern delivery ruins the rhythm but it sharpens the humour and militancy.
  • Venus in Fur (produced by The Street at The Street Theatre) - I've read the book; bought the single; now I've seen the play. Perhaps I should get the T-shirt: mink or sable? Faux, obviously. The post-modern play by David Ives explores the sexual politics of the original novel by Leopold von Sacher-Masoch as a director, Thomas Novachek (Craig Alexander), has adapted it to the stage. As he attempts to cast the part of Wanda von Dunajew, he auditions a young actress, Vanda (Joanna Richards), in a disturbingly contemporary power play. His dominance is questioned by the performance of Vanda who subverts his expectations by presenting a variety of versions of the play within a play within a play. It's challenging and immediate, and director Caroline Stacey is always in control of the audience and the text. 
Daniel Jose Molina as the titular role in Henry V at The Oregon Shakespeare Festival

Friday 16 November 2018

Friday Five: Films Seen at British Film Festival


Yes, thank you, I can count. But I saw seven films at the festival and so they have all snuck into the Friday Five.
  1. The Happy PrinceWell, I liked it. I found the performances powerful (Rupert Everett as Oscar Wilde, Colin Morgan as Lord Alfred, Edwin Thomas as Robbie Ross, and Emily Watson as Constance), the direction astute (also Rupert Everett), and the writing sensitive and poignant (once again, our Rupert). My companions found it 'dull', 'annoying' and 'full of people eating food in expensive restaurants and whining about not having any money'. I guess it takes all sorts.
  2. Interlude in Prague - John Stephenson directs and co-wrote this sumptuously-costumed period drama in which the wolfish Mozart (Aneurin Barnard) is brought to Prague to conduct the final performance of The Marriage of Figaro. All the women adore him; all the men are suspicious of him; and the innocent soprano Zuzanna (Morfydd Clark) falls in love with him. Unfortunately she is the object of desire of the violently cruel Baron Saloka (James Purefoy). It’s a lavish spectacle with sensational music (as you would expect) and a disturbing dark side, but if you’ve seen Amadeus, you’ve seen it all done better before.
  3. PeterlooI've wanted to see this film since I first heard about it. Mike Leigh directs a stellar cast of Northerners (including Rory Kinnear and Maxine Peake) in the lead-up to and consequences of this Manchester massacre, saying only they could feel it in their soul. Films like this make me miss Pete Postlethwaite more than ever. It's epic in a good way with well-placed silences and heartfelt speeches. From a time when the desire for universal suffrage seemed radical, the ruling class treated the workers as scum, and rights to habeas corpus were removed at will... haven't we come a long way?
  4. Red JoanAn extraordinary story told in a very straightforward manner. When questioning loyalties, are we citizens of a country or members of a race, and how far would you go to protect either? And if you have lived through two world wars, what would you risk to ensure peace? Director Trevor Nunn draws out powerful performances from his cast and, despite the momentous nature of the subject, never gives in to histrionics or hyperbole. Judi Dench is brilliant as ever, as she looks back on her younger self (played strikingly by Sophie Cookson) On a personal note, I still find a floppy fringe and a passion for politics devastatingly attractive.
  5. Sometimes Always NeverFocussing on the absent can serve to bring the present more clearly into focus. I've never liked Scrabble either, because it's true: it's not about the words; it's all about the numbers. This is a beautiful film (written by Frank Cottrell Boyce and directed by Carl Hunter) shot in exquisite detail, with exceptional actors proving less is more. Bill Nighy plays the father who concentrates more on his missing son than he does on the one present (Sam Riley), although he does pass on tips on tailoring.


  6. Stan & OllieBeautifully done: understanding comedy is hard; understanding the comedy of a bygone era is even harder. Director Jon S. Baird allows the nostalgia to linger for just long enough, and with enough humour to ensure it tips the scales on the right side of the balance. Steve Coogan and John C Reilly mine the depths of nuance to portray these larger-than-life characters with a gentle charm and generous wit, and Nina Arianda makes the most of a dream role as Stan's cold and catty wife, Ida. They don't make 'em like they used to.
  7. Swimming with Men - The Pool Monty, as surely everyone is calling it, is entirely formulaic and predictable, with the same old character types and story arc. This time a group of middle-aged misfits form an all-male synchronised swim team, which goes on to win hearts and awards. The actors led by Rob Bryden do a decent job although none of them are pushed out of their depth. Even the football analogy (Ronaldo stepover) is similar to the one in The Full Monty about the Arsenal off-side trap, the father-son estrangement is mined again for pathos, and the female instructor (Charlotte RIley) and token wife (Jane Horrocks) reveal the sadly familiar gender divide.  It's well directed however (Oliver Parker), with tidily-framed shots and the emotional manipulation, while obvious, is comforting.

Friday 5 October 2018

Friday Five: Still Cross

As I mentioned in a previous post, I have found that cross-stitch is wonderful therapy. It helps me to relax; I get to stab things without hurting anyone; I am able to express my sentiments in a non-violent manner; and I end up with a product that I can give as a gift. Here are my latest creations. All the patterns and explanations are taken from Really Cross Stitch; for when You Just Want to Stab Something a Lot by Rayna Fahey.

Five More Cross Stitches:

'"She was warned. She was given an explanation." Such chilling words when you consider their intent: to silence a woman's political voice.
Fortunately it takes a lot more than that pitiful attempt at bullying to silence Sen. Elizabeth Warren, whose refusal to stay silent energised a movement. 
These three words have become a rallying cry for women fighting to be heard in male-dominated spaces. The knack for persistence is a requirement for any activist, just like cross stitch. So consider this pattern part of your revolutionary routine.'
'Sometimes the state of the world really is quite rage-inducing, and five minutes watching the news can leave you feeling very stabby indeed. 
Channel your rage into this project! There have been countless studies expounding the mental health benefits of craft. Something about the gentle repetitive nature of creating with your hands calms and balances the mind. One thing's for sure, by the time you've stabbed your needle through these 750 stitches you're bound to feel much better. There's a reason it's not called "happy stitch".'
'"I am not as nasty as racism, fraud, conflict of interest, homophobia, sexual assault, transphobia, white supremacy, misogyny, ignorance, white privilege..." Nina Donovan
Funny how men in power really don't like it when people have political opinions that challenge their domination over the world. Of course if those people happen to be women, or even worse *gasp* women with political power, the dudebros get real upset real quick and the name-calling begins. Yes, we are here to destroy the joint. Calling us names just fuels our fire."
'Compassioning: verb; the act of choosing not to be an asshole to your fellow humans.
Call me a Buddhist if you must, but is there any evidence anywhere that building walls makes people safer? If they work so well, why do people make such a big deal of tearing them down?
Here's an idea, how about we introduce a new measure for governments: the National Index of Compassionate Elected Representatives. Let's rank all politicians and see who truly tops the NICER list.'
'If you think telling your kids there's no Santa is hard, try telling them there's no North Pole.
There are some corporate spin doctors who really have a lot to answer for. Honestly, imagine having the job where you have to come up with ways to spin total climate destruction and obliteration of life as we know it. Somehow they've even managed to propagate the idea that climate change is something "invented" by political activists to, I don't know, make the world a better place or something... Next time you're up against some skeptic, remember:
What do we want? Evidence-based science!
When do we want it? After peer-based review!'

Monday 1 October 2018

Twirly Girl


While in a blacksmith's shop in Ferndale a couple of months ago, I noticed this rather wonderful sculpture. She is called Twirly Girl and she is created by E.B.Chase. I liked her different faces, her implication of movement, and the general sense of confusion. 

There is a sheet of paper attached to her plinth, which explains the process behind her design, from which I shall quote below.
"Twirly Girl is a spinning woman with four faces, which express anger, bewilderment, embarrassment, and satisfaction. 
During the 1970s, ideals and expectations about women, from female and male viewpoints were pushed into the public consciousness like never before. Feminist authors and speakers helped create a new discourse about women's current roles in our society. However, with this attempt to throw off old sexual stereotypes a new flood of advice and popular images were aimed at women, which could often be just as restricting as the previous ones that they were replacing. With such contradictions facing women regarding social standards, making decisions about personal goals and changes could often be a confusing and difficult process. This was the idea that captured Chase's imagination although it would take him a while to discover the artistic shape to represent it.
Fast forward a few decades to 2003 when Chase was working on a staircase railing. He was experimenting with a spiral-like shape when it suddenly caught his attention. It looked like a swirling skirt flowing out from a spinning body. This figure finally gave shape to the ideas that Chase had been working around in his mind since the 1970s. The flowing skirt represented a woman whirling around overwhelmed with the numerous influences flying at her from every direction. What roles in life does she want to attempt and what roles has she been pushed into that she does not want? Whose advice should she take: women's magazines, her friends', feminist authors? How can she change and improve while remaining true to herself? How should she balance her roles and obligations as a wife/mother/daughter/sister with simply being a woman?
While the benefits of feminism have increased women's equality, it has not been a painless revolution. Women still find themselves battling media images and the social status quo, which do not necessarily fit with their own ideas and aspirations. Chase's sculpture, with her four different faces and twirling body, represents different roles women fill (unwillingly or by choice), different directions from which women receive influence, different paths women can choose, and the conflicting emotions that accompany such decisions and stages in life. Twirly Girl is not just a sculpture; she is also a social commentary with historical perspective on what it has been like to be a woman in our culture, as seen through the eyes of an exceptionally talented artist... who happens to be a man."
This piece of art and accompanying message has sat with me for a while. And I am no less ambivalent it now than I was then. You could even say it has got me in a spin. I love the sculpture. I love the fact that a man has considered this to be an issue worthy of interpretation through the traditional 'masculine' craft of metalwork rather than a more classically comprehended 'feminine' craft such as quilting or embroidery. 

And yet I can't help feeling that this is also an example of mansplaining - we know all this and don't necessarily need a man to point it out (even with multiple directions in such an appealing manner). I know that is unfair. Men can be feminists too; generally we welcome them, but should they 'shut up and listen' or continue to draw attention to themselves in 'our' struggle? It's certainly a fraught issue, and despite thinking about it for years, I haven't got an answer. (If I were a man I would have solved the issue by now and moved on - that's flippant, I know. I'm sorry.)

And then there's the name of the piece. Even though in the opening line of explanation we are told that she is a 'spinning woman', she is still called a girl. Every time I hear someone (usually male) refer to 'this girl at work/ in the office/ on the bus/ in the Olympics', I ask them how old she is. If she is over 16, why are they still referring to her as a girl? She is an adult and should be treated with the same respect that we grant to maturity of the male sex. There is a male receptionist where I work. He has a beard. I would never belittle his age, experience and achievements by referring to him as a boy.

There is a clothing outlet in America called Twirly Girl. It sells cute and colourful dresses with full skirts for babies and toddlers to teens. And dolls. Its range includes outfits called Butterflies Rejoice, Singing Sweet Daisies, Mystical Mermaids, Fantastical Rosy World, Dancing Queen, Devoted to Beauty, Hunny Bunny Blossom and Itsy Bitsy Wiggly Watermelon. Don't get me wrong; the dresses are delightful, and there are also frocks with less saccharine names, like I Can Be President, I Can Go To the Moon, and Queen of her Own Kingdom. 

Apparently most of the sales are to grandparents who like to hear their grand-daughters brag that 'Grandma and Grandpa gave me this'. Fair enough. The website states that 'our dresses are pretty unique [sic]. They're very well made and super-colorful and fun. Some have wings. Some are reversible. Others are adorned with long ribbons. And when a little girl starts twirling in her dress, it's showtime!' Exactly. Some little girls like to twirl. They want to show off and they want acclaim. They are performing for an audience. Good for them. I hope they're having fun. 

Please don't ever expect a grown woman to perform for your approval. She is who she is and she does what does. If she is a world-class tennis player, she is an athlete. She is a woman who deserves respect for her ability and her attitude that has brought her to this high pressure point. She should never be asked to 'give us a twirl'. It is demeaning and infantilizing. Women are not girls. Twirling is not spinning. It is not 'just' semantics. 

I really like E.B. Chase's sculpture. I admire his artwork and his rationale. I respect his talent. I am just conflicted by the effect this shape-shifting piece provokes. We may approach this from many different perspectives and arrive at different positions. Is that the point of art, after all? Yes, we all live on the same earth which rotates on its axis and revolves around the sun, and we are all constantly evolving in our opinions and our actions. I hope.

Friday 21 September 2018

Friday Five: Spring has sprung

To put it simply; spring appears to have happened in the last week or so. Here, as proof, are five pictures of the pretty flowers in our garden.

 
 
 

Wednesday 12 September 2018

The Human Face of History



Crime, Punishment and Redemption: A Convict’s Story by June Slee 
(NLA Publishing), Pp. 194

The diary of John Ward is one of the few existing records of life from the perspective of a convict. He was sentenced to ten years transportation to Australia in 1838, before which he spent 19 months on the prison hulk York, moored at Gosport. He was then transported on board The Mangles (1839-1840) but by the time he arrived in NSW, they were no longer receiving convicts, so he was sent instead to Norfolk Island. During 1840-1844 he came under the more humane system of Captain Alexander Maconochie and his marks system, before being sent to Van Diemen’s Land to serve out the final four years of his sentence.

June Slee is delighted with this diary of 155 pages, which provides valuable information about the period. In this book she has copied excerpts from the dairy, adding analysis and background. It is lavishly illustrated with photos, paintings and images of artefacts, collected by the National Library of Australia. Interpretative sections on a variety of topics add colour and include smuggling; eating out; fox hunting; county courts and the justice system; hulks; homosexuality (punishable by death – between 1801 and 1835 more than 50 men were hanged in England for sodomy); convict ships (often shoddy and barely sea-worthy); surgeons-superintendent (the highest ranking man on the ship; he had power over all the convicts; a decent one made a huge difference); convict class and society; and evangelicalism (men could be saved through religious conversion).

In some ways it is reminiscent of Moll Flanders, dwelling on the sordid and squalid aspects which sell, and then the religious conversion and desire to do good seem narratively disappointing. His religious conversion is probably a result of the evangelical tracts which were in vogue at the time. He sees life through the eyes of the evangelists and shuns relatively innocent pleasures such as the line-crossing ceremony held as the Mangles crossed the equator, describing it as “very improper”. The diary in effect becomes an extended confession in which he interprets his previous lifestyle with new-found disapproval.

As a surviving record of transportation, John Ward’s diary adds a human element to the statistics. “Transportation to Australia began with the arrival of the First Fleet at Botany Bay in 1788 and ended when the Hougoumont landed 279 convicts in Western Australia in 1868. Over that 80-year period, an estimated total of 163,000 convicts was sent to Australian penal colonies from Britain.”

Sections on Captain Alexander Maconochie are fascinating from a philosophical perspective as to the future of the nation. He believed that punishment alone would not result in peopling the colony with desirable citizens, and that it was important to recognise that those who were convicts would become settlers.

In writing his diary, John Ward hoped that it “may prove of service to those that may come after me”. Clearly he was intending to convert potential sinners to his brand-new evangelism, but it has proved invaluable to those studying this fascinating period “as a rare, if not unique, eyewitness account of the final decades of British transportation to the Australian penal colonies.”

Friday 7 September 2018

Friday Five: Really Cross Stitch


When I was in America, I found a fabulous book called Really Cross Stitch; for when You Just Want to Stab Something a Lot by Rayna Fahey. It contains patterns for subversive cross-stitch; traditionally a conservative domestic pastime for women, which is fueled with channeled rage. Inspired by the banners and signs at recent marches around the world, Really Cross Stitch takes all that anger, outrage and protest and puts it inside a pretty, decorative border.

I have been making the samplers and giving them as gifts as to friends and family. Fahey also writes short explanations, which enhance the art and complement the craft.

5 Samples of Really Cross Stitch:

"For far too long girls have carried this slur as an insult. Our fight has always been one for survival and some of the world's greatest heroes have been girls who've fought back against their oppressors. Here's looking at you Malala Yousafzai! Girls and women are reclaiming this slur with gusto."
"Those who hark back to 'simpler times' seem to conveniently forget that said times were a pretty shitty place for women and minorities. It was common policy for women to be paid less than men FOR THE SAME JOB. Around the world women weren't allowed to make contracts, sell property without male permission, or refuse sex from their husband. For women of colour, the situation was worse. Identify as LGBTIQA+? Forget it. A whole generation of women were sedated thanks to medical 'advances' and doctors 'treated' dissent with Valium. Don't even get me started on abortion... If someone tries to tell you life was better back then, just give them a hand-powered washing machine."
"Never has such an oxymoronic statement ever passed the lips of a political spin doctor. First there was Australian Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull's famous call for 'Continuity and Change', now it's almost certain the writers from Veep have snuck in and taken over the autocue. Thankfully, scientists also have some pretty good senses of humour and are countering the muddying of the public debate by coming up with some real fact-based solutions to our global problems. Time for some red hats that say 'Make Earth Cool Again'." 
"The twentieth century should have been a giant lesson in how not to engage in global domination. Unfortunately our world leaders aren't very good at taking heed of historians. It would appear we're not too great at the job of electing world leaders either... Anyone would think there's some kind of ruling elite with vested interest in maintaining a global military industrial complex or something. As the old saying goes, 'Bombing for peace is like f*#^%ing for virginity'."
"The thing about bigotry is that it leads to a blindness. The more you base your beliefs on false ideals of power and control, the less you understand what's really going on around you. Makes things easier for the resistance, because flying under the radar is always possible when you know where the shadow zone is. Craft has played a superb role in human history. Dismissed as women's work, political messages have been hidden in handmade objects since at least the time of abolition. Maps hidden in quilts, stories of disappearances disguised in arpilleras, morse code stitched into samplers, the simple needle and thread has changed the course of history."

Friday 3 August 2018

Friday Five: Random Thoughts

Here are some thoughts for the week, which are in no particular order and bear no discernible relation to each other.


5 Random Thoughts:
  1. We have just had our oven fixed. It has been out of order for about two weeks. The first thing I made in it was baked potatoes. I think they are the food of the Gods. Someone told me they are the meal of poverty. Whatever, they taste great with butter, baked beans and grated cheese. 
  2. I was talking to a friend's teenage boy child, and he told me that his three favourite things are Bionicles (a line of Lego construction toys), his family, and food. This seems like a solid, no-nonsense list to me. I remember at a slightly younger age telling my mother I loved her almost as much as my bed. I do greatly value my sleep, and probably meant this as a compliment, but it is patently unfair. I'm sure she's long since forgotten the comment, but I am still racked by guilt - sometimes even to the point that it stops me sleeping at night.
  3. I have recently been irritated by advertising slogans, which fail to follow the rules of grammar. For example, an investment finance company advertises itself with the slogan, 'Be ready for next.' Next what? Unless they are referring to the British clothing retailer, founded in Leeds in 1861, which in 2012 overtook Marks and Spencer as the UK's largest clothing retailer, this is an incomplete sentence. It requires a noun at least, if not a definite article. A car manufacturer heralds its brand with the tagline, 'Experience amazing'. Again, I question, amazing what? Grace? Gross disregard for basic syntax? Another culprit that uses adjectives as nouns with car(e)less abandon begs us to 'unlock the more'. I don't even know where to begin with this abomination. Or should I say, 'Witness the wrong'? I read a report this week for the UK Department of Education which claims that more than a quarter of children starting primary school are unable to communicate in full sentences. Is this surprising when so-called educated marketing graduates can't either?
  4. My car has been recalled because it has a faulty airbag. I have been sent dire warnings that, 'If you are involved in a collision, the airbag can go off with too much explosive force, causing sharp metal fragments to shoot out and and kill or seriously injure people in your vehicle.' (The bold type is theirs.) This will apparently be fixed free of charge, which is as it should be, and there is no implied fault on behalf of the owner. I phoned up my Toyota dealer to book in for the free replacement, and they informed me that they were not taking bookings for this procedure until next week. You can probably imagine how terrified I am of driving right now. 
  5. All of which leads me nicely to the point that I suffer from anxiety. I count things as part of daily life. My morning ritual involves counting how many minutes to steep the teabag (three) to how many times I brush and rinse my teeth (five). When I fold the washing I fold five items before I put them away. When I do the washing up I place four items into the basin each time. When I adjust the sound or the time on a digital device, I always have to settle on an even number (I don't care if this makes my clocks a minute fast: that's just how reckless I am). One of the skills I learned through orienteering as a young child was literally how to pace myself. I would count my steps and know how many steps I walked/ran in 100 metres so, therefore, could work out how far I had travelled on the map, which topographical features I could expect to see around me, and where that elusive control should be. I also know how many strokes it takes me to swim a length of the pool whether I'm doing butterfly, backstroke or front crawl, and I count them to myself to ensure I remain consistent. This is a technique I use whenever things start to get a little too much for me. I love to count - the simple rhythm and predictable pattern is reassuring. I find it interesting that I consider myself a wordsmith, and yet it is numbers that have the power to calm. 

Wednesday 25 July 2018

Arty explanations

I've always been fascinated by those explanatory panels beside artworks in galleries. When I was younger I liked landscapes.  I liked pictures of mountains, lakes, rivers, villages, and cottage gardens. I was keen on animals too - even fields of cows held my interest - but people bored me. I used to avoid the halls of stuffy portraits of primped up posers in dark suits and darker oils, or (less frequently) women in layers of frills and nonsense, always with sour expressions and sallow complexions.

But at least I knew what they were. The abstract art confused me. People didn't have multiple noses and dozens of eyes; they weren't made out of cubes. I was completely impervious to wibbly blue lines on yellow backgrounds, or random dots and geometric shapes. Surely, if you had to describe and explain it; it wasn't art.

And then I began to understand how words can narrate more intimate pictures than paint or pencil, and I began to appreciate the fine art of criticism. Analogies are drawn and connections made. I don't believe a picture is worth a thousand words - I feel that words and pictures can exist harmoniously, each adding value to the other. Incidentally, the BBC TV programme Words and Pictures began the year I was born, was a feature of my childhood education, and my introduction to the magnificent (Sir) Tony Robinson - long before he was Baldrick. 

At one point I wanted to be a curator. I wanted to be the person who put exhibitions together and wrote the blurb that went with them. What a wonderful creative outlet, I thought. I later discovered that the job was far more orientated towards filling in forms, applying for grants and fundraising, than being creative with writing and interpretation, so I gave up on that idea. I do, however, retain the greatest respect for those who provide the words for those little white cards, which in turn provide the insight into a piece of otherwise indecipherable art.

For example, this piece of art is made from a wood table, chewing gum and resin cast. It is an oval mosaic of a bearded bloke, with a slightly unusual back board. It is called Egghead and it is by Sean Healey. It is okay, but I wasn't particularly drawn to it. 

Egghead by Sean Healey
And then I read the reasoning, which explains that the cameo is a portrait of Melville Dewey, inventor of the Dewey decimal system used to classify books and other publications. It is constructed from over fifty pieces of chewing gum, chewed by Healey and his son and coated in resin. These fragments of the whole are then placed on the bottom of a repurposed school library table. The curator elucidates that the artwork "explores the rationales of social power structures. Healey's process-orientated installation work is infused by pop culture and the urban environment." He or she adds that the materials used and the placement thereof is "a nod to youthful defiance yet ironically requires much strategy and intelligence".

Suddenly I like the piece more, and have a greater appreciation for its subversive message and its ironic intent. Without these words, I would not have recognised the full implications of the work. So, do we need these statements to justify the art? Or is it mere pretension and aggrandisment? What do you think?
Detail of Egghead by Sean Healy

Tuesday 29 May 2018

Time Marches On



Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders
(Bloomsbury), Pp. 343

Although George Saunders is considered a champion of the American short story, this is his first novel. It is daring in form and subject and it won the 2017 Booker Prize. The bardo of the title is a transitional realm in Tibetan tradition where spirits mingle. From here they will either ascend to Nirvana and escape human suffering, or fall back through a series of increasingly wild and scary hallucinations until they are born again into a new body. The Lincoln of the title is either President Abraham or his son, Willie, who died of typhoid fever in 1862. The boy is interred in a Georgetown cemetery and his distraught father visits the crypt alone several times to hold his son’s body. From these slim facts Saunders embroiders a story of fantastic hyperrealism dealing with grief and loss and moments of bawdy humour.

The graveyard is populated with characters from many different eras and circumstances with a strong sense of Rabelaisian machismo; like Dantesque damned souls the spirits manifest with hideous deformities that relate to their erstwhile lives. The spirits refuse to use the word ‘dead’ and believe they are merely unwell or in a sick-box (coffin), fiercely resisting the urge to move on.

Narrated through multiple voices, the novel offers differing opinions on the same thing. Some of the quotes are from characters in the bardo; others come from books and newspapers and we cannot believe any of the accounts, no matter how scholarly they appear with their references and footnotes. On the night of a party in which Lincoln’s son became feverish, none of the eyewitnesses can agree on the presence, size, shape or colour of the moon. Similarly the colour of Lincoln’s eyes varies according to each description. These differing viewpoints extend to his involvement in the war: is he “an idiot”, “weak and vain”, a “tyrant” with speeches that “have fallen like a wet blanket”? Or is he one of the greatest presidents the US has ever known? We see what we want to see, and memory is unreliable. Saunders suggests that history is constantly reinterpreted, and portents and patterns only appear retrospectively.

The voices become a cacophony, bickering like characters in a Beckett play and retelling old tales. Saunders had originally conceived these grave-bound scenes as a play and they remain entirely rendered in speech as the narration is handed from voice to voice. We are guided through this bardo by a Greek chorus with three main narrators: Hans Vollman, a man who was about to finally consummate his marriage when he was hit on the head and so has a large erection; Roger Bevins III, a man who slit his wrists over his homosexual lover and then realised he had made a mistake as he lay bleeding on the floor, and the Reverend Everly Thomas, a man who managed to get to the Final Judgement but was sent to Hell and so ran away back here as a sort of waiting room to try and work out what he done that was so bad.

The young are not meant to tarry here, and if they do they get subsumed by Gothic-style creepers that bind them. Our heroes try and persuade Lincoln to let his boy go so that he will not have to succumb to this fate. If the deceased has truly gone to a better place, why do we grieve? We grieve for ourselves; not for the departed, and the way we remember someone after their death is not necessarily the way they really were in life. We are all in a constant state of flux from dreams to wakefulness, from life to death, and perhaps beyond. Lincoln realises that nothing is permanent.

Before people leave the bardo they flicker through all their incarnations; the people they have been but also the possibilities they have not been – their future-forms they had never alas succeeded in attaining. Every time a person leaves, the same sentence is repeated like a stanza an epic poem: “Then came the familiar, yet always bone-chilling, firesound associated with the matterlightblooming phenomenon.” Many resist this phenomenon and cling to the earth, but they cannot leave the cemetery into which they are penned by a “dreaded iron fence” which recalls something out of The Walking Dead.

What is the future for these souls? Does a terrible judgement await us all? If there is Fate or Destiny, how is anything our own fault? There is no question of return, but there is a suggestion of progress. “Time runs only in one direction and we are borne along by it, influenced precisely as we are to do just the things that we do. And then are cruelly punished for it.” This bardo combines many belief systems into one peculiar magical realism, and in the middle of it all is an attempt to come to terms with death, grief and loss, and a man’s need to mourn his son.

Friday 25 May 2018

Friday Five: Good Beer Week Learnings

When one goes to a week-long beer festival and drinks 178 'unique' beers, it may be difficult to keep track of things. So to prove that I did indeed learn some things, I am willing to share them with you:

5 Things I Learned at Good Beer Week:

Sour beer face (No, it isn't Him Outdoors)
  1. You can have too much sour. Not just in terms of the fact that mouth puckering isn't always fun, but some people also have internal reactions to the acids and yeasts involved. When you've got a hall-full of beer drinkers, these effects may not be particularly pleasant. Just saying. 
  2. I'm fed up with coffee in beer. I like coffee. And I like beer. But I like dark beer that doesn't taste of bitter grounds. There are many flavours I look for in dark beer including chocolate, spice, vanilla, smoke, nuts, toffee, caramel, liquorice, toast, raisins, molasses, and dark fruit (probably not all in the same beer). These days most of those flavours are overwhelmed by coffee, however, which has become pervasive. Wake up and smell the beer, people!
  3. Bourbon burns. Not always, as is proved by the utterly sensational Stockade Old Money Barrel Aged Bourbon Imperial Stout. This was the best bourbon-barrel-aged beer of show and is rich and big and boozy and beautiful with delicious chocolate notes. Many bourbon-barrel aged beers are just too harsh, however, and they burn.
  4. Lavender has no place in a beer. I understand that brewers want to try all sorts of ingredients in beer (I had a beer with snails in it and another including crickets) and many spices blend nicely. I've enjoyed beer with basil, chamomile, and one with Rogan Josh spices in it. But unless you want your beer to be reminiscent of granny's bathroom, may I suggest leaving out the lavender.
  5. Write it down: you WILL forget. Remembering what you thought of 178 beers is hard enough at the best of times. It's even harder when you've had 178 beers. If you care about recording thoughts and impressions for future reference, do it there and then, or you'll have no chance.
Not a mental image you want from a beer


Friday 11 May 2018

Friday Five: Comedy Festival


About a month ago Canberra had a comedy festival. It's sort of a warm-up for the Melbourne Comedy Festival, which is bigger and has more acts. But I like this one as it is fairly low key and the laughs seem more heart felt.

5 Comedy Acts at the Festival:
  1. Oedipus Schmoedipus - Canberra Theatre Centre
  2. Although not strictly part of the Comedy Festival, I feel that Oedipus Schmoedipus belongs here. Written by post (Zoe Coombs Marr, Mish Grigor and Natalie Rose), the premise is to look at death on stage, and there has been an awful lot of it over the years. From the drama of the Greeks to the tragedies of the bard, people have been theatrically dispatched in a myriad of ways. Performers Mish Grigor and Shelly Lauman take us on a quick trip through death's door, and include 25 local volunteers (who have rehearsed for a few hours and are different for each performance) to portray the profound and sometimes ridiculous shufflings off this mortal coil. Most of these dramatic deaths have been written by men, but this female duo introduces the notion that men do not hold a monopoly on the moribund. 'The great whites' tell us that death is a lot of things (an island; nothing; an open door; an illusion; a lonely business; a friend; welcome), but who knew it was fun too?
  3. Rich Hall - The Street Theatre
  4. One of the funniest Americans around, he's as baffled by the antipodean tendency to go barefoot in public indoor spaces as I am. His drôle delivery lampoons everything and everyone, including himself. Witty without being acerbic, he seems to find the world a laughable place, which is comforting in the face in current global politics. He does riff on the US Healthcare system and gun laws, but he also talks about long-term relationships and new babies. With his hat and guitar he resembles the poetic side of Bob Dylan, but he doesn't take himself nearly as seriously. Rich Hall's improvised songs based on audience conversations are less about the great social inequalities and injustices of life and more about picking up girls or stepping on pieces of Lego.
  5. Sh*t-Faced Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet - The Street Theatre
  6. Imagine a Shakespeare play (in this instance Romeo and Juliet) acted with sharp wit and deep understanding of the text. Then imagine one of the actors is inebriated. Yes, they will forget their lines; yes, they will skip ahead and back in the script leaving the other actors bewildered and desperately trying to catch up and/or fill in the blanks; yes, they will change the plot lines entirely with a complete disregard for the character arcs and structure; and yes they will milk certain parts and reduce others to mere footnotes. If they are as entertaining and inspired as this lot, however, the improvisation will be excellent. It's basically the difference between knowing they're shit, and knowing their shit. Clever and funny i'faith; verily 'twas most amusing. ,
  7. Stephen K Amos, Bread and Circuses - Canberra Theatre Centre
  8. Stephen K Amos is a wise and funny man. Whether he is launching into established routines or trying out new material to see how it is received, he is always alert to the nuances of the audience. Of course we all see the world as it filtered through our own perspective of privilege or diversity. While he is keenly aware of racist and homophobic bias, he occasionally strayed into stereotypical casual sexism territory, which was a little disappointing. He recovers well because he is confident and charming and knows how to command the stage, but he did appear a little tired, as if this isn't his best work and he knows it.
  9. Ross Noble, El Hablador - Canberra Theatre Centre
  10. What an incredible mind this man has: bewildering; bonkers and brilliant. I could listen to him all night, which is fortunate, because he artfully rambles his way through a couple of hours of stand-up. Tangents are Ross Noble's friend, but although he appears shambolic in his breakneck delivery and chaotic appearance, he is anything but. Every loose end becomes a loop as he returns to the subject with peripatetic aplomb. It's always hard to know whether the the ad-libs really are off-the-cuff, but they are certainly head and shoulders above most comedy. What the name of the tour and the Mexican Day of the Dead inspired inflatable set has to do with the material itself, I couldn't tell you, but I was laughing too much to care - and isn't that the point of comedy?

Tuesday 1 May 2018

Enough to bruise a heart


The Easter Parade by Richard Yates

(Vintage) Pp. 226


Along with Revolutionary Road, this compact and expressive work is considered to be one of Richard Yates’ finest novels. His vision of all-American self-loathing and entrapment is bleak and painful to read, while his characters are well drawn with sharp outlines. The opening line sets the tone: “Neither of the Grimes sisters would have a happy life, and looking back it always seemed that the trouble began with their parents’ divorce.” From there it is all steadily downhill and increasingly out of control.

The two sisters are Sarah and Emily: “Sarah was the dark one, with a look of trusting innocence that would never leave her; Emily, a head shorter, was blond and thin and very serious.” The novel is comprised of short descriptions without excessive detail; Yates tells stories and expresses thought and emotions succinctly. Over a span of forty years the girls grow up: their father leaves; they get careers and relationships and marriage and children; their mother, Pookie, goes into a home; and they try and live a life and be happy, but they aren’t.

Sarah marries an abusive man and succumbs to suburban depression; Emily has a succession of men; Pookie constantly tries to make up for being left by a man: they are all dominated by the need for male approval and validation, which chimes discordantly in this era. They seem to only validate their existence through male eyes. When Emily questions her older sister as to why she stays with a man who beats her, Sarah answers, “It’s a marriage. If you want to stay married, you learn to put up with things.” Emily suspects there may be alternatives and goes to college to major in English.

She moves to the city and takes on a series of not-very-important jobs in advertising, losing herself in unfulfilling relationships and drink. She begins to feel disillusioned as she ages. What options were there for women? Emily tells Sarah she could leave her husband and do something else, but what? “The only thing she could picture was Sarah working as a receptionist in some doctor’s or dentist’s office. (Where did all those pleasant, inefficient middle-aged ladies come from, and how had they gotten their jobs?)”

The relationships are all full of anger and spite, and the writing reflects this nasty misogyny. Emily’s husband, Andrew, tells her in intimate detail how much he hates her body (when they have been married for less than a year) in a degrading and objectifying manner, with no consideration of her mind. “I hate your sensitive little tits. I hate your ass and your hips, the way they move and turn; I hate your thighs, the way they open up. I hate your waist and your belly and your great hairy mound and your clitoris and your whole slippery cunt.”

These women are constantly trying to numb themselves from the sharp edges of the world in which they live. They turn inward, but they don’t like what they see there either, in what is a novel of profound sadness where the omnipresence of alcohol and ill health (both mental and physical) are reminiscent of Eugene O’Neill.

When the girls are young, Sarah dresses up to participate in the Easter Parade with her beau, and they are photographed in an image which will cause Emily lasting jealousy of their frozen-in-time happiness. But, whereas Easter usually signals new beginnings and hope, this is Richard Yates, so there is only stagnation and despair. This book may be small, but it is powerful, and the punch it packs is enough to bruise a heart.