|School children sitting outside Parliament. 24 August 2016. Photo: Julie Clarke (c)|
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
I began the week attempting to work through several issues, the first being the fact that I was surprised female commentators were shocked about a website in which young men hold a cache of naked or partially naked photographs of young women swapped or traded between members of their web community who also own and distrbute surreptitious photographs or ones taken by the girls themselves and posted on social media sites. Apparently, in this flesh market, young women can be easily identified by their name or school they attend and they are served up to the male viewer as a catalogue of bodily positions appealing to their sexual fantasies. Given that male and female teenagers are sending each other dick or vag pics via text messages and by nature of digital imagery the photographs can easily distributed to other friends not in the boys or girls original circle, the occurrence of such a phenomenon as outlined above does not surprise me at all, for erotic postcards and the distribution of such has been around for centuries. What does surprise me is why young men and women feel they need to show their genitalia in a glut of already pornographic images on the internet. I am aware and many young women are aware, that women, particularly pop culture singers rely heavily on the sexualisation of their body in order to gain attention in their video clips and, facial and bodily beauty is prime currency in this era in which the body IS everything. Is trading photographs of their genitalia a way of separating one site of their sexuality away from their real body; objectification a way for them to hide their self and identity, whilst simultaneously associating themself with the raw base of what they are trading? Could this trade be an assertion of an uncomfortable knowledge known by teenagers that ultimately each of them are only interested in sex and that many relationships no matter how wholesome end in the sexual act. Alternatively, could the revealing of genitalia, divorced from the individual be an aggressive act to dissasociate self from gender? Perhaps the girls are saying that they know what the boys want and they will give it to them virtually, but there is no way that they will get it in actuality.
My second preoccupation over the past week is my inability to like the art I've been viewing. I didn't really enjoy the Painting exhibition at ACCA last week, however, having said that I did enjoy some of Roberty Owen's digital color paintings I viewed with Leonie Osowski today and I did enjoy Jessica Rankin's poetic piece Could I Just Have the Sober Hand, just one of her works currently showing at Anna Schwartz Gallery. Leonie and I did a gallery hop down Flinders Lane and we had to admit there was little to like or challenge us although Leonie liked some of the sculptural pieces at ARC Gallery. Lisa Minogue's The Coloured Girls at fortyfive downstairs was too literal and the devise of covering black skinned women with colored face masks was trite to say the least. Lunch in the sun at Signature at the Paris end of Collins Street was good, as was coffee at Federation Square late in the afternoon even though the day had turned cold again. I thought of Mark McDean several times during the day. He was a friend (now deceased) that would regularly accompany me on a gallery hop around the city. In the end the most praise Leonie and I had during the day was the tesselated tiles on the floors of St. Paul's and the stunningly beautiful stain glass windows.
Monday, August 8, 2016
ANYTHING BUT HUMAN is celebrating seven years. Initiated in August 2009 by Dr Julie Clarke the blog includes film reviews (71), book reviews (35), art exhibition reviews (35), on line curated art exhibitions as well as political (54) and social commentary (90), personal and philosophical reflections, some academic articles, poetry, art and photographs by Julie as well as those of others; has had approximately one third of a million views over that seven year period assisted in part by the fact that in the past few years each post is automatically posted to Julie's Google+ account and links to some posts on the blog have been made on Facebook. Julie has made 1422 posts during that period and she hopes that you will dip into the various tags on the right side of the page and revist her thoughts and comments from the past. She would like to thank her followers and those who read the blog from time to time. Without an audience the blog would be nothing. So, thanks again for all your support. Please feel free to share this post and the link to ANYTHING BUT HUMAN on your own social media page.
|Ram in Treasury Gardens. Photo: Julie Clarke (2016)|
|Embrace of the Serpent screen grab in theatre. Photo: Julie Clarke|
Saturday, August 6, 2016
Wallaby, Doongala Forest. Photo: Erin Powell (c)
I just had to post this beautiful photograph taken by my son Erin in the Doongala Forest on Friday. The Wallaby appears camogflauged by the muted colors of the surrounding landscape. It's a delicate photograph that shows how much the Wallaby is integrated into it's environment. Congratulations Erin on capturing such an amazing moment in time.
Friday, August 5, 2016
It was fantastic to see the sun shining this morning and Leonie and I took advantage of it over lunch at The Malthouse. After lunch and much discussion we saw the Contempory Painting exhibition next door at ACCA. I must say I wasn't impressed with most of the works, however the Louise Hearman painting was my favorite.
Better I think was the exhibition currently showing at the Margaret Lawence Gallery at VCA. I thought that the suite of paintings by Ella Dunn really shone. Unfortunately I didn't take a photograph of her works. However, I did photograph my second favoritie in the exhibition but didn't write down the artists name. Talk about a stuff up!
The potentially erotic imagery resonated I think with the close up photographs I took of my own body and exhibited at the University of Melbourne a few years back, entitled Aut(o)ptics(o)ma. Leonie and I completed the afternoon with coffee at Federation Square and we were grateful to the staff member who lit two freestanding heaters either side of us because the sun had disappeared and the day was growing cold.
Thursday, August 4, 2016
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
I love a rainbow and consider it lucky seeing one. Many cultures believe that seeing a rainbow means that it's sending you a message. Is your life dull and routine? Perhaps you need to add more color to it. Are your ready to cross the bridge and make change? Only the viewer knows what the message may be. Anyway, here's a beautiful rainbow taken late this afternoon by my son Erin Powell .
|Rainbow facing Whitehorse Road, Mitcham. Photo: Erin Powell (2016)|
Monday, August 1, 2016
Facade of building in Swan St., Richmond
I'm rarely at home in the afternoons, but it was raining all day today and I'd been to the Richmond Library and taken a photograph of a building in Swan Street constructed in 1885 and after doing some shopping late morning I came home because the cold wind was getting to me. I've been experimenting with watercolor painting and it's more difficult than I imagined and whilst I was painting I managed to catch Andre Rieu's Live in Amsterdam on SBS TV. I'm so glad I did because two songs were performed by the Australian soprano Mirusia. Her rendition of Time to Say Goodbye was exquisite. But what grabbed me the most was the audience participation in singing along to some of the orchestral music at the end of the concert. I'd been talking to my son yeterday about how singing has always given me joy and you could certainly see joy on the faces of the vast audience who unashamedly sang along with those who sat beside them. Perhaps we could all benefit from singing more and by singing with people of other nations and abilities. As I write this it's still raining, indeed it's been raining since I arose at 6.30am this morning. I love rain when I'm inside and feel warm and conforted. My television is off and I can hear the slow drone of the traffic outside and the soft rain drops, which has been a constant for most of my afternoon at home. If I listen hard enough I can hear the regular tick of the little pink plastic clock on the top of my fridge. Time appears altered during rain as if it consciously and purposefully meters out each precious second so that we can appreciate and be mindfull of each of them. Time is a luxury.