More about an old knitter of black wool

I had an enjoyable conversation yesterday with Peter Murphy and Leonie Osowski in the Member's lounge of the NGV at Federation Square. Peter pointed out the death references in my recent project, especially the predominant use of black. I maintain that death is always there in an artist's work, however, my intent was to draw attention to the aging female body and the fragility of advancing years by using the knitted length against my body in an aesthetic way. I didn't cover my face in order to hide my identity, I already declared that the photographs were self-portraits. In fact, I suggested instead the absence of identity for aging women and the invisibility that appears to walk side by side with a woman no longer considered young or attractive. I ask you: When was the last time you saw a mature female presenter on television?

I was happy to see that The Drum (ABC TV) was addressing the difficulties that women over 50 years were likely to encounter, especially if they had no husband or partner, was divorced, or had recently lost a long time partner due to illness. They discussed the poverty that many would encounter, homelessness, loneliness, the loss of friends (not only those who die but those who do not want to associate with women who are alone and are possibly disabled). They also spoke of the ailing body and the women who would become more and more dependent on others. But the single most interesting point made was that women, who have cared for children and perhaps even ailing parents, who have gone without in favor of doing for another, are, at a certain age, no longer cared for because they can't perform the roles they had during their lives. It's a sad situation. We could certainly learn from other cultures in regards to the way they treat older folk.

This morning I made a short video ~ A close up of my hands air knitting against a spoken word performance I was involved in, in 1980, which included reading an excerpt from Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and another from Samuel Beckett's play Not I. David Powell overlaid the spoken words over one another along with a percussion piece he composed.

My intention in the video was to present the younger me alongside the older me. The repetitive actions of my hands (mainly fingers) mirror the repetition we experience in day to day activities. The work also engages with the stereotype of considering older women as knitters, as if no other age group knits, which is a fallacy.

Unfortunately this blog would not allow me to post the video. I tried several times and can only add, that tomorrow or Friday I may be able to upload it to YouTube and then provide a link on the blog. Wish me luck.
OK. Click on here for the link

Old Knitter of Black Wool

Who knows why some words sit in your mind like a sword wedged in stone? Last week I rescued two large balls of black wool discarded in a cardboard box outside the wool shop in Bridge Road. I wondered why I needed to pick them up. I had no idea what I might knit, in fact I haven't looked at the wool since then.

A few days later I began reading Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness and was captured by the words of the main protagonist Charlie Marlow who enters a doorway and 'Two women, one fat and the other slim, sat on straw-bottomed chairs, knitting black wool'. On the following page he continues 'Often far away there I thought of these two, guarding the door of Darkness, knitting black wool as for a warm pall.' Old knitter of Black wool. Morituri te salutant' (those who are about to die salute you - a greeting to Caesar). I had to look up the meaning of pall and apparently it's cloth that covers a grave or hearse. According to the notes in the book, the women knitting black wool resemble the Fates of Greek legend, Clotho and Lachesis, who, respectively, spin and measure out the thread of each life before Ateopos cuts it. It seems that the knitters of black wool and Ateopos who was responsible for the inevitability of death worked closely together to spin their evil plan.

The roses that Leonie Osowski gave me for my birthday began to wither and the stems had turned black. I placed the dried rose stems with sharp thorns in a ductile metal container between my legs and took a photograph with my Windows phone. The resulting image is spider-like and threatening as the limbs spread across mine

Simultaneously unknown to my conscious self and buried deep in my psyche I remembered a spoken word piece called Down that I devised and performed along with music composed by the experimental musician David Powell in the early 1980s. Thankfully he's making a digital copy for me from a cassette tape and I'm hoping to use this and the imagery of the black wool to begin a new arts project. Old knitter of black wool. The words continue to enchroach on my mind, like an arachnid spinning a strange and wonderful web.

Self-portrait with examination garb and Heritage roses

To celebrate my birthday on 22 April this year I took about ten photographs of myself wearing the navy examination garment I wore for the echocardiogram I had before Easter and the Heritage roses given to me on my birthday by Leonie Osowski. I'm printing out the one considered the most exellent to give to a few close friends, but thought I'd post this one here.

Two treasures

The gymnasium is closed until next Monday whilst they install new equipment, so this morning I went for a swim, the first I've had since Summer and that seems like a long time ago, because I'm absolutely sure that Melbourne has been mostly cold for the past seven months. Afterwards I had a coffee with long time friend Steve Middleton and then went into the city to meet up with Leonie. As luck had it Peter Murphy, photographer, teacher of English and collaborator (at the moment) with Lloyd Jones on one of Lloyd's amazing, strange and wonderful performance pieces to be showcased at, where else but LaMama, happened by Signature cafe where we were sitting, so the three of us sat together and had a long talk about, well, just about everything. Here's a link to information about the LaMama performance that Peter is involved  in.

Peter Murphy and Leonie Osowski. Photo: Julie Clarke (c) 2016

Afterwhich, Leonie and I went off to see Wild Colonial Boys an exhibition about notorious bushrangers, including Ned Kelly at Old Treasury Building, Spring Street, Melbourne. The exhibition was interesting but I loved the room in the building which housed polished timber furniture and deep, leather chairs used by the Governor.

Inside Governor's room. Photo: Julie Clarke (c) 2016

Kong Chew Chinese Opera Association at the Collingwood Town Hall

Photo: Julie Clarke (c) 2016

This afternoon I had the pleasure of accompanying Leonie Osowski to see the Kong Chew Chinese Opera Association perform a diverse program at the Collingwood Town Hall. The afternoon was arranged to raise funds for the Fred Hollows Foundation and it was obvious that those present were most generous in their contributions. I have to admit that my western ears although having previously heard Chinese music and opera took a little time to attune to the rather shrill sounds, happily much of what I heard, both orchestral and from the singers was harmonious and interesting. I should also say that Leonie and I were amongst the few anglos in the audience and all the Chinese people we met were so gracious. Here's a few photographs I took of the event.

Roy. Photo: Julie Clarke (c) 2016

I love the subtle watercolor like backdrop on the stage, the Pagoda and the intricate wood decorations which framed the stage. I found it all aesthetically pleasing.

Photo: Julie Clarke (c) 2016

Visit to Port Melbourne beach 6 October 2016

I usually go to Port Melbourne beach by myself and hadn't been there since January this year (I've been to St. Kilda beach a couple of times during Winter), so I met up with Leonie at 10.30 am, had a cup of coffee at my favorite coffee shop, Ganache Chocolate in Collins Street and then we caught the 109 tram to the beach. What a glorious day weatherwise. I'm so glad I took a tshirt with me to change into as the sun was almost hot. We strolled along Station Pier had a quick look at the new Spirit of Tasmania which was docked and walked on the promenade before having lunch at Delish Fish. Lunch there never disappoints. After lunch we walked along the beach before having a cup of tea, a big rest and some good conversation. One of the most delightful parts of the day was seeing a sailing ship with its sails unfurled as it moved across the distant horizon and the large, wide sandbar that was visible from shore. The sea was as blue as blue today and very calm.

Photo: Julie Clarke (c) 2016

 I just had to photograph the lighthouse reflected in the beautifully calm waters.

Photo: Julie Clarke (c) 2016

And hope that you can see the sailing ship in the middle of the horizon. If you enlarge the photo you may just be able to see it.

Photo: Julie Clarke (c) 2016

Fingers crossed that we get more weather like we had today.

John Olsen, Jesse Jones, St Patrick's Cathedral

I've spent the past week or so contending with inflammation of major tendons in both feet, which left them with a burning sensation. The doctor couldn't tell me why this has happened, but it may be due to the fact that I undertake so much walking. I've weeded, swept up seeds and been Spring cleaning after a fashion. Thank goodness for art.

You've got to love John Olsen's expressive, colorful, kinetic, large-scale paintings. I was mesmerised when I saw the 'You Beaut Country', a major retrospective of his work on the ground level at NGV, Federation Square on the weekend. Although I appreciated all the works on show I was particularly drawn to two paintings that seemed to defy his style, namely a fish head that appeared to emerge from dark, murky waters, and a shower head positioned over a large old fashioned bath with decorative legs abandoned on red earth. I spent about 45 minutes sitting in front of his works and at one stage I attempted to plot the trajectory of the many lines that traverse each canvas. It turned out to be an impossible task.

Still from 'The Other North' RMIT. Photo: Julie Clarke 2016

This afternoon I was just as enamoured with Jessie Jones 'The Other North' video installation that forms part of the Radical Actions exhibition now showing at RMIT Gallery (and on show until 22 October). It was unnerving, but fascinating to see and hear the words of North Korean actors who were re-enacting scenes from a conflict resolution session in the 1970s, which addressed conflict in Northern Ireland. More engaging was watching their different facial expressions and body language, which exhibited evidence of boredom (one woman plays with her hair and looks at her nails, frustration (another takes a cigarette and smokes it), indifference as well as engagement.

Earlier today I met up with Leonie and we took a long, slow walk through St. Patrick's Cathedral. The excursion was less to do with religion and more an appreciation of the light flowing through the golden leadlight windows, the exquisite gold-leaf adorned paintings and the peacefullnness that's engendered just by being inside such a beautiful place. We walked quietly past a few people who were clustered together in the front seats, however as we passed we discovered they were not praying or engaging in quite solitude, their were heads down and they were engrossed in their mobile phones, which seemed to match the fact that the only other people in the church were Asian tourists taking selfies.The wind was fresh outside and the hot soup for lunch was welcome. Vicky, if  you are reading this it was lovely to pump into you today. Please do contact me for that well overdue coffee catchup.

Picturing our children and art...

School children sitting outside Parliament. 24 August 2016. Photo: Julie Clarke (c)

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.

Art, art, art

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.

Louise Hearman,

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.

COMING SOON

Street people. Taken with my Windows Phone. Julie Clarke

On the way to have my hair trimmed and have lunch with Leonie Osowski in North Melbourne this morning I couldn't help but notice the homeless people who had set up sleeping arrangements at the corner of Elizabeth and Bourke Street. The large sign behind them announcing that something was coming soon appeared paradoxical since something has already occurred; and that is that more and more people are having to take refuge and sleep anywhere they can.

Every morning I see at least four homeless people on or around Richmond Town Hall and each have constructed sleeping arrangements to protect them from the cold. We constantly hear in the media that we are the lucky country and that we are a wealthy country. I can't for the life of me understand why, if this is the case, that we have people sleeping on the streets. Who do we blame? A government that seems hell bent on helping only those who can help themselves and neglecting to adequately provide affordable accommodation for those who have mental illness, disabilities or who are unemployed or the working poor. Should we instead blame individuals in our society that benefit from charging high prices for rental properties? How can these people live with the fact that they will retire comfortably based solely on the fact that those with less money are paying off a mortgage on a property they have purchased. How many people are benefitting from the suffering and struggle of those less well off? I hope that my photograph shows at least two things. Firstly, that the well dressed man walking past and those not in the photo who have also passed by without looking appear unaffected, perhaps because the homeless have become commonplace in our cities. Secondly, the homeless are making a statement of their situation. They are in our face and wish to confront us with their dire situation.

Leonie are I were talking about identity politics; both of us have been reading the Summer edition of Artforum International, which addresses identity politics, particularly in relation to neo liberalism (the urge to reduce welfare payments, deny protection to children, youth, women, the planet; elimiating the concept of the 'public good', cutting public expenses and free enterprise) and people's reactions and lack of reactions in certain situations when faced with things or people that we perceive as different and undesirable to 'us'. She gave as an example that people didn't appear to know how to react to street performers. I'm wondering whether this inability to know how to react to the homeless is something we all suffer from. Do we offer them money, food? Whatever we offer is not going to help them in the long term and so we are confronted with confusion.

I don't have any answers, I wish I did. I only know that every day we are confronted with people who take desperate measures to show us that they have been ignored and left behind.

Green frog

Saw the astounding Jan Sensberg exhibition at the NGV Australia on Wednesday and had a most enjoyable extended lunch with Leonie Osowski at The Secret Garden, a gorgeous little outside, under large umbrella cafe in Fitzroy this afternoon. When I was washing the bunch of spinach I'd bought to put in my Sweet Potato, Spinach and Capsicum soup I noticed this 2.5 cm green baby frog. I literally haven't seen a frog in the flesh for about three decades, so it was an exciting find. I'm hoping to keep it as a pet, but have to find a suitable container because at the moment it's sitting quietly in a plastic container.