Art at Strathnairn

Out for a walk at Strathnairn, we wanted to explore the new trails, which we did, and we also admired some art. I promised I would post about it later, so here it is! The featured artists at the exhibition at the cafe are Shakir Rayman, Stephanie Boyle, Louise Spencer, Katie Volter and Belinda Gill.

This exhibition explores the relationship between public and private space through a series of works in acrylic, watercolour and pastel. It features contrasting views of outside lives to personal interiors exploring the quiet sanctity of a home.

Inside out - National Portrait Gallery, 2024 by Belinda Gill

Morning Walk, 2024 by Belinda Gill 

Silent Canberra, 2024 by Belinda Gill

Visitor for Morning Tea, 2024 by Belinda Gill

One of the things I really like about galleries is the way the artwork interacts with the natural light through doors and windows.

On the Way to Bateman's Bay by Shakir Rahman

The Creeping Forest, 2023 by Louise Spencer

Just Hanging, 2024 by Shakir Rahman

Reflections and Reflecting, 2024 by Stepahnie Boyle

Moors of Strathnairn, 2023 by Shakir Rahman

Autumn Hues, 2023 by Shakir Rahman

Through the Looking Glass, 2023 by Louise Spencer

There was another exhibition from the members at the Woolshed Gallery - all the work was available for sale and there were some great pieces of art. The Woolshed itself is visually pleasing with its different shapes and colours. 

Once again, I am drawn to the use of light and colour, from gathering storm clouds above a familiar Canberra landmark in Rod Usback's archival pigment print to the childlike blocks in the black and white landscape of Kathleen Brigdale's polar station. 

Storm Brewing at the Carillon, Rod Usback

Mawson's Antarctic, 2023 by Kathleen Brigdale

The wind turbines are picked out on the shores of the rainswept Lake George in Jenny Blake's moody acrylic piece, and this contrast of sunlight and shadow is also foregrounded in Emma McNeill's chilly pastoral scene. And I know I have banged on enough before about my love of liminal spaces, so I was intrigued by Roger Hancock's Mediterranean interpretation.

Rain on Lake George, 2023 by Jenny Blake

A Touch of Frost, 2023 by Emma McNeill

Espacio Liminal, 2024 by Roger Hancock

Besides the watercolours and acrylics, there are some really interesting mixed media, textile and cermaic pieces, which are rather glorious, such as the embroidery and natural dye on silk that comprises Indigo Moonrise, or the cocoon ends which run through the layers of cotton, silk, tyvek and lutradur in Robyn Diener's stitched collage of strata. 

Indigo Moonrise, 2023 by Pinal Maniar

Adrift in Geike Gorge, 2023 by Robyn Diener

The patterns and the expression on the ceramic dragon are simply delightful, and the artistry on Susan Curran's wood-fired earthenware made me smile. The footballers running round the vase echo the athletic feats of the Greek heroes, and cement the Matildas' place in local mythology.

Dragon Dragonfly, 2024 by Elena Bozhko Marshall

Matildas, 2024 by Susan Curran

At yet another part of the gallery (The Link) there was an opening of work by the Hall Artists - a group of artists who meet at Hall once a week to paint together. The mix of professional and amateur artists are at different stages of their career but they all say they learn from each other. After two years, they have inspired enough high-quality work to create their first exhibition. We didn't realise it was their opening day, but there were paitings to admire and bubbles to drink - so of course we did. And we bought a painting.

Lake Albina by Sue Marye Cox

Believe: Small Gods

Small Gods by Terry Pratchett

Corgi

Pp. 381

Many people list Small Gods as the best of the Discworld novels. It is, however, probably my least favourite of the thirteen I have read so far. This is mainly due to the fact that the satire seems more obvious than in Pratchett’s other works, but also because organised religion, squabbling philosophers and the nature of belief are such easy targets for mockery.

The story opens in the city of Omnia, whose chief god, Om, has been reduced to a pitiful existence in the form of a turtle because no one really believes in him anymore. Gods need belief to live and thrive, and they fear becoming small gods, barely existing out in the desert wastelands with no believers at all. Om’s religion exists to perpetuate itself, with its rituals and vicious punishments and wars presided over by the psychotic Deacon Vorbis, like a sort of Inquisitor. 

One simple lad, Brutha, does believe in Om, and hears him telepathically when tending to his melon patch. Brutha’s belief is just enough to sustain Om, although the god has a lot of explaining to do. Brutha tells Om that according to The Book of Ossory as dictated to Ossory by Om, Om is omnipotent, but Om counters that not only did he not dictate these words, but “Don’t even remember anyone called Ossory.” He denies he chose anyone to tell his story. “They chose themselves”.

Furthermore, Om admits that he may have not strictly told the truth when he said there was no other god than him. “I exaggerated a bit. But they’re not that good. There’s one of ’em that sits around playing a flute most of the time and chasing milkmaids. I don’t call that very divine. Call that very divine? I don’t.”

The novel was written in 1992, but its discourse on certainty in religion and politics feels particularly pertinent in our post-truth world thirty years on. “Fear is strange soil. Mainly it grows obedience like corn, which grows in rows and makes weeding easy. But sometimes it grows the potatoes of defiance, which flourish underground.” Philosophers gather in town squares and brawl in bars over esoteric topics. Discussion can quickly escalate to argument followed by war, which is often binary and almost always arbitrary. While uncertainty can be troubling, it can also bring comfort with the knowledge that there are no absolutes. One character opines, “You don’t know. That’s what stops everyone going mad, the uncertainty of it, the feeling that it might work out all right after all.” Another counters, “Last night there seemed to be a chance. Anything was possible last night. That was the trouble with last nights. They were always followed by this mornings.”

Mere mortals struggle to make sense of life – hence the plethora of philosophers – but the gods are literally above it all. As the novel draws to a close, it returns to its beginnings, as Om surveys the world from his vantage point above the Hub. In a reference to the famous fable, he considers, “It seemed simpler when you were up here. It was all a game. You forgot that it wasn’t a game down there. People died. Bits got chopped off. We’re like eagles up here, he thought. Sometimes we show a tortoise how to fly. Then we let go.” Pratchett suggests that if there were gods, they have a vicious sense of humour and a total lack of decency.

Friday Five: Cross-stitch Cats and Dogs

The latest projects from the subscription box. I make quite a few of these into cards and gifts, so if anyone would like one, just let me know. 

 

Both a Womb and a Brain in Tudor Times: The Witch of Eye

The Witch of Eye by Mari Griffith

Accent Press Ltd

Pp. 383

This historical fiction about the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester, Humphrey and Eleanor, and her dealings with Margery Jourdemayne, known as the Witch of Eye, is told through the tale of Jenna, a made-up character, and her romantic involvement with Margery’s husband, William. The language is modern and the storytelling easy to follow, but it is engaging and throws out several titbits about contemporary customs and costumes.

Eleanor wants a child – her husband is next in line to the throne, and if anything should happen to his sickly nephew, Henry VI, then she would be queen, and a child would secure the succession. Eleanor is desperate and she turns to herbs and decoctions from Margery, image magic and also involves high-ranking priests in using astrolabes to cast horoscopes, and mirror magic to descry the lifetime of the current monarch.

The conjuration scene from Henry VI, Part 2, illustrated by John Opie

Margery Jourdemayne was accused of ‘false belief and witchcraft’ and burned at the stake at Smithfield Market in 1441. In this novel, she tells Jenna, “I often think a woman’s main problem is that she has both a womb and a brain. Society dictates that her womb is the more important of the two. But I’m not sure that’s true.” Jenna is a simple milkmaid, so she regards this cynical viewpoint with disbelief, as it allows the author to propound her feminist leanings.

Jenna, meanwhile, is merely a cypher, and her story, although it has a happy ending and delivers her from a life of domestic abuse and drudgery, is not particularly colourful or arresting. There is a further Huckleberry Finn moment where a character (in this case Jenna) is not told some life-changing information (that her abusive husband, from whom she is hiding, has died) because the male protagonists enjoy being able to control the reveal.

The ongoing battle between Beaufort and his nephew Gloucester wrangling over strategy and kingship forms a backdrop to the narrative. This is an interesting novel if the reader is already aware of these individuals and this particular period. Otherwise, it is somewhat lacking as a romance and there are probably much better-written works about these historical characters.

Friday Five: Theatre reviews

1. Bombshells - Echo Theatre, The Q: A great night out at the theatre is presented by six women delivering monologues that encompass the highs and lows of their lives. Director Jordan Best has them remain on stage throughout, whether they are having their moment in the spotlight or not, and the interactions between them as they segue between scenes are as sharp as the main content. There is no question that Joanna Murray-Smith writes incisive pieces for women, and these explorations of what it means to be a woman of any age in this strange, competitive world of ours are equally sharp and sparkling. Lainie Hart plays the ageing cabaret singer who can't quite move on from the end of her career; Ella Buckley is the blushing bride-to-be who isn't sure this is what she wants after all; Amy Kowalczuk portrays the exhausted young mother, desperate for reassurance that she's doing something right; Sally Taylor is hilarious as the precocious teenager with a talent routine that falls woefully short; Kate Harris bites back her anguish as she tries to hold her life together while delivering a TED talk on cacti; and Alice Ferguson brings the house down with some old lady wish fulfilment fantasy. At ninety minutes with no interval, this play delivers a lot of laughter and a range of emotions. I just wish that togetherness was one of them.  
2. Mary Stuart - Chaika Theatre, ACT Hub: There is some interesting staging with a crucifix formation, and a bold interpretation of the dance/ meeting scene as the two queens, Mary Queen of Scots and Elizabeth I meet in an encounter that never actually happened. Steph Roberts is strong in the titular role, playing the likeable aspects of the character with humour and sensitivity. Karen Vickery also displays strength as Elizabeth I, but comes over as bold rather than regal, and the fear and vulnerability inherent in the role are also lacking. The dynamic relationship she shares with Leicester is given a manipulative and conniving presence by Jarrad West, playful and/ or pragmatic as required. Of the supporting cast, Cameron Thomas stands out as Paulet with great dramatic energy, exquisitely embodying the conflicting emotions between the personal and political. Kathleen Kershaw's set design provides obvious points of strength, hierarchy and balance, and the execution block/ stone is a provocative dichotomy. More light and shade from Disa Swifte's lighting design would have better highlighted the fear and paranoia. Contemporary costumes (Kathleen Kershaw again) are a bold stylistic choice, which works better in concept than performance (whereas the masquerade outfits are striking, some costumes hamper movement). Overall, some curious actor choices result in one-sided presentation, and, despite the very strong leads, there is a lack of intensity, and the stakes don't appear to be played high enough.

3. The Lord of the Flies - Canberra Repertory Society, Theatre 3: There is a theatre adage that states if you put on plays featuring lots of young people, you will get large audiences, as all the parents, friends and family are strongly encouraged to see it. This may be the case, but it does generally mean the production will be full of youngsters of greatly varying acting abilities. This production is action-packed, but lacking in shade or nuance; it hits a high intensity early that it struggles to sustain. While there are some excellent creative design and production elements (the set by Michael Sparks evokes atmosphere and location differentiation, and the lighting by Chris Ellyard conjures mood with shifts in tone and a sense of dread), but there are issues with the actors - too much shouting loses clarity and the young directors (Caitlin Baker and Lachlan Houen) have no understanding of class distinctions. The schoolkids cut adrift on an island, having to organise themselves to collectively survive is a metaphor for life, and this concept seems to be beyond some of the cast. Robert Kjellgren is disturbingly calm and direct in his convincing portrayal of the psychopath, Roger and Ty MaKenzie as Jack has great energy, indulging in totalitarian bully tactics to disguise deep insecurities. The gender blind casting is essential to both modernise the play and accommodate the auditionees, but the necessary machismo is missing from some actors, who come across as whiny and irritating rather than empathetic. 
4. Some Like It Marilyn - Lexi Sekuless Productions, The Mill Theatre: The Mill Theatre presents plays with previews attached. The preview may be paused while technical elements are adjusted, and at the end the audience feedback is ploughed back into the next night's performance as it is tweaked and enhanced. There is very little to perfect in this production in which Lexi Sekuless embodies one of the most iconic figures of the twentieth century in a sort of cabaret, highlighting moments from her career ranging from singing to interviews, to photo-shoots and letters. Helen McFarlane as Jane Russell pairs with Sekuless in impressive duets, while other characters (managers; beaux; fellow actors; media; stalkers) are played by Tim Sekuless and Mark Lee. Music (Leisa Keen) is wonderfully harmonious - the night I saw it backing tracks were employed, but I think they will be ditched for the true performances - and the choreography (Annette Sharpe) is eminently suited to each performer. The set by Sam Thomas is simple but effective, including a grille to recreate the iconic skirt lift scene from The Seven Year Itch, and the costumes are a delight, as Tania Jobson has designed everything from the pink satin sheath gown in which Marilyn sings Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend, to the sexy bed sheet in which she was famously interviewed. The show portrays Marilyn as fun, charming, glamorous and smart; not just a 'dumb blonde', she was the first woman (since silent film star, Mary Pickford), to found her own production company, Marilyn Monroe Productions, in 1955. Who wouldn't like it Marilyn?
5. August Osage Country - Free-Rain Theatre Company, ACT Hub: I also saw Free-Rain's production 2014 production, but the power of this one is that it swiftly eradicated that one from my mind. It may be inevitable with this play but it feels a little 'stagey' and disjointed - the scenes where everyone is talking at once are the best, as the audience can make up their own mind where to look. Some things are staged in less prominent areas, and it would be itneresting to know where the director feels the focus of this play is. Violet, the matriarch of the dysfunctional family, is a vehicle for a strong actor and Karen Vickery fits that definition with aplomb. It's hard not to feel sorry for someone living with cancer, but she made me do it. The supporting cast all excel in their roles either as family members, in-laws or additional characters, and fortunately the Native American role is for once played by a Native American (Andrea Garcia who holds an impressive stillness at the centre of the cyclone). Director Cate Clelland demonstrates great focus on character, and the shifts between scenes work well. She plays the humour  where possible (the audience on the night I saw it were in stitches) but some of the darker moments (the creepy Steve; the powerplay between mother and daughter; the brutality of Charles) are toned down. The set and costumes are effective, but some of the props (such as the notebook of poems and the bouncing plates) are distracting. One comment on the lighting (Craig Muller) - we can see all the bits we are meant to when we are meant to see them, which is no mean feat considering the width of the stage. However, sometimes the audience is lit more than the stage - this may be due to limited equipment or placement options, but it is very distracting.

A Load of Old Jacksons: Night Blue

Night Blue by Angela O'Keefe

Transit Lounge

Pp. 141

When the painting Blue Poles, also known as Number 11, 1952 was purchased by the National Gallery of Australia in 1973 it was highly controversial. The gallery’s director was unable to approve purchases of over $1 million, and, as the asking price was USD1.3 million, it had to be approved by the Prime Minister, Gough Whitlam. It was a world record selling price for a contemporary American painting and of course, there was a debate over the value of abstract art. It is part of the Australian cultural psyche, and, with this novella, Angela O’Keeffe means to make it part of the literary landscape also.

The short work is split into three parts; the middle one narrated by an arts student who worked as a conservator when Blue Poles was in storage; the other parts narrated by the painting itself. This feels much like a creative writing exercise that might have worked as a short story but stretches the limit too far for a novel, even such a short one.

Rather than leaving subtle ripples across the surface, information about the painting is dropped into the text like a boulder in a pond. It is self-consciously Australian and determined to prove it. “I am as ill-equipped for the world of politics as a koala is for a swimming pool”. When not handing out essay notes about art, it delivers discourses on history and politics; “You may guess I am referring to the dismissal of the Whitlam government by Governor-General Sir John Kerr. You may know this as a major event in Australian history. But if you don’t, allow me to sketch the details as gleaned from the tour guides.” We are now expected to believe that a painting can give us a history lesson.

The middle third tries to introduce an element of mystery: “Don’t be too sure the narrator is the narrator.” This new participant in the story is a woman who sits daily in front of the artwork and writes reflectively in her journal. We’ve all known (and done our best to avoid) people like that who pretentiously attempt to mark out their territory and their uniqueness. She is suffering from loss and trying to make sense of it with shallow epithets such as, “Grief was a dream you couldn’t make yourself wake from” and “What we trust as memory is really a story we tell ourselves, a story that comes as much out of our future, as out of our past.”

Our conservator wants to celebrate more female artists, which is laudable, although there must be a better way. She refers to Grace Cossington-Smith, and Helen Frankenthaler and suggests Jackson Pollock have a co-creator – was Blue Poles the work of more than one person? There is a suspicion that there may be a footprint on the work that isn’t his and that it belonged to a woman, perhaps his partner, Lee Krasner. It is of paramount importance to her to discover something new about this painting, but because she might not, she makes enigmatic excuses for the lack of fact and certainty. “I will come to it, or it will come to me, or else it will not and I will leave a gap. There is nothing wrong with a gap in a story, or a gap in a painting for that matter, a sense of completion can be a limiting thing, a choking thing.”

Rather than the mysterious atmosphere the author aims for, it presents as vague, underdeveloped and irritating. She concludes, “I thought this story existed for itself, for its own precious wonder…but perhaps a story is not a thing that can live for itself, any more than I can. I live for living. This story lives for you.” Thanks, but no thanks.

Friday Five: Cat Memes

Cats make everything better. Whether I am laughing at their antics or drawing comfort from their warm sleeping bodies, they brighten my days and are sometimes the only thing worth looking at on the internet. I am, therefore, unashamedly sharing some of my favourite cat memes.