The Artist is (Not) Present

At the end of Year 10 Debbie Cunningham left our school. The school clique morphed, formed and reformed to include a wider circle of girls and boys. Alliances were crystallized to practice for exams, attend school musical rehearsals, prepare our notes for the inter-school debating competitions, and share cassette tapes of bands that we were into. We talked. We did a lot of talking. In between hanging out in the Sannens' pool after school, weekend sleepovers in the rumpus room, and VHS movie nights, we would call each other up on the home phone. These conversations went on forever. My mum was right to wonder what it was that we needed to talk about given we see each other every day at school. We would talk about the small stuff: things that had happened. What people had said or what they didn't say, and how that made us feel. We exchanged coping strategies, what kids these days call "life hacks". Then there was the big stuff: ideas about the world, questions of moralit...

We moved around the schoolyard like a pack of wolves. Wherever the alpha female wanted to go is where we would follow. Sometimes the leader would go up to a boy that we all had a mad crush on and tell him that I thought he was cute. It was then up to 14-year-old me to talk my way out of the awkward situation. I am now grateful for the unexpected training in improvisation, but back then I thought it was a cruel kind of initiation. Most world religions have a ritualistic ceremony designed to inculcate and indoctrinate that exploits our natural desire to belong to the tribe. And I desperately wanted to be part of that tight-knit circle. This was junior school at a large Catholic co-educational college, not a cult. The particular ring leader in my little cohort of mostly uncool girly swots was fiery, red-headed Debbie Cunningham. Did she do it for masochistic fun? Maybe. It was the mid-1980s in Frankston and our entertainment options were limited to hanging out at the beach, indoor roller ...

What happens when a group of comedians, anarchists and independent theatre makers decide to put on a festival that is designed to “challenge, stimulate and disturb, and also make you laugh.” The second Festival of Critical Comedy presented by Awkward Giraffe was held at the Melbourne Unitarian Peace Church last weekend and exceeded the expectations of the organisers, performers and audience members. Described by the event’s MC Sofie Prints as “an ambitious event well beyond our skill set” what unfolded was a celebration of meta-comedy; comedy about comedy. What makes you laugh? I never expected such a benign question could lead to an analysis of socio-political structures.  What was radical wasn’t the content of the acts but the way the festival created a community. I discovered that what makes us laugh is as universal and diverse as what makes us human. What I found delightfully subversive was the collective resistance to being told by the morality police and the self-appointed ar...

Medium: Mixed(up) Media   Artist: Maria Rizzo Description: Conceptual art installation featuring a replica of an administrator’s computer workstation embellished with semi-autobiographical references and decorated with art historical artifacts. The 564 word artist statement/essay is an integral part of the installation.   Artist statement/essay Welcome, friend. You may well be wondering, what is a computer workstation doing in the middle of an art gallery? Whose workstation is it and where is the staff member? Is she on a lunch break or is the internet connection down? Has she been replaced by AI? You may also be asking yourself, why should I be giving it my undivided attention (statistically-speaking no more than 3 minutes). How are time and effort measured, and more crucially, how are they valued? And while we are on a philosophical roll here, what is art? These are pretty obvious questions and they are central to this art installation. Oh, and by the way, this art...