Coffin Chasers

Stunning weather to go and see some art at MONA today. But the art is all underground. And a lot of it is confronting, mind-bending and preoccupied with death. (Fantastic activity to do with the kids and a visiting aunt. Really!)

Then it’s a case of chase or be chased… by the chickens on the lawns outside  that is.

Is it just the same with the human preoccupation with death? Is that why we make endless TV shows about it, read true crime trash, slow down to perve at the car wreck? Trying to catch death, somehow, so it can’t catch us…

This is the week of the year when fascination with death and dead people is socially sanctioned and indeed, celebrated in many parts. I’ve never done Halloween but I can understand the appeal. I’m interested in the leftovers of people who have gone before… the remains that can be seen in old photographs. Ghostly faces, frozen moments and smiles from long ago.

On the one hand I’m fascinated by the time distance between us and I wonder about the lives of the people who stare at me from old photos. On the other hand I marvel at our similarities across time. People don’t change so very much (check this out for a lovely example, and the smart alec in the centre photo, below).

If I were really interested in death and the chasing of it, I would travel to Manitou Springs, in Colorado USA, where yesterday the Emma Crawford Festival culminated in the 18th Annual Coffin Race and Parade. It’s part of a “spooktacular” calendar of events based around the creepy story of poor Emma’s remains being washed down the hill by stormy weather, 30 odd years after her death. The festival website features some suitably spooky photos of Emma Crawford herself.

Even if it’s true that each photograph captures a tiny piece of your soul forever, as some cultures supposedly believe, we should pose for as many as we can to leave a trace of ourselves behind. Because as sure as that cheeky chicken is going to steal some of your picnic lunch, death is going to catch up with us all sooner or later.

Mofo Music Show Gives Statistics a Face

Most of the time, history seems far away and the people who lived before us are faceless and forgotten. Of the convicts who contributed so much to the history of Australia, Robert Hughes wrote (in The Fatal Shore): “They were statistics, absences and finally embarrassments.”

Indeed, it’s not that long ago that Tasmanians sought to have the World Heritage Listed former penal colony, Port Arthur, renamed and ignored because of its ignominious past. They did not want to be reminded of their convict roots.

So it’s amazing to be confronted with real convict faces, as is possible via the Tasmanian government archives. This is William Marsden, photo taken in 1874 by Thomas Nevin.

And it was an unexpectedly moving experience to listen to songs detailing the stories of 17 convicts and their families in the Dark Mofo event, Vandemonian Lags. It wasn’t musical theatre, exactly, it was a concert with a context. Short dramatised introductions, recreations of judicial court trials on the other side of the world, for example, set the scene for the songs with projected images and film. Most songs were about specific people who were transported here as prisoners. Some detailed what happened to their offspring, others were about the crimes that got them sent over.

The performers were legendary musicians from the Australian rock and folk scene and the songs, which were based on original convict records, were all immediately likeable. The stories and songs are available to explore on the Storylines website, which appears to have been made as part of the overall project and provides an incredible educational resource.

Husband, who is a storyteller by trade, felt that the lyrics occasionally got in the way of the story and sometimes the story wasn’t clear, but I didn’t think this detracted from the overall mood. The variety of songs created great texture and it maintained a good pace. In fact — surprisingly given the subject — it was frequently rollicking and at least once it totally rocked out.

I cried twice and tried to pretend I didn’t. Having just visited Port Arthur last weekend, I had colonial history at the forefront of my mind and I was really receptive to the emotional hardships that these people went through, as well as their physical travails.

It’s so interesting to notice how our attitudes towards the past changes, and that what is considered valuable is not fixed. History, so often written and dominated by the wealthy and powerful, is now “interpreted” (rather than told) to include and perhaps give dignity to those who were once ignored.

The songs and stories in this show were about forgotten folk, a reminder that some of the most unfortunate occupants of Van Diemen’s Land were real people too.

Heart-Stopping Art: Dark Mofo

It’s not often that you are asked to sign an indemnity form prior to viewing an artwork. “…there is a danger of motion sickness, trance-like states and blackouts…” Is that a threat or a promise?

Dark Mofo unfurled in the rain last night; it’s the winter festival masterminded by MONA which strives to be as confronting and provocative as the art (and general theme) of the museum.

Announcing itself with a beam of light into the nebulous sky like batman or an old time picture show, the festival hosted events and installations in adjacent shipping terminals on Hobart’s waterfront. In one: music and a triple-screen video accompaniment. Beanbags, a massive, mostly empty bar practically hidden behind the stage, darkness, gobo projections on the ceiling.

The other, grungier space held a series of art installations designed to complement that huge flashlight, all comprising an exhibition called “Beam in Thine Own Eye”. It asks questions about what we bring to art when we view it, how much do we in fact create our own realities, which direction is that light really flowing anyway?

One of the installations, called Zee, is such an intense sensory experience that it is forbidden for pregnant women or children to view it, and everyone else must sign a disclaimer before entering. The large queue to see this work last night showed how alluring this kind of potential “danger” can be. But reports from those who had experienced it suggested that it was anything but pleasant. Nauseating, ear-popping, heart-stopping, overwhelming, yes.

I chose not to queue but may return when there isn’t a crowd. The question is: do I want to partake in art that makes me feel queasy and uncomfortable? Is it like experimenting with drugs, just for the experience? Will I appreciate the point better if I put myself through it?

Or is it the experience that generates the understanding, the right questions, or indeed the answers. Only one way to find out, I guess. And these queries apply to much of the Dark Mofo programme.

In any case, with its heaters, mismatched couches, communal blankets (which made minglers look like many storybook red riding-hoods) and big chess set, the exhibition space had a very warm vibe for this O-Night event.

So even though Dark Mofo wants to be as impenetrable as those clouds for that giant beam of light, it still offers some comfort and a friendly atmosphere. Just be prepared for the art to be dangerous.

MONA: The Ultimate Hoard

As a self-diagnosed sufferer of Borderline Hoarder Disorder**, I can really appreciate a collection. Almost any collection. I understand the thrill of the chase and the elation at a find. And if I had endless funds at my disposal my collections would be diverse, wide-reaching and beautiful for the eyes and mind. Perhaps like the collection of Old and New Art at the museum known as MONA.

I realised today that the current exhibition, Theatre of the World, ends in the next week. It was the impetus I needed to get us inside the building (I had been holding out for a time when I could explore the whole gallery, but as I’ve noticed before, I must grasp any opportunity I can get these days).

My mind was quickly blown by the variety of artifacts (I want to say “eclectic” but that word has become rubbish lately), and I wanted to know about each and every one, but my babies wouldn’t let me linger long enough to read or listen to the information on the ipod guide.

So we breezed through, glancing at everything, absorbing some spaces and glimpses more than others.

I had thought that my experience of the exhibition, condensed as it was and with little information about what I was seeing, might not do it justice. But I was heartened to read this on the MONA website:

“Theatre of the World is a kaleidoscope: here the viewer sees the object, and that is enough. This notion harkens back to the Renaissance view that art and knowledge are inextricably intertwined. This art is visual poetry.”

The kiddos were most absorbed by the art experiences such as soundscapes and light displays (and let’s be honest: the glass elevator), and were pretty happy with the regular changes in scenery. They have a lot to learn about the value of collections and collecting, and believe me, I am going to teach them all I know.

As for now attempting to find out what on earth my eyes laid on today? MONA is a very modern place and its robots have promised to email me information about the artworks.

**May or may not be a real thing

Grateful Journeys

Like these goofy mosaic characters out the front of the little Moonah Arts Centre, we have a car. Yay! (Unlike these poor folk, we are no longer stuck in the one place…) We were so excited yesterday that we covered a lot of ground.

Our first stop was a film screening as part of the Ten Days festival called Little Big Shots. It was our munchkins’ first time in a cinema-like environment and they were surprisingly engaged and still.

Next we visited MONA Market, which had something for all of us. Ping pong! Pink beanbags! Tee pees…

…Opera sung in Mandarin, art installations, lovely coffee, hot gin toddies (good to know, anyway).

Finally, a theatre experience (again, part of Ten Days on the Island) called The Other Journey, which involved gorgeous natural scenery at dusk and a bus ride up into the hills as the fat, waxing moon appeared.

There were golden birds…

…glowing fires and spices. We listened to mesmerising music and heard stories from Sri Lankan asylum seekers who had settled here.

The show ended with the distribution of gifts: wooden birds to take home, a chilli pepper and a cinnamon stick.

Symbols of journeys.