Daily Bread (sometimes delivered weekly)

The Hanky Project

I cannot hang this post on a photo. Well, I could, but within a minute of meeting Julie Barratt I knew that I wouldn't. Nor can I start this post with the first "photo-less" idea that I had. That's about someone else's story, someone else's grief. What Julie has managed to achieve in the Hanky Project gives me goosebumps. Motivated by her own loss, she invited others to submit representations of their grief and loss, on Hankerchiefs. It turns out that the Hanky transgresses age, generation, class, gender and culture. This is obvious when you walk into the room and see Hankies from all sorts of people, in all sorts of places, many being the Hanky of their loved one.

That the exhibition has found itself in the Napier Hotel is a personal fluke that I find extraordinary. This is Anna's pub. I didn't know her, but people that I love farewelled her in the very room this exhibition occupies. A lot of grieving has occurred within the four walls of the Napes. I will never forget the sadness hanging over the pool table on the tenth anniversary of Anna's death (and being kicked out well after the tired bar staff were supposed to close). For someone with an obsession about time and space, I am transfixed by this coincidence.

But back to the Hanky Project: Just Go See It. Julie has collected, on Hankies, the most intimate stories of 100 artists from 12 countries. The stolen generation, children, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, friends. Their stories fill Hankies that are hung loose, pinned up, folded, encased in boxes and dripped in resin. They have been written on, cross stitched, stained, painted and reinvented. "This is the last thing that he touched" reads one. "Permission to cry" suggests another. Precious Little's eloquent words adorn the walls: "I visited your old room yesterday, where the furniture still dimples the carpet with its absent weight". She has a Hanky of her own.

I do cry. What would my Hanky say? "Suze opened her eyes briefly in the hour that I sat looking upon her and I leapt into that last connection like she was a pool of water and I was on fire".

Pie in the Sky

It's unexplainable the joy of stumbling upon magic Art in unlikely places

Neon Nights

I listened to a handsome man wax lyrical about perfume pills and the intersection of art, science and fashion. In the centre of a large but welcoming room a pyramid of Neon lights framed an offering to the Gods. To one side a crowd gravitated inwards and toward the light. An impressively talented collective rubbed shoulders in the adjacent hall. And there was Vexta. A modest figure laughing among friends, the admiration she commanded speaking volumes about the artist that she is.

Kathryn Baulch and the divine Leilani

My Darling Darlinghurst: Darlinghurst Blog: Street Art: I Will Miss You (Am...

Another fabulous post by Violet My Darling Darlinghurst: Darlinghurst Blog: Street Art: I Will Miss You (Am...: "This whimsical paste-up appeared on the wall of ABC Cellars on the corner of Darlinghurst Road and Farrell Avenue last week. The ghostly gir..."

Daily Bread

It seems more like an occasional roll than a daily bread but here's the pick that's tickled my fancy this week

Supply and Demand

I first blogged about New Klara after stumbling upon her first bombing. Her second bombing is an absolute blast. Diverse, a little reminiscent of the great Phoenix, and well crafted. She knows how to work cardboard!

Vetti Live in Fitzroy

What a buzz to meet another blogger with a passion for their locality and a need to meet where the coffee is good.  99 problems, Johnson St Collingwood now joins a short list of golden brews in Fitzroy.  Well in Collingwood strictly but just shy of Fitzroy, in territory I am slowly claiming as my own.  I feel confident that if we ever meet again we will never suffer overdrawn bitter extractions, on either of our suggestion.  Now I know I am teetering on the edge of "pissing in each others pocket", but seriously, thank you Vetti for another piece of the puzzle (Irk's cardboard eyes).  They are now in the correct Flickr set.  I am left thinking I should have picked your brain just a little bit more.  Next time we might make it a Flasher Live In Northcotte.  A few shots from my walk home: Rone, Bird Brain, and an unknown paste up you just might be able to help me with...

Ruskidd under code S-701A

I turned the corner out of laziness really, autopilot. There is never anything new around it. There is always change in the laneway adjacent, but not here. Or at least there never used to be, until Ruskidd took it to a whole 'nother level...

For the love of aerosol

It doesn't get any better than dappled light, crisp air, the sun rising into a blue sky, the smell of aerosol paint and the work of an artist. Can't wait to see this piece completed.

Daily Bread

High quality morning through drizzling rain, mud and puddles.  Water seeping through my sneakers. Cold feet, wet socks, and warm coffee.

Daily Bread

Daily Bread

The Inaugural daily selection of favorites from the day

The Artist's Canvas

How is social media interacting with and affecting the evolution of street art? It would be easier to consider how street artists interact with social media.  This question is harder.  My answer is that social media changes the intention.  It changes, or can change, the purpose of the action.  I won't bore you with a dialogue about "what is street art" or the even less interesting debate about "graffiti versus street art".  But I will give you a series of vignettes that might spark your own train of thought.  

Part One: I was walking the trail one brisk morning when a poster of a photo caught my eye. 

I noticed it because I love anything on an abandoned piece of furniture.  Flash back to my piece with Nufevah all over a sideboard, and other furniture enhancements.  The poster had a blog address.  I made a note to look it up.  The blog referenced to a notion of the street as an artist's canvas.  It linked me to a photographer's page.   I am advertising him today.  

Part Two:  I was walking the trail on any given day.  Using my incredible powers of detective genius I stumbled across a new crop of work, sighed/smiled/said 'yay', took a photo, uploaded it to facebook where legions of fans 'liked' it.  Okay that's the dream sequence recollection.  But the part about seeing the art, saying yay, and posting it is true.   I raced home (dream sequence the Parkour), uploaded it to Flickr and Picasa, and ruminated for a day before blogging about it.  The artist themselves "favourited" the photograph on Flickr, "Liked" it on Facebook, and tagged themselves so friends could see.  They commented on my blog with a post to their blog.

Part Three: It was 1980 something.  There was no Internet.  I was the "disaffected youth".  With a black texta and feint smell of dope I scrawled on a concrete wall "Get Grugged" and drew a simple image of Grugg.  In 1985 photographer Rennie Ellis wrote a book called Australian Graffiti, and there was Grugg. Years away from its creation and miles from my intention.  I am now promoting Rennie's blog.  Blogs were not even a glint in the Internet's eye when Rennie wrote the book. 

Post Script: I do know the artist who did that, but I am definitely too young to be said artist!