ricky swallow

I had no preconceptions about what I would see at Ricky Swallow and was thrilled by what was there. The only downside to the exhibition was that there wasn't enough of it!

Despite appearances, the work at left, Peugeot Taipian, Commemorative Model (Discontinued Line), PVC Pipe, Plastic Sheeting, epoxy, 1999 scale 1:1 (photo by Kenneth Pleban) only just came to my attention a moment ago and wasn't what drew me to the exhibition. In fact, this work wasn't in the exhibition at the NGV Ian Potter Centre. Instead, The Bricoleur exhibition contained a fascinating collection of non-cycling related wood carvings, bronze sculptures and some works on paper. The carvings in particular were spectacular investments of time and energy and evidence that the craft of art-making is held in high esteem by some. A 1:1 scale dining table still-life, littered with seafood and other astonishing adornments was the largest and most striking evidence of this fact, but not my favourite...

The signature image of the exhibition was Tusk (2007), two disembodied, skeletal arms, their hands clasped as they hang naturally from the wall as if on a shared stroll. I didn't mourn for the long-since decomposed couple, whoever they were. They seemed content to wander throughout eternity in this bizarre form. The work improves upon the arrangements of bones I have seen around the European tourist sites (such as the Sedlec ossuary in the Czech Republic). It takes the human fascination with mortality and twists it out of range of those who would terrify followers with threats of hell. So often in Italy for instance are the churches scattered with momento mori of similarly bony form, yet what seems to be an opposite message.

Fig 1. (2008) was a naturally finished wood carving of a skull wrapped in something that might have been brown paper. It reminded me at once of my lunch and a museum artefact wrapped for storage in a musty drawer. Without the wall-plaque it was not obvious what was hidden within the paper wrapping... a mystery object that, perhaps would have been more interesting left unspecified. The wood lost its solidity. I expected it would make un-crumpling sounds if I touched it.

The bronze Caravan (2008) was a great idea... barnacles growing on balloons. But the choice of material didn't work for me. It said nothing about balloons' vulnerability or their short lifespans. In fact they hardly felt like balloons at all.

Unbroken Ways (for Derek Bailey) (2006) was a free-floating arm, hanging limply down the wall. While the bronze balloons didn't work at all, from a distance, the texture of the wood in this piece was so gently carved and texturally reminiscent of flesh that I had to look twice to be sure of what I was seeing. Although a slightly different pose, the limb hangs in a way strongly reminiscent of that belonging to the freshly murdered Marat in the famous work by Jacques Louis David (1793). Swallow's work was really beautiful in this case. The arm appeared to possess a pulse. Had it reached out towards me as I left the gallery I would not have been surprised.

the butterfly and the bicycle

How many butterflies died in the making of this Hirst-Armstrong-Trek bicycle? I prefer Damien Hirst's shark, The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living (1991). The shark shows some understanding of the essence of life (and death) and fear and decay and nature and the sublime... lots of things really.

The Trek is something a little girl might do with her first bicycle and a sheet full of butterfly wing stickers from the supermarket. It is unimaginative and completely ignores the form of the machine. It is considerably less than I would expect from an artist of Hirst's reputation. It is of course big news (it even makes it onto this blog for instance) because it is a Hirst, and an Armstrong, and for "a good cause". But not because it is good. Disappointing.

This Marc Newson TT bike really works I think. For the most part the bike has been left alone, but its disc is rounder than round. At first I thought the design a little gimmicky but it is growing on me. It doesn't interfere with the bike's lines (which I have to say, coming from Trek are not in and of themselves anything to write home about – Trek should look at Pinarello or Ridley or even Specialized dare I say it, to see how to make a lovely and fast TT machine) but it adds a kind of rolling oomph to the machine, like it is being propelled from the rear towards warp speed. Whilst quite geometric, the design is simultaneously very organic. A good crossover point between the human and his machine. I love this one!

solar light

It is true. Despite the countless un-PC jokes told in primary schools across Australia concerning solar-powered torches, there is one available now. The Cateye solar-powered bicycle headlight charges an internal NiMH cell during the day, so that you can spare it from using standard AA cells at night. Alternatively, buy rechargeable AA cells for your usual headlight and switch to solar powered home energy. This lamp is a bit gimmicky... and ugly. Did I mention it is ugly? :-( It ain't going near the handlebars of my bike but perhaps I could use it to light the driveway if I attached it to the front fence.

sunday climbs

A chilly Sunday morning in early Spring. The sun is still low over the distant hills, its warmth not yet able to penetrate the fog. Mist sits idly in the valleys that stretch out in a fading, pale sequence of ploughed fields, some neatly striped with the greenery of market gardeners. The road plummets into the frosty air. At 85 kilometers an hour I dive. My freewheel is not buzzing – I am pedalling like fury. The air is tearing the warmth from my grimacing face and howling through the slots in my helmet. Below me, two white, red and grey streaks clear against the black bitumen, are my companions. They vanish into the trees that surround a gully creek. I swoop past them in an aero-tuck as they sit up to catch the air. Stand and power up a short rise, then ease off. The incline brings me to a gentle glide. Downshift, then soft-pedal in the little ring to the top, coasting to a halt at a deserted junction.

A stream is trickling through the undergrowth. Magpies tunefully call to one another from the canopy above the way. In the ditch beside the road a small but cheerful chorus of froglets is chirping. Horses stand silently under musty green jackets, their heads lowered to the due laden grass. I hear the quiet buzz of the gears as first one, then the other of my friends approaches. We all stop and listen to the morning.

Where would you rather be?

len lye

I went along to see the Len Lye exhibition at ACMI last Friday... I'm glad I didn't miss it. The kinetic sculptural works in particular are fantastic, amongst my very favourites. There was also a large collection of his sketches and screenings of his innovative scratched film works which are fun to watch but not amongst my favourite pieces of cinema. All the same, for the sculptures – I find them completely mesmerising, in particular Grass (1961-1965, photograph by Nolan Bradbury / ACMI above left) – I highly recommend this exhibition!

world car free day

Today is officially world car free day. There seemed to be slightly fewer cars around but perhaps this was just a normal school holiday. There were certainly a lot of people out on their bikes along the bike trails – streaking at speed through the puddles and spraying their backs with water and squished worms after last night's rain. If kids walked to a nearby school or rode bikes, would the morning peak-hour traffic always be lighter?
I feel sorry for the worms that ended up decorating my rear brake caliper. There must have been about half a dozen of them. And there were several more sliced by the spokes and decorating the fork crown. Poor things.

La France

For better or for worse, here are some minor thoughts I digitally jotted down during a recent trip to Paris.

Sculpture. In the gardens of the Louvre is a bronze sculpture of a reclining female nude. A succession of (mostly but not exclusively) male tourists are posing for photos embraced by her arms and legs. How many times has she endured this as she stares passively into the space just beyond her outstretched hand? What is she reaching for? Tourists?

The new tourists. All around Paris I see groups of well-groomed American girls. Are they out of school on a communal gap year? They are polite but their accents grate through no fault of their own. "Yeah... Like... Yeah... Mercy. Or rev-woir". They are practicing their French just like me. I bet my accent is ghastly to the locals :-)

Baguettes. The French certainly love their baguettes! At breakfast and at lunchtime, I have seen them walking the streets, brandishing their sticks of bread by a sheaf of wrapped paper. Much of the world has succumbed to practicality and carries a compact loaf. Still, there is something comical about a handlebar-mounted pannier with a baguette thrusting it's nose into the air ahead of the rider. This makes their perseverance endearing.

Velolib. I watched a guy pedal his bicycle from the hire racks down a cobbled lane. His girlfriend was perched cheerfully on the handlebars, facing him. This didn't improve the steering any, but the view was always to his taste.

Tour de France reporters. The sport presenters discussing the TDF this morning were two gorgeous, eye fluttering, posing blonde dolls. Why do we get Mike Tomalaris? SBS should import some European talent.

Foreigners in hotels. It can be funny leaving a foreign hotel frequented by tourists. This morning I was greeted by an American on the stairs in French. Later, a Chinese man and I awkwardly smiled as we passed in the corridor, unsure how to greet one another. There was a good chance he was Australian.