A little sumsing for the weekend
Ladies and Gentlemen, we interrupt our regular programming (regular? I hear you say, to which I reply Sshhh!)…we interrupt our regular programming with breaking news of the Sydney Biennale. In fact breaking news and exhortations. Exhortations and great windmilling arms of enthusiasm. Gestures of ushering, words of encouragement, promises of wonderment if you will only consent to shift your harrises out into the parky winter air and get on over. Sydneysiders, just do it! Srsly. Everyone else, they tell me the aeroplane is a fine invention. Come for a visit! We can offer you afternoon tea at the Regency Wreck cosily nestled between the termites’ nests… cucumber sarnies served with great gravitas by Remington Rem the First. Miss Elsie in her french maid’s pinny on the samovar…then off on a ferry to see the sights and a bit of a shiver…what do you think? Can you be tempted?
So anyway, on Tuesday El Pimpo and I were air-lifted from our lavatory-seeking rut by some lovely friends, and whisked over to Cockatoo Island on a ferry. And oh, OH I tell you, just get thee hence. Or thence. Just get thee.
And if you do I can, hand on heart, promise you enchantment. A veritable winter wonderland of delight. I know I might sound like bad advertising copy but srsly peoples, it’s the shiz. In fact, the hoots mon shiz and a half. With a cherry on the top.
I can’t tell you much about the exhibits, other than there’s a lot of big and a lot of white and a lot of sheer magic. It’s my personal preference to go to these things knowing nothing, to have a passionate encounter with each piece and then move on to the next, no strings attached. A form of aesthetic cottaging, if you will.
For once I shan’t drown you in the verbals, but instead garland you with pictures, strew you with images, so you get a bit of an idea (bad pics mine, good pics said lovely friend’s).
And this, whole other universe of light and tiny sound by Philip Beesley.
There is an entire warehouse dedicated entirely to the sexual organs of the insect kingdom, and very lovely were too. Behold, the love dart of the garden snail:
And many, many other delights.
And when you are sated with installations, there’s Cockatoo Island itself, with its abandoned-industrial aesthetic and slightly melancholic charms:
I hope you’ll forgive me my proselytising. I’ve been good since Marrakesh. And in our next episode – bathroom madness. Ah, see, now you’re on tenterhooks. Can you contain the excitement? Not sure that I can.