As I was driving home from an appointment yesterday, I heard on the radio of an art prize worth $100.000 being awarded for an “installation art piece” to an artist named Jack Ball…
“That’ll be a beauty” I guffawed to the common-law wife as I drove.
Sure enough, when I settled in to my lap-top to see the day’s news on “our ABC”, there was the whole story..: “ Jack Ball has won the $100,000 Ramsay Art Prize for an artist under 40 for their installation Heavy Grit.” ..
This “Jack Ball” “bloke” is a woman in the process of trans-gendering who constructed the installation in question from her/his personal enduring experiences with archival records of trans-gendering people from the 1950s to the 1970s… “I had so many dilemmas, so many curiosities, so many things to grapple with. [Making Heavy Grit] was a way to work through that content, materially and physically, spatially, [even] bodily.” (Jack Ball).
“We were particularly struck by the installation’s restless, kinetic quality that refuses definition and creates an open opportunity to connect individually with the materials, forms and images the work deploys.” (The Judges)
I shouldn’t wonder. . .
Now I am not going to attack the artist, who seems to be having their own issues with life’s identity…nor will I attack her piece, even though ..I..have issues with its identity…but I tell you what, if I was to come home and saw the aforementioned “installation” propped up in my driveway, I’d immediately presume an enemy had dumped their trash there and would go straight away to bin it for tomorrow’s rubbish pick-up!…I was politely told by my wife that I really had no idea about art..Funny, that…I don’t need an interpreter to tell me about “Starry Night”…or “The crossing of the Wain”…or a Michelangelo sculpture, or even one of the more darker Goya art pieces..and even Van Gogh died penniless…no $100.000 prize for HIM!..no, what I am attacking is this recent decades of the act of normalising what is an obvious, blatant, unscrupulous, deceitful, stupid and bizarre absurdity of both our cultural heart and our cultural art…not to mention our perceptions of what is accepted as “normal existence” in itself.
This idea of social inclusion of every stripe of idiosyncrasy of personal entitlement and behaviour as a kind of normality of what and how a society should operate, is a road to social destruction. If we were to consult the pages of recorded history, we would find uniformly that the civilisations that collapsed from within..NOT through external conquest…but from within, were almost singularly corrupted by the repetitive dismantling of those cultural uniformaties that first gave it strength and courage to create that civilisation.
Our Western society has entered a very dangerous stage, and is persisting with what can only be described as “social suicide”, by giving permission and strength to every minority group to demand what they see as their entitlement to not just be heard…every person in a civilised society ought to be able to at least get a hearing for their angsts…but have their complaints, be them ever so trite, ever so pitiful, ever so personalised..be acted upon with all the legislated political power and legal power of the nation’s laws!…even the State police and military seem to be at the mercy of every whim and whine of perceived injustice..not only of the now, but extending back into the transports of time itself!…so our courts and administrations are jamb-packed to the rafters with cause and effect of an impregnable backlog of frustrated complainants for all their minuscule issues and the big issue of the city streets ; petty crime..violent crime..runs rampant like so many gangs roaming the shopping centres or wherever large groups of people gather in celebration to become a group target for some disgruntled figure representing a larger group of disgruntled new or non-citizens or some-such similar mob of discontents.
And that’s all I am going to say on this shocking and absurd situation…Goodnight and Good luck…..we’re going to need it!
Scene: It is late evening after dinner..a fire burns briskly in a low height brazier in the centre of the small circle of trailers and a couple of caravans where can be seen from the light of the flames the painted signs advertising the circus of which the folk gathered sitting on bales of hay around the fire belong.
There is emblazoned in red and black on the side of a long, horse-box trailer ; “Dangling Bros’ Circus”…on a caravan is the announcement of the next town in the itinerary of their tour, but with a pasted paper sash across the dates and location with the scrawled word “Cancelled” written on it. The folk sitting around the fired brazier look glum and dispirited. They consist of the owner and Master of Ceremonies of the circus; Kevin Cotton, His partner and wife, Beverly, who serves as acrobat and “Lion Tamer”(of in fact two trained Samoyed dogs, whose coats have been clipped to make them look like they have a lion’s mane, there is also a close clipped kangaroo dog painted with spots to resemble a hyena), Beverly has at her feet a baby capsule bassinette with a baby in it that her daughter just that last hour left for her to care as the daughter has gone away for the weekend with her new boyfriend to a music festival…there is a short, stubby man, Rex, who is the one man band/orchestra and wanders about the outside area in between big top performances as a one-man-band with a drum, horn, guitar and cymbals attached with wires and cords that allow him to work any individual instrument as he stomps about..there is “Troppo” the clown, known by no other name, and also two Indian brothers replete with turbans and kaftans working as general dogs bodies and roustabouts..Ishaan (Ray of light) and Ayaan (Gift of God). All are still in their working clothes and costumes, Beverly has a blanket thrown over her shoulders as her acrobat costume does not keep her warm..
It is the year 1990.
Kevin pokes the coals in the fire with a stick that makes sparks swirl up. He reluctantly addresses the group.
“Well,” he drawls “I think that’s about torn it.” He again pokes the fire, but this time more vigorously.
“What you tryin’ to do, Kev’..kill it!?” Troppo points…Kevin stops poking the fire and throws the stick into the brazier with a frustrated action..
“Why should IT be spared…when we’re all dead in the water..”
“Well..we could just go along down to the next regional town and set up and do a week or so there, can’t we?” Troppo encouraged.
“On what?…how much did we take this week….a couple of hundred dollars total…that will just cover the animal feed and leave us to eat their leftovers!..” Kevin grumbled.
“What did the Mayor say that got him to reject our stay in town?” Troppo asked. Kevin heaved a weary sigh and thought for a moment about his reply.
“He came around in that lairy jacket he wears and asked if we had any wild animals in our company…I said nothing wild, only these, and I showed him the Tibetan Lions and the Hyena and the Kazakhstan Camel, Wooly and Wally the sheep and the donkey for the kiddy rides..all those things..”
“And . . .?” Rex chipped in.
“And he read the signs we have on each of the animals cages…he then looked long at the animals, looked at me, then re-read the sign about the Tibetan Lions…paused in silence for a good minute and then he snorted sarcastically and said…”You could go more for fraud than for holding dangerous animals without a licence!”….and that hurt..it’s a good job the animals can’t hear and be offended.”
“But did you explain that they are all mainly for the kiddies to enjoy?” Rex continued.
“I did..but he said that this being a farming area, the kids can see just as “wild animals”(his inverted commas) on the farm as we got displayed in our….and he paused as if to make a sarcastic point of it….”Dangling Bros’ Circus”…and then he asked who is the other “Brother” and I replied that he is the silent partner and then he refused us permission to set up on the grounds that we would be a distraction from the Strawberry Fete that were having that weekend and they had a full agenda of music and events on the oval.”
With this information, there was a sudden protest from all the other members of the little gathering, the upshot of their anger was directed toward the claim that :
“Surely with the extra addition of our circus, we could attract more visitors to the show?”
Kevin Cotton learnt both his arms on his knees and stared into the flames of the fire, he then gathered several pebbles from the ground by his feet and tossed one at a time into the flames..he breathed deep and paused before he replied to the general query..
“I DID say as much to the Mayor…that we would attract more people to the show on the day…to which he patted the heads of “Shan” and “Tan” (the two mock Tibetan Lions), looked up at our old Bedford truck, and then did a squizz over the rest of our setup and replied..;”I hate to be the one to say it, mate, but about the most attention you’d attract these days with this lot, is the R.S.P.C.A. checking on the health and treatment of your “wild beasts”, the immigration authorities checking on the bona-fides of your roustabouts and the local copper checking the roadworthiness of your vehicles..as for any other plusses you might suggest, I doubt the percentage takes at your “Big Top” ex-wedding marquee would cover the petrol to get you from here to there to glean them.” And he turned and walked away…”
At this news, an air of gloomy silence fell over the gathering and the only noise heard was the crackling and humming of the flames of the fire.
The group sat in this air of defeated silence for several minutes before Kevin roused himself somewhat and began to quietly reflect.
“When I was a youngster, I grew up in the late war years in a house that was ..I suppose, the normal domestic setup of the times…Hell, we didn’t even have a hot water heater, mum just used to heat up water on the wood stove to pour into a tub on the floor to bath us kids!..and you know, a wood burning stove for cooking, kitchen dresser with doors top and bottom, bread bin, cutlery drawer and “bottom drawer” for all the odds and sods collected and “could be useful one day”…tins of rendered fat off the roast hogget or mutton on the bottom shelf next to the big square tin of Arnott’s biscuits…smoky walls from the stove, chooks in the backyard, veggies and fruit trees in the front and an old Chevvy truck from the 1920s that the old Man used for his building work parked in the driveway..no other car, and we used to go visiting relatives and friends in that old truck. Mum, dad and one of us kids in the front single seat with the rest of us seated on the buckboard behind the cabin, with a tarp drawn up to keep us dry and warm in the cold weather.
That’s how it was when I grew up…it’s how many people lived in those times…and I did grow up..and in my late teens, early twenties I went away interstate to work and live…met friends, shared living quarters, houses etc…partied…oh hell!…did we party!..so I had no inclination to go back home for several years…and then one day I did wander back to the old address to say hello to the old folks…and when I walked into that old house…that old kitchen..that hadn’t changed one iota from the time I left…and why would they, the old folks…they evolved with it, put it in place, it was all they were used to, all they wanted..needed…but when I stepped into that old kitchen…I was shocked at how it looked so..so almost medieval..I was thinking… squalid compared to the modern kitchen set-ups I had gotten used to.”
Kevin stared in deep concentration into the wafting flames for a moment before he continued.
“And I grew up with that same idea…what we had there when I was young was all we needed..we never gave a thought that the world around us was in a state of continual progress, things were changing all around us, but we there on the edge of the sea, with the wind and the gullies and all play and playfulness were unaware of those changing times, so it came as a sudden shock to see that house that I called home was an anachronism from another age and now almost unusable for the modern times.
And it is the same now with us here…in this little anachronism of a circus…like vaudeville, we are caricatures of a circus, in an archaic style of entertainment..We, with our outlandish costumes, our make-believe “wild animals” our little world of tumbling clowns and acrobats..Rex the one-man-band thumping his way among the crowds we imagine we have…going from one small town to another in our beaten-up jalopies with just enough fuel to get us from one place to the next…….” And Kevin paused…….”When that mayor said those things about our rigs and our animals and us in general, it was like that moment back so long ago when I walked back into that old home, that old kitchen…I suddenly saw the tawdry reality of our situation…and I realised there was no further down this road we could go…When the Mayor turned to walk away, all this passed through my mind’s eye in a split moment and I called to him…
“Wait!…I said…wait a moment…”…and Kevin went silent, threw another pebble or two into the fire…blinked away a tear of regret and informed the troupe that their circus days had from that moment forward come to a screeching halt, for he had negotiated with the Mayor for the sale of the long animal float and the small truck that pulled it. The Mayor had introduced Kevin to several local people who took an interest in several of the animals of the circus, the donkey and another the llama..aka the “Kazakhstan Camel” ….
There was a cry of protest from the Indian Brothers and Troppo the clown, Rex and Beverly remained silent as they already knew of the conclusion of the deal with the locals.
“I had no choice, Ayaan, if I was going to pay you and your brother, the same for you Troppo..the same for feed for the animals…that was it, we were broke, with no place to go and no chance anymore of making a decent living with what we got…as the Mayor also said about the kiddies coming to see a circus..: “They’re more interested in ‘Super Mario Brothers’ on Nintendo, than the Dangling Bro’s on the oval…”…and that is the ghastly reality that has defeated our old world…one word…; “Internet”…”
The bare truth of what Kevin spoke was grudgingly accepted by the little troupe…indeed, several members had already experienced strange behaviour from the younger kids toward themselves…some children had run screeching in fear from Troppo the clown yelling ; “It, It, It!” and “Pennywise the Clown!” when running away… Rex recounted an episode when a teenage boy attempted to trip him as he walked along with the full regalia of his one-man-band get-up, sending him stumbling forward so the instruments connected to the cords tied to his ankles did a sudden, quickening “bam, bam, bam, of the drum, clash, clash, clash of the cymbals and tambourine with the quickened barking, wharp, wharp, wharp of the car-horn as he stumbled forward sending the teens into riotous laughter…Yes…all in all, the troupe were aware of the loss of any respect their impromptu performances had on these modern youths.
So when Kevin delivered this fatal blow on any hope for a future in the world of circus performance, the troupe just sat in fateful silence, collecting their thoughts and planning for the immediate future.
Kevin said he would stay in the district until he had finalised the sale of the chattels of the circus, then himself and Beverly would go up-country to a large regional town to work with his brother. Rex thought he had a good chance of joining the travelling country music troupe coming to the Mayor’s fete, and would keep touring with them, Kevin offered to take the Indian Brothers to the nearest railway station so they could “disappear” into Sydney, which is where Troppo though he could best still sell his trade as a clown..
After Kevin tells his reassuring end to the venture, the little group settles down, accepting of their destiny in anxious silence..in this hiatus of silence, the baby stirred in the bassinette..Beverly goes on her knees to attend the baby in its cradle, she pulls the blanket up over her head like a shawl. The two Indian roustabouts lean over toward the cradle, while Troppo the clown behind then supports himself with one hand on each of the brother’s shoulders as he too gazes down at the infant..Kevin has taken off his top-hat and kneels on one knee beside Beverly in case she needs a hand..
“ Oh dear, all our talking has woken him up…someone sing a lullaby to put him back to sleep..” She looks around at the men standing there..
“You sing, Bev’” Troppo says.
“Me!…I’d just make him more upset with my gravelly voice..”
“I know a Hindi lullaby “..says Ishaan…and he starts singing ..
“What’s that!?”…snorts Kevin…”How do you expect the little tacker to understand Hindi!?….here, you, Rex…you’re the musician, you’ve been quiet, how about you strike up a number..?”
The group crowded around the child in the cradle go quiet in expectation, even the few animals in their pens, the llama and the donkey with their heads leaning over the rails, have crowded near to see what is the excitement…the entire scene with the flame-light, Beverly and Kevin as Mary and Joseph leaning over the cradle and child, the Indian Brothers with their turbans and Troppo the Clown behind becoming the Three Wise Men, the hay as in a stable, begins to morph into a facsimile of the Nativity scene. all goes quiet as Rex strums a cord on his guitar…
“I expect you all know this one…even you two Indians…..” and he starts to softly sing the old Elvis Presley standard…
“Love me tender, love me sweet, never let me go. You have made my life complete, and I love you so.
(All join in the chorus)
Love me tender, love me true, all my dreams fulfilled. For my darlin’ I love you, and I always will.
Love me tender, love me long, take me to your heart. For it’s there that I belong, and we’ll never part.
Love me tender, love me true, all my dreams fulfilled. For my darlin’ I love you, and I always will.
Love me tender, love me dear, tell me you are mine. I’ll be yours through all the years, till the end of time.
Love me tender, love me true, all my dreams fulfilled. For my darlin’ I love you, and I always will.”
What we are witnessing is more than the end of an era, it is the death of the remnants of the baby-boomer social revolution!
It feels to me like some androgenous droog armed with a high-pressure fire hose has blown away all the sentiment of what was a very colourful and vibrant period of our history, to replace it with the banal political correctness of a failed economic rationalism doomed to make the average citizen just so much poorer and so much more dependent on the miserly handouts of the ruling middle-class now in control of everything!
You go to any news outlet and it’s either sport or political economics…particularly in these times, when the president of the United States farts and the world stock markets go into a tailspin!…billions, it seems, hang onto the word..ANY WORD..of the president..Housing is either unaffordable or non-existant..what happened to “build it yourself”? open up land to buy and let people build their own…that’s what we did…it’s what our Parents did and their parents before them..particularly here in Australia.
Back in the 1970s I helped quite a few owner-builders with the framework of their projects of home building..I say; “Home”, because that is what they were building…not a speculative investment to be flogged off at the best opportunity, a home to have and raise a family in!..Now all I hear is fear from any younger people who DO have a house is that they are too wary of going into a relationship in case after separation or divorce they lose their property…and it is true!..and as for children…FORGET THAT!…they are a cost factor these days, a commodity negotiated on affordability, not a cause for celebration…
God help us all……but there..He hasn’t done much in that quarter in the past, so why would we expect better now.
But no bullshit…it’s gotten so bad, it takes over half a pension payment just to put food and necessities on the table..and if you are one of the unfortunate ones to be renting. . . ?..Solutions?…I don’t think we can get that little wanker Milton Friedman economic rationalist genie back into the bottle, but I would like to see revived all those govt’ owned, not-for-profit utilities, like the electricity board, the water and sewerage, housing commission, telecommunications, transport, health etc…all those govt’ supported institutions that trained and employed apprentices and nurses that formed a solid, home-grown expertise pool that the nation could draw upon for all branches of construction and engineering…not to mention that most important section of national security, health and nursing….
We have been betrayed by a ship of cunning fools who have sold off the family silver for a pocketful of beans!…many may not like what I will say, but I am saying it and you should give it a bit of serious thinking, especially if you are one of the many trying to get by with insecure jobs or unemployed and on the receiving end of rapacious banking mortgages and charges…I say the only modern leader who “dealt” successfully with this scoundrelous upper middle-class was Chairman Mao TseTung…we need our own style of cultural revolution to rid us of their trashing philosophies.
freef'all852 
