120trouble

Cirque du Soleil, TOTEM, a fascinating journey into the evolution of mankind, costume design by Kym Barrett. Images courtesy OSA Images, 2010 Cirque du Soleil. MELBOURNE, Flemington Racecourse (VIC), until 29 March 2015 | BRISBANE, Under the Big Top at the Northshore Hamilton (QLD), opens 10 April 2015 | ADELAIDE, The Plateau in Tampawardli (Park 24) (SA), opens 11 June 2015 | PERTH, Belmont Racecourse (WA), opens 31 July 2015 - cirquedusoleil.com/totem

DIS IS DE DISCLAIMER! The views and opinions expressed herein are not necessarily those of the publisher. To the best of our knowledge all details in this magazine were correct at the time of publication. The publisher does not accept responsibility for errors or omissions. All content in this publication is copyright and may not be reproduced in whole or in part in any form without prior permission of the publisher. Trouble is distributed online from the first of every month of publication but accepts no responsibility for any inconvenience or financial loss in the event of delays. Phew!

Issue 120 FEBRUARY 2015 trouble is an independent monthly mag for promotion of arts and culture Published by Trouble Magazine Pty Ltd. ISSN 1449-3926 CONTRIBUTORS Ive Sorocuk, Jim Kempner, Rajesh Punj, David Thrussell, Inga Walton, Ben Laycock, Darby Hudson, love.

Find our app at the AppStore follow us on issuu , twitter, subscribe at troublemag.com

READER ADVICE: Trouble magazine contains artistic content that may include nudity, adult concepts, coarse language, and the names, images or artworks of deceased Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander people. Treat Trouble intelligently, as you expect to be treated by others. Collect or dispose of thoughtfully.

COVER: James WELSBY, dance star and go go king, flies in from New York for Caravan Burlesque … Wilder West!, returning to The Substation, 1 Market Street, Newport (VIC), 5 – 14 February 2015 - thesubstation.org.au/

CONTENTS(02) CIRQUE DU SOLEIL: TOTEM Acrobatic Evolution

(17) COMICS FACE Ive Sorocuk

(22) THE END – ROCKY MOUNTAINS Ragnar Kjartansson

(24) THE MADNESS OF ART Jim Kempner

(26) LEO SAYER: RESTLESS Inga Walton

(36) GLEN CLARKE: A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE Rajesh Punj

(40) FEBRUARY SALON Foggin Fantastic

(46) CYCLOPS Darby Hudson

(47) THE DAY EVERYONE TOLD THE TRUTH David Thrussell

(52) GREETINGS FROM BEYOND THE PALE Ben Laycock

Arcadia— sound of the sea

geelonggallery.org.au

until 22 February

John WitzigBells steps (detail) c. 1975pigment printCollection of the artistReproduced courtesy of the artist

Geelong GalleryLittle Malop Street Geelong VIC 3220 T +61 3 5229 3645

Free entry

Open daily 10am – 5pm Drop-in tours of the permanent collection Saturday at 2pm

For future bookings, general information, technical specifications and status updates please visit our website: www.ulumbarratheatre.com.au

Email ulumbarra@bendigo.vic.gov.au Phone 03 5434 6006

Key features include:• Largest dedicated auditorium in Central Victoria• 960 seat theatre• Professional team on site• Generous foyers linking to tranquil outdoor spaces• Suitable for performance, expos and conferences

Taking Centre Stage in BendigoLaunching 2015

03 5472 4376

we’re all about the earCOMMUNITY RADIO FOR CASTLEMAINE AND BEYOND

03 5472 4376www.mainfm.netwww.mainfm.net

121 View StreetBendigo, VIC, 3550+61 3 5441 8724latrobe.edu.au/vacentre

La Trobe University Visual Arts Centre

121 View StreetBendigo, VIC, 3550+61 3 5441 8724latrobe.edu.au/vacentre

La Trobe University Visual Arts Centre

La Trobe University Visual Arts Centre 121 View Street, Bendigo, VIC, 3550T: 03 5441 8724 E: vac@latrobe.edu.au W: latrobe.edu.au/vac Gallery hours: Tue – Fri 10am-5pm. Weekends 12-5pm

Call for SubmissionsThe La Trobe University Visual Arts Centre2016 Exhibition Program

Contemporary artists and curators are invited to submit proposals to exhibit at the La Trobe University Visual Arts Centre in 2016

Visit the VAC website for application guidelines:www.latrobe.edu.au/vac

Deadline for applications is Sunday 3 May 2015

121 View StreetBendigo, VIC, 3550+61 3 5441 8724latrobe.edu.au/vacentre

La Trobe University Visual Arts Centre

121 View StreetBendigo, VIC, 3550+61 3 5441 8724latrobe.edu.au/vacentre

La Trobe University Visual Arts Centre

La Trobe University Visual Arts Centre 121 View Street, Bendigo, VIC, 3550T: 03 5441 8724 E: vac@latrobe.edu.au W: latrobe.edu.au/vac Gallery hours: Tue – Fri 10am-5pm. Weekends 12-5pm

Call for SubmissionsThe La Trobe University Visual Arts Centre2016 Exhibition Program

Contemporary artists and curators are invited to submit proposals to exhibit at the La Trobe University Visual Arts Centre in 2016

Visit the VAC website for application guidelines:www.latrobe.edu.au/vac

Deadline for applications is Sunday 3 May 2015

Ragnar KJARTANSSON, The End – Rocky Mountains, five-channel music and video installation. Part of the Perth International Arts Festival, in partnership with Fremantle Arts Centre (WA), 14 February – 6 April 2015. Kjartansson will be visiting Australia for the first time to give a special live performance at the exhibition opening at Fremantle Arts Centre on Friday 13 February 6:30pm - fac.org.au

visit: themadnessofart.com/

Season 4, Episode 2:Tenth Avenue and the Hudson

Jim reassures Dru about the impending hurricane.

art comedy series

http://themadnessofart.com/

LEO SAYER

RESTLESSINTERVIEW

by Inga Walton

4

THE ROAD TO GLOBAL POP MUSIC STARDOM rarely runs smooth, as evidenced by the countless scandals, addictions, melt-downs and bizarre behaviour, court appearances and career train-wrecks gleefully chronicled by the media, often as vicarious public spectacles of collective schadenfreude.

So it comes as no surprise that Gerard Hugh ‘Leo’ Sayer has weathered his own fair share of set-backs in a dynamic and enduring career spanning four decades, twenty albums, and some fifty million in worldwide sales. Unlike numerous of his peers who succumbed to the twin demons of drug and alcohol abuse, Sayer’s demons turned out to be the two managers who swindled him.

“It’s just made me stronger, a little bit more careful, and more focussed on what I really do best. Also I’m definitely more determined. And ... anyhow, everybody in this business – particularly the big guys – has been ripped off somewhere along the line, so I’m in pretty good company!” Sayer says mischievously.

“For sure, there were some very low points, but because my big rip-offs happened later on in my career, I still always had lots of work to do. I was established, so my work went on. I guess I just worked, and worked a lot harder.”

Reflecting on his career resurgence, Sayer admits, “I had to do some pretty awful shows to pay the bills, but that kept me sane and centred. And I gradually dragged myself back up the ladder. It’s something I’m quite proud of ... Now, whenever people call me ‘a legend’, I think it’s my survival against the odds that makes me worthy of the title.”

Though Sayer seems to have made peace with the peaks and troughs of his life, the process represented a profound challenge to his outlook. “Yes, and isn’t that a good thing to have to do? I took stock. I went right back to the songs I’d written, songs of an earlier struggle, a desire for attention, a striving to mark myself out, to find a place in this new world that I knew nothing about at the time,” he confides. “I had to be faithful to those words, those stories, those songs. They were my mantra, so I went back to the places in my mind that forced out those words, and lived and visited them once again. Now I absolutely AM those songs. They are my philosophy. They probably always were, but now we are conjoined through a second experience, one that echoes the first in its journey, and another even greater struggle.”

photo: Kristian Dowling

4Restless: Leo Sayer / Inga Walton

These days it’s difficult to upset Sayer’s sanguine perspective, “I like to think I’ve been severely tested, but it’s all for the good. I’m stronger and even more convinced of the eventual inevitability, reality and ownership of my struggle.”

The native of Shoreham-by-Sea, West Sussex, began honing his distinctive voice as a child in the church choir. Sayer’s enviable vocal range and ringing falsetto is still in top condition, “I’m very proudly self-trained. If you can’t do it for yourself, don’t do it, I’d say. This is for rock and pop of course. In theatre, opera or classical it has to be different. I just think my business should only be populated by those who have some kind of natural talent, that’s all. We’d still have a highly subscribed music business ...” he believes.

Sayer’s ill-fated appearance in the controversial fifth series of the UK’s Celebrity Big Brother in 2007 has no doubt informed his opinion about the exploitative nature of most so-called ‘reality’ shows. “I have no time for ‘Fame’ schools or ‘Idol’. They create mediocrity as far as I’m concerned. I think it’s manipulative, heartbreakingly pathetic rubbish,” he contends. “I mean all that fuss with Susan Boyle [on Britain’s Got Talent] just to disprove that good looking Beyoncé-type people aren’t the only people who can sing. We already knew that!”

It’s remarkable to consider that Sayer’s own creative path was heading in a different direction altogether, “Oh, I wanted to be an artist, a painter. Music wasn’t important. I just drew and painted all day long in those days. It was all I did. I was a dyslexic kid, middle child, who took refuge in art. The art class in my secondary school became my haven of peace, one place where I wasn’t bullied by my classmates. I painted over the walls, my desk, paper, board, anything,” Sayer remembers. “I left school and went to art school. My very ‘straight’ parents, terrified that I would become a ‘Bohemian’, insisted I went into a graphic design class.”

Inevitably, Sayer’s restless spirit would not be repressed, “I was a bit of a rebel, spending most of my college time with the ‘Fine Artists’, and got ejected after completing only two years of a three year course. There was great revenge, however, when I got a job at a design studio within two weeks.”

If Sayer still sounds a little nostalgic about devoting his time to a different type of pen-and-paper, he still draws. “Most of my creative brain is tuned to think musically these days. I’m not patient enough with the graphic arts anymore, which is silly because I still have a keen visual eye. Amazing to think that up to the age of twenty-two, to draw and paint was all I could do”.

4Restless: Leo Sayer / Inga Walton

Sayer won the Grammy Award for the ‘Best Rhythm & Blues Song’ (1977) for ‘You Make Me Feel Like Dancing’, also his first US #1 single. “I was up for two awards, also Record of the Year. My plane from the UK got me in late, so I missed the first award, which was for the Grammy [we won]. Co-writer Vini Poncia picked that up. I was so jet-lagged, but it was a lovely day.” As is so often the case in Sayer’s industry, the aftermath was somewhat less photo-worthy. “It [the award] is broken, and they [the Recording Academy] want to charge me US$750 to get it fixed!”

In 2005, Sayer moved to Sydney, and became a citizen on Australia Day 2009. “I’ve always been inspired when in Australia. As a matter of fact, some of my best songs were written while here. A lot of it is the ‘living in exile’ thing, but funnily enough I’m not yearning to be anywhere else these days. I’ve finally come home”.

Sayer’s work has traversed pop, rock, dance, remixing and performances with an orchestra, “It’s how you evolve as a person, how you ‘meld’ with the times, and how ‘relevant’ you are to the person you’ve now become. If you are a switched-on, curious person, you’ll always be going forward”, he reflects. “I think songwriters take their songs with them, so you’ll always be open to re-inventing your own work, and often that of your contemporaries”.

It is the craft of song-writing that Sayer still finds the most rewarding, “Whenever I’ve created a good song, I feel good. Those are the greatest moments. I’m not one for focussing on the adulation, it’s just unimportant for me. I love the raw construction of the work, creating something from nothing, that’s what drives me”.

With national tour dates scheduled to promote his new album, what motivates Sayer to continue being a ‘one man band’? “Just keeping the music honest, and seeing my intuition (which is all I can trust) occasionally coming good. That makes drawing a few blanks to get there all worth it for me!” he explains. “It must help that I love my life and my job, and in that I know I’m very fortunate, as so many people out there are unhappy with their destiny ... I never make plans, and don’t have any goals. I’m sixty-five, for Crissake!” Sayer laughs.

LEO SAYER’s latest album, Restless Years, was released on Robert Rigby’s Fanfare label in January 2015. The album was produced by Leo Sayer with ARIA Award winning Engineer, Mitch Cairns (who previously produced the top selling ARIA Award winning album by Russell Morris Sharkmouth). The album was recorded at Little Red Jet Studios in Melbourne and mixed by the legendary John Hudson of London’s Mayfield studios who, like Leo, now calls Australia home. All of the music on the new album was written by Sayer along with Albert Hammond on four songs and Frank Farrell on one. Playing on the album are Johnny Salerno (drums), Mitch Cairns (bass), Bill Risby (keyboards), Danny Spencer (guitars), Mark Kennedy (percussion), Ross Irwin (trumpet and flugelhorn), Paul Williamson (saxophones), Keiran Conrau (trombone), and Natasha Stuart, Vika Bull and Linda Bull on backing vocals. - leosayer.com

This article originally appeared as One Man Band : Leo Sayer, in Trouble October 2009

Inga Walton is a writer and arts consultant based in Melbourne who contributes to numerous Australian and international publications. She has submitted copy, of an increasingly verbose nature, to Trouble since 2008. She is under the impression that readers are not morons with a short attention span, and would like to know lots of things.

http://www.troublemag.com/%E6%BD%AE%E6%B3%A2-little-trouble-in-big-china/

Reproduced with the permission of the Sidney Nolan Trust / Bridgeman Images

CATALOGUE ESSAY

GlenClarke

Rajesh Punj

A history ofviolence

There is an impressive complexity of paper and pattern that constitutes the work of Australian artist Glen Clarke. A heady cocktail of politics, economics and aesthetics are neatly folded into each of the origami styled cannon of his works in order to create these symmetrical configurations of banknotes and thread that, when pinned together, layer upon layer, note upon note, become the intricate detail for a much larger mosaic styled image, which, from a measured distance, proves utterly compelling. When given to examining Clarke’s works with a forensic eye, they read like the DNA for a coded reality of a greater set of truths that are as destabilising as they might well appear decorative.

< Glen CLARKE, Bomb Boy, 2008, US folded bank notes, cotton and foam board, 150 x 100 x 30 cm.

4

For Clarke detail is as much about the universe as it is the anatomical elements holding all things together, which he explains as a calculated appraisal of the “spaces once occupied” by material form. “I was trying to determine and promote an awareness of our own physical relationship to other objects in space. I need to know how one relates to other objects physically.”

As he positively attempts “to understand the relationship between objects. It soon became evident that in a three-dimensional world, the positive form of an object was no longer important, but of greater significance was our relationship to other objects, or more importantly, the space between objects.” And of how such architectonic details can be unsettled entirely by the intervention of the actions of wars, permitting the devastation and damage of landscapes under occupation. Where we might all concentrate entirely on the actions of the populous as they seek to defend themselves from the bombardment of battle, Clarke as ethnographer draws attention to how such devastation can transform the solemnity and silence of a landscape beyond repair.

Interested in a lunar landscape of man-made ‘voids’, ‘craters’ and ‘explosions’ that have been fashioned by internal and external wars historically, Clarke is absorbed by how such critical conditions come to alter space entirely. Domestic, social, or political, space is the favoured currency of conflict in which countries create their own refugees, and a growing state of unease allows for a temporary infrastructure that serves to promote one set of ideas over another. Thus such a history of violence, regional and international, constitutes an archive of misshapen memories that alters the lives of the living. And for Clarke one of the major fallouts of regional wars are the discarded shells that settle uneasily into the earth, and can overtime disappear into the landscape like a mechanised disease set to eradicate larger numbers of humanity. These UXO’s or ‘unexploded ordnance’ mark a historical period for Clarke in the Indochina region, where Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam are stitched together as countries riddled by unrest and ravaged by war.

Unearthing the minutest of details, which act as the catalyst for Clarke’s work, he sees such mechanised devices – unexploded and in a state of rest – as the trigger for a series of life changing ‘big bangs’ that go onto affect thousands upon thousands of individual atoms and atmospheres thereafter. And for Clarke damage is as enduring as love. “Within an Australian context these simple elements act as metaphors for human entities, personal lives, and the greater cosmos ... as this research investigates the molecular structure of things.”

4Glenn Clarke: A History of Violence / Rajesh Punj

Significantly for Venice, Clarke envisages introducing a work born of Project Renew that he has been actively involved with since 2000. Based in Vietnam, Project Renew is dedicated entirely to educating the populous of ‘mine risk awareness’, and of the consequences of the ignorance of living with such explosives for many years thereafter. As new generations seek to cultivate and culture the unsettled landscape for their own purposes, Project Renew alerts them of the danger of coming into direct contact with wreckage from historical conflicts. For Clarke the collateral creativity of his new works for Venice are an emotional reflection of his “distain for cluster bombs”, and the media’s “lack of interest in a conflict not determined by an interest in oil”.

Artist as humanitarian, Clarke intends to draw attention to the impossible politics of conflict and its repercussions upon the lives of the individual. Furnished by a critical swell of positive statistics, Clarke confirms his dogged determination for much more. “I will continue to work with Project Renew and MAG in assisting and encouraging awareness throughout these remote regions in an attempt to improve or save the lives of children, and, just as importantly, bringing about exposure in venues in the West such as this forum in Venice at Palazzo Mora.”

For Venice Clarke talks entirely of the space, negotiating everything in terms of his forensic interest in the situation and circumstances that have allowed him to transpose a critical and well researched work onto the biennale stage.

Rajesh Punj, December 2014

Glen Clarke will appear in Personal Structures (Director Okwui Enwezor), Palazzo Mora, Global Art Affairs Foundation, the 56th Venice Biennale, 9 May – 22 November 2015 - palazzomora.org

Glen Clarke is represented by Gaffer Ltd. Hong Kong - gaffer.com

2.

1.

PREVIOUS SPREAD: 1. Gosia WLODARCZAK, A Room Without A View 2013, an installation outcome of the17-day drawing performance at the RMIT Gallery, Melbourne, pigment marker on board, dimensions of the room: 260 x 340 x 220 cm. Photo: Longin Sarnecki. Courtesy the artist, RMIT Gallery and Fehily Contemporary, Melbourne. Gosia Wlodarczak: Found In Translation, TarraWarra Museum of Art, 311 Healesville-Yarra Glen Road, Healesville (VIC), until 15 March 2015 - twma.com.au 2. Kristin MCIVER, Thought Piece (What’s Going On) 2012, neon, steel, concrete, motion sensors, vinyl, neurons, electrical impulses. Image courtesy of the artist and James Makin Gallery, Melbourne and Liverpool Street Gallery, Sydney. Synthetica is a BLINDSIDE and NETS Victoria touring exhibition that will travel around Australia in 2015-16. This project has been assisted by Arts Victoria through the Touring Victoria program. TOUR DATES: Wangaratta Art Gallery 7 February – 15 March, Swan Hill Regional Art Gallery 20 March – 3 May, Counihan Gallery 15 May – 7 June, Latrobe Regional Gallery 12 September – 15 November 2015, Wagga Wagga Art Gallery 16 January – 13 March 2016 - http://netsvictoria.org.au/synthetica/

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february salon

THIS SPREAD: 3. Jonathan CROWTHER, Stretch Marks 2013, oil on canvas, 130cm x 130cm. Lethbridge Gallery, 136 Latrobe Terrace Bribane (QLD), 23 February – 7 March - brettlethbridge.com/ 4. Julie RRAP, Overstepping 2001, digital print. Museum of Contemporary Art, gift of Andrew and Cathy Cameron, 2008. Remain in Light: Photography from the MCA Collections, Exhibition organised and toured by the Museum of Contemporary Art, Sydney, Bendigo Art Gallery, View Street Bendigo (VIC), 21 February – 19 April 2015 - bendigoartgallery.com.au NEXT SPREAD: Rew HANKS, We don’t have to 2002, linocut; artist’s proof. Collection: Geelong Gallery. Geelong print prize, 2003. ‘Permanent collection’, Geelong Gallery, Little Malop Street Geelong (VIC), until 5 July 2015 - geelonggallery.org.au RIGHT Unknown photographer, David, Edward and Albert Hocking 1916, gelatin silver print. Collection Ted and Pat Hocking. Bendigo enlists: the First World War 1914–18, Post Office Gallery, View Street Bendigo (VIC), 11 December 2014 – 21 June 2015 - bendigoartgallery.com.au

4.

I’M NOT A SCIENTIST OR ANYTHING. I have no explanations for what happened. You could be tempted to call it the start of another average day. Sun rises. Birds chirp. Various people wake and prepare to go to work. I make breakfast and then my wife gets ready to leave. She leans over to give me a kiss and ... out it comes.

“It’s not that I dislike you,” I blurted. “Not at all. It’s just that I’m ... ambivalent.

“I assume there must have been some spark of passion way back some time, but I don’t feel a damn thing now. You just feel like a fairly intimate lodger. A decent lodger, I’ve no particular grievance to air. I just feel nothing.”

Well ... she just looks embarrassed for a moment, then casts an almost sympathetic eye over me. “Fair enough then”, she says in a neutral voice, and shuffles out the door.

I must admit I felt a bit odd.

Not that I’d really done anything wrong, but I was a touch bewildered by what had just come tumbling out of my mouth. In a dazed autopilot I fussed about the house a bit.

Turning on the radio, the git on there sounded more like he was in the confessional than on the mic. He warbled on about how he’d been up since sparrows fart, and didn’t know if he could be arsed with it all. Said he was suspicious we were all complete twats anyway and then the radio went dead like he’d just up and wandered off.

It was getting toward the time when I would normally head off to work, and the strangest thought crossed my mind. Why should I bother?

I mean really, what was the point of it? Generating endless amounts of meaningless paperwork while following arcane bureaucratic procedure. Yet I was in an entirely amiable frame of mind, so I set off toward the office to tell them of my decision. You know, no hard feelings and all that, but I wasn’t going to be coming back.

A short while later I arrived to see a group of my former workmates standing about. We got to talking and there was pretty much universal agreement. This workplace was, like many others we suspected, just a kindergarten for adults. Keep us off the streets, keep a little cash flowing in, but really just a holding pen to make sure we didn’t accidentally do something a bit more meaningful.

The boss even chipped in, saying he was kind of sorry for being an arsehead, but that his sex life was a disaster. He also resented playing father to such a dull bunch, and admitted that he often had this terrible empty feeling deep inside, a bit like what he imagined death might be like.

4The Day Everyone Told the Truth / David Thrussell

4 4

A couple of the group patted him on the back and said that they understood about the empty feeling, and that he really shouldn’t worry about it.

The boss said he felt a little better already and that if people really needed the money he hoped they could find something more satisfying to do.

All in all it went quite well. A circle gathered to discuss things further, but I excused myself because I had remembered that I planned to pay some bills.

I sat down and rang the electricity company, spoke to a very nice woman on the other end of the phone and said I wouldn’t be paying my electric bill anymore. It just didn’t feel right.

The lady was very friendly. She agreed that it was downright odd to have to pay companies for services that our taxes had already paid for many times over.

I asked if she thought it was some kind of plot, working all week long and only really having enough money left over to pay your bills and the rest of it, and then starting almost from scratch again the following week?

She said most likely it was some kind of plot, and she would be happy to suspend my payments until further notice.

I replied that that really was most kind. “Don’t mention it,” she said. She had done much the same thing for almost everyone who had called that day.

That afternoon at 12.21pm the Prime Minister got up in parliament and said, “Look enough’s enough ... who do we think we’re kidding?”

He, for one, was sick of being a shill for a bunch of fat billionaires, and if Rupert and Gina still wanted to run the country they could bloody well come down here and do the boring stuff themselves.

The right honourables cheered and ‘ear, ‘eared.

One member stepped forward and asked if it would be alright if he left immediately to shag his secretary, adding incidentally that hanging about in this stuffy chamber with a bunch of suits gave him blue balls. The Prime Minister nodded sagely and noted that he too was keen to blow his wad inside his mistress.

There was much appreciative laughter and the gathering broke up quickly.

At 1.46pm the general manager of the highest rating television station got on the air and said he’d pretty much had enough too. He looked quite sombre for a moment, and mentioned that the owner was a nasty piece of work and that if we had heard the stories he’d heard ... well ... you got the idea. Anyrate, in a few moments he was going to stop broadcasting altogether, and we really should do something else with our lives. Have a conversation, a talk, a walk, whatever. That

The Day Everyone Told the Truth / David Thrussell

was up to us. For his end of the bargain he would stop pumping raw sewage into our living-rooms.

At that, his image shrank to a tiny dot and then vanished like the end of some old-time cartoon.

A little while later the wife came home. She said in the end she hadn’t bothered going to work, and instead spent most of the day trying to get laid but, all things considered, the pickings were fairly slim and she’d given up for the time being.

I said I understood and that I really hoped I hadn’t put her nose out of joint with what I’d said this morning. It was true enough, but she was welcome to stay around as I didn’t have anything against her really, apart from the odd idiosyncrasy.

Later that evening clusters of conversation formed in the street. Various people came forward offering points of interest and the talk ranged widely and broadly. I proffered the opinion that I’d probably behaved like a right bastard toward some of my neighbours, but that I had never considered that they might indeed be human beings themselves with their own set of emotional responses and strata of unique abilities. The portly gentleman from two doors down chuckled at what he called my “new-found verbosity” and admitted that he had thought much the same of me.

Though the banter was engaging after some time I excused myself, saying that an early night was probably in order. It had been a long day.

And tomorrow there was much to be done.

The Day Everyone Told the Truth / David Thrussell 4

David Thrussell is a poet trapped in the body of a hillbilly. Or a hopeless romantic hidden in the twisted frame of a dark electronic musician. Late at night, Thrussell fantasises that he actually lives next door to Hieronymous Bosch in Medieval Europe, and has hallucinated the whole dreadful modern era while suffering from acute ergot poisoning. We are not entirely convinced that this is not the case. - worldwentdown.com/imcc/

Aleta WELLING, Portrait of David Thrussell 2006, oil on canvas, 26” x 34”.

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GREETINGS FROM BEYOND THE PALE

Ben Laycock

PART 5 – A DEATH IN THE FAMILY

I am still at Nyiripi, way out in the Western Desert. Paul and Clair are the ‘gudia’ (whitefellas) that run the place. The Walpiri reckon gudia are like Toyotas. They go really well to start with, but after a while they burn out and break down and you have to order a new one. But Paul and Clair are showing remarkable resilience.

The art project is going gangbusters. Putting traditional stories on canvas has been a masterstroke, elevating aboriginal art from the dusty realms of the museum to the forefront of the international art market. It is now holding its own with the very latest contemporary abstract art. Many a local talent has been plucked from her hand to mouth existence and sky rocketed to instant fame.

One such fellow, Michael Jacamara Nelson no less, limped into Nyripi one fine day with his arm in a sling and his tail between his legs. He had just sold a painting for $50,000, so of course he went straight out and bought a brand spanking new Toyota, as you would. But alas, on the long and winding road back home to Nyiripi he managed to roll it over and over and over ‘til it came to resemble a scrunched up ball of paper. Michael had emerged from the wreck miraculously unscathed, with no more than a broken arm and his pride in tatters.

Ah well, easy come, easy go.

Another day an old fella came knocking at the door, and though she loved him dearly, Clare didn’t want to see him at that moment, so we kept ‘mum’. He shuffled off, only to return soon after and knock more persistently. We kept quiet ‘til he said, “Miss Clair, I know you’re in there.”

Clair opens the door and says, “How did you know, Jumpajimpa?”

“Well Miss Clair, I follow your footprint. You go to shop, you come back. You go to clothesline, you come back. Then you no go any place.”

Old Jumpajimpa knew the mark of every foot in the whole community. The impression you make on your mother country is your identity (just like our credit rating is for us). We think of the desert as an inhospitable place, but if you live by tracking game it is the ideal environment.

Greetings From / Ben Laycock 4

< BoreTrack by Kdliss - Own work.Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Ben Laycock grew up in the country on the outskirts of Melbourne, surrounded by bush. He began drawing the natural world around him from a very early age. He has travelled extensively throughout Australia, seeking to capture the essence of this vast empty land. In between journeys he lives in a hand-made house in the bush at Barkers Creek in central Victoria - benlaycock.com.au

Not long after, old Jumpajimpa died. He was well over fifty so his time was up. You should have seen the palaver that ensued; the screeching, the howling, the hysteria. Death was not a word to be whispered behind closed doors. Solemnity and decorum were not in order. His wives sat slumped in the dust, wailing and crying and moaning and cutting their scalps in a demented frenzy. The blood flowed freely down their bodies and soaked into the sand.

This went on all day and all night. After a week of the most incessant mourning Jumpajimpa’s few worldly possessions were ceremoniously burnt, and his whole family left their house never to return. To this day it remains empty and forlorn, abandoned to the four winds.

Every place old Jumpajimpa frequented was cleansed of his spirit with a smoking branch of eucalyptus. All footprints were swept away. Every trace of his existence was wiped from the face of the earth, and from that day on his name was never uttered under pain of death.

> Tony ALBERT, No place warrior 2009, watercolour on paper, 76 x 57 cm. State Art Collection, Art Gallery of Western Australia. Purchased through the TomorrowFund, Art Gallery of Western Australia Foundation, 2010 - artgallery.wa.gov.au