Eastern Suburbs Art Group

On the night (Sunday past) I had to go home to eat having brought the photographer from his home, but by all accounts the perofmrnace went well. After it was over I was outside when the guests left the theatre. They looked like they were out for a nice evening. We'll be having a follow-up meeting this Friday to discuss the event and to plan for the future. The forst photo above shows the actors on stage. The second photo shows the audience members sketching. 

A very Sydney difference, the variety encompassing WestWords at Parramatta and Petersham Bowlo. To get to the former a quick trip under the inner suburbs, then emerging in the air around Homebush. To get to the latter a struggle in heavy inner city traffic. They are at different distances from the centre but it takes about the same amount of time to get to both by car. The difference is the massive Westconnex tunnel system, a huge spider of motorway under expensive real estate.  I read two poems at WestWords last night, poems I had been planning to read at Petersham Bowlo the week prior. What stopped me the first time was the stuffy interior of the pub basement. WestWords is a dedicated spacious building just for poetry. An interesting night with some works better than others, the earlier ones better the later ones not so much. There was also classical music (Bach recorder). I didn't check how much the trip cost on the motorway app. Why would I and spoil a nice evening.

Some weeks ago I went down to this gallery to see the spring show. I don't remember exactly when but I think it was two weekends ago. For some reason a different Kate with the same glasses as the usual Kate was in the back room doing something. Show comprised works by recent National Art School graduates. I liked the paintings by Janine Matthews. I seem to recall that all of her works were sold. I might be wrong.

Hot baths are a fact of life in Japan and public baths are commonplace. "Sento" means bathhouse but in Italian it means "I feel" so there is a hybrid signification in the show's name. All of the paintings in the show depict bathhouses. I bought one. I had been to a show of Harnett's work before and at that time the works were small and sort of flat-surfaced. In xthe new show the paintings are bigger and more expansive. I went to the show with Virginia and it was cool outside the front door of the gallery, where we talked with other people. 

Natasha had a pair of paintings in this show so this afternoon I went.  It's a pleasant campus. Inside there were two hallways of works by people living with mental illness. I bought one painting, not the one in the picture below, by Neville Dawson. I didn't capture the name of the painting below, which is also good. I had a scone with jam, presumably to commemorate the king's visit, which wrapped up today. There was a talk, or rather a scripted oration type of thing. The person who did the oration was inspiring.

We have been at the booth for three days. My first time at this event, which is held annually in Darling Harbour. Coffee at the internal facilities is not bad but you can also walk along toward Chinatown for a fuller menu. The event attracts a wide range of different providers, some with products others with services. Everything from mystics to chai tea, skin conditioner to water purifiers. And Sketch On Stage. Come along to see the show, it's free. My last day tomorrow. I have been there every day. Not necessarily for a full day each time, but it's been a tiring week. 

I ventured down to Surry Hills a week or so ago to catch the sort of retro street-poeterish works of Wendy Murray. I wasn't disappointed.  I didn't especially like the ones shown above but the technique has promise. Murray also makes works that are more figurative than advertorial. But again I asn't going to actually buy one of these. The ones that really caught my attention (see below) were more innovative in their admisture of words and imagery. There promises to be something good on at 50 Buckingham street next week.

These sparkly items on the walls were thin in signification, I really couldn't work out if it was a joke or if it was serious. Maybe I'm being overly censorious. Maybe it's me who is the problem. Me and my partners in art get to a lot of galleries over the course of a month but does that mean I'm topical? Should the word be some other. In a way it's a luxury to be out of date. You don't have to prove yourself anymore. Or maybe you have to prove yourself in more than one way. I hardly know it's after 4am and I have been talking with people in Europe and the US so yes, that should make me very much out of date. I think some of the people were in yeseterday.

After R Morecroft's attempts at depicting the natural world, the paintings at Arthouse Gallery were a relief. Though Morecroft's works have a slim allegiance to nature, Moss' works are highly funcitonal as renditions of a kind of admiration for what can be found in Australia. At the time I saw the paintings I was more concerned with the people in the room -- perhaps gallery openings are not really my "thing", though most people have no problems -- but looking at the reproductions now I think about whether they are particular to a place. Specificity is a quality of any work of art because it has an effect on memory. Ok, so here I am at the outset saying that I liked Moss' works more than R Morecroft's. But so what? It might be necessary for me to revisit the gallery at a different time, when there are fewer people present.

When I got to the gallery a friend had already left. Michael and I had a look at the canvases. Well, I had a look and Michael went off to get a glass of wine and talk to people.  A subdued sort of 70s palette, vaguely abstract-but-organic shapes. Some sort-of animals. I quite liked the works but I'm not sure I would invite one into  my house. Since Morecroft was a TV host there were lots of television types, so I did some celebrity spotting while staning in the room. I talked with a gallery crawl regular, Keith.

Inside some soft objects. Mounted on walls. Slung across bars of wood. Sitting on the floor like  an old dog. The sun was good, dripping tears in fairy lights. Blink blink blink. Not sure I'd want to have one of these in my home.