darkness, depths

(I'm posting over here now! www.thedistendseries.blogspot.com) 

I spent much of last week in Hobart, breathing in clean air and freezing in my socks.  One thing that was more refreshing than both of those experiences put together was my long-anticipated visit to MONA and its exhilarating presentation of artistic form.  Built into the cliffs of the Berriedale peninsula, the three-level building subverts the eye to carry visitors into the catacombs and depths of the collection.  Although perhaps one day destined to slide into the sea, almost bottomless staircases burrow deep into raw sandstone walls to quickly remind you of the strength of creation.

As the largest privately-funded museum in Australia MONA presents the private collection of David Walsh, and it's an impressive one at that.  Sublime curation of artworks means that the old and the new blend seamlessly and without a hint of displacement.  A lack of signage on artworks also encourages this alongside greater engagement with the works, as you're forced to look harder, look closer, and find a tangibility in your own mind - which is perhaps also aided by the iPod Touch hanging around your neck.

While MONA has been lauded for drawing visitors to Tasmania from all over the world, the outstanding execution of the collection lies in it's ability to employ artwork, architecture and new technologies to innovate the traditional museum experience.  It is nothing less than inspiring to visit a space which holds artwork but also manages to reshape and reform the standards of art viewing.  There were a number of times I paused to appreciate the freedom of interpretation that MONA embraces.  From the lack of signage on artworks, the welcoming of photography and use of technology, to simply being in a space which encourages noise, dialogue and altered lighting, I quickly recognised the impact of these freedoms on my visual experience.  The museum might have been criticised for a stunning existence which illuminates moral bankruptcy, or the decay of society through it's explicit and macabre pieces, but never have a left a gallery feeling as sated by creation as I did MONA.  And importantly, I am encouraged and inspired to keep creating myself.  

"And we kept silent. And still."

(I'm over here now! www.thedistendseries.blogspot.com)

The next six weeks are curated from the past six weeks.

 

SO MUCH TO TELL YOU

Guyz I got organisedz and now I'm moving.  I'm no longer posting here, I'm posting over here - www.thedistendseries.blogspot.com -  in a slight shuffle on the interwebs to the right.   This site will redirect you automatically there so fix your browsers and don't lose me!  I got wordz and tumblrz and even a twitter (so help me), so we can distend together.

x x

Postcards From Far Away

Like countless other Australian tourists, two couples escape to a world of colour, street vendors and full-moon parties fuelled by temptation and excess. One of them doesn't return home. Wish You Were Here explores the repercussions of such decadence as married couple Alice (Felicity Price, who also co-wrote the film with producer Kieran Darcy-Smith, her husband) and Dave (Joel Edgerton) return to Sydney with Alice's sister Steph (Teresa Palmer), but without her boyfriend Jeremy (Antony Starr).  The premise is simple enough, but a night of drug fuelled partying makes way for a slow-burning narrative wherein infidelity, betrayal, violence and secrets splits the seams of the lives of all involved. 

Just like Christos Tsiolkas’ The Slap, Wish You Were Here chronicles the aftermath of a single event without much backstory, the catalyst for progression being the response of the characters both individually and with each other. A swirling nonlinear storyline gives little glimpses into both the past and present, backtracking from that night in Cambodia to the weeks after in Sydney. This means that we barely get to become involved with the characters - Jeremy, for example, is treated with detached contempt simply because he is missing. Because of this, the actions and thoughts of the other characters remain, on the surface, mostly unreasoned for most of the film. The relationship between Alice and Dave becomes increasingly complex and intensified without hope as the film shifts to familial trauma, but again this allows the audience to build what it may from the events in Cambodia. There were moments I was frustrated by the lack of dialogue but as the characters slowly became unconcealed, alongside the narrative, the motives of Darcy-Smith became even clearer. This filmmaking is the kind that I love for its deeply considered actions that, in this case of a psychological drama, make the film even more enjoyable.   

The visually beautiful locations of Sydney and Cambodia are given the honest representations they deserve, without the point of excess. The lurk of danger behind the lushness of these locations, and the concealing of their polar opposites, is evoked in the simple shifts of light and soft, subtle camera work.  Stunning to the eye in the same way the characters have been attracted to these locations in the first place, we are reminded of the anxiety and dread created in these idylls. The beaches of South East Asia and indeed, the naturalism of a suburban waterfront home, are marred with foreboding and a slow-eating decay.
 
Fluid cinematography and well-handled editing dips you in and out of flashbacks that are sometimes sensible, sometimes extravagant. In a lot of ways I was reminded of Martha Marcy May Marlene, which I saw earlier this year - the stifled atmospheres, ambiguous narrative and the hypnosis of psychological drama. Although not as ethereal, Wish You Were Here hits closer to the heart purely due to its relatable characters, which are so obvious in mentality but are often not portrayed to deserving accuracy in film. 
 


Many of the reviews I read on this film were critical of the heavy use of structural manipulation and the awareness of information being withheld from the audience. While this is an unmissable trait of psychological drama I definitely don't think that the ending was ill handled or a let down. If anything, the logicality of the final sequence and the fact that I didn't think about it happening during the entire film highlights Darcy-Smith's impressive ability to bind and submerge the viewer. It is only when his hold is relinquished - at the end - that you resurface and realise the immensity of the film's depth.  
 


The emotional honesty of the characters is what made this film so enjoyable; to see seemingly perfect lives fracture is frequented in storytelling, however maintaining believable reasoning for such emotions is not.  This achieved, Wish You Were Here is genuinely involving and intense. 

transience, trembling

1 and 4 Tamara Lichtenstein

2 Joe Cooke

3 Joanna Galuszka

5 Lucie Crewdson

6 Evita Weed

Drops in oceans, winter's coming.

LOOK OVER HERE

for the thousands of people reading this little patch of the Internet I've decided to attempt to become an organised interwebs user and that means having something of a renovation...in cyberspace.  so before I get insanely popular to the point where I'm a celebrity blogger (just an inevitable fact really) I've decided to bring this blog into line with the other stuff I've left all over social media, partly because a. I need to become vaguely employable, and b. this was created in the midst of a classic arts student existential crisis which I feel is no longer relevant (...for now).

all you need to know is that my name has changed to fit my original tumblr (I'm in the process of trying to change my url without losing this content but my brain can't handle it) (my tumblr is to the right!) but it'll be the same useless mashed collection of insignificant rambles on my behalf, that's what a distend is.  if you're still confused give me a few weeks and then we'll both know what's going on.

x x

hear this, give your all for this matter is wondrous in worldly riches, living without dread when the body lieth in clay, I could do no more than I did truly

deep edits

In the past, Australians have largely been disregarded internationally in many creative industries, pushed aside for bigger and greater names.  But not for bigger ideas.  In fashion and design our time is now, as the next generation of creative types make their mark.  An ever-expanding influence, highly original ideas and experimentation in design are their trademark.  Carly Hunter is no exception.

Perth-born and Melbourne-based, Hunter’s designs reflect feelings of minimalism and an obsession with perfect symmetry.  Experimentation in cut, contrasts in texture and a clearly defined juxtaposition of strength and elegance see Hunter’s collections remain distinct, but consistently considered.  A graduate of the Western Australian School of Art Design and Media, Hunter’s collections have been shown at both the Perth and L’Oreal Melbourne Fashion Festivals.

Her signature silken drapes possess this geometric hold; while her pieces may appear somewhat simple in cut, Hunter’s designs hide strong shaping and a clear consideration of form.  A favoured use of silk also means her work complements what is underneath, with a sheerness that adds a powerful layer of depth to traditional anatomy.  This is what good fashion and design is all about: consideration of both the form, and the extension of, the individual.  

Hunter's relaxed designs sit at the vanguard of Australian fashion, distinct in their reflections of the human form and approach to geometric sophistication.  And lucky for us, her drapery and individuality is finally getting the attention it deserves. 

only slightly less

the jab in your side
stuck high in your rib
in and out
it's not enough 
we have no time
speaking in closed doors 
you could love
sitting in clouds of smoke 
when you're all alone
we made plans
promises made with aching veins
open eyes and empty minds
you're not anywhere
feel your lungs waiting
smaller and quieter
bones at my collar
holding nothing else inside
the space where we used to be
stuck between minds and reality
jump and fall
jump and fall

For a long time I didn't want to create anything because I was scared of looking back at it in the future and finding that the only way I could communicate my thoughts was forced or feeble or diluted by how much I could transfer from my mind to paper; of the muse I have lost I now see there is no intellect in how I feel or in my ability to explain it.  I want to know that I can hold my reality and every truth that I feel now will be mine forever

Hearts and Cigarettes

Photo Willy Ward

So I slept through most of April but one thing I did manage to do was to go see Chet Faker at The Toff in Town one Thursday night.  If you aren't already on the bandwagon or don't have the pleasure of experiencing Melbourne's perfect little music scene then I recommend you hop on now because this guy is quickly going places.

Also known formally as Nick Murphy, Faker possesses a definite strength in his voice and a tight live presence despite his young age.  Have a listen of a recording he did at 3RRR a few months ago and you'll see why.  Described as a bit dubstep, a bit electronica, a bit I-have-no-idea, his EP Thinking In Textures is exactly that: layered, considered and very clever.  Most of all, a desire to go about things on his own terms and to not be swept up in the hype (which more than often results in being dumped later) means that I'm definitely sure he'll be a growing force for a while.  I also work with a girl who is friends with him so perhaps I'll just leave uni and become a groupie.

Read this review that was in The Age (it was the first one I read and is still my favourite) because it captures it all perfectly.  He's also done a bit of acoustic work under the name Atlas Murphy (who I saw unintentionally live - the power of the pseudonym) which is pretty great too.

Embellished Insights

Taken from Style Bubble

On Friday afternoon I found myself in the world of the industry talk as Susie Lau, of Style Bubble, addressed an audience of interested writers, fashion followers and culture vultures about her experiences as a full-time fashion blogger.  She was nothing more than humble and insightful, and just like her blog, highly articulate. She was also wearing a sparkling forest-green tracksuit outfit...I respect her preference for comfort.

Lau's intelligent insights enhanced my interest in the relationship between the fashion industry and publishing, through the different perspective of an insider.  However, I was surprised to come away thinking more about Lau's role in the fashion and blogging ecosystems, because right now she's basically the queen bee.

Publicity regarding the event described Lau as 'fashion thought leader and internet icon'.  Her talks coincided with her front-row attendance at Mercedes-Benz Australian Fashion Week. How is it that by simply creating a blog and gathering readers a whole new world of travel and professionalism and influence is opened up to you?  Lau's blog was created as a hobby in the face of a boring day job, and didn't set out to achieve the status it has today.  Nor do I think she expected to become a voice of expertise for brands such as Prada and Dior.  This notion of authority today is blurred between the expert and the self-taught, the celebrity and (the former) non-entity.

There were plenty of times Lau alluded to things 'being easier' or 'more intimate' when she first started blogging in 2006.  A testament to how far social networking and the phenomenon of the blogger has come, perhaps, but again, this made me think of just how ungovernable the whole enterprise has become. It's not necessarily a bad thing, but just a symptom of accessibility. Lau even noted her endeavours to establish things 'offline', away from Style Bubble, as a means of creating a tangible existence off the screen - which I think is very clever and almost old-school in that strange way of remembering how to have a life off the internet, which I'm inclined to say everyone has forgotten.

The question and legitimacy of citizen journalism has become a recurrent theme throughout my media and communications degree. The view of it as a threat to the integrity of the industry I believe is valid, but at the same time any person, journalist or otherwise, who denounces the existence or influence of the blog is poorly blindsided.

None of these ideas are revolutionary. I think that perhaps as much as we don't know about where the future of the industry and technology is going, neither do we know why or how certain things or people become trends or celebrity. But like anything we need influential individuals and Lau, regardless of circumstance (or because of, depending how you see it) is astute, considered and like her nickname, just sparkles.

crushed veneer

Freunde von Freunden

From where I should be.

stream; three

When it had all finished and everything was closed and there were no words left, the time came when you realised that all this time spent in fear and worry was actually you alive and feeling and real, trying as hard as you could with everything you had, all that you had; and now the warmth in your heart that had encased you for all this time was lifting, the one that you thought would never leave was covered in bittersweet, returning to the place where you existed before all of this and you can’t even remember where it was but it was somewhere, and so all of it was falling out of your fingers and the washing, uncontrolled, around you ached and ached; but it wasn’t out of choice, this throbbing release, it was because the eagerness of it had melted away, and if only for a moment it felt like when the seasons changed this time last year, when the yearning and the hunger and the spark was slow and steady, but now it was different; and at once the fear and the worry was still there but it had changed, of knowing what wasn’t yours anymore and of the idea that used to be there, the one that you thought you finally understood but wasn’t allowed to consume you anymore, no matter how much you wanted it to stay and keep you safe; and now the freeze was real and it was true and it was nothing you’d ever felt before and your head was more clouded than ever, your limbs just longing for it to end but wanting to hold everything and keep time still.

Quiet intimacies

2 and 4 Sara Orme

3 and 5 Michael Longton

When the blind was lifted everything was illuminated, your bones were warm and it felt like those Autumn afternoons you spent alone staring into the dappled sun with wool around your ears as the wind smoothed all the lines on your face. But now it was different, it was still here but it was different and it was loose, the warmth was genuine and no matter how scared you were of it leaving it was taking over your insides with all it had, everything it had. And the wind had returned and it was raw, the promise of beginning again and the lines smoothed on your face.

---

I'm being eaten by essays and my research project and other writing and this has been waiting in the corner for my attention, bare with me.  I'm slowly finishing roles of film and drawing things in my mind and spending time with creative people in between and it's exciting and inspiring and I'm learning more and more all the time.  Sometimes it's quiet and it's solitary but it's a little bundle of new things and it's all good.

Lackluster escapes

1 Alice McCall

2 and 3 Bassike

4 Flannel

5 Kirrily Johnson

All photos Style Hunter

Runway Six on Wednesday night of the L'Oreal Melbourne Fashion Festival, sponsored by Madison, featured the likes of Alice McCall, Bassike, Flannel, Kirrily Johnston, Life With Bird, Lisa Ho and Morrison.  A somewhat modern selection of looks, the expected exuberance of evening pieces that so often smatter runway shows was overwhelming replaced by minimal daywear.  Despite the opportunity to exhibit elevated looks in the face of a national culture that is resoundingly casual, Runway Six was largely unexciting.

Alice McCall's trademark cut-out detailing was well out in force, and Lisa Ho presented the audience with printed, geometric alternatives to her legendary evening wear.  Both Flannel and Kirrily Johnston, while both possessing their own distinctive styles, merged into forgettable presentations. Although able to pinpoint what their customers want, neither exhibited the revolution or excitement often associated with the change of season or trends.

The stand out of the night however was Bassike's elevated interpretation of basics, which were simply understatedly polished and perfect in structure. Cropped pants and shaped blazers, separate and together, achieved a carefully considered look.  While the uneducated might argue the label goes against the experimental role of the industry all together, Bassike's achievement sits in their ability to reinterpret classics while still retaining their quintessential value.  

Colour-blocking's transition to the head saw models also play with two-tone ponytails, slicked back in a meticulous colour gradient which was distinctive and beautiful.

Perhaps curated to appeal to the everyday consumer in a challenging time for fashion retail, or simply reflecting the intent of designers in a minor misstep, Runway Six was underwhelming.  The allure of the industry and the quality of garments was still there, but the passion and the excitement was not.

stream; two

You don’t know what’s made you question it but it’s there and you’re real, sitting alone and silent as the train cracks towards its destination, your mind and its thoughts lost as quickly as you think you’ve finally captured it all; so it escapes and you can't hold it all because there’s too much to contemplate and you’re racing away within yourself, the scuffed floor filling with your secrets as they pour from your heart, the one that always questions its beat but still loops itself in you; something you can’t even understand but know, or maybe hope, that everyone else feels it at least once inside their breaths, of human emotion and sufficiency; of that time you spent sitting motionless with your head gently tilted towards the stars despite the company, and how when his eyelashes awakened the back of your neck it was all untouchable and you couldn’t stop any of it even if you wanted to, because you were real and you were there, as one, safe despite the day slowly fracturing it; and now you were here, divided, questioning it out of fear or sentiment or the looping thud or something, anything, to convince you that you’re all okay and it’s normal, you’re real, the train cracking down the line, tearing you apart with it.

February 2012.

when the water floods down

Three minutes of liquid suspension film, it's as simple and as complicated as that.  These are stills from the video for The Temper Trap's new song 'Rabbit Hole'; I'm not a huge fan of their music but this has been popping up everywhere I look over the past few days, and it's sublime. I've tried super hard to source the maker of the video but to no avail.  Something I've mentioned before; it's not specifically the context of auteurism but a considered approach to different art forms in the one entity.  That depth I think leaves something missing for the audience to deduce, something that perhaps might not even be there in the first place.  And I mean it just looks cool, amiright? 

stream; one

And when you’ve had enough you close your eyes in the shower and you listen to your muffled heartbeat up your neck and through your ears, each throb biting at you before sliding slowly down your wrists and fingers and off their tips, the water gushing through them like a perfect extension down the drain and as you rest your head on the tiles it becomes all of a sudden too real and sharp-edged but before it all falls away the piecemeal returns of water flowing around your feet and of the flutter in your stomach that split itself without warning; something that you don’t even try to understand except that you’re sure that that was you once, but you can’t remember it through the heat in your cheeks and no matter where you stand the sun seems to be right in your eyes, but its rained for the past two days and you don’t want to think of your limbs forming tired lines of space that run listless behind you like they don’t even belong to you at all because this isn’t you but you can’t help it so you do and it is, your curvature stuck on the white sheets and your body in the opposite corner with your wet hair dripping down the small of your back in fleeting strokes, while the jab high in your ribcage when you breathe becomes more forceful and determined with every inhale but your mind is too slow to catch it so instead you stand there longer and push the cool sharpness all the way down into the depths of your lungs just to remind you that this is real and that you’re okay, your fingers cradling the tissue under your breast and the looping thud of your life.  

November 2011.

ingrained

There's a simmer in the air and the afternoons are spent alone in galleries, the routine is lonely mid-May and you eventually walk home in the dark.

There's a simmer in the air and the afternoons are spent in amity, the routine is determined mid-May and you eventually, still, walk home in the dark. 

A year makes a difference apparently.  Maybe the third and final one of university will work a charm, starting tomorrow!

Intoxicated by promise

Image four: Spencer Wohlrab; six: Robert Montgomery; seven: Lucie Crewdson.

--All those things you've been thinking, feeling, living; those thoughts slowly dawning on you...someone else already said them aloud. And that's what makes them so special.' Elle Glass, Russh Magazine--

These past few weeks have been full of discoveries and experiences I didn't see coming and, as silly as it sounds, feelings I didn't even know I had in me.  Everything is so strong and heightened and still strangely comfortable; I have this earnest desire to just create that I haven't felt in a very long time.  It's really really nice to have it back.  The heart sits in the front page of my diary and the rings hold immense personal value; I look at them everyday.  If all of this is ephemeral or perpetual it doesn't matter, because these objects and all their connotations are infinite beyond my powers.  And I suppose it comes back to the essence of this blog to begin with; to feel out everything.  This post has been growing in the back of my mind in fear of losing the ardour of now but it's here and it's great; it's untouchable.