Painterly thing-bits

Pointillism - really very silly.

We've just returned from a quick trip to Canberra to see the 'Masterpieces from Paris' exhibition for the last time.

I don't mind a bit of art; in fact some of the nicest afternoons I spent while travelling around Europe were spent in art galleries, especially when it was raining and our tent was wet and we couldn't find a Maccas.

So despite a clear sky and the complete absence of camping gear (wet or otherwise) I found myself at the National Gallery in Canberra on Friday, with at least 15 trillion other people, checking out a truck-load of Gauguins and one or two by that other guy, whatshisname, van Gogh.

My Mum, who is actually a painter and knows many a thing about art, sacrificed three hours of her life to come with me, knowing full well the time would be filled with such un-funny gags as "Pointillism - what's the point?" and "Impressionism - I'm impressed."

Mum, I owe you a beer.

But while my comments may have been inane, they weren't altogether mystifying, unlike those I heard passing between another mother and daughter team. "Look!" said the younger one, "Lean forward, Mum, right up close! You can actually see the canvas under the dots; seriously, the canvas!"

I still can't figure out what else they thought might be there.

Christmas wrap

We have just returned from a fabulous Christmas break in the southern climes, where we ate and were merry many days on end. Those days having now come to an end we find ourselves at home and hungover with uncomfortably tight pants; all signs of a Christmas well spent.

Since it has been a couple of weeks since my last post I do hope you'll indulge me this little Christmas wrap.

The season started brilliantly with the discovery of some irreverent Christmas artworks a few streets away from where I live:

Such tasteful composition, don't you think?

And I'm sure da Vinci would be pleased with the subtle enhancements to his half-smiling Florenzian:


I'm not sure who was originally responsible for the waif to the bottom left of Ms Lisa but I like the cut of her tights.

At a friend's work Christmas party I met the Santa Most Likely To Die From Eyeliner Exposure, which was a particular thrill:






Finally, a match for my drawing skills: this Santa couldn't draw his way out of a dot-to-dot. Happy days!

Some things have deeply mystified me this Christmas season, like this:

What in God's name is a 'glamour camper'? And who goes 'glamour camping'? And who pays $140 so their son/daughter can play pretend 'glamour camping' (whatever the hell it is)? This is everything that's wrong with Christmas.

Equally as mystifying as the glamour camper but $140 less expensive was the sight of this car, motoring along in an adjacent lane on the way out of town:


I like to think it's a tribute to a feminist rock-climber, on the horizontal for transportation only.

Less surprising was the damp end my annual attempt at filing came to:


But the best part of my Christmas break was that everyone was too busy rolling about to stay still for photos. Blurry shots are the best, don't you think?

Canberry good times

I was going to start with a specific apology for leaving that annoying photo of the bubble-wrapped man-boy at the top of the page for a whole week, then I thought it's probably best if I throw in a nice general apology because this loose collection of paragraphs is almost entirely bereft of ideas and I'm sure your time could be more valuably spent (especially if you are a cardiologist, or work at Dolce and Gelato on King Street).

My small boy and I are in Canberra at the moment: finger painting (small boy), drinking too much (me), and running around the backyard (both of us). It's very hot but my parents' house is cool, and there's very little we need to do (other than finger paint, drink, and run around the backyard).

I did venture out to buy Turkish bread and hummus this afternoon and managed to discover a bookshop that made me realise how little I know about Communist revolutions, *sigh*. I joined their book club mailing list so hopefully my days of being a Communist revolution ignoramus are all but over (hold onto your seats, dinner party guests).

In other exciting news my parents have some great posters hanging on their toilet walls at the moment, most notably one of a sketch by Donald Friend (noice), and another advertising the 'Treasures of the National Library' exhibition opening at the National Lib in 2010 (which is VERY exciting). But that's not the end of the mind-blowing news: I'm happy to report I had a short nap on the couch this afternoon, after which I found some nice smelling flowers in the garden, and we finished the day with a very pleasant stir fry for dinner.

I know, the fun never stops; how glad are you that you read all the way to the end? Not very? Fair enough. But in my defence I did warn you about the complete lack of substance that was to follow; hopefully next time you'll take me seriously and watch Question Time instead.

A weekend in Canberra

I spent most of the long weekend in Canberra visiting my darling parents. Given I live in a shoe box in Sydney surrounded by many other shoe boxes I tend to spend the first twenty-four hours of any trip to my parents' house (how fabulous, an actual house) carrying on about the space. I make lame jokes about intercoms and east wings and airplane hangers, and my parents, God love them, just smile at me patiently and hand me cups of tea until it passes.

But once I've finished marvelling at the possibilities of space in Canberra I start whingeing about everything else about Canberra. And I can because I used to live there, that's why.

Only in Canberra would you find brochures like this:

And this:


Only in Canberra would you find parks with rather pretty blossom trees and absolutely no people:


Only in Canberra would you find signs that make you laff when you really, really shouldn't:


And what luck! I managed to snap Canberra's only two cars in this photo. You can see them centre right. Here they are enlarged for your viewing pleasure:




Was it a long weekend where you are? Do you see my 'Dog and Cat Laws in the ACT' and raise me a lamer brochure?