Bloody hell. Another flight. Another teary, sweaty, anxious, and ultimately, drunken day. I had to work that morning, so my nerves began with trying to make it to the airport in time for a 2.30pm flight. We did make it in time, (with Sonny pointing out a very small plane and telling me that was our flight) only to find the bar in the lounge didn’t open until 2pm! Come on Qantas, what about us nervous nellies? I headed downstairs in a frazzle and found a wine-tasting counter waiting for me. That was the foundation of a shocking hangover the next day.
I try to be brave.
Look! I can see my house from up here!
The purpose for my pain was to be in Melbourne for Sonny’s exhibition opening which coincided with L’oreal Melbourne Fashion Festival. Our first stop was the gallery, to check out how it was all looking.
That’s the article from The Age, stuck on the door.
Mars Gallery did a great job with the photos, and the opening night.
Lovely girls, lovely space.
More space upstairs, where a young designer had her wares on display.
Then some dinner, a little more to drink (why, I don’t know), and off to the fashion week tent area where Sonny caught up with a couple of friends on the L’oreal boat moored there, while I took advantage of a comfy couch and a little of the wine that constanly passed me on trays.
Melbourne’s fashiony finest offered me an interesting view from my low-slung vantage point.
Needless to say, the following day was very uncomfortable for me, and I had promised Sonny I would go back to the gallery with him while he was interviewed for the ABC, to document it. I felt very unwell. But hey, it’s not about me, is it, since my blog has been hijacked of late….
What I could stomach for lunch, then back to the hotel for a kip before the gallery and the opening that night…
Since I hadn’t flown that day, I was a bit more sensible.
They may want his photograph, but they all want my handbag 🙂
Andy, the gallery owner speaks,
and everyone listens.
These two wanted
to start a rumour. I like it.
Next morning we were back at the gallery again. Sonny agreed to sign a couple of the sold pieces, for some lovely purchasers.
This is Sonny’s “What you talkin’ ’bout, Willis?” face.
Then he just went and signed the lot
From one type of art, to an altogether quite different one. Both about the human form,
Sonny’s backstage photos from a world that relies on using the most perfect, and embellishing it to raise to even greater ideals, verses Ron Mueck’s sculptures which scrutinise and highlight the rawness of the human form in it’s most natural and vulnerable state.
Mueck has a show running at the National Gallery of Victoria at the moment. It heads to Queensland and Christchurch after that, and it’s worthwhile seeing if you can make it.
His figures are so painfully lifelike, you can’t help but to be drawn in to their existence that seems/feels fraught with discomfort and mistrust.
India said this was “Gross… because you can see his penis”. I told her that I didn’t think he would look anywhere near as uncomfortable if it was covered up, especially with all those people looking at him…
…and what could their secrets be?
I love to see people lying down on the floor in public buildings.
This, in the NGV foyer.
Then, finally, after another anxious plane trip, a pit-stop on the way home from the airport had me looking at set lighting from days of yore
and a sculpture that I knew my kids would love for it’s irony and humour (if only because they are agnostic, food nazis, and rather odd children)
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