Art

I've dismissed traditional boundaries of flicking and splattering as overly didactic.

Anyone who knows me knows I'm not given to artistic pursuits, unless you consider punk as artform, and even that got a bit tiring after I had a kid and realised that there's nothing clever or funny about wiping your bum on the curtains. Even if you've got blinds.

And anyway, punk is totally over-rated and derivative. Most punks have plastic dividers in their cutlery drawer like everyone else*

Recently though, I've had a bit of a rethink about art. I like making things, things that glow, shimmer, squish and hold warmth. I've decided to do more of it. I've decided I'm going to refer to myself as an artist. This means I can leave my car keys everywhere, and hopefully charge exhorbitant amounts for a smear of Vegemite and and a handful of sand.

Sadly though, I'm struggling with the language. ABC Arts informs me that I need to engage in a kind of verb/noun transmogrification. Because artists ask what it means to be Catholic/lesbian/a horse (unless you're a Catholic lesbian horse in which case, you can get a grant). Also, I have to ask questions about how we DO (pronounced DDOoooo with a breathy postern inflection) church. Or work. Or leisure. Or art. And when we've (it's the inclusive community grassroots round-up 'we') finished all this 'being' and 'doing' we can get busy queering everything that's left.


It's my own fault for watching ABC Arts.



*This, incidently, is the key determinant of punk. Why spend valuable minutes sorting cutlery into little piles? Well, as Claude Levi Strauss argued so elegantly, cutlery dividers separate more than just cutlery. They are homologous with the nature/nurture distinction, delineate the sacred from the profane, the nomothetic from the ideographic. Cutlery drawer dividers separate humans into two distinct groups: punks; and people who worry they'll open the drawer and be unable to identify a fork.