"Sculpture is everything" at GoMA:

I have raved here before about how much I love public art spaces. While private galleries are important for a number of reasons, I'm particularly appreciative of state and national galleries. It says something about a government when it is willing to invest funding into the cultivation and accessibility of the arts. Even more, though, it gives something to the community of people who are then able to access and appreciate that art. Throughout many eras of history, art has been accessible only to an elite group of society. Sure, there are artists in every demographic of society, and in that way art is within reach of everyone. But the appreciation of art on a broader scale -- art from around the world, from people outside the close confines of connected communities -- has mostly been a privilege of the wealthy and the well-networked. How awesome, then, to live in an era when cities make active investments in the acquisition and exhibition of art from all around the world and then share it with art-ignorant laymen like me.

And perhaps it's just me, but public galleries give me this tiny sense of ownership, this idea that in some small way, this art belongs -- just a sliver of it, mind you -- to me, and to you. So when I visit a public gallery with someone I care about, I get the feeling -- wrong as it may be -- that I am sharing something of mine with them, and introducing them to something of theirs that they should have known about all along. It's pretty cool.

When my cousins were in town recently, we checked out GoMA's current exhibit, Sculpture is Everything. Our first stop was in the foyer to see Ai Weiwei's Painted Vases (2006). Painted Vases are part of GoMA's permanent collection, and always one of my favourites to look at when I visit. There's something super-daring about the fact that these vases are from the Han dynasty, and they've been almost recklessly painted over. History and art collide!

And the other thing about public art spaces? Some of it you can touch, interact with, and be a part of. This little contraption of wonderfulness by Yoshitomo Nara and graf is like something out of my eleven-year-old self's fantasies.

More Ai Weiwei being reckless.

I'm excited I got to be there for baby Andrew's first art gallery visit. He looks mesmerised by Lara Favaretto's Gummo IV. Yep, it's a car wash. And yes, it was moving.

Sculplture is Everything is on for ten more days at Brisbane's Gallery of Modern Art. Admission is free.

In praise of excellent cousins:

My mum's sister's kids -- my cousins -- have always been hugely important to me. Growing up, we saw each other (at most) a few times a year. But no matter how long it'd been between hangs, it was always easy to jump right back into intense fun mode when we were together. We got up to the coolest shenanigans: floating down rivers, climbing trees, making art, going on bushwalks, building shelters, eating marshmallows around bonfires, and playing endless games in which some aspect of a latest favourite book would actually come to vivid, reenactable life.

We all have very different personalities, but we share some crazy family similarities, too. Yet somehow, neither what we have in common nor what we don't has managed to get in the way of our friendship. As we grew older, the girl cousins (my sisters, Andrea and Lauren, me, and cousins Fran and Elizabeth) exchanged letters, emails, and delirious LiveJournal comment wars (RIP, oh frenzied days of LiveJournal). These days, our lives are fuller and our correspondence skills aren't a speck on what they once were. We get to catch up in person only rarely. But Fran and Bette recently came to stay, bearing with them husbands and babies, and their time here proved that the bond of awesome is just as real as ever -- maybe even better than before, because now there are extra cousins-in-law to join the fun.

I was a terrible documenter of the action, and only managed to start taking pictures (other than instagram snaps) halfway through Bette and Brent's visit -- which was, sadly, after Fran and Josh had to head home. But these shots are from an evening Bette, Brent, baby Andrew and I spent in the city.

Except for my lack of directional skills and my bordering-on-miraculous inability to find the Southbank markets (stuff was rearranged for the Brisbane festival; I promise I'm not a total fruit loop), the whole evening was kind of perfect, really: the lightest Spring breeze, finding the best possible parking space, and then wandering through Brisbane loveliness. We bought delicious booky things at the State Library bookstore, then caught the Sculpture is Everything exhibit at GoMA (more pictures to come) and made our own paper birds as part of Fiona Hall's Fly Away Home installation.

Afterwards, we shared a plate of turkish bread and dips at The Library Cafe, where we found ourselves seated just in time for a delicious hour of Spanish song, poetry, and drama. Live performances in public spaces are very cool.

Once it was dark, we trundled through the Brisbane Festival's fairyland of paper lanterns. It was pretty magical; I felt about six years old. Then we discovered that we were just in time for the laser and light show on the river. Without realising it, we had stumbled into a pretty great spot for watching the show, and while we waited for the action, we took pictures. Bette and Brent make an adorable couple. I make... seemingly drunken air quotes.

After the light show, we quarterbacked our way through the hordes of people and trawled Little Stanley Street in search of the perfect dinner. We made it into a science and spent probably an hour perusing all the store-front menus for the most enticing meals. We finally settled on French cuisine only to discover that there was a forty-five minute wait for our table. So we moved to our second choice -- from glamorous provencal to hearty burgers -- and ate at Beastie Burgers instead. It was so good. The burgers were a fresh, gourmet take on the traditional, delicious and super-filling. Hand-cut wedges and creamy milkshakes (Bette had dark chocolate Lindt and I had -- get this -- tiramisu) were also amazing. I made a mental note to take my dad there, as he is definitely fond of a good burger.

It was the best no-fuss seven or eight hours I've spent in the city in a long while. Thank you, beautiful cousins, for enjoying this lovely place with me.

Candid family:

This week is a chapter in your autobiography; what's the title? This week is a band; what do you call your group? This week is a song; is it a ballad, a dirge, a love song, a scream?

Mine? It'd probably be called Lots of Little Pieces. My song would be a worship track, sung by a band called Watch The Blur. Whatever the words you find to describe your world this week, I hope you have a window in time to really live.

Lately:

I have fallen into the provoking habit of leaving insistent little comments on my sister's blog telling her to do a "blupdate". But I've stumbled into the pit that I have dug, for now she's turned the comment back on me. To prove that I'm listening, Andrea, two posts in one evening. How's that for obedience?

It's a weird season -- incredibly full with occasional startling blank moments when it feels as though the sky is about to crumble. September comes tomorrow, bringing with it Spring, and extended stays with houseguests (some of whom are already here), and a series of local workshops that my wee little writing group has pulled together, and the end of my first postgrad semester, and maybe even a new niece or nephew. Boy, September, you be crazy.

In between all that, I'm thinking about lots of things -- the promises of Scripture, how I need to be writing in my journal more, the greatness of Him in us so much greater than just plain us, and my awful tendency to discuss absolutely everything that enters my head. I am writing imaginary letters and thank you notes while I'm brushing my teeth. I am buying too many gifts for Andrea's thirtieth birthday (am I allowed to talk about your age on my blog, A?). I am saying no to things I need to say no to, but it still isn't easy. I am feeling deeply affectionate and appreciative of the little Bible study group I'm part of. I'm thinking my mother should be beatified. I'm reading bits of good books here and there. I'm grieving for friends walking hard and dark roads. I'm clinging, tired, hoping, crying, laughing, praying, biting my lip, and marvelling at cloudless skies.

How about you?

[Conversations on hold while things are busy, and there might be more pictures than thoughts for a wee while. I'll reply to your words directly in the comments section.]

Just another manic Monday:

Sometimes it's fun to document a day in pictures and just see what happens. Last Monday I decided to do exactly that. I chose Monday because it's my standard 'normal' day each week. No music students, no English students; the goal is study and errands. I attempted to take a photo an hour, but sometimes I forgot or was late. This is the result! Above, about 8am, I think.

After breakfast, I duck next door into my Mum's kitchen to say hi.

Then I'm into homework -- a project analysing the print serial market in Australia, particularly special-interest publications focussed on writing, editing, and publishing. It was a big job, due the following Friday. And you did not really need to know all those boring details.

Final undergrad results are in which means I've officially completed my Bachelor degree. Wahoo!

Snaaaack time!

A phone call from my sister Andrea, who was reading The Hunger Games -- which we desperately needed to discuss with one another, of course.

An errand trip into town with the little bro. Tain took this photo and I think it's pretty cool. I've never really noticed how insistent that row of pedestrian crossing signs is. And look at that Queensland winter sun!

A library study date.

Here, have a photo of a fourteen-year-old eating a ham-and-cheese toastie with his mouth open. Relatedly, how cool is my local library?

Back home again (now sometime around 3 or 4) and back into the books.

I head into the family home to say hi to my sister Lauren, who has unexpectedly dropped by while James goes off fishing.

Abby's pretty excited about hunting down the cat.

At about 6pm, it's a dinner production line!

Spontaneous sister/mother/daughter time (plus Tain) means watching the season final of Downton Abbey together. Abby is amused.

I discover that I can't watch tv guilt-free when I have a hefty critical book review due in a week. I read some Dickens with one eye on the tv and one ear on the conversation.

James returns a little after 7.30.

More study!

And my wee kitchen needs some attention. I usually wash up about 11pm, which is kind of a dreadful habit.

Downtime -- with ugg boots.

Ablutions. I took a self-portrait brushing teeth, but I decided to protect Laura's anti-teeth-brushing sensitivities and post this shot instead.

Bible and bed at 12.40am. 'Night!

What's a Monday look like for you?

* * * * *

Conversations:

Andrea -- :D

Staish -- I'm not cut out to be a plumber, though. There was gagging involved.

Asea -- mesh covers sound super smart!

Carla and Alastair -- I suspect that the reason you've never thought to write a letter to your vanity drain is because you're normal.

Katie -- huzzah indeed!

Domesticwarriorgoddess -- your comment made my day! Thank you for enjoying my weirdness :).

Rebecca Simon -- haha, you're lovely!

Jess Axelby -- HARD TIMES foreverrrrr! I have to confess I'd forgotten how it ended though. I wasn't ready for the sadness :'(.

Meaghan -- I DID gag. *shudder*

[lately] life in instagrams II

1. biblical literary analysis; 2. bayside picnic with favourite people; 3. bad hair day; 4. camellia from mum's garden; 5. a "cruel king Herod" (by his own admission) lurks at my window; 6. happy bunting! 7. endings; 8. bedroom corner.