Section: Arts And Culture
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Libby Hart
- 11 November 2019
1 Comment
It's difficult to move in this landscape. Haunted and fragile and tragic, there's no place that is benign. A cursed house, the Greeks might say.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Jane Williams
- 04 November 2019
1 Comment
Thank God for Bollywood and daytime TV. For the all night partyers and marathon love makers. For the hash brownie bakers, the nut crackers and pot-stirrers ... the drum-beating banjo-twanging wannabe musicians ... the incense wafting up from the first floor through our bathroom vent — frankincense I'm tempted to think.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Jane Downing
- 28 October 2019
2 Comments
The dirt ploughed easily under our bulldozer fists. After rain it was still dust underneath; roadworks were brisk. Kangaroos down from Mt Ainslie pooped in our miniature town, new boulders for the centre of our roundabouts. Around and out — the arteries in the front garden ended in neat driveways bumper to bumper with matchbox cars.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Michele Frankeni
- 28 October 2019
3 Comments
Lately my phone has been leading me down some dark paths. The algorithms have become skewed and it has become a lot more conservative. I cannot pinpoint when the change occurred. Was it that time I clicked on the Australian? But how does that account for the links to sites that laud Steve Bannon and question the Pope?
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Gillian Bouras
- 22 October 2019
9 Comments
A major part of Martin's so-called patriotism is anti-Semitism, and Martin soon uses the well-worn trope in which the prejudiced person makes an exception of an individual. After declaring that the Jewish race is 'a sore spot', Martin tells Max he has loved him not because of his race but in spite of it.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Damian Balassone
- 21 October 2019
4 Comments
This is yer suit and yer tie. This is yer glimpse of the sky. This is yer walk in the rain. This is yer dash for the train. This is yer train to the city. This is yer town without pity.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Julie Perrin
- 14 October 2019
7 Comments
The musicians stepped forward, heads close around one microphone. The words of the 23rd Psalm were familiar and re-cast all at once. They met us in hope and in despair in 'the middle of the air'. There was a space of yearning there; the space where artists, songwriters and psalmists send us. That is the place we can be met.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Michael Sharkey
- 14 October 2019
3 Comments
The voices of two women in the train up to the highlands rise in volume and insistence ... 'Mother, they're not Germans. I said, gerberas, they're all around the farm. Just wait, you'll see them from the window of the lovely room we've set up for your stay. A field of gerberas in full bloom.' 'And are the Germans all in uniforms, then, dear?'
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Justin Glyn
- 07 October 2019
7 Comments
Beginning with the origins of the fairy story and with her own diagnosis with cerebral palsy, Leduc opens the question of why disability in fairy stories is a trope when, for many of us, it is just a fact of life. What follows is a fascinating exploration of how fairy stories socialise us into particular expectations — of ourselves and of society.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- John Falzon
- 07 October 2019
2 Comments
I love reading about the lives of the poets. The ones for whom nothing good ever happened. The ones who were sure that if they did not write, they would surely disappear. The ones who tried to make the invisible visible, and failed; who carried news to this world from another one, as if it were bottles of wine and loaves of bread.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Mark Tredinnick
- 30 September 2019
11 Comments
I'm a white man in a white man's world, his mother tongue the lingua franca everywhere. I may not be rich, but I am more or less free, and my calling has let me travel the world. It's easy for me, not having had to fight for mine, to ask us to go deeper than identity when we write. But when James Baldwin says the same thing, it compels.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Peter Ramm
- 30 September 2019
2 Comments
This place is new to my son, who doesn't know that satin bowerbirds pilfer the brush ... He's busy tracing each scribble in each gum, and my hands are full of his hands, faintly heavy — faintly delicate. A towering deciduous fig hangs over us; its branches are neural pathways, thin at their tips the way memories thin in time.
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