My Vandalism Hero

I once lived in Campbelltown, where graffiti is a staple sign of rebellion and / or boredom. It’s not generally clever (though it is often passionate) but it IS representative of the voice of a people who often struggle to communicate in other ways.

I now live in Newtown, where graffiti is not really graffiti, its an art form. It is mostly clever (though it is often cynical), and seeks to challenge the voice of a people to care more through inspiration and creativity.

There’s lots that can (and should) be said about graffiti in general, but I want to present you with my personal Vandalism Hero:

Now THIS graffiti at is finest.

THIS is Zorro, sneaking out at night on behalf of the people to deliver a message the world needs to remember. We heard it once, but we forgot.

THIS is pure genius – at a stop sign, telling us to stop and remember.

Vandal Hero, whoever you are, I thank you. You made my day – no, my year – and I pray for your safety as you continue to deliver your messages of import and irony.

Fiction Fortnight: When Books Become Friends

It’s fitting in many ways that my first Fiction Fortnight post is about a book that I didn’t want to finish. Somehow, in the last two weeks this book became a conversation I was having that was stimulating, reflective, challenging – everything you want a good conversation to be – and I didn’t want it to be over.

Funnily enough, as a ‘book’ I felt it fell a little short of my expectations…all those ridiculous demands we make, like an exciting plot-line, well-written, gripping from the first page etc. This book was none of those things. It took me awhile to get into it; the language was sometimes ridiculously flowery; and the plot more than often stagnant. But it didn’t matter. Just like when we see the bumps and scars of people we love (and love them more for them), it was precisely these things that made me fall in love with the book, and not want it to end.

The book is Marilynne Robinson’s Housekeeping, for which she won the PEN/Hemingway award for best first novel. I could tell you what it’s about, but that would almost defeat the style of the novel. It’s not really about anything. Rather, the reader is taken on a journey to explore, through language and subtle but charming characters, well, life. And that’s Robinsons style – meandering, musing, never drawing any great conclusions but leaving the reader feeling as though something significant has been navigated. She says things like:

“Fingerbone was never an impressive town. It was chastened by an outsized landscape and extravagant weather, and chastened again by an awareness that the whole of human history had occurred elsewhere.”

And it’s phrases like that that drew me in, and made me feel like I was having a comfortable coze with a chum on the couch, wrapped in blankets and drinking hot tea, ruminating about life and feeling very grand and important. A good friend of mine, after finishing a different book of Robinsons, once said to me

“I feel like I’ve just said goodbye to an old friend.”

I didn’t bother asking him what the book was about (or if I did ask, he couldn’t have told me). With Robinson, it doesn’t seem to matter – she leaves an indelible impression on your psyche. It’s funny and remarkable and fantastic to me that books can do that – that somehow, it becomes a familiar and comfortable place to inhabit for awhile. Has this been anyone else’s experience?

New series: Fiction fortnight on Fridays

In a previous post, I have written about whether or not fiction is a waste of time. In summary, my thoughts are as follows:

It isn’t.

But (!) if you’re anything like me, sometimes it feels as though we need to be reading higher, more lofty and more weighty things. Biographies, for example. Or (gulp) newspapers (as if they could teach us anything of importance). And in an ever-increasingly fast-paced and schedule-packed society, we feel a need to ration our reading time…the ‘important’ things (let’s be honest, the stuff which makes us look more knowledgable and “with it”) are prioritized. Thus, inevitably, fiction drops to the bottom of the ‘to-read’ pile.

I recently have been feeling slightly (though irrationally) gloomy about life and the universe, and in talking to a good friend about it, I feel I may have discovered an extremely rational and helpful answer. He said, quite simply,

“When I feel down about the world, I need to read Harry Potter.”

Genius.

What fiction does is express the human condition with humour and insight, with fresh characters and interesting story-lines, and perhaps most crucially, in a language that helps us think. In the preface to his new book, Working with Words, Stanley Hauerwas says

“I am able to write, or I find I feel I have to write, because I read. Reading is also one of the ways I learn how to think.”

Whilst this may be true of more than just fiction, it is fiction that explores the expression of deeply personal thought and emotion…how to express that which dwells deep within us – our desires and fears ranging from the ordinary to the spiritual.

So, with all that in mind, I intend to set aside time to read a piece of fiction at least once a fortnight, and write about it. I hope you’ll enjoy the adventure with me!

Blessed are the cheese-makers…

I. Love. Cheese.

A lot.

The Magnificence!

I could go into a massive rant about how much I love it (a lot, as of the above), how much I eat it (a lot, because of the above), why I eat it etc but ultimately I feel that would be counter-productive to conveying the simple, and true depth of my emotion on the issue. If I could hire an opera singer to follow me around and sing “She loves CHEEEEESE!!!” on cue, I would consider that money well-spent.

Make no mistake! I do know that it is, in fact, a dairy product and therefore unable to reciprocate my affection… technically. But I argue that the cheese started it! It started all of this by alluring me in with its delicious virtues; its variety of smells, and tastes, and colours and forms and – oh my. Who can really blame me for the inevitable fall that was pretty much destined to occur?

The reason for this particular post is that I don’t want to keep it secret anymore. Not my love affair (everyone I know knows how I feel about cheese even if they didn’t want to); I want to inspire more people with how amazingly significant cheese really is. It changes things. Important things.

I hate the movie She’s The Man. I really and truly wish it never existed… EXCEPT for the fact that a crucial scene from this movie involves – you guessed it – cheese. And this scene conveys that pivotal to developing a relationship with someone you’re attracted to from the opposite sex, is asking them the critical question:

“Soooo….do you like… cheese?”

This line has even passed into our vernacular as a pick up line! Some might argue that it’s because of its inherent awkwardness and is therefore a point of hilarity, but they would be wrong. It’s because no one wants to find themselves in a relationship with someone who doesn’t like cheese (Ugh. Could you imagine being in a romantic relationship with someone who couldn’t stomach cheese?! What on earth would you find to talk about? I would even argue that this line should be used to weed out potential friendships for the same reason).

Look how welcoming it is!

If you find upon reading this that your affection for cheese has waned, or you know in your soul that you’ve been backsliding, never fear: cheese will welcome you back with open – erm – holes(?). And if you’ve never felt what I’ve described, apart from feeling truly sorry for you, I also sincerely hope that you feel a desire to change that reality. And if as you’ve been reading you’ve been fist-punching the air, declaring “Yes!” and nodding sagely in agreement, we are brothers on a deep level. Whatever the situation, the best thing for you to do this week is visit the GPO Cheese and Wine Room in Martin Place. It is a place that will allow an appreciation to be fired or rekindled.

Cheese is…an inspiration. And unlike Monty Python, who suggests that all makers of dairy products should be venerated, I personally take a strictly fundamental view: that “>blessed are the cheese-makers. And only the cheese-makers.

A mysterious tension…

It’s been a while since I’ve blogged. There are several reasons for this, most of them boring.

The most critical (and therefore interesting) reason is that I want to write about things that create a kind of mysterious tension: things that simultaneously pull me irresistibly outside of myself to see the world in a fresh way, AND draw me inwards, to appreciate the ordinariness of the world that I inhabit. Which is a slightly wanky way of saying, I don’t like to write out of frustration or whingy-ness, because it’s what I like least about blog-land. I want to write about seemingly mundane things that inspire me or bring me the kind of joy that is almost uncannily painful. L.M. Montgomery refers to this pain as a “queer ache” (though she was an unadulterated Romantic, and I’m…well…still figuring that one out); that innate sense of grandness that can come from a mountain-top view or from a well-timed in-joke of a close friend.

Obviously, the problem is that it’s a challenge to write like that unless you feel like that – and if I’m going to be honest, it’s difficult to perceive life as an exciting adventure rather than a lackluster burden a lot of the time (yes, I do indeed confess to the occasional pessimistic feelings about the world, and yes they do often directly relate to whether or not I’ve eaten recently). I suspect I’m not the only one in this little boat; and I also suspect that the current fashion to obsess about new ‘experiences’ comes from a like desire to appreciate the world as it is but in a fresh perspective.

[SLIGHT ASIDE] I think the most fascinating manifestation of this is the success of a show like MasterChef. Why else would people who never, ever spend time in the kitchen spend hours and hours watching, discussing, and evaluating the latest episode? (I mean, aside from it being damn good television, obviously?)

But I digress. The POINT is, I love that people I know live out this tension with different things, and I’m going to practice my writing by blogging about them, and the things I discover through them. And hopefully, in the process, garner a greater (and more joyful) appreciation of this crazy, beautiful, broken world.

India under my skin…dia.

This week has been full of “India” things:

1. Some close friends showed me photos from when they went to India and told me fun stories about what its like there. My excitement for India increased!

2. I got given a couple of churidas to wear for the more conservative areas that I’ll be going to. Fun; it also got a little more real.

3. My passport arrived (hurrah!) and my visa was processed. Less worried about leaving the country; but it got really real.

Then, inevitably, it hit me: I really AM going to India. There is no way to avoid it or hedge my way out of it. And it’s soon! Which means there is now this constant background vibe of anticipation in my head and gut. I feel incredibly under prepared; but as one friend remarked to me: India is not really something you can prepare for – you have to just go with the flow. This sounds fun of course, but its not something I’m renowned for being able to do with ease or honour. My natural response to something like that would be to ask “How do you prepare for not being able to be prepared?”

No, seriously.

Take off – 27 days!

Christmas: what’s the big deal?

We’ve all felt it: whilst we’re innocently perusing the canned goods in Coles, the horror that creeps into our souls as we hear the echo of canned Christmas carols over the PA. And all we can think is… Surely not…already??

It’s an understandable reaction, really. Because we know that what is about to descend upon us is weeks of crammed shopping centres, frenetic activity, decorations galore, multiple parties always on at the same time, the stress of planning and negotiating work-holidays-family, the politics of present-purchasing (the scale of who will cry most if I don’t get them something to who I love shopping for), empty pockets from all the food-parties-presents, as well as wanting to fit some relaxation in there somewhere.

It got me thinking – why on earth do we put ourselves through it? And I hypothesize this: that Christmas is the last remaining significant Western tradition that we have. Many other cultures across the world have lots of cultural and traditional celebrations or ‘moments’ that are expressed throughout the year (or years), but apart from twenty-firsts and weddings, what is it that we have left? Christmas. Now the more cynical out there will suggest that its the materialism in us that continues to promote this tradition, but I wonder if maybe its a LACK of any other substantial cultural expression that causes us to cling to the idea of Christmas being this fun, exciting, emotional, spiritual time of reconnecting to our roots and giving thanks for those who are in our lives. And I’ve got to say, I like it way more if that is the case. It would mean that despite our society’s best efforts to remain logical, scientific, and pragmatic – we are, at heart, a people who still long for a tiny bit of magic, a tiny bit of the supernatural in our lives. Try to deny it – as we think about Christmas, we can’t help but hope for a time of significant connection to those we love, even though there is NOTHING to suggest that at December every year we will naturally feel more familial.

As a Christian, Christmas is a time for us to celebrate and reverently marvel at God being eminently faithful and glorious by becoming man (and thus fulfilling his promise of salvation). For me, it is a cosmic and supernatural time. But it is also a government-mandated time of rest and holiday; and a culturally-mandated time of celebration. And I’m personally really glad for Christmas being a big deal for all of those things.

Wondering if we’ve lost our sense of wonder…

As a follower of Jesus, I am often in situations with people who express incredulity at the notion of ‘faith’ – be it in person, on television, in the media etc. It’s not the God of the bible that they have a problem with (because He ‘doesn’t exist’), its the concept of believing something for which there is absolutely no proof. Now, clearly I write as someone who believes in the God of the bible. However, I have real problem with the logic of an argument that calls for infallible ‘proof’ before belief – because there is nothing else that matters in life that calls for such a yardstick.

The main example I want to use is that of friendships and relationships. Very few people of our generation would say that anything matters more than the people that they love – spending time with them, caring for them, enjoying their company and learning from them. But there is no absolute ‘proof’ that they love them, or that they are loved by them. There are certain kinds of evidence (like affection, words, et al) – but we all know that evidence can be skewed to say anything we like (an argument frequently used to discredit the gospel accounts). My question is this: if people really believe that there is no element of faith at all in their lives, why do they live and interact with other people in ways that indicate that they do? And I’m asking because I want to open a dialogue with people where faith isn’t an irrational response to things that are bigger than us, that can’t be measured by us, and that really make a difference to how we live.

A Grand Adventure!

Confession: I have never before ventured overseas.

I’ve never even been on a plane.

And it’s not for lack of interest or desire or courage that this is the case. The opportunity just hasn’t arisen at the right time before.

But. No. Longer.

In December of this year, I embark on a Grand Adventure that will contain many of my ‘firsts’: using a passport (which has still to arrive!), checking luggage at the airport, changing money, flying, picking up my luggage, being in another country, not knowing the language(s)… and many more firsts that I don’t even know about yet. And I gotta say: I’m excited. It’s been a long time since I’ve anticipated something quite as much as this, and its surprising me how joyful and nervous and impatient I feel all at the same time.

The location is India, predominantly in and around Mumbai. So far, when I’ve told people that’s where I’m going, the response is something along the lines of the following:
“Wow, India is meant to be amazing, that’s great!…er…and quite a place for you to be going to on your first time overseas…” which is followed by a nervous giggle and a “but you’ll be fine, I’m sure you’ll love it!” This as a stock response (I’m talking more than 20 people) to the revelation makes me laugh… then freak out temporarily. That is, until I realise how blessed I am to have the opportunity to go to a country that contains so much of the world’s history and culture, and I’m back to feeling impatient to be there.

In many ways, my Grand Adventure has already begun as I’ve been researching the history of the first country I will see outside of Australia, and what I’ve learned so far has been absolutely fascinating. Not only that, but in doing so there are a whole score of other ‘firsts’ that I’ve now already completed: I’ve bought my first Lonely Planet guide, been given my first Indian cookbook, am watching my first documentary on India, actually trying for the first time to understand geography…not to mention all the other firsts like applying for a passport, checking out which injections I need, buying tickets…

I’m really enjoying the adventure so far, and I haven’t gotten there yet… can’t wait for what else is in store!

Takeoff – 34 days.

Going to the art gallery: a waste of time?

In thinking about art, my friends fall into two categories – those who love going to art galleries, to looking at and being immersed in new forms of expression and thoroughly enjoy discussing the impression that it made on them afterwards; and those that hate the very idea of an art gallery, nothing could be more boring or dry, somehow manage to lap the gallery 4 times in the amount of time it would take the former to look at one room, and remark “a 5 year old could have painted that!” in answer to the impression that it made on them. What I find interesting is that there seem to be very few people who are middle of the road.

A previous winner of the Dobell, Garry Shead

Yesterday I ventured out into the city to see the Dobell Prize with a friend who falls into the former category. After a somewhat hilarious bus trip (wherein I managed to somehow need two buses to get me a whole two blocks from Martin Place and thus it was forcibly borne upon me that I am a complete bus n00b), we arrived at NSW Art Gallery. I’m not going to tell you what I thought of this particular exhibition as a whole; but the experience that I had and the people that I saw there got me thinking – is art as its displayed in an art gallery out of touch, and potentially, a waste of time?

The reason I’m wandering in this territory of thought is that it occurred to me that the kinds of people who like to go are the ones for whom it is fun to critique and examine, and comes naturally to them… so then are the artists ‘creating’ for this kind of audience, for their work to be displayed in a place where a select few venture? In which case it almost seems redundant, or reflexively self-indulgent. Is it doing anything interesting or new if it evokes exactly the response the artist knew it would because they made it for them? And in a proverbial chicken/egg sense, is this what started to influence the latter group to lose all interest in art – because it stopped being accessible to them?

An example of graffiti art in Newtown

I asked one friend from this category why he isn’t interested in art: he replied that he’s not particularly visually stimulated. But this same friend, when encountering ‘graffiti art’ in Newtown, stopped to point it out to me and remarked “I like that. That’s fresh and interesting and cool:” an exact echo of the remark my friend at the art gallery made about a particular work.

Which makes sense, actually – as humans we’re all stimulated by all of our senses, some more strongly than others, but still, the visual hasn’t died to most of the population. In fact, I ask these questions because I continue to be surprised by how art can evoke responses in me that are not logical, or scientific, or measurable – they just spring from somewhere ‘other.’ I like that, because it reminds me that there are things unexplainable and uncontrollable, and that those things aren’t always scary.

I guess I hope that art exhibitions will continue to grow in creativity and accessibility for people who currently distance themselves, and that those who love them will keep inviting me and others to go along and experience it with them!

Note For an interesting read on art and how to deal with different definitions, see this interview with Ali Courtney. It’s really helpful!