(A library of artists' books, a photocopy of zines, a warmth of coats, and crowd of people await. (En route to the opening of PAGE.PRINT.POST: 50 years of Artists Books.)
(Calling in on the herons for afternoon tea.)
(The last hurrah! (Glazing 42 tiny cyclists for Antique Toy World. Next up, tiny football players.))
(Tuesday's working table is littered with tiny cyclists being glazed.)
(A morning of Camels, Cobras, Dogs, and Frogs culminates in Brushtail Possums Up a Tree Harvesting Mandarins.)
(A fine hound under the right arm, a new cheap-chips printer under the left. (Percy and Friday's errands dash.))
(Left Bank. Right Bank. Left Bank. Right Bank. In Clifton Hill.)
(Little Lenni Len-oir sings for an early supper.)
(Your Sunday office is ready. (Complete with paw prints 'in the snow'.))
(One of these things is not a tiny pewter footballer. (Sunday's workbench with Lenni.))
(A new web site for a friend is built.)
(Earlier this evening, Not Our Cat called in to the Feline Hotel for his nightly supper.)
(Lenni oversees the daily drawing, and finds he cannot resist a little pencil play.)
All in a row, thirteen winter views from recent days. A baker's dozen! From a speedy trip up to Ballarat and back for the opening of PAGE.PRINT.POST: 50 years of Artists Books to the lovely quiet of working at home as dusk settles.
To read and see more of PAGE.PRINT.POST, G's recent post, Folded, stapled, and held snug in a (winter) jacket, will fill in the gaps. The exhibition at the Post Office Gallery in Ballarat runs until Saturday the 9th August, 2014.
And, lest you missed it, G's recent written response to the Keir Choreographic Award Semi-finals at Dancehouse (which I was lucky enough to see too) is up on Fjord Review.
....
Asked to question what we see and redefine what we think we know, I take especial delight in watching the stage being prepared in between the performances in both the upstairs studio and downstairs theatre. It reads like a part of its own performance as plastic sheeting is unrolled and props are quietly placed in assigned positions. And it is in this moment that I am given space to absorb what I have seen and ready myself for the next journey into the unknown.
These commissioned works are in glorious flux, still assuming final shape, dust still settling. Akin to the soldier’s awkward dance performed on a pair of crutches, with the legs not allowed to touch the ground, in Dead Flag Blues, these works are not for the idle. As they should, these works ask a lot of the audience. They are "new and unsettled" in both their feel and energy, notes judge Becky Hilton. And from where I sit, this is what the award is all about, and it is exciting.
(Continue reading)
