The Story of Us

Five years ago I was holding an infant Hazel and had a whirling dervish of a son who was crazy about Lego. I think it was Stevie who came home one day with something to show us – a blog titled Leo’s Lego Lab. It was a delightful document of creativity; Leo, aged five at the time, posted various Lego creations with the help of his mum. I remember liking this little kid, and the world captured in his blog. I felt an immediate sense of kinship with his mum. When I read that Leo had taken a break from blogging with the arrival of his little sister Hazel – who not only shared the same name but was the same age as mine – I just knew we were fated for friendship. Other than a vague sense that this crew were Melbourne based I really had nothing to go on. We continued to read Leo’s blog. Hazel learned to crawl.

At the tail end of summer we celebrated a friend’s sixth birthday in the Edinburgh Gardens. The playground was a mangle of kids when Otto found himself in a confusing disagreement with a mum about Hazel. I've got a Hazel, he said. I've got a Hazel, she replied. There were two Hazels. That mum turned out to be the tough, smart, creative and highly original Emma G.

In the years since Otto and Leo have developed a strong friendship. The Hazel's, not so much. Emma and I have drunk our fair share of tea mostly over her kitchen table. Of all of his friends Leo's home is the one in which Otto feels most comfortable. I sometimes wonder whether Otto senses the common thread between us; a life that revolves around art, music, books and family.

Driving down Sydney Road after a play at Leo's last weekend Otto and Hazel asked me to tell them once again the story of how we came to meet Leo and his family, the one recounted here. We started at the beginning. They love to tell it, hear it and add to it. We think of it as the story of us.

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Photo of my feet and Emma's shoes by Emma Byrnes. She belongs in this story too. It was her daughter's birthday that we were attending that fateful day in the Ed Gardens.

Polka dot: Habbot's Bell grey loafer

What is it about closing a definitive chapter in your work-life that sends you shoe shopping? It's got me wondering whether there is a uniquely symbolic dimension to shoes that I haven't considered until now. I cyber stalked these Habbot flats last week and followed it up with an in-store visit just the other day. This is the shoe crafted by an Italian artisan for an eastern suburbs housewife. The leather! Hand-hole punched detailing! The tassle! I love them.

At $390 they are way more than I like to pay for a pair of shoes. On the other hand I am in a vulnerable – or is that open – state of mind?

Hobes

Shaun Gladwell: Stereo Sequences

Pataphysical Man, 2005

(production still for digital video)

Image courtesy of the artist and Anna Schwartz Gallery

I picked up a ridiculous pair of Nike hightops a few weeks ago that have literally given me a lift. They are multicoloured marshmallows for the feet. I wore them yesterday to ACMI to the Gladwell exhibition in order to place me in the mood? Demonstrate my solidarity with the subject of the exhibition? Possibly both. I guess you could say I was excited. I'd gotten drunk at the opening a few weeks ago and didn't like the prospect of all those steps down to the gallery space. On the night, I gave a walk through a miss. So my anticipation levels were high. I expected to like this show, really, really like this show. But my heart sank literally the moment the school kids entrance lift deposited me on the gallery floor. I found myself face-to face with a twee model on one side, a naff drawing of what looked like figures doing yoga on a train on the other. One step into the show – six large screens, three on either side of the room displaying a mirror image of feats of risk and movement should have restored my faith. These individuals performing feats of skill and high risk: filming out of a helicopter, a car, and from the vantage point of a fast moving skateboard should have got my heart racing. But the dimensions of the space – the width of the room, height of the ceilings – sapped the installation of charge.

You know, I'm not going to go through it blow by blow. Be prepared to lie on your back and look at the solarised motion of some kick ass performers (capeoera, ballet, skaters, pole dances etc) on screens mounted on the ceiling, crouch down low to watch two super 8 projectors of a bit of art making at the edge of the sea shore (if you get it, tell me, I had no idea what to feel other than worry that the artist might get swept out to sea). I wanted lean, gutsy, bold. Gladwell and ACMI are shooting for something else. Cutting Edge? Engaging?

Don't get me wrong, there are some wonderful individual pieces that possess poetry and affect in equal measure. Stereo Sequences is a mesmerising four minute video of a skateboarder riding a horizontal escalator arms outstretched in a gesture that is utterly ancient and of this time. And ACMI is to be applauded for commissioning such ambitious projects by contemporary video artists. Marclay and Lye filled the space with ease. They were a life's work though. But I can't help feeling that Gladwell is a one work, one room artist. Gladwell's videos are at their most captivating displayed in lo-fi simplicity. It's then that his unerring eye for composition, feeling for surface textures and fascination with bodies in space and motion hold your attention. When his work works the videos do it effortlessly with blunt insistence. Is there something to take home, other than a wish to get physical? Put the texta's down and don't try so hard.

Shaun Gladwell: Stereo Sequences

ACMI, Federation Square

On until Sunday 14 August 2011
Open daily 10am-6pm
Free entry