Sunday, 29 August 2010
Thursday, 26 August 2010
Children ruling the world - Sue
The Australian Government would look completely different. The House of Representatives would be more like a wartime operations room and the maximum age of each member would be 17 years old.
Each member of the house is sitting in front of his personal computer. It has a wide screen and 3D with a keyboard of blue flashing lights. Now and again he, or she, receives a message which prompts his own personal melody to ring out loud and clear. It’s a cacophony of noise like a disconnected orchestra. Each player, ‘cause the process is more like a game, sits inside of a sort of capsule with not only his PC, but also his Apple i-pads, one for home and one for work, and the latest release of i-phone, again one for personal and one for work. They are wearing the 3D glasses and talk to their phones via the latest release of Bluetooth. Even though they all sit next to each other, they actually don’t speak. Instead they communicate in the same way as they do with the State and Territory governments, via the World Wide Web. All of the policy documents and other research and administration resides on the ‘Web’ in a virtual office environment.
In the centre of the room there’s a model of Australia. For anybody who has played the Warhammer Games, the model is quite similar. The armies are painted blue and red with the minority, but powerful terrorists painted green. The only person in the room not ensconced in his private capsule, is standing alongside the model, and moves the armies around at the direction of the other 150 people. It’s an extremely busy and chaotic role but he is the only person who knows what is going on in the country.
There is one capsule that stands alone on the perimeter of the room and its painted gold. The king of the room is the person best able to negotiate with the world. He has a circle of 5 computers, one for each continent and is in constant communication with the UAV (Unmanned Ariel Vehicle) operator in each area. These guys are expert at operating remote controlled toys. They spy on each other’s Operations both on the ground and in the war rooms.
Voting is still at the local level but it’s not compulsory and has at long last been automated with each home connected to the Operations Room via the new fibre optic technology.
Each member of the house is sitting in front of his personal computer. It has a wide screen and 3D with a keyboard of blue flashing lights. Now and again he, or she, receives a message which prompts his own personal melody to ring out loud and clear. It’s a cacophony of noise like a disconnected orchestra. Each player, ‘cause the process is more like a game, sits inside of a sort of capsule with not only his PC, but also his Apple i-pads, one for home and one for work, and the latest release of i-phone, again one for personal and one for work. They are wearing the 3D glasses and talk to their phones via the latest release of Bluetooth. Even though they all sit next to each other, they actually don’t speak. Instead they communicate in the same way as they do with the State and Territory governments, via the World Wide Web. All of the policy documents and other research and administration resides on the ‘Web’ in a virtual office environment.
In the centre of the room there’s a model of Australia. For anybody who has played the Warhammer Games, the model is quite similar. The armies are painted blue and red with the minority, but powerful terrorists painted green. The only person in the room not ensconced in his private capsule, is standing alongside the model, and moves the armies around at the direction of the other 150 people. It’s an extremely busy and chaotic role but he is the only person who knows what is going on in the country.
There is one capsule that stands alone on the perimeter of the room and its painted gold. The king of the room is the person best able to negotiate with the world. He has a circle of 5 computers, one for each continent and is in constant communication with the UAV (Unmanned Ariel Vehicle) operator in each area. These guys are expert at operating remote controlled toys. They spy on each other’s Operations both on the ground and in the war rooms.
Voting is still at the local level but it’s not compulsory and has at long last been automated with each home connected to the Operations Room via the new fibre optic technology.
Sunday, 22 August 2010
A Changing Life by Peta
“Jen love, sit next to me and keep quiet for five minutes, I have something to tell you.”
Matt nervously twisted a strand of hair tightly around his finger.
“I have decided to have the surgery.” Jen’s jaw dropped as she stared at Matt in disbelief.
“Now before you go off your trolley just listen to me.” Matt hurried on. “This isn’t a sudden decision, I have been thinking about it a long time. You know that. Now that I have Gran’s inheritance I can finally afford it without going into all sorts of debt. It will be the beginning of a new life for me.”
Matt stood and wandered to the window. He stared dreamily out at the manicured gardens. He always thought they were beautiful this time of year,. He turned back towards Jen who’s mouth still hung open.
“Come on girlfriend shut that gob of yours. It’s very unattractive.”
Jen obeyed Matt’s direction, then finally found her voice.
“Matt are you sure about this? There’s no going back. You know that. What’s wrong with things the way they are? I thought you were happy?”
“It’s not a question of not being happy. I am “happy” whatever that means but I am not me. I have lived this lie far too long. It is time for me to leap forward.”
“Some leap! Into the unknown. You have no idea what lies ahead if you take this path.”
“Jen, I don’t expect you to understand. How could you. You’re a woman. You have everything I want and you take it for granted. No offence. It’s taken me a long time to come to terms with this. Don’t rain on my parade. Just hug me and be the great friend you have always been.”
Matt stretched out his arms towards Jen. She fell into them and hugged him tightly.
“I am just so scared for you darling.” Jen spoke softly into Matt’s chest.
“I know, so am I.” Matt sighed with resignation.
“What if they botch it up?” Jen asked with concern.
Matt laughed. Jen joined him.
“But seriously.” Jen said. “A sex change is a very complex operation, there are so many things that could go wrong. Have you thought about that?”
“What do you think? Of course I have thought about it. It’s all I have been thinking about. It’s why it’s taken me this long to do it. Once they cut off my dick I’m in no man’s land – pardon the pun.” He cackled infectiously. “But love you know what, I have to do this. I don’t want to be the local he-she any more. I want to walk proudly in my Jimmy Choos without all the snide remarks and finger pointing. You don’t know what it’s like to be the butt of everyone’s jokes. The best thing you can do for me is to organise my coming out party – make it huge! Gran will pay for that too – loads of champagne and caviar and MEN, lots of gorgeous MEN! Let’s say November 12th, I should be ready by then.”
“oh and Jen, you are not to tell a soul. It will be our little secret until then.”
Matt nervously twisted a strand of hair tightly around his finger.
“I have decided to have the surgery.” Jen’s jaw dropped as she stared at Matt in disbelief.
“Now before you go off your trolley just listen to me.” Matt hurried on. “This isn’t a sudden decision, I have been thinking about it a long time. You know that. Now that I have Gran’s inheritance I can finally afford it without going into all sorts of debt. It will be the beginning of a new life for me.”
Matt stood and wandered to the window. He stared dreamily out at the manicured gardens. He always thought they were beautiful this time of year,. He turned back towards Jen who’s mouth still hung open.
“Come on girlfriend shut that gob of yours. It’s very unattractive.”
Jen obeyed Matt’s direction, then finally found her voice.
“Matt are you sure about this? There’s no going back. You know that. What’s wrong with things the way they are? I thought you were happy?”
“It’s not a question of not being happy. I am “happy” whatever that means but I am not me. I have lived this lie far too long. It is time for me to leap forward.”
“Some leap! Into the unknown. You have no idea what lies ahead if you take this path.”
“Jen, I don’t expect you to understand. How could you. You’re a woman. You have everything I want and you take it for granted. No offence. It’s taken me a long time to come to terms with this. Don’t rain on my parade. Just hug me and be the great friend you have always been.”
Matt stretched out his arms towards Jen. She fell into them and hugged him tightly.
“I am just so scared for you darling.” Jen spoke softly into Matt’s chest.
“I know, so am I.” Matt sighed with resignation.
“What if they botch it up?” Jen asked with concern.
Matt laughed. Jen joined him.
“But seriously.” Jen said. “A sex change is a very complex operation, there are so many things that could go wrong. Have you thought about that?”
“What do you think? Of course I have thought about it. It’s all I have been thinking about. It’s why it’s taken me this long to do it. Once they cut off my dick I’m in no man’s land – pardon the pun.” He cackled infectiously. “But love you know what, I have to do this. I don’t want to be the local he-she any more. I want to walk proudly in my Jimmy Choos without all the snide remarks and finger pointing. You don’t know what it’s like to be the butt of everyone’s jokes. The best thing you can do for me is to organise my coming out party – make it huge! Gran will pay for that too – loads of champagne and caviar and MEN, lots of gorgeous MEN! Let’s say November 12th, I should be ready by then.”
“oh and Jen, you are not to tell a soul. It will be our little secret until then.”
Mid life crisis (by Heather)
A close friend has a life-altering decision to make and asks you for advice. What advice do you give? Write the conversation between you and your friend.
Liz nibbled a knuckle, then moved her hand to wind a blonde curl around her finger. “Oh, Sally," she said, grabbing my hand impulsively, “thank you for agreeing to meet on such short notice.” She hesitated. “I’ve got a little problem.” She coughed delicately.
I thought, yes, she does. My sister, the bane of my existence and the closest thing to my heart, showed no trace of her usual happy-go-lucky demeanour. She looked edgy; no -- outright worried.
“So what’s up, kiddo?” I asked. We ordered coffees. I waited while she collected her thoughts.
“The truth is,” she said, “I need your advice.”
Well, I can say with pride that I did NOT faint dead away and fall under the table. We have known each other for almost 40 years, my little sister and I, and never once in all that time has she asked for my advice. This is in spite of the fact that on 1,234,567 occasions I have offered it, and although she has not once acted on this advice, I have almost always been proved right.
Utter scepticism and pathetic eagerness warred within me.
“All right,” I said, clearing my throat cautiously, “what’s the deal?”
“Well,” she said, “I’ve met this guy.”
I checked my vitals. No problem yet. I’ve heard those words a thousand times or so.
She continued. “I went with Janet to a rally for the Tamil refugees, you know how Janet is, but I’ll tell you it was really inspiring, all these fervent speeches about the conditions those poor people live in at home, and how they’re being treated here, and the injustice of it all.” She paused to looked up at me from under those long mascared eye lashes. I swear I saw a tear forming in the corner of one eye.
“Anyway, one of the guys was so passionate and so gorgeous…”
“One of the SPEAKER guys?” I interjected. “One of the ORGANISERS?” My heart skipped a beat.
We both paused while the coffees showed up on the table. The guy could probably sense the racketing up of tension because he gave us both a look as he placed the coffees.
“Yes,” she said, “one of the most important guys. He had a strong accent but he was so articulate and so driven by his cause. And you should see his slim, vigorous body. Anyway, we met up afterward, went for a coffee, then out for dinner, and then, well, I mean, really, Sally, he’s just gorgeous and a wonderful man in spite of all he must have done and been through…”
“So you slept with him,” I said, not a question, in the most even tone I could manage. She nodded. “A Tamil Tiger terrorist and you slept with him?” I whipped a smile onto the end of the sentence to take out its sting. I had been asked for advice and the last thing I wanted was to blow my one chance at what was obviously a life-altering contribution I had to make.
Liz leaned toward me. “Oh, Sally, he’s SO not a terrorist. I mean, he might have been a terrorist once when his environment was so against him, but I can tell he’s just a wonderful loving man now. So what if he’s a few years younger than me? So what if we have different religions? So what if we have different interests?”
“So you’re wondering if you should start a relationship with him,” I asked in strangled tones.
“Oh, goodness, Sally, we’re a long way past starting a relationship. He wants me to marry him, move into his family’s home and have a baby together, and THAT’S what I’m wondering. Am I too old to try to start a family?”
I sat frozen, barely able to breath.
“Sally, I love him so much, he just makes my head spin. I feel 16 again. I want to dance all night, and sing in the streets…”
Then her tone shifted subtly. A flicker of concern accented the little lines between her eyebrows as she leaned forward slightly. “But it’s crossed my mind I might just be having a midlife thing. I mean, I’m over 30...”
“You’re over 35,” my lips corrected her, as a flicker of hope gripped my heart.
“Yes, well, I am, yes, I am,” she said. “So I’m thinking, if I really AM having a midlife thing, should I marry this guy and start a family, which is really, like, stepping into the unknown, or should I just, you know, get a Botox treatment and try to forget about him.” This time she looked straight into my eyes. The hint of tear had turned into two pools that escaped her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. “What do you think, Sally?” she said, as the eyelashes fluttered ever so slightly.
“Yes,” I croaked. “Get Botox, absolutely.” I could tell I was babbling but I couldn’t stop. “I have a friend who Botoxed out two worry lines and she says she’s stopped worrying now that…I mean, I wouldn’t use it myself but if that will help you take your mind off things, that’s what you should do.” I nodded wildly to underline my conviction.
She looked a little crestfallen. “Oh Sally, are you sure?”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure, I’m sure, I’m really sure. I’m so sure I’ll pay for the treatment for you.” I tried to smile brightly at her. “I’ll write you a cheque right now. How much?” I grabbed my purse, fumbling for my cheque book.
“Oh, YOU,” she said. “You’re really something. What would I do without you? All RIGHT, I knew I could count on you. To tell me what to do, I mean. I’ll just pick up the pieces of my life and get on with it.” She grabbed my hand in hers. “It’ll be about $850, I checked just in case.” She beamed at me while my trembling hand dashed out the details of the cheque. She picked up her bag. “I gotta dash, sis. Love you madly!” She wrapped an arm around my neck and buzzed me soundly on the cheek with a sloppy kiss, and disappeared out the café door.
I sat frozen for a moment, then sipped the dregs of my coffee while I tried to compose myself. I pulled a ten-dollar bill out of my change purse and placed it on the table. I sat looking for a moment at the bill and thought fondly how it was always, always, always me who picked up the tab when we met.
The smile that had formed with the fond thought faded slightly. I looked at the money on the table, I looked at the door where currents of Liz’ blithe departure still lingered, I glanced at the cheque book lying just inside my purse. I nibbled a lip, then shrugged, relieved that I had played her so well and saved her life.
What are sisters for?!
Liz nibbled a knuckle, then moved her hand to wind a blonde curl around her finger. “Oh, Sally," she said, grabbing my hand impulsively, “thank you for agreeing to meet on such short notice.” She hesitated. “I’ve got a little problem.” She coughed delicately.
I thought, yes, she does. My sister, the bane of my existence and the closest thing to my heart, showed no trace of her usual happy-go-lucky demeanour. She looked edgy; no -- outright worried.
“So what’s up, kiddo?” I asked. We ordered coffees. I waited while she collected her thoughts.
“The truth is,” she said, “I need your advice.”
Well, I can say with pride that I did NOT faint dead away and fall under the table. We have known each other for almost 40 years, my little sister and I, and never once in all that time has she asked for my advice. This is in spite of the fact that on 1,234,567 occasions I have offered it, and although she has not once acted on this advice, I have almost always been proved right.
Utter scepticism and pathetic eagerness warred within me.
“All right,” I said, clearing my throat cautiously, “what’s the deal?”
“Well,” she said, “I’ve met this guy.”
I checked my vitals. No problem yet. I’ve heard those words a thousand times or so.
She continued. “I went with Janet to a rally for the Tamil refugees, you know how Janet is, but I’ll tell you it was really inspiring, all these fervent speeches about the conditions those poor people live in at home, and how they’re being treated here, and the injustice of it all.” She paused to looked up at me from under those long mascared eye lashes. I swear I saw a tear forming in the corner of one eye.
“Anyway, one of the guys was so passionate and so gorgeous…”
“One of the SPEAKER guys?” I interjected. “One of the ORGANISERS?” My heart skipped a beat.
We both paused while the coffees showed up on the table. The guy could probably sense the racketing up of tension because he gave us both a look as he placed the coffees.
“Yes,” she said, “one of the most important guys. He had a strong accent but he was so articulate and so driven by his cause. And you should see his slim, vigorous body. Anyway, we met up afterward, went for a coffee, then out for dinner, and then, well, I mean, really, Sally, he’s just gorgeous and a wonderful man in spite of all he must have done and been through…”
“So you slept with him,” I said, not a question, in the most even tone I could manage. She nodded. “A Tamil Tiger terrorist and you slept with him?” I whipped a smile onto the end of the sentence to take out its sting. I had been asked for advice and the last thing I wanted was to blow my one chance at what was obviously a life-altering contribution I had to make.
Liz leaned toward me. “Oh, Sally, he’s SO not a terrorist. I mean, he might have been a terrorist once when his environment was so against him, but I can tell he’s just a wonderful loving man now. So what if he’s a few years younger than me? So what if we have different religions? So what if we have different interests?”
“So you’re wondering if you should start a relationship with him,” I asked in strangled tones.
“Oh, goodness, Sally, we’re a long way past starting a relationship. He wants me to marry him, move into his family’s home and have a baby together, and THAT’S what I’m wondering. Am I too old to try to start a family?”
I sat frozen, barely able to breath.
“Sally, I love him so much, he just makes my head spin. I feel 16 again. I want to dance all night, and sing in the streets…”
Then her tone shifted subtly. A flicker of concern accented the little lines between her eyebrows as she leaned forward slightly. “But it’s crossed my mind I might just be having a midlife thing. I mean, I’m over 30...”
“You’re over 35,” my lips corrected her, as a flicker of hope gripped my heart.
“Yes, well, I am, yes, I am,” she said. “So I’m thinking, if I really AM having a midlife thing, should I marry this guy and start a family, which is really, like, stepping into the unknown, or should I just, you know, get a Botox treatment and try to forget about him.” This time she looked straight into my eyes. The hint of tear had turned into two pools that escaped her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. “What do you think, Sally?” she said, as the eyelashes fluttered ever so slightly.
“Yes,” I croaked. “Get Botox, absolutely.” I could tell I was babbling but I couldn’t stop. “I have a friend who Botoxed out two worry lines and she says she’s stopped worrying now that…I mean, I wouldn’t use it myself but if that will help you take your mind off things, that’s what you should do.” I nodded wildly to underline my conviction.
She looked a little crestfallen. “Oh Sally, are you sure?”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure, I’m sure, I’m really sure. I’m so sure I’ll pay for the treatment for you.” I tried to smile brightly at her. “I’ll write you a cheque right now. How much?” I grabbed my purse, fumbling for my cheque book.
“Oh, YOU,” she said. “You’re really something. What would I do without you? All RIGHT, I knew I could count on you. To tell me what to do, I mean. I’ll just pick up the pieces of my life and get on with it.” She grabbed my hand in hers. “It’ll be about $850, I checked just in case.” She beamed at me while my trembling hand dashed out the details of the cheque. She picked up her bag. “I gotta dash, sis. Love you madly!” She wrapped an arm around my neck and buzzed me soundly on the cheek with a sloppy kiss, and disappeared out the café door.
I sat frozen for a moment, then sipped the dregs of my coffee while I tried to compose myself. I pulled a ten-dollar bill out of my change purse and placed it on the table. I sat looking for a moment at the bill and thought fondly how it was always, always, always me who picked up the tab when we met.
The smile that had formed with the fond thought faded slightly. I looked at the money on the table, I looked at the door where currents of Liz’ blithe departure still lingered, I glanced at the cheque book lying just inside my purse. I nibbled a lip, then shrugged, relieved that I had played her so well and saved her life.
What are sisters for?!
Kunhn-Tucker Conditions v2 23-8-10 Gordon
Further work on the SEM Book
The yellow area was edited in detail. The boxed areas are new this week. Unfortunately Figure 3.12 did not download properly this week.
Imagining Sustainable Futures (Kerry)
Before proceeding with any discussion about the role of art in imagining sustainable futures, it is necessary to provide a base understanding of the meaning of the term sustainable in this context. It is a word that has entered the everyday language to the point of being a buzzword; a word echoed by corporations, politicians and grassroots eco-warriors alike.
In 1987 the World Commission on Environment and Development produced a report, Our Common Future, which included the most commonly upheld definition of sustainability. In the report there was a clear call to global cooperation and to consider the combined “social, economic and political concerns if we are to successfully move toward a more sustainable future.” (Parr, p. 1) Sustainability was understood as “development that meets the needs of today without compromising the needs of future generations.” (Parr, p. 1) In 1991, The World Conservation Union, the United Nations Environment Programme and the World Wide Fund for Nature joined forces to produce a document called Caring for the Earth: A Strategy for Sustainable Living. The aim of the document is to help improve the condition of the world’s people, by defining two requirements as follows:
“One is to secure a widespread and deeply-held commitment to a new ethic, the ethic for sustainable living, and to translate its principles into practice. The other is to integrate conservation and development to enable people everywhere to enjoy long, healthy and fulfilling lives.” (Caring for the Earth, p. 2)
Some principles to guide the way toward sustainable societies are outlined:
• Respect and care for the community of life
• Improve the quality of human life
• Conserve the Earth’s vitality and diversity
• Minimize the depletion of non-renewable resources
• Keep within the Earth’s carrying capacity
• Change personal attitudes and practices
• Enable communities to care for their own environments
• Provide a national framework for integrating development and conservation
• Forge a global alliance (Caring for the Earth, p. 2)
In her book Hijacking Sustainability, Adrian Parr voices a concern about a limited view of sustainability. She is concerned about a view that favours global economic prosperity and gives priority to action from multinational corporations and multinational organisations to the detriment of local specificity. (Parr, p. 2) She notes that there are thousands of grassroots local organizations seeking justice for “the underprivileged, including the right of the environment not to be destroyed.” (Parr, p. 2) Parr uses the term ‘sustainability culture’ to describe this localised enthusiasm for sustainable ways of life and social equality. She sees popular culture as the arena in which the “meaning and value of sustainability is contested, produced, and exercised.” (Parr, p. 3) It is a social practice that allows new and emerging values and practices to intersect with the traditional. Although Parr does not refer to the role of art in the conversation about sustainability, nevertheless it can be the artists within a community who influence popular culture.
An exhibition held in 2010 at the Museum of Contemporary Art (Sydney), In the Balance: Art in a Changing World, is a specific example of popular culture dealing with the issue of sustainability and responding to current environmental debates. Irene Watson begins a discussion in the exhibition catalogue by mourning the lost possibilities for Indigenous Australia following colonisation by European settlers in the name of progress. She is referring in particular to the Murray-Darling river system. She observes that the coloniser’s idea of progress has directly impacted the river system and in so doing has disconnected the Indigenous people from their country and their “sustainable relationships with the seas, waters and lands” of their ancestors. (Watson, p. 12) Watson acknowledges that the Indigenous people now live at the margins of Australian society, however she sees the evidence of Indigenous artists providing “a creative response to the environmental imperatives of our time.” (Watson, p. 12)
The intersection of the new and the traditional culture, as referred to by Parr, is made clear in the work of several Indigenous artists at the Museum of Contemporary Art, including Lorraine Connelly-Northey. Connelly-Northey is a Waradgerie woman who is “remaking the past.” (Watson, p. 12) According to Watson, she works with settler’s discarded commodities as an act of resistance and “transforms them into the baskets and possum-skin cloaks of her ancestors.” (Watson, p. 12) Watson describes Connelly-Northey’s work as a re-weaving of materials such as the barbed wire of settler’s fences, corrugated iron, and mesh, processing them as an act of decolonisation. (Watson, p. 12) Watson is realistic about the effects of colonisation and climate change on the river system but claims that “what we call Art can also be a strategy for survival.” (Watson, p. 13) She suggests that the In the Balance exhibition could be a “strategy and a hope for the ending of acts of inhumanity and environmental destruction and [could] allow [the Indigenous people] to grow up and take that different path…, back towards being human on earth.” (Watson, p. 13) Watson recognises that this could be a dream but that the generations to come “need visions to imagine and grow a future humanity.” (Watson, p. 13) Watson is referring both to the sustainability of the Indigenous people’s way of life and also, inevitably, to the sustainability of the environment. Hers is a political view; she identifies the In the Balance exhibition, and the Indigenous works in it in particular, as “calls to action to change…going beyond political rhetoric, going to a place of ancient obligations in order to bring change, but also the balance and harmony to our lives as humans on earth.” (Watson, p. 13)
References
Parr, Adrian. Hijacking Sustainability. Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press, 2009.
Prescott-Allen, Robert. "Caring for the Earth: A Strategy for Sustainable Living." ed David A. Munro and Martin W. Holdgate. Gland, Switzerland: The World Conservation Fund, United Nations Environment Program, and World Wide Fund for Nature, 1991.
Watson, Irene. "Aboriginal Worlds, Genocide, Ecocide and Cycles of Life Returning." In In the Balance: Art for a Changing World, edited by Rachel Kent. Sydney: Museum of Contemporary Art, 2010.
In 1987 the World Commission on Environment and Development produced a report, Our Common Future, which included the most commonly upheld definition of sustainability. In the report there was a clear call to global cooperation and to consider the combined “social, economic and political concerns if we are to successfully move toward a more sustainable future.” (Parr, p. 1) Sustainability was understood as “development that meets the needs of today without compromising the needs of future generations.” (Parr, p. 1) In 1991, The World Conservation Union, the United Nations Environment Programme and the World Wide Fund for Nature joined forces to produce a document called Caring for the Earth: A Strategy for Sustainable Living. The aim of the document is to help improve the condition of the world’s people, by defining two requirements as follows:
“One is to secure a widespread and deeply-held commitment to a new ethic, the ethic for sustainable living, and to translate its principles into practice. The other is to integrate conservation and development to enable people everywhere to enjoy long, healthy and fulfilling lives.” (Caring for the Earth, p. 2)
Some principles to guide the way toward sustainable societies are outlined:
• Respect and care for the community of life
• Improve the quality of human life
• Conserve the Earth’s vitality and diversity
• Minimize the depletion of non-renewable resources
• Keep within the Earth’s carrying capacity
• Change personal attitudes and practices
• Enable communities to care for their own environments
• Provide a national framework for integrating development and conservation
• Forge a global alliance (Caring for the Earth, p. 2)
In her book Hijacking Sustainability, Adrian Parr voices a concern about a limited view of sustainability. She is concerned about a view that favours global economic prosperity and gives priority to action from multinational corporations and multinational organisations to the detriment of local specificity. (Parr, p. 2) She notes that there are thousands of grassroots local organizations seeking justice for “the underprivileged, including the right of the environment not to be destroyed.” (Parr, p. 2) Parr uses the term ‘sustainability culture’ to describe this localised enthusiasm for sustainable ways of life and social equality. She sees popular culture as the arena in which the “meaning and value of sustainability is contested, produced, and exercised.” (Parr, p. 3) It is a social practice that allows new and emerging values and practices to intersect with the traditional. Although Parr does not refer to the role of art in the conversation about sustainability, nevertheless it can be the artists within a community who influence popular culture.
An exhibition held in 2010 at the Museum of Contemporary Art (Sydney), In the Balance: Art in a Changing World, is a specific example of popular culture dealing with the issue of sustainability and responding to current environmental debates. Irene Watson begins a discussion in the exhibition catalogue by mourning the lost possibilities for Indigenous Australia following colonisation by European settlers in the name of progress. She is referring in particular to the Murray-Darling river system. She observes that the coloniser’s idea of progress has directly impacted the river system and in so doing has disconnected the Indigenous people from their country and their “sustainable relationships with the seas, waters and lands” of their ancestors. (Watson, p. 12) Watson acknowledges that the Indigenous people now live at the margins of Australian society, however she sees the evidence of Indigenous artists providing “a creative response to the environmental imperatives of our time.” (Watson, p. 12)
The intersection of the new and the traditional culture, as referred to by Parr, is made clear in the work of several Indigenous artists at the Museum of Contemporary Art, including Lorraine Connelly-Northey. Connelly-Northey is a Waradgerie woman who is “remaking the past.” (Watson, p. 12) According to Watson, she works with settler’s discarded commodities as an act of resistance and “transforms them into the baskets and possum-skin cloaks of her ancestors.” (Watson, p. 12) Watson describes Connelly-Northey’s work as a re-weaving of materials such as the barbed wire of settler’s fences, corrugated iron, and mesh, processing them as an act of decolonisation. (Watson, p. 12) Watson is realistic about the effects of colonisation and climate change on the river system but claims that “what we call Art can also be a strategy for survival.” (Watson, p. 13) She suggests that the In the Balance exhibition could be a “strategy and a hope for the ending of acts of inhumanity and environmental destruction and [could] allow [the Indigenous people] to grow up and take that different path…, back towards being human on earth.” (Watson, p. 13) Watson recognises that this could be a dream but that the generations to come “need visions to imagine and grow a future humanity.” (Watson, p. 13) Watson is referring both to the sustainability of the Indigenous people’s way of life and also, inevitably, to the sustainability of the environment. Hers is a political view; she identifies the In the Balance exhibition, and the Indigenous works in it in particular, as “calls to action to change…going beyond political rhetoric, going to a place of ancient obligations in order to bring change, but also the balance and harmony to our lives as humans on earth.” (Watson, p. 13)
References
Parr, Adrian. Hijacking Sustainability. Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press, 2009.
Prescott-Allen, Robert. "Caring for the Earth: A Strategy for Sustainable Living." ed David A. Munro and Martin W. Holdgate. Gland, Switzerland: The World Conservation Fund, United Nations Environment Program, and World Wide Fund for Nature, 1991.
Watson, Irene. "Aboriginal Worlds, Genocide, Ecocide and Cycles of Life Returning." In In the Balance: Art for a Changing World, edited by Rachel Kent. Sydney: Museum of Contemporary Art, 2010.
Saturday, 21 August 2010
Sue - Life-Changing Event
“My hair, no, oh no not my hair!”
Jeanette wakes up in a sweaty panic. She can cope with the rest of the drama around chemotherapy, but losing her hair was beyond the bounds of acceptable.
She rings Mary.
“I can’t go bald. I’d have a terrible egg shaped bare head, sticky out ears, such pronounced cheek bones that I’d look like I’ve starved myself and I’d be so cold. Mary what am I going to do?”
“I’m on my way around. We’ll create something, don’t worry”
The two girls huddle around the coffee table. Mary has a glass of red wine, Jeanette a steaming mug of cocoa.
“Right” says Mary. “First things first. How long, or how many chemo sessions, before your hair starts to fall out?”
“Oh Mary. I’ll look so terrible. Just look” and she pulls her long blond hair back from her face and severely smooths down the top.
“Ok, a wig it is. That’s easy. Would you like a real one, one with real hair, or can you handle one of those shiny synthetic ones?” “Or, we could scrap the wig idea and get absolutely carried away with a hat. Not just one hat, but a hat for every outfit. Can you imagine a floppy pink hat for parading around Bondi, a pull down over your ears 1920 style one for wearing to work. A black one would go with a few of your suits. Then you could go for a bright orange or wicked pink for party time.”
Jeanette manages a little grin.
“And we could play up even more with earrings. You know, long dangly ones to go with the floppy hat or colourful little studs for work”.
“Jeanette, I know this is a real challenge but we could make it into some fun”.
Now Jeanette gets into the action.
“Let’s go shopping Mary. There’s no better therapy than a bit of retail. I need some warm gear especially for casual wear, you know, a fleecy lined trackie, some red ugg boots and matching pom pom hat.”
She bursts out laughing. “I think Santa earrings would look great with that even though it’s not Christmas”
Now it’s Mary’s turn.
“Well I want a long dress for next year’s Darwin Cup Ball. Can you imagine, for such a way out, isolated place, Darwin has more formal events than the rest of Australia.” “I want something interesting and funky, but I will have to wear it more than once. What colour shall I go for?”
“I’d love to see you in something bright. For God’s sake don’t do any more black. You keep buying black and it washes you out and is so severe. How about purple? Or rust?”
“Wanna go shopping now Jeanette? We’ve got a couple of hours before they close at Bondi”
The two girls bundle themselves into Mary’s Suzuki. The roof is down and the air warm. Mary pulls an old cloche hat down over her short hair. Jeanette drags her hair back into a pony tail then plonks a sou’wester, a yellow shiny one, on top. They look at each other, they both cuddle to look at themselves in the rear vision mirror. They start giggling. And giggling. And giggling. In hoots of laughter they troll up the road.
Jeanette wakes up in a sweaty panic. She can cope with the rest of the drama around chemotherapy, but losing her hair was beyond the bounds of acceptable.
She rings Mary.
“I can’t go bald. I’d have a terrible egg shaped bare head, sticky out ears, such pronounced cheek bones that I’d look like I’ve starved myself and I’d be so cold. Mary what am I going to do?”
“I’m on my way around. We’ll create something, don’t worry”
The two girls huddle around the coffee table. Mary has a glass of red wine, Jeanette a steaming mug of cocoa.
“Right” says Mary. “First things first. How long, or how many chemo sessions, before your hair starts to fall out?”
“Oh Mary. I’ll look so terrible. Just look” and she pulls her long blond hair back from her face and severely smooths down the top.
“Ok, a wig it is. That’s easy. Would you like a real one, one with real hair, or can you handle one of those shiny synthetic ones?” “Or, we could scrap the wig idea and get absolutely carried away with a hat. Not just one hat, but a hat for every outfit. Can you imagine a floppy pink hat for parading around Bondi, a pull down over your ears 1920 style one for wearing to work. A black one would go with a few of your suits. Then you could go for a bright orange or wicked pink for party time.”
Jeanette manages a little grin.
“And we could play up even more with earrings. You know, long dangly ones to go with the floppy hat or colourful little studs for work”.
“Jeanette, I know this is a real challenge but we could make it into some fun”.
Now Jeanette gets into the action.
“Let’s go shopping Mary. There’s no better therapy than a bit of retail. I need some warm gear especially for casual wear, you know, a fleecy lined trackie, some red ugg boots and matching pom pom hat.”
She bursts out laughing. “I think Santa earrings would look great with that even though it’s not Christmas”
Now it’s Mary’s turn.
“Well I want a long dress for next year’s Darwin Cup Ball. Can you imagine, for such a way out, isolated place, Darwin has more formal events than the rest of Australia.” “I want something interesting and funky, but I will have to wear it more than once. What colour shall I go for?”
“I’d love to see you in something bright. For God’s sake don’t do any more black. You keep buying black and it washes you out and is so severe. How about purple? Or rust?”
“Wanna go shopping now Jeanette? We’ve got a couple of hours before they close at Bondi”
The two girls bundle themselves into Mary’s Suzuki. The roof is down and the air warm. Mary pulls an old cloche hat down over her short hair. Jeanette drags her hair back into a pony tail then plonks a sou’wester, a yellow shiny one, on top. They look at each other, they both cuddle to look at themselves in the rear vision mirror. They start giggling. And giggling. And giggling. In hoots of laughter they troll up the road.
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