the ’sham

For those of you who have just got your copy of Bilateral Petersham from the exhibition at artspace, perhaps you’re beginning to delve into my adventures of just over a year ago. I’d be curious to know how it reads, what the experience of reading is like for you, where you are when you read…
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It’s Tuesday May 22, 2007. Two days to go to the opening of the exhibition at Artspace in Wooloomooloo. The show’s called Publicity. It’s curated by Reuben Keehan.

Reuben’s idea about the title “publicity” was to take the word back a bit, beyond our current understanding of it as advertising or marketing. He wanted to get to an earlier meaning, from the French (I think) meaning “the act of being in public”. More like “public-ness” I guess. So… doing things in public, being a public figure, the relationship between public space and private space, between public time and private time, or simply being part of the “general public”.

Some of the works in this exhibition have grappled with the concept of “public space” - even though they didn’t really set out that way. It’s just that working outdoors seems increasingly to raise the issue of permission, what you can and can’t do when you are on land which is owned by the government. Unless it’s relaxing with your family in a non-organised way, activities on so-called public lands seem to generate paranoia and the need for assurances that what will happen will not be dangerous, upsetting or disruptive.

It has to be said, most “interventionist” art which happens in public space is not in itself particularly dangerous, upsetting or disruptive. Bridget wanted to have some horses canter through the streets of Sydney, with the riders waving her ambiguous suffragette-slogan flags as they went. Astra has been pulling her mobile perspex booth through the streets, communicating with passers-by by writing on the booth’s transparent surface with marker pens. At worst, these spectacles might cause a slight confusion, since we’ve become used to only seeing events taking place out in public that are either

(a). functional (like driving a car)
(b). spectacular and not directly functional (advertising stunts or a conventional political protests)

If Astra and Bridget are not trying to sell anything, protest anything, or achieve anything practical, then what are they doing, and why?

Art, obviously, is a small sphere of activity where uselessness is tolerated. Declaring that something is “art” might allow you to get away with not explaining why you are doing something, the underlying meanings etc. But the “what” still needs to be vetted and approved (riding a horse through the CBD, setting up a small wheely booth on a footpath). And this is where things get tricky. How to get permission for an activity which will develop in unknown directions, or which needs to be directly responsive to interactions with people and places?

Often, artists will just sidestep the permission process and go ahead regardless, hoping to slip under the radar (although this becomes trickier when you’re being sponsored by a public gallery).

In the case of my Petersham project, I chose to utilise another way of being in public which didn’t require council approval: a blog. During April and May 2006 I stayed within the boundaries of Sydney’s inner-western suburb of Petersham. The suburb was my “site”. Each day, I blogged about what went on: who I met, what we did, things I saw going on. There was no set structure to enable me to “work in public” or “interact with the public”. I was the public!

For those two months, I ranged around the neighbourhood, drifting anywhere invitations, attractions or curiosity pulled me. Like any artist, I sought out the limitations of my own rules, trying to locate the exact location of the borders, the invisible walls of my cell. Paradoxically, the restriction I placed on myself - not to leave Petersham - did not reduce my freedom. It actually resulted in an explosion of possibilties within an area I might previously have thought to be indistinguishable from others, and thus unremarkable. As you can see from the thousands of words which make up the resulting blog, Petersham is far from unremarkable.

Working with blogging in this way, writing publically each day, is important to me for another reason. As someone who responds well to - but gets stressed out by - deadlines, I wanted to develop a method of artmaking that placed emphasis on working a little each and every day. I figured, if I can post a blog entry each morning, about the events of the previous day, then the last few days of the project will be no more stressful than the first. I can continue to “be in the moment”, and the resulting artwork will simply be an accumulation of all these moments.

But the “artwork” is not just this resulting blog, or the the printed out text in book form. It was also a charged period of public time, during which the project was living and breathing. Each day, dozens of readers would log on, wondering “what Lucas was up to today”. The daily life of Lucas Ihlein, self-imposed prisoner of the ’sham, became a soap opera, an online serial-novel, his own high-rating TV channel, a voyeuristic wormhole into this most ordinary of suburbs. What would happen next? You’d have to wait and see! And a stray comment you left in response to the blog might send Lucas off on a new and unexpected adventure, which would turn up as tomorrow’s story. The show was alive.

On May 31st, 2006, the project finished, I stopped updating the blog each day, and one by one my readers shuffled off to find something else to occupy their time. I, too, became absorbed in other activities, travelling and working in different places and on other projects. Bilateral Petersham became a neglected website, gathering dust and comment-spam. Metaphors abound: a garden overrun with weeds, an abandoned house, an amusement park in the off season, the leftovers of a dinner party. It was a little sad.

Of course, you can always dig through and read the whole thing online. It was (and is) all still there. But to start from scratch and churn your way through the blog after its “public moment” has passed - all ninety thousand words on a flickering screen - is more than anyone I know has been able to bear. (One kind fellow claimed he would log on and ration himself to one entry per day, pretending that the project was still alive, but I have no indication that he actually did it).

Instead, I offer this printed version, which I hope will read something like The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole - a literary formula which is compelling precisely because of the narrator’s ignorance. There is a voyeuristic pleasure in sifting through somebody else’s unformed thoughts.

The transition from computer-screen to photocopy-page was not always smooth. Hyperlinks peppered throughout the text hover frustratingly before your eyes, unclickable on the ink-and-pulp version of Bilateral Petersham. I could only include a fraction of the images which grace the blog. And, of course, if you want to leave a comment, you’ll just have to jot something in the margin with your biro, or use a post-it note, or send me a postcard.

On the other hand, the bookish version you hold in your hands means you can settle in for a good old read without bombarding your eyes with electrons. You can take me with you on the train, into the garden (or, as Calvino once suggested, you could even try reading mounted on a horse, feet comfortably wedged in the stirrups, book nestled in the mane, on the gentle incline of the patient beast’s neck). In short, you can take Bilateral Petersham out in public (rather than burrowing away in the flickering glow of the screen in your living room, or sneaking time between work emails). Heck, you can even get on the 428 and come out to Petersham and read it here (I recommend the park at the corner of James and Albert). Despite my love of blogs, I believe we still haven’t got a better interface for embodied reading than the book. Bon Chance!

On Thursday, I was late opening the gallery, on account of accompanying Vanessa on the 1976 tour. I had put a notice on the door indicating that I wouldn’t be opening up til noon, but I arrived about ten past noon. Two ladies were standing around the doorway, waiting to come in. I apologised for being late. They said no worries, they had gone off for a coffee while they waited.

They came inside, and looked around, very interested, asked lots of questions, bought one of my folders with all the blog printouts. Then one of them said:

“So, where is Denise’s artwork?”

Denise? I didn’t know what they were talking about. I suggested that they might have got the wrong week – maybe Denise’s show doesn’t start til next week. In fact, I remember seeing that the Glebe and Inner Western Weekly had listed someone else’s show instead of mine. That probably accounts for the error. But they were confused. They had a flyer for Denise’s show in the car, they were sure the dates were right.

Anyway, they stuck around for a while, and we talked about the relative merits of different suburbs. Balmain particularly, and the transformations that have gone on there during the last twenty years. When they were ready to leave, I suggested they show me Denise’s flyer, so I could at least pass on the correct info in case any other punters came along to see her work. They went and fetched it. The flyer read “opening Wednesday May 25th, the exhibition to be launched by her excellency the governor, Marie Bashir.” This was odd, I’m sure we would have known if the Governor was around. Scanning further down, I read: “the exhibition will continue until June 3rd, 2005”.

These ladies were exactly a YEAR late to see Denise’s show.

One of them turned to me and asked: “so…If we came here a year ago…we wouldn’t have met you, then?”

I didn’t feel so bad about being a little late to open the gallery.

Sunday, 7.41pm: I haven’t the energy to write any more today. But if you have thoughts, responses, reports on your experiences at the weekend, at the Friday night slideshow/bowling event, or at the exhibition/border walk on Saturday, feel free to chime in here! I’ll keep updating over the next days.
Hooroo!
-Lucas

Wednesday:

I meet the Aquilizans for the first time. Anna and I walk up to the Petersham Town Hall to see how they’re getting along. The power keeps shorting out in their flat, something about too many heaters on the same circuit. They must be cold, coming all the way from the Philippines.

Noon: I decide enough is enough. It’s time to punch through the border of the ’sham and inspect the gallery in Camperdown.

Up til now, I have been flirting with a few other ideas: leaving it until the opening, and grandly entering a completely empty gallery; sending someone else as my proxy to measure and photograph the space so I would know what to plan for, and so on. In the end, I figure all these stratagems are unnecessary. Mere stylistic gimmicks. Since my visit to Uncle Lester, the ’sham’s been bleeding air from its south side for nearly a fortnight. It’s pointless to pretend that the border rule is as important as it once was. Anyway, my point has been made. My integrity is intact. Isn’t it?

I walk along Parramatta Road towards Stanmore. Crossing the lights at Phillip Street, I feel the same little frisson as the other two times I’ve transgressed. But the feeling is fainter now, the power of the boundaries is beginning to fade. I keep expecting someone to lean out of a bus and exclaim “Hey Lucas! What are YOU doing here?” People love catching you in the act. But it doesn’t happen.

I pass the Stanmore McDonalds, and there it is: the former border of Petersham. I’ve only ever seen it in the photo Lisa took for me (which graces the banner of this blog) and for some reason I’d assumed the pavement signage would be much larger. And there’s the creek. Poor old Johnston’s Creek, reduced to a concrete-clad semi-circular drain running between a global take away franchise and an industrial building. There’s a plaque, embedded into the cement in front of a rusty fence overlooking the creek. The plaque needs a rub with a bit of Brasso.

At the gallery, I measure up the walls. There’s enough space for all the blog entries to be blu-tacked up, one day at a time. They’ll fill the room. If nothing else, it’ll be an impressive, and graphic, display of labour. I drag some furniture into the room, couches and a table for the computer. It’s going to be a simple show.

On the way home, I stop in at the Olympia Milk Bar. I figure, if I’m outside the border anyway, I may as well have the best and cheapest milkshake in the inner-west. The lights are out, there’s a softness to this old and very weird place. I’ve given up trying to start conversations with the owner. I figure, if he doesn’t want to talk, why force it?

Thursday:

Nicole from eleven magazine emails me. We’d made a tentative arrangement to do an interview today, but I feel too stressed to be able to sit still and talk about the project. Cheekily, I ask if she can come over anyway and do me a favour. I need folders from Officeworks - cardboard envelope folders for my blog printouts. And I need someone to get them for me while I stand on the border and wait. Nicole agrees to help me out.

It feels a bit odd to be doing this. I mean, yesterday I left for Camperdown. So why can’t I just pop over to Officeworks in Lewisham. What difference does it make?

I can’t explain. But that’s what happens.

On her way back from Officeworks, Nicole picks me up outside the shut-down fruit store. There’s good news and bad news. The folders look great, and they’re cheaper than expected. But my credit card has fallen down into a crevice between the plastic compartments under her car stereo. Nicole rummages around. I fetch a screwdriver, tongs, a coathanger. Eventually, the card emerges. Nicole races off, and I promise her an interview, sometime soon…

At one pm, I have an appointment with someone. But for the life of me, I can’t remember who, nor anything about it…

At eight, Bec and I get Indian take away. I ask the nice fellow behind the counter for some plastic containers, the kind they put the mint sauce into. I want to use them for making small flans for the exhibition on Saturday. He gives me about thirty. I ask how much I owe him. After a moment to reflect, he replies, “Just keep coming back!”

In the evening, I phone up Louise, who coaches me through the production of a large scale word document, using the “master document” function. This is so boring it’s almost putting me to sleep thinking about it now. At three am, a “book” emerges, weighing in at 141 pages and 85,000 words… [You can download it here, PDF 1.9MB]

Bec sits on the couch sifting through hundreds of Petersham photographs to make a powerpoint presentation. She chooses a handy 200. It should be noted, Bec is a photography curator. I trust her choices implicitly.

Friday:

I set up a style-sheet so that each blog entry can be neatly printed out without any fuss. These printouts will go up on the walls of the gallery.

Vanessa comes around and sets to work making mini flans. Lisa offers to help, and I send her shopping for tea, sugar, coffee, milk. We all sit in the kitchen together, gluing labels onto my folders for the exhibition. You cannot set a value on moral support of this kind.

At sunset, we sit down to watch 1001 nights on the internet. Vanessa has written today’s story. It’s about the perils of trying to cross Parramatta Road, and the nation of Malta seems to figure pretty importantly too. Barbara’s mouth rolls up and spits out the words, especially when she reaches this sentence:

grubby sticky tape wrapped around telegraph poles and bus tickets in the gutter and flattened cigarette butts.

We all hurry along. We’re due at the bowlo by six, and I’ve still got to find my Filipino guest artists…

Sunday 27 May 2006:
The ’sham has sprung a leak. Gradually, the edges of my boundary are beginning to fade. I’m sitting in the Chrissie Cotter Gallery in Camperdown, writing these words. Until May 31st, my world will consist of Petersham plus Chrissie Cotter, and the corridor of land I walk between the two. Then, on the first of June (my thirty-first birthday), I will return to my life “as normal”.

It’s been a heck of a few days. The hurtle towards deadlines has left me with little time for blogging. Or rather, running around trying to organise the dinner-slideshow at the bowlo (Friday night) and the gallery launch (Saturday arvo) made time something of an rival. Time was my nemesis. I was in “a race against time”. In trying so hard to “be on time” I couldn’t quite bring myself to really “be in time” - to sit here at the screen and write. To sit here, no matter how long it takes, until the writing is done.

But the exhibition is up, many thanks to the generosity of my good friends, who gave their precious time to help stick about 400 pieces of A4 paper (with 1600 tiny blobs of blutack) on the walls of the gallery; to make a couple of dozen mini-flans, and homebaked cookies for the afternoon tea; to wash cups and serve coffee; to lend me equipment; and to generally be good sports about my inability to pull it all together alone.

Big big thanks to Bec, Lisa, Vanessa, Anna, Keg, Lucas, Dodo, Jessie. And a mighty cheer to Fiona, Emily and Lisa from the Bowlo, and to our guests Alfredo and Isabel, for making Friday night run so smoothly.

When I woke up this morning I made a list of things to be sorted by Friday and Saturday for the dinner and exhibition. There are a fair few, to say the least. Complicated, of course, by the fact that the exhibition is happening out of my boundaries, and I haven’t even seen the gallery recently…

And here I am still aimlessly wandering around meeting people and walking dogs. It might (!) be time to get down to business.

I’m just off to meet the visiting Filipino artists…more soon…

Yep, I know it’s crazy, but the ’sham is soon coming to a close. On Saturday the 27th of May, I’ll be hosting a launch at the Chrissie Cotter Gallery. And yes, you’re right, it’s not in Petersham. It’s in Camperdown. Here’s my rationale. Camperdown used to be the easternmost limit of the Municipality of Petersham. The banner image you see at the top of this page was photographed (thanks Lisa) from the pavement on Parramatta Road, at the former boundary of the ’sham, Johnston’s Creek. So the trip to Camperdown will give us all a chance to find out exactly where that line used to be drawn. A final border walk.

Here’s the lowdown. There are two options. A dinner on Friday night at the Petersham Bowlo, and an exhibition on Saturday arvo at Chrissie Cotter.

EXHIBITION
SATURDAY 27 May, from 2.30pm to 6pm
Chrissie Cotter Gallery, Pidcock Street Camperdown (off Mallett Street, and not far from Parramatta Road).
with afternoon tea, a little excursion to Johnston’s Creek, and, if we’re lucky, a ribbon-cutting by the Mayor Himself, Sam Byrne.

NB: the exhibition continues Wed May 31-Sunday June 4, 11am-4pm or by appointment. And if you plan to come Thurs or Sat morning, note I will be late to the gallery cos of the Parramatta Road tour (details here). Best give me a call if so. 0423 745 736

It’ll be your chance to get a hard copy printout of the blog to put next to your toilet…

DINNER
FRIDAY 26 May, 6pm
Petersham Bowling Club, cnr The Avenue and Brighton Street.
with delicious dinner cooked by Fiona, bowling shenanigans,
and a slide show by some amazing visiting Filipino artists who are here for the Biennale, Alfredo Juan Aquilizan &
Maria Isabel Gaudinez-Aquilizan. There’ll also be a powerpoint presentation by yours truly, which hopefully will satisfy the likes of Tully and his household.
Dinner available at the cheap Big Bowl prices. RSVP to Fiona on 0434813926

If ya wanna download a PDF flyer for all this stuff (about a megabyte), right click here and choose “save target as”…