// Australian travel blog
Yesterday, Mumma and I spent the afternoon wading through masses of modern art: photography, painting, sculpture and large-scale installations. There was live music playing (rock, unfortunately), and the usual abundance of alternative characters to satisfy even the biggest creeper’s cravings for people watching.
The arty crowd has a distinctive style but there is a multitude of sub-dress codes that fall under this aesthetic umbrella. Most prominently featured yesterday were the ‘teenage outcasts’, the ‘masculine lesbians’, and the ‘slightly chubby ladies with clashing-coloured, abstract printed dresses’.
The thematic diversity of the art meant plenty of options existed for exploration of alternative rooms if any were too bland. I didn’t really ‘get’ the representation of a faceless person wearing a hijab made of dried garfish skins, so on we went to another room filled with sequined, tassel-clad horses. I totally connected with that one. Whether it was the Darryl Braithwaite connotations, the tassels that matched my hipster scarf, or something subconscious I couldn’t put my finger on, one is never to know.
As we continued around, I concluded that sometimes art is best interpreted without being privy to the artist’s intentions i.e. without reading the placard. Sometimes it just doesn’t make sense: I was dubious about the spherical string installation “reinvigorating my interpretation of reality” (or something along those lines), but on the other hand the fairy floss work clicked. The ‘sugar-coating of reality’ and ‘spinning fake news’ was certainly a tangible concept connecting the multi-coloured fur plastered all over the white gallery walls. I could see how one could associate ‘post-truth’ to colourful, fluffy bullshit.
The Yering Station room was a highlight (yeah, it was the bar). We ordered bubbles, at the bargain price of $16/ glass. At least the young bartender topped it up as much as physically possible without spillage occurring on collection. Judging by his age, I’m sure his familiarity with standard pours was limited to how big a cup he could cart to the goon bag lying on the flat mate’s desk. The décor was minimalistic, with various seating options delineated by fake turf, lounge chairs and foliage. I hawk-eyed the detail around the room, noting that the wonderful pots containing said foliage were from K-mart. I would know, I’ve recently redecorated half my house with classy-looking K-mart wares.
As we became drunker, we became more at peace with the price of the alcohol that had reached our bloodstream. It was a 2011 bubbles. I did some maths: say a standard glass of bubbles in Brisbane is $9, then add an extra dollar for each year the bottle ages. 2011 - 2017 is 6 years, so that would bring it to $15. Add $1 for GST. Reasonable.
Well done to GoMA for continuing to provide ample entertainment at a minimal or non-existent price.