craft: from Paris to Bribie Island

The thing about having some time off (once you get used to that uncomfortable space where you're faced with the daunting unknown of nothing that needs to be done like .... yesterday) is that you can soak in playtime. And this week that playtime involved adventures. 
With kids off school yet before the official madness of official school holidays , we made the trek into the city to NGV and the fabulousness of Gaultier. With mannequin after mannequin of tightly bound corsetry, oh so French stripes, and the mightiest of mohawks it was a grand introduction for the girls to the hyper world of pret a porter and couture. Theres a lot of ground covered here, with a career that spans 40+ years Gaultier gives us an abundance of glamour for anyone with a thirst for feathers, pattern and decorating the human form. Yup - its BIG, but underlying the sparkles and sequins, there's a commitment to the craft of making that makes the whole thing a lot more real. Highlights were an immersion in the side installation of Sydney label Romance was Born and their collage crazy digital printed fabric. Its enough to make you want to go all photoshop.

Getting grounded with a country drive out to Tarrawarra to visit Ian Fairweather's The Drunken Buddha (via Innocent Bystander of course) was an ultimate girls own adventure, thats if the girls happen to be interested rebel hermit painters who shun society to live on a remote subtropical island and the artists who admire his work). Once again, it was the craft of the works that drew me in. Croissant paintings, from the forest. With layer upon layer of earthy calligraphic marks, each picture is a journey into the life of a poet painter. And its a whimsical, bittersweet one. It may require whiskey to truly comprehend the depth of the journey. I'm not sure....
Note: Don't forget to pick up the instruction for the viewer booklet for Gosia Wlodarczak's Found in Translation: The Drunken Buddha drawing, or like me you'll find yourself contemplating the whole David Lynchiness of the thing and wander off in a bemused revery only to be found several years later on deserted island, scratching your head thinking "what was lost highway all about?"