Talking about art is like dancing about architecture

Back to an arty farty black and white photograph today. Here are the Silos that I have featured previously, only from a different angle, and at a different time of day (this was Thursday morning). I like how both the light, and the contrast achieved by choosing black and white show the cracks in the render of the building. Hopefully it will cost the tenants a bomb to fix it. That said, given their likely links to the big end of town, I expect that they will find some way to weasel out of paying for it themselves!

Bitter, moi?

I know that they are luxury apartments, but part of me likes to think of these things as nuclear missile silos. That only happens when I am wistful for the certainties of the Cold War. It is an odd thing to miss, I grant you, but from Tasmania, the old Soviet Union seemed terribly exciting.

Comments

Meead said…

Thanks for your nice photo and controversial notes! I should recommend Sara, the second author of my blog who is an architecture student, to view this post of you.

24 August 2008 at 16:39

blackie said…

There's something a bit sci-fi about them I reckon. They need to be surrounded by Metropolis-style monorails and weird flying cars.

25 August 2008 at 13:59

Julie said…

Spoken like a true trainee-mainlander!

25 August 2008 at 22:32

Pat said…

Really? Luxury apartments?
Amusing blog.

26 August 2008 at 20:42

Kris McCracken said…

Meead, me? Controversial? Never! ;)

Blackie, we need a monorail in Hobart badly. A co-monorail/cable car to Mount Wellington.

Julie, I have had numerous opportunities to become a mainlander, but I am far too proud a Tasmanian to sell out to the north island. I’m not leaving unless I get a post to Nuremberg, Prague, Budapest or Sofia!

PS, I never knew that silos could be made into apartments either, until they did them here!

27 August 2008 at 14:38

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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