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To be a poet is a condition rather than a profession.


Summer in Tasmania means festivals. More specifically, summer in Tasmania means fart festivals. Of course, I am a loather lover of the arts. My problem, however, is that the current MONA FOMA - MONA Festival of Music and Art , which seems to have centred itself in Hobart's Salamanca district, has meant an array of LOUD art right outside my office window.

The past two weeks has seen a [ahem] sandpit with a piano rigged up to four amplifiers in it sat literally metres away from my desk. The "art" [ahem] involves members of the public (and their children), banging on said piano throughout the day. Compounding my misery, there is a looped track consisting of rising and falling harmonies that appears designed to infiltrate ones head with the sole purpose of engendering an intense desire to extricate one's brain with a teaspoon.

Art indeed!

Comments

smudgeon said…
...And last year it was the birds eating seed off the guitars.

The wonders of modern art never cease.
Kris McCracken said…
Me, I was amused when I had Henry in there to see the art, and after a play in the sand and fiddle with the piano, I said "time to go".

He protested, "but we haven't seen the art yet!"

Quite right, I thought to myself.
Hi! Kris,
Being an artist-I'am always willing to be open minded when it comes to art and different artist's mood and work, but I must admit that your description of this art festival (MONA FOMA) would even push me to the breaking point!

Thanks, for sharing...I ttthink!
DeeDee ;-D
Kris McCracken said…
DeeDee, I'll get some photos.
Roddy said…
Did you extricate the brain safely? More importantly though, did you wash the spoon thoroughly before returning it to the tea-room? You never know what yuckies grey matter may be harbouring.
Also, did you offer cake with any of the art?
Roddy said…
I take it the BAH was for me.
Tell me! MONA? Is it because we mona for this and we mona for that.
No sweat, it doesn't require an answer.

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