Squibblog

righteous anger

When Miranda Devine's column began appearing in the Thursday SMH, I assumed that the SMH was tapping in to the rich vein of readers who want to read provocative drivel so that they can become righteously angry about it. Certainly Soy and I would take turns to read her column, hating every second of it, so that we could become incandecent with rage and rant to each other about what a lunatic she is. I never read her column alone - it's just too dangerous.

My personal favourite was the time she suggested that dogs were the source of dangerous levels of carbon emissions and that, as a society, we should ban dog ownership and instead all buy SUVs.

As I said, provocative drivel.

Anyway, when I read Devine's column last week about Bill Henson, before the police action, I dismissed it as the ravings of a social conservative with no real thought about the consequences. Today Miranda continues to flog the dying horse of moral outrage by writing that it's the artists who are the real Philistines here.  Sticks and stones, Miranda.

There are so many stages of illogicality in her article my blood pressure rises just thinking about them. Describing the arts community as walking 'in lock step' on this issue because they are too afraid of being seen as prudish by the 'in crowd' totally misses the point of this whole debate. It's not about nudity or pornography, Miranda. It's about censorship. If you think the arts community is walking in lock-step on this issue, it's because every artist fears the consequences of the police beating down the doors of galleries and seizing art works. It's not about the arts community being 'edgy' or wanting the freedom to 'exploit budding pre-pubescents', it's just that if these photographs are seized, then what's next?

As Elizabeth Farrelly said in yesterday's Herald, you don't have to like the works (she personally doesn't) to understand the principle.

Then Miranda goes on to say that it's stuff like this that leads to the need for intervention in the Northern Territory. I guess it's all those Bill Henson photographs hanging in galleries in remote communities that got Miranda to that argument.

move along folks, nothing to see here

Now that I am recovering from my brush with media fame, I am back to blogging about the ordinary blather of my life.

On Monday, after drinking a very nice bowl of coffee at Le Pain Quotidien I walked out the door and twisted my ankle on the ridiculously small step down. I took a pretty nasty tumble, frightened Nell with my inability to get up, thought I was going to faint and spent about 15 minutes hyperventillating. I then spent yesterday with my ankle braced watching the yellow bruises set in. It isn't pretty.

After an x-ray and some physio I am feeling better and can walk on the ankle again, but it's been a journey*.

*I mean that in the Biggest Loser sense of 'a journey' ie haven't really gone anywhere but I've spent a LOT of time thinking about myself.

So while very little has been going on here, due to me spending all of yesterday sitting down either gossiping with Steph or writing about Ern Malley, I was pleased to read the very intelligent things Elizabeth Farrelly had to say in the SMH this morning about the whole Bill Henson thing.

social commentator

Eighteen months ago when someone at a party asked me what I do, the answer was simple. I'm a lawyer. Everyone knows what that means. (Actually, truthfully very few people know exactly what that means but everyone thinks they know exactly what that means).

Now my professional description changes on an almost daily basis. I have just become used to calling myself a journalist, I've been co-editing a magazine for almost a year so I am also coming to terms with being an editor. Now that I've had some photos published I am tentatively calling myself 'a photographer'. But as of yesterday, thanks to the kind folks at Crikey, I am now a 'social commentator'.

My post on Bill Henson received more traffic than all of my other 469 posts combined, thanks to a link on the Crikey site (hello Crikey visitors!!) and now I am feeling the pressure to come up with something intelligent to say.

Given that I have been blogging for 5 years and have only posted one intelligent thing to attract the attention of the media in that time, I am afraid you all may have to wait quite a while before I come up with something else topical about which I feel so passionate.

and just because a lawyer can't leave a good case alone

I have been digging about looking at both the Commonwealth and NSW Crimes Act and thinking about whether there could be a prosecution of Henson under either of those acts.

From reading the papers it seems that the NSW police have seized goods under the NSW Crimes Act which make it an offence to use children for the production of pornography. So far, so good. The act defines the 'use of a child' as pornography if the child is engaged in a sexual act, placed in a 'sexual context' or physically abused. Again, perfectly fine and laudable that we should legislate against those things.

The images of children I have seen from the Henson exhibition show children naked from the waist up. They, according to the NSW Police, are children 'in a sexual context'. Is it sexual because there is low lighting? Or is it sexual because the children are naked?

Have you ever taken a picture of your children naked? If Bill Henson is successfully prosecuted, you had better hope that no one ever sees that picture because it would be pornography. The act doesn't say, for example, that the picture must be published or disseminated. It just says that you must not take photos of children in a sexual context. So if Henson's pictures of naked children (beautiful, classically posed, children) are pornography, then so are my pictures of the kids in the bath or running in and out of the ocean naked. Those photos I took to capture the moments when children are completely unashamed of their bodies - that capture their innocence. But if Henson is guilty then so is everyone else.

bill henson is innocent

I am flabagasted by the furore over the Bill Henson exhibition. At first I was stunned that the exhibition had been raided, although there is a long history of censorship in Australian art (and at the risk of boring you, the publisher of the Ern Malley poems was prosecuted for obscenity).

Then I was stunned that Kevin Rudd weighed in with his ill informed opinion. I think a lot less of Kevin now. I still have enough respect for him to believe that he wouldn't comment on the exhibition without at least viewing Henson's work, which just makes me believe that he has no idea about art. Or worse, that he simply is a populist and believes nothing.

Finally I was stunned to read in this morning's paper that the Roslyn Oxley gallery hanging the exhibition was threatened with fire bombing. I have absolutely no doubt that the hysterical mob baying for Oxley and Henson's blood have never seen a Henson photograph in their lives.

I first saw a Henson exhibition in 1996. I admit that I found the images rather confronting. There were lots of naked people who seemed (to me at the time) to have drowned or be unconscious. I remember the images brought to mind the very violent illustrations I had seen in a Children's Bible I had when I was a kid. I was obsessed with that book and the images of naked drowning people stayed with me. I knew that whatever disturbing feelings I had about the images, they were as a result of ideas I brought to the images, not the images themselves.

What makes Henson's work so powerful is the ambiguity and mystery in the images - they hint at a range of narratives and are disturbing because it's difficult to make out exactly what might be happening. They are also exquisitely beautiful. I think I found it difficult to look at some of them because I felt something violent was happening but the beauty of the images was just overwhelming.

Those personal reactions are what makes art so important. And those same personal reactions are what is driving the fury of the mob to have the images removed from public view. I haven't seen the latest exhibition, it having been raided before it opened, but from the few images published in the media, it seems to me that any pornographic intentions would have to come from the viewer because they are not present in the art.

mathematical genius

Nell was visiting Soy's sister Ali on Monday. Ali showed off her new tattoo and had the following conversation with Nell:

Ali: "Do you like my new tattoo?"

Nell: "Yes"

Ali: "And this is my old one"

Nell: "So is that your tatt-one?"

indulgence

I'm just back from a couple of days in the Hunter Valley, tagging along on a junket while Soy worked! I got to laze about the very plush hotel, have a lovely meal out, get a massage, read a book, snuggle up and watch a movie and take some photos in the country. I helped out a tiny bit with the writing work Soy was doing up there, scribing for one session of the conference, but mostly it was all about grown up time for me, me, me.

One night away from the routine was enough for me to feel very spoiled indeed.

This afternoon I drove back across the beautiful Hawkesbury listening to the East of Everything soundtrack, to reclaim my children from their wonderfully indulgent grandfather (who bought the kids footy chips, fed them Coca-cola and let them watch Ben 10, which is apparently the latest craze but we don't have cable so they can't watch it at home).

The kids were delighted to see me but it was clear that Poppa's rules are far preferable to mine. Indulgences finished for everyone at 6pm this evening when I insisted the kids eat their vegetables and the protests began.

Oh well, it was good while it lasted.

budget week

Now that Canberra is back in full swing and the government is going about doing some, well ... governing, I am getting bored of politics again.

The euphoria has lasted a good 8 months, since the start of the election campaign. But this week has just felt like manipulation and spin to me. Swan told us everything, good and bad, that would be in the budget. He tried to talk up how bad it would be, but it really doesn't look bad to me. We seem to come out of it better off than before.

I can't even be bothered trying to push through Nelson's swathe of motherhood statements last night. I switched off when he had the temerity to talk about the importance of "getting it right" on climate change, after he'd just made his patently ridiculous call for cutting the petrol excise. It's the one tax that actually might achieve something by making people think twice about taking their cars out! Yes Brendan, we do need to get it right.

So today I am feeling despondent about politics again. When it comes down to it it's all about perception, spin, talking it up, talking it down, going through the figures with the accountant. I preferred it when Kevin was out there making grand symbolic gestures.

mail box

Conversation in our office just now:

Me: "Australia Post says our mail box is not secure and we need another one"

Soy: "That would be because it falls off the fence into the hedge. Oh, and the bloody great huntsman that lives in it"

Me: "I've found us the perfect mail box online. It's only $350"

Soy: "We are not getting a $350 mail box"

Me: "It's from Italy"

Soy: "I don't care if it's from f*cking Mars, we are not getting a $350 mail box"

professional entrances

I have been working very hard lately. I'm pleased about it, because it means money is coming in and the business is thriving, but it's a little stressful.

I mentioned that I received a commission from G magazine, a title I am extremely proud to be writing for. It's about the bushwalks, hence why we have been hitting the dirt lately.

I had done all the research, taken the photos, had edited them and burned them to disk by the middle of last week. I had hoped to write the story (due today) before Friday so I could drop the disk of photos in to the G offices which are close to Nell's preschool.

I had it all planned out: I would ride Nell to preschool and casually show up at G's offices, disk of gorgeous photos in hand (along with my bicycle helmet, thus proving my extreme greeness), I would meet the editor, hit it off and instantly become part of the G family.

Well last week didn't quite pan out the way I hoped and other work crowded in. I only managed to finish the first draft by Friday and added the final polish last night. So I had to drop in the disk today: on a Mummy and Nelly day, as they are known. Our house was also out of food so I had to do the grocery shopping in the same outing, necessitating that I use the car. Still, I thought, I can show my face, say 'hi' and be impressive even with a child and no bicycle helmet.

G's offices are at the top of a small building with steep flights of stairs. Nell was feeling the pinch by the second landing so I had to carry her the last four flights. I set her down, and attempted to catch my breath. Meanwhile she opened the door and ran into the office, tripped and sprawled loudly in front of the reception desk. Just then a giant black shaggy dog bounded up to say hello. Nell took fright of the dog and in the ensuing commotion I managed to mumble something about my disk, handed it over and fled.

Not quite the professional entrance I had envisaged.

Still, my words appear to speak for themselves (excuse the pun) because as I sat down to my email tonight, I have received another commission from G! Perhaps I will get to join the G family after all.