The Art of Colonial Gardening

The Art of Colonial Gardening Showing

Sam H — Tue, 24 Oct 2006 23:18:05 +0000

Ok so finally , I showing the culmination of my inquiries. Although not a show in a formal sense, its more of showing of ideas that I have stumbled across, made, exposed and been sunburnt by.

Attached here is a map if any of you have gotten lost , or want to!!?

The exact address is J2 Building Victoria University , Footscray Park.

Ballarat Rd

Melways reference 22 C2.

CONTACT

Flock of Cockatoos

Sam H — Fri, 04 Aug 2006 23:53:12 +0000

I was riding my bicycle through Royal Park. The sun was blinking through large cumulo nimbus clouds , oblivious to the temperature my chest heaved with each strenous push forward.

I heard a combined screech and squawk from mass of black bird. The curling sounds: the squawk became calls . I stopped. The wave of birds pittered trhough trees like splashes of ebony. So large – a finesse in mass.
They were big. The tails marked with yellow. It awe-inspiring to see such a large congregration. Then I had a sudden feeling of utmost dread. Why were they here?

Drought.

Words for a Sunburnt country

Sam H — Mon, 17 Jul 2006 06:23:41 +0000

Dry,Hot,Dust,Rocks

LOST

Walk, Songline, Eucalyptus ,Sting, Scratch

VAST

Cling ,Massacre ,Pioneer ,Clench , Salt

WASTE

Fly ,Wisp , Heat , Land.

Image courteous of www.modestypanel.com

The Art of Colonial Gardening

Sam H — Fri, 07 Jul 2006 03:20:56 +0000

“It’s Un-Australian” John Howard.

“Nobody owns the fire” Uncle Kev Buzzacot – Arabunna Elder.

A garden that breathes with bodies. Snippets of history intermingled with dialogues of the now. The dream of a place. Controlled and wild. The Art of Colonial Gardening is an exploration of land, time and bbq’s. A look into our colonial past with an eye for the future. Notions of transience in the Australian cultural landscape. How we got here? How we will survive? Why we can’t leave?

It takes form of an Australiana pastiche, mixed with media and puppets that tinker in large marquees. It’s a space of lost time, songs of forgetting and visual/durational performance lost in the shadows of history.

Taking cue from Jared Diamonds “Collapse”, Frederick Mc Cubbins paintings , the music of bush bands, the poetry of Henry Lawson , the kitsch of Aunty Jack , the vaudevillian silliness of Buster Keaton and the Situationist praxis “Under the street ; the beach”.

The garden is ourselves, seeded by fear and growing. What’s in the distance? Collapse or survival? It’s an organic manifesto for the future.