My time at the Shepparton Festival was conflicting. I was unsure beforehand whether or not I would enjoy myself, and that feeling lingered long after the final event. I must note that this is neither the fault of the festival staff or the artists.
I found it hard to overcome my pessimistic, predetermined mindset, viewing everything as if it were simply black and white, monotonous and boring. Yes, some moments were joyous, but I didn't find myself defying gravity and bounding from my bed the following day. As somebody who barely ventures out of his comfort zone and into the realm of art, the Shepparton Festival wasn't enough to pull me into a new world.
However, I loved the poetry workshop. It felt invigorating to finally have the chance to participate in something related to literature. I had waited two weeks for that moment, and I allowed myself to savour every minute; I just wish there were more.
I would like to add that my voice speaks not for the artists of this world. I can guarantee that you will all enjoy yourselves at the Shepparton Festival, for there is something for everyone. The festival is a beautiful display of community, and how art can bring many different peoples together.
Monday 24 April 2017
It's a Wrap
I awoke on March the 19th feeling unmotivated. It was the last day of the Shepparton Festival, and also the day of the slam poetry workshop. Out of all the events, it had been the one that I was most excited for, yet I still played the zombie as I got out of bed. I was stuck in a rut, a mixture of laziness and the uncertainty of whether or not I was truly enjoying myself at the festival. However, I knew deep down that I needed to go, to receive further guidance in the development of my craft.
It was back to the Aussie Hotel, this time taking place inside. Finally, I was able to escape the heat and remain in a semi-cooled room. Pen at hand, I started noting down whatever advice that Joel McKerrow, the workshop leader, gave us. Each word he spouted was brilliant. And even though I knew that I would never be a poet, I still felt that the advice given would empower my writing. Instead of dwelling on trying to write a good story, I needed to stop, and instead I needed to just write; my desire to write something great would be my downfall, I discovered, and my self-restriction would need to change. The information, the thoughts, simply needed to be dumped on the page no matter how it sounded.
And with that, a fantastic workshop, my time at the festival came to a close.
It was back to the Aussie Hotel, this time taking place inside. Finally, I was able to escape the heat and remain in a semi-cooled room. Pen at hand, I started noting down whatever advice that Joel McKerrow, the workshop leader, gave us. Each word he spouted was brilliant. And even though I knew that I would never be a poet, I still felt that the advice given would empower my writing. Instead of dwelling on trying to write a good story, I needed to stop, and instead I needed to just write; my desire to write something great would be my downfall, I discovered, and my self-restriction would need to change. The information, the thoughts, simply needed to be dumped on the page no matter how it sounded.
And with that, a fantastic workshop, my time at the festival came to a close.
'The five senses: the dump, the poem, the edit, the performing, the memorising.'
Sunday 23 April 2017
The Art Path
It was a short trip from SAM to the Art Path. Over bridges, down dirt and gravel roads, passing cars slowly, creeping towards the trees in the distance. People swarmed the area, some absentmindedly walking out in front of me as I selected a park.
I was surrounded by art. It hung from the trees, stood like creatures in the shrubs, and beckoned people forwards to involve themselves. It was asked that people would take selfies, using the art to frames themselves. Each piece, in different ways, related to art; and from this, in the same way that the community related to the festival and its art, the festival and its art were related to nature.
I walked around the Australian Botanic Gardens, walking from piece to piece and place to place. I skipped the activities, though I acknowledged the parents and their children sitting at the stalls. It was admirable to watch as differing generations were brought together to create art.
I was surrounded by art. It hung from the trees, stood like creatures in the shrubs, and beckoned people forwards to involve themselves. It was asked that people would take selfies, using the art to frames themselves. Each piece, in different ways, related to art; and from this, in the same way that the community related to the festival and its art, the festival and its art were related to nature. A Discovery (Tracey Moffat)
It was by chance that I stumbled upon SAM (the Shepparton Art Museum) on the 5th of March. I had no plans of visiting the Tracey Moffat exhibition that day, or SAM in general. I hadn't put much research into finding where it was located, or the fact that my designated morning activity was supposed to be there. My morning, due to the five day WiA schedule, should have been spent in the Community Textiles Workshop. However, the workshop had either been cancelled or never properly scheduled, and I never truly found out why.
On my way out, after an embarrassing encounter in which I was sent to the wrong room for the supposed workshop, I came upon an area, multiple rooms, with montages playing on loops. It was eerie, walking around by myself. It was hard to understand what any of the montages truly meant without reading the panels beside them, but that just added to the magic of it all. At that point, I had forgotten about the art festival, and I had forgotten about my responsibilities of being a journalist and recording notes. Instead, I stood there, in a serene and cool environment being entertained by something I wouldn't normally have stopped to watch. In contrast to my pessimistic preliminary thoughts, I had found myself enjoying art and understanding it as much more than what was on the surface layer.
On my way out, after an embarrassing encounter in which I was sent to the wrong room for the supposed workshop, I came upon an area, multiple rooms, with montages playing on loops. It was eerie, walking around by myself. It was hard to understand what any of the montages truly meant without reading the panels beside them, but that just added to the magic of it all. At that point, I had forgotten about the art festival, and I had forgotten about my responsibilities of being a journalist and recording notes. Instead, I stood there, in a serene and cool environment being entertained by something I wouldn't normally have stopped to watch. In contrast to my pessimistic preliminary thoughts, I had found myself enjoying art and understanding it as much more than what was on the surface layer.
Musical Treasure Hunt
March the 4th had come, the day after the Opening Ceremony. It marked the first day of events, and my trip to St. Paul's Lutheran Church for the Inventi Ensemble's Musical Treasure Hunt. I was interested, though slightly concerned about the prospect performing in front a crowd with handmade instruments.
The workshop, the making of unusual instruments that produced quite unpleasant sounds, was fun, even if slightly unproductive. My experience may have differed to those who chose to partake in the workshop, as I opted out of audience participation in the performance when called upon by the ensemble, instead choosing to watch and observe. Much like with the night before, the idea of community was again brought to my attention. With the Inventi Ensemble, people from the crowd were called upon to perform a piece. Those who chose to participate were mostly cheerful, and the crowd applauded endlessly once the piece had come to a close. These people, the performers and those from the audience, were passionate in their performance, diverse in their culture, unconsciously emphasising the place that community has in all forms of art.
Saturday 22 April 2017
An Introvert and a Map (Opening Ceremony)
I was nervous on my way to the Aussie Hotel, travelling about an hour along ruined roads to reach the Opening Ceremony. I didn't exactly know what to expect, sure there would be new students, as with any class, but I felt as though my preliminary thoughts had already decided that I would be the outsider. I hoped that my lack of interest in art wouldn't show in front of my peers. Truthfully, I had never actually heard of the Shepparton Festival before entering the Writers in Action subject, so my expectations weren't met, neither in a positive or negative way, as I entered the outside courtyard of the hotel.
The heat from the lowering sun followed me into the courtyard, and it only took a few moments after sitting down before I felt my back drenched in sweat. I arrived early, so I was given the opportunity to watch as people poured in and turned their attention to the cartons that adorned the wall beside me. It was strange, but impressive. Sean Rafferty's Cartonography, an abstract map made from cartons, sourced from Shepparton and its surrounding region. It was great to watch, local people pointing and talking, relating themselves to something that could only be deemed a masterpiece.
The courtyard filled quickly and speeches were underway. With each speech given, my mind would turn and react as if the presenters were the catalyst to my thought process. Suddenly, with every word, I would begin to understand. The Shepparton festival, with its theme of mapping and display of art, was less about the art itself, and more about the passionate, diverse, and multicultural community.
Preliminary Thoughts of a Pessimist
Most would deem me a pessimist; I manage only to see things in the worst possible ways.
Before heading to the Shepparton Festival, I felt no excitement. I had never thought of art as a passion of mine, and I struggled to comprehend how I would last three weeks writing about something that would leave no lasting effect. I had become worried that my disinterest in art would shine through in my writing, causing me to produce only a lacklustre piece. I spent hours flipping through the guide, going back and forth between activities in hopes that something would eventually catch my eye and excite me. I couldn't allow myself to crumble at the first hurdle. Then, I saw it. The slam poetry workshop. And finally, I had found something that could possibly save me from the inner pessimist, and quench my thirst for anything in the world of literature.
Before heading to the Shepparton Festival, I felt no excitement. I had never thought of art as a passion of mine, and I struggled to comprehend how I would last three weeks writing about something that would leave no lasting effect. I had become worried that my disinterest in art would shine through in my writing, causing me to produce only a lacklustre piece. I spent hours flipping through the guide, going back and forth between activities in hopes that something would eventually catch my eye and excite me. I couldn't allow myself to crumble at the first hurdle. Then, I saw it. The slam poetry workshop. And finally, I had found something that could possibly save me from the inner pessimist, and quench my thirst for anything in the world of literature.
However, I needed to stop myself. There was no time to pick and choose my favourite(s) before the festival had even begun! As a representative of WiA (Writers in Action), I would instead need to view the Shepparton Festival through a journalistic eye, to remain optimistic, and participate without any bias. If I could do this, I would allow myself to see the festival from all perspectives, peeling away the layers of the festival until I truly grasped what it meant; surely a festival built up over twenty-one years would have a greater meaning hidden away, and I would be the one to discover it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)