It defies the imagination. The live birth of human-sized latex piglets. DJ Kim Jung Un masterfully remixing in a sea of laser beams. A video installation of someone lighting themselves on fire. Dark Mofo is an art festival like no other; it’s an odyssey into the twisted mind of billionaire and art mogul David Walsh. Ever since I visited MONA in February 2018, Dark Mofo had topped my bucket list. Walsh’s subterranean museum – which is built into the sandstone banks of the Derwent River – is not only the most awe-inspiring museum I have ever visited, but the most irreverent. MONA somehow pokes fun of high art and dominates the highest echelon of the Australian art scene. Walsh, for example, has dispensed with academic wall text, providing his own ‘art wank’ instead. So when a friend suggested we attend Dark Mofo this year, I couldn’t have jumped on board more quickly. Despite perilously high expectations, DarkMofo eclipsed my wildest predictions, pushing boundaries I had never imagined.
13 May -24 May 2019 PhotoSpace Gallery Curated by Millie Bull
Kate Matthews’ Berlin Doesn’t Love You speaks to a city in the grips of an image crisis. Berliners cling to the past as their city accelerates into the future. Nineties nostalgia has erupted in the wake of gentrification. But is this a good thing? What aspects of Berlin’s past ought be ‘preserved’?
Berlin is fluent in the language of street art. For decades, conversations have taken place on the city’s walls (and Wall). There is a democratic spirit to this anarchic expression. By enlivening public space with debate, street artists embed their critiques in the fabric of the city itself. Against a history of exclusion and division, street art has helped redefined Berlin as a haven for liberal expression; a playground for creative autonomy and inclusivity. It has been a vital mode of self expression, rebellion and conversation.
Bi’bak | Bitter Things: Narratives and Memories of Transnational Families
When I moved to Wedding, one of the most noticeable things about the neighbourhood was its cosmopolitan identity, particularly the Turkish influence. My local supermarkets and coffee shops are Turkish and listening to voices on the streets, Turkish is spoken as much as German. Going for a run one morning I stumbled across Bi’bik, an interdisciplinary, community art project. I picked up a brochure for their latest exhibition and kept jogging. I am so glad that I did.
The Edinburgh Fringe is a beautiful beast. During the month of August, every nook and cranny of the historical old town is transformed into a temporary theatre: old parliament buildings, lecture theatres and broom closets alike play host to a gamut of international performers. Working at the festival is a crucible of delights. For a whole month, the Fringe raves from 11am to 5am. It’s theatre, comedy and cabaret; drag, spoken word and musicals. It is exhausting, exhilarating and enchanting. It utterly impossible to reduce to a sequence of anecdotes. Here are ten things that I learnt during the Fringe in 2018…