Once upon a
time Mona was infallible. Mona displayed modern, global, fashionable art. And it finished up here in Tassie which
confirmed that Tassie was up to date, modern and part of a global trend. We were eternally grateful for Mona. Mona made
us part of a modern, fashionable world. And they also bought the tourists.
Their art
has never arisen spontaneously from the local community or related much to the
local community. It was always bestowed
upon us from a great height and we always said thank you but now it has crossed
the line. They have now giving us weird, cruel, performance art. Which we have
not gratefully accepting.
Mona has
changed Hobart. But we never embraced their vision. We never become creative
artists. We never embraced the obsessions
of Mona with sex and death. And the pottery or water colors or music originating
in Hobart are not better or worse than prior to Mona.
Mona has
now given us the Midwinter fest. Balls of flames evaporating upwards from
pyramidal structures. The flames infiltrate the dark, shadowy, gloomy and
obscure sky. We walk through a field of
light which delights us. Inside the Winterfest
the ambiance is light and dark. Red lights and light bulb trees overhang some beautifully,
inviting tents. The gloomy, dark, bleak, areas contrast with the cheerful,
sunny, optimistic, enthusiastic, light areas.
We meet my
grandson. He has bought me some good news.
Bruce: “I
am wearing my invisible hat.”
I say the
obvious, “I can’t see it.”
He replies,
“That’s what invisible means. You can’t see it.”
I ask him,
“Is it keeping you warm?”
Bruce, “Yes
it is.”
The winter
solstice is a time to celebrate the beginning of the sun coming. The sun
bringing light and brightness. The sun causing the evil, dark to cower and
hide. The brightness of the sun disinfecting and cleaning our dark, sleepy lives.
I brows the
stalls and become confused. Should I go with organic, vegetarian, vegan, gluten-free,
seasonal veggies, artisanal cheese, wallaby, succulent octopus, delicious kimchi,
or plump oysters.
We have always
enjoyed food and drinks on the docks from vans served on paper plates. We
celebrated the docks and street food. Now most of Hobart is enjoying it with
us.
Now I have to
decide on a cooking style. Should I try
the Vietnamese, Argentina, Middle Eastern, Persian, Japanese, Spanish or India
food? Should it be roasted slowly over hot coals or roasted over Mallee root
charcoals.
We can
choose to wash the food down with traditional, small batch and hand crafted beer,
apple cider, wine or ginger beer made from local ingredients served in paper
cups.
The food is
creative and inspire us to different ways of cooking or different ingredients
or different combinations. The food inspires
us to be creative in the kitchen. One
daughter says she is going to make pancakes with berries and salted caramel. Another daughter is inspired by the wood
fired pizza with the thin sour dough base.
A grandchild
is creatively sucking a chip and says, “That’s my best food.”
I say,
“What are chips made from?”
Kay smiles
and replies, “Yellow.”
I continue,
“Okay what is tomato sauce made from?”
She says,
“Red.” She is just beginning her food
education. This is a good place to learn about food.
And I am
distracted by a noise. The noise was
originally music created by a performer who I can spy between the dark jackets.
The mumbled hum infiltrates our group but doesn’t overpower our talk.
Which is
all about food. I can hear words like, “I like that. They have used. That’s a
strange combination. I would never have come up with that combination. It works
well. I think I’ll add when I make it. I’ll try that. I love the way they have
fried it. It’s delicious.”
Perhaps
this just says something about my family.
We are more interested in cooking and eating than the creative arts. Except one daughter, who talks like a
politician, and says, “Dark Mofo brings a lot of money into the state.”
I am more
interested in the elephant in the room which is a dead cow. Vegetarians and vegans and animal lovers
have complained about the disrespect for animals masquerading as a work of art.
It is inevitable people will change their attitude to eating meat after seeing this
performance about meat. The butchers of Hobart re having their activities
dissected, examined and looked at.
What is this
role of meat in our society? What have all the protests said about our society?
What is the connection between the art and the food eaten? Somebody says the performance is over. Ah well moving on.
And
listening to my grandchildren while sipping and nibbling I relax. Talk turns to
a nude swim. I am grateful and happy that other people are
doing it. It’s one way of saying, “I do
whatever I want. Whenever and wherever I want. The weather doesn’t control me. The
darkness doesn’t tell me what to do.”
We make our
way along the docks to Dark Park. Where
I see something strange. An enormously large, compliant, passive, well behaved
crowd of jackets, beanies and cameras trying to decipherer a few installations
of light, shadows and sounds amidst buildings and passageways we previously
didn’t know existed.
What are
they telling me about traditional winter solstice rituals? What are they saying about ancient myths and
legends of light and dark, birth and death? I ate and drank and don’t
care. I enjoyed the food, the
fellowship, the entertainment and the crowds of happy people. That’s enough.
Alan
Carlton is a former Hobart dentist. He retired in October 2015. He now spends
his time running, playing tennis, gardening and writing blogs.
