The art of commodification

I've just been poring over a bunch of Webb's Fine Art Auction catalogues from the late 90s and early 00s. It's really interesting to see who has 'made it' and who is still deemed to the lowly moniker of 'emerging'.

I've noticed a lot more contemporary work in the recent editions of the catalogues and far far less of the traditional landscape works that defined New Zealand art for a good part of the last century.

Maybe we're moving away from the landscape in our search for a collective national identity, instead looking to our thoughts around, and responses to contemporary art works as they distill not only the landscape, but that elusive 'kiwi' factor.

Although, it could well be that the market has moved to contemporary art as it searches for a higher return on investment than the 'masters', who I suspect by now are all firmly ensconced in the lounges of the baby boomer generation (who are the only ones outside of dot com millionaires who can afford such things) biding their time until the market goes through the roof again.

It's a funny thing buying and selling art.

Healing the world

I've noticed a series of sticking plasters stuck to the footpath in random places around town and the country. I doubt they're related, and suspect they have fallen off the blistered heels of sandel wearers, but maybe - just maybe - they're part of a symbolic project to heal the world.

In a similar kind of vein, there's a series of small mirror sections stuck to the pavement near the Prime Minister's residence. They seem to form a trail of sorts that runs for 30 or 40 metres before disappearing. An invitation to reflect as you walk past the PM's house??

I think I prefer the sticking plasters.

The street returns

Shortland street started again last night. I've taken to following only one story line and muting out the others. I find it enables me to do stuff and not get too sucked into the tv vortex.

Last night I followed the Chris Warner thread - his house was nicer.

Les Triplets (deux)

Thinking more about the Triplets of bellville movie, I wonder if there's an element of mocking the Americans, and particularly the dominance in recent years of Lance Armstrong in the TdF. Belleville itself has a decidely american feel to it - it's citizens moreso, although the limo's in the final chase scene are madly imbalanced stretched 2CVs...

3 is the magic number

We arrived back in town a couple of nights ago from an extended holiday in Taranaki. In that kind of post-vacation daze we sought out entertainment, and on the vague recommendation of Sam Hunt's column in the Dominion-Post sifted along to the Paramount to see the Triplets of Bellvue.

To be honest we weren't expecting a whole bunch - sure it had been nominated for an award or two, and it was cool that it had a Tour de France reference point, but beyond that we were really only attracted to the Tuesday night cheaper ticket prices. But shock horror, we stumbled across a stunner.

Years ago I was a paramount refugee - seeking out any vaguely offbeat film on offer, and camping out for days on end around the incredible and incredibly strange film festivals. I've seen numerous animated masterpieces - mostly from the pre-CG era, and have always been entranced by the incredible potency achieved in the drawn world, just by tweaking the real a little bit.

The triplets is no exception. From the opening moments through to the final credits (where people were left sitting to the end in hope of more) the film captured the imagination, bound it with an entire roll of duct tape, and poked needles into it for good measure. I could go on about plot and the likes, but that's all available elsewhere.

But it was lovely. Just lovely.