Kookaburra has the last laugh

The victory by Larrikin over Men at Work in their case for copyright infringement presents a significant threat to the creative process. You think I'm exaggerating? If you've ever studied art or music or if you've ever tried to create a work of art or write a song you'll know that it's difficult, if not impossible, to do something completely unique or new. One of the frustrating things about the artistic process is that everything's been done before by someone. When people try to describe an image or a body of work they'll usually make references to other images or other artists. We learn art or music by studying the works of other artists and musicians. In contemporary literature writers invite their readers to pick up references to earlier writers. Artists will always refer to their "influences" when explaining their professional practice. Art is all about appropriation. Not outright copying, but taking a bit of this and a bit of that, adding, subtracting, changing and distorting. As artists, we look at the work of others and use it to stimulate a train of thought which leads to our own work. That is the nature of art.

Now, knowing how artists and musicians work, how do you think the creative world will continue if the Larrikin case is not challenged? Will musicians have to censor themselves when creating new works? Will rock bands have to hire copyright lawyers to "legal" songs before they can be performed in public? How can artists create new works when almost every image can be compared to an earlier image to which it inevitably bears some similarity? Creative block has always been a problem for artists, musicians and writers. After the Larrikin decision, it will be that much harder for creative professionals to push through and create new work, we'll all be staring at the blank page or the blank canvas, pen or brush poised, struggling to think of a concept which is absolutely unique and which can't be attacked for being a reference to another artist or a previous song or a previous work of art.

Copyright has its place. Art should be more than just copying someone else's work. But if artists cannot borrow a motif or a phrase or an idea from what has gone before, we are heading into a period where creativity will be smothered by the threat of legal action.

Painting with Codeine

Working in my studio

Where are the groovy intellectuals on the Central Coast?

There was a time when I only wanted to live in the groovy, hip, cool inner-city (i.e. Newtown, Paddington, Darlinghurst, Glebe, Surry Hills etc) or on the beautiful Northern Beaches (where I grew up). Then reality kicked in and I succumbed to real estate prices, interest rates and the need to have a back yard for the dog. So I became one of the thousands of refugees who've emigrated to the Central Coast in search of affordable housing (preferably close to the beach). I still have a $500 a week mortgage but, hey, I've got a backyard and a studio!

I'm more or less coping with the three hours or more a day spent sitting on the train, and I suppose I've adjusted to the fact that my beloved Sydney is now 70 km away and that fact that drivers around here don't give way at terminating intersections. But there is one aspect of life up here that has me scratching my head. Where are all the interesting people?

Now I've never been much of a socialite and I generally prefer my own company to that of others (with the possible exception of my dog). But I did have a vague notion of where, in Sydney, one might hang out in order to have a chance of having a chat with some groovy (or at least literate) persons.

Like the time I was sipping a quiet cappucino at a certain Darlinghurst cafe frequented by students of the National Art School and spied, at the next table, one notable radio personality and ex-member of the Doug Anthony All Stars who stood, in what I perceived to be a most gentlemanly manner, when a colleague arrived and joined him. Of course, I pretended not to recognize him (one of the fundamental rules of etiquette being that one pretends not to notice celebrities, since sycophancy on such occasions tends to undermines one's own air of importance). Or the time, when attending an exhibition opening in Paddington, I dropped my hat and Martin Sharpe gallantly picked it up and handed it to me.

But no, I don't mean to drop names. My point is that I prefer the company of people who've read the odd book or two, who can engage in conversation without inevitably turning to the subject of cricket and/or football and, in Sydney, I've got a vague idea of where I might find such conversations.

But the Central Coast is an alien landscape. The topography may be stunning and the climate mild but I haven't stumbled across anything which I could describe as stimulating company since I landed here. Yet I know that there must be some interesting people around here somewhere! I just can't find them. I believe that Bill Leak lives around here somewhere. I sent him a friend request on Facebook but, sadly, he did not reply (I feel utterly dejected).

Now if I could just work out which pub is the best watering hole for us artsy-political-argumentative types...

Life sucks more than usual

This is one of the saddest days of my life. My mother has had to be moved to a nursing home. Which would be fine if she were happy there. But she's not. She's miserable. Not because they're not treating her well. The problem is more complicated than that. The problem is partly that she's in pain, but that's not it. She feels trapped, having lost control of her life, unable to escape, unable to make her own decisions, unable to look after herself.

It's not unusual for my mother to be unhappy. For most of my life she's been unhappy. So chronically unhappy that it becomes painful to be with her. But this is different. She's paranoid, convinced everyone is out to get her, that the nursing staff are going to experiment on her, that their deliberately trying to make her uncomfortable.

Can you see a pattern here? I think Mum is beginning to lose the plot. Not that she's ever been especially rational or balanced. But I think she may be beginning to manifest the early signs of dementia.

Perhaps I'm being a bit self-centred, but when I left the nursing home today all I could think was how lonely I am. I've always been alone, I suppose. But suddenly I feel I desperately need a friend to share my sense of loss. But there isn't a single soul who I can turn to for support. I'm more alone now than I have ever been before in my life.

I know it's been a while.

OK, OK, I know haven't posted anything for a LONG time. I've been busy, all right? You know, making a living, paying the bills and so on. Doesn't mean I don't care.

Where to start... office politics, state politics, federal politics? No? Art? Not really. How about I tell you about my dog?

He's an old bloke now, lost most of his vivacity and joi de vivre. Still love him, though. He had a big operation about a year ago, he had a huge lump under his tail. Vet thought it was probably a carcinoma. So he cut off Mick's tail! He had such a beautiful tail, long and fluffy with a white tip and a white stripe. He used to talk with it. I'd ask him a question and he'd answer "yes" by vigorously wagging. Now I have to guess what he's thinking. A bit hit and miss, but we do understand each other most of the time. The vet also insisted on chopping off his balls. I didn't really think it necessary but I do trust my vet. The trouble is that ever since the big operation Mickey has virtually no control over his bladder. He leaks in his sleep. Then he wakes up, moves and leaves a big wet patch behind. I've been doing more washing in the last year.

I've got similar problems with my mother. She's incontinent, too. But the dog is much less trouble.

Well, the boss has come into the office. He's banging around in the kitchen, making a mess and expressing his frustration at the lack of fresh milk by making a lot of noise. He could go and buy some milk but he's much too lazy to do that. So I'll log off now and get to work (not that its my job to buy the milk but God forbid that the PA should be asked to do it!).

Start Here.

So what’s this weblogging thing all about then?

When I was a kid I was fed a lot of propaganda about not talking to strangers, so why am I talking to you? I suppose I’m really just talking to myself, or thinking out loud. If a virtual tree falls in the virtual forest is anyone in cyberspace there to hear it?

Enough of that crap. Shall I introduce myself? My name is Inez and this is my weblog. I won’t rant on about who I am, you can find that out by reading my log.

Not a lot to report – life is pretty dull at present. It’s a hot, steamy, summer afternoon here in Sydney and its difficult to find the motivation to do anything at all. Not that there isn’t any number of things I should be doing – washing up, bathing the dog, shopping, changing the sheets, washing the car etc...

I’ve been doing battle with my computer and my modem today, trying to get the internet connection to behave itself and do as its told. You don’t know what frustration is until you have developed an intimate relationship with a computer. A few years ago a man told me that owning a computer was like being married. And so it is. I ask my companion to show me the newspaper and he replies "I don’t understand you, you just can’t communicate". No, I’m not getting through at all.

I have a similar relationship with my 83 year old mother, who I live with (to be grammatically correct I really should say "with whom I live", but I don't want you to think I'm a wanker). She never listens to me either, nor does she do anything I ask her to do. But my god she talk and talk and never seems to take time out from complaining long enough to draw breath.

And so to politics.

Those of you who are in my own homeland of Oz know that the state of Western Australia is currently in the midst of an election campaign. We over here in the eastern states are a bit remote from the politics of WA but even easterners have been unable to avoid hearing that the Liberal Party challenger is proposing to build a canal all the way from the Kimberley to alleviate Perth's water shortage. It is irresistible to draw the analogy with the great builders of the Roman empire, who built great stone aqueducts, many of which stand even today. You may also have heard that the same candidate has promised to purchase a water cannon for crowd control. Obviously the canal will be essential in order to have enough water to power the water cannon.

Meanwhile back in the east the PM, John Howard, has been freely giving his opinion on the health of the ailing Pope JPII and the implications for the pontificate. Now, I may be underestimating him, but since when does little Johnnie know squat about either medicine or the church? He's not even Catholic! I would hope he'd know more about economics, but his off hand dismissal of experts in the area doesn't fill me with confidence. A number of economists from around the world have been warning lately that if the US doesn't address a few critical issues (notably the ratio of exports to imports), then a recession is on the horizen. But Little Johnnie says that these experts don't know what they're talking about. Hmm. We'll see who's right.