Thinking about Outpost

Had a lovely day with S and c at Outpost on Cockatoo Island. That is a exhibition of "street" art, including graffiti and skateboarding, chalk and paint, and some sculpture too.

The big draw was a friend mentioning that there were bits by Banksy on display, so of course the mainstream street artist name recognition got me across the line. Most of the others were unknown to me - and of utterly no consequence to c!

Interesting that the exhibit containing Banksy's work, which is, as I understand, usually found appearing on outdoor walls, was entirely contained on the second floor of some historic old building, and all were framed and safely ensconced behind glass. So these are images of the art, not the art itself. Okay, so it would be a bear of a job to haul walls from around the world to Sydney. Most of the images are readily available on the Interwebs, and I had seen before. I suppose for those to whom this was new, it could be an eye opening and rewarding adventure... Perhaps I am too far down the post modern rabbit hole where any image is painlessly flicked around social networks to have a protracted engagement with one.

Noting my fellow patrons, I recalled that time in life when art could achieve being "deep" by simple juxtaposition or superficial comment, or even by aligning with proto-ideals for a more just world.

Some of the art is indeed striking - and I recognise the value in bringing it to an easily accessible collection for the hordes to consume in comfort. In the somewhat reconstituted space of the island workshops - themselves possibly an indicator of the classic labour versus capital struggle, or simply the inequality distribution of power - the statements of the art felt neutered.

And, as with so many art installations, the enormous cleverness of the pieces is oft lost on me, with no handy way to figure out what a given artist is on about, what's inspiring the art, or what it even means. To me, this further bleaches away the power of the art, reducing it to pictures, some pretty, some resonant, but most incomprehensible.

Of equal or greater interest were the environs: real leftovers from early Industrial Sydney. Perhaps I have a greater understanding and more affinity for those stories than I do the stories told by the street artists.
And last but not least... If visiting, either pack a picnic, or prepare to pay handsomely for distinctly average at best food. Despite all these whinges, I had a great time exploring on my little family's own terms.