"The extras have become the leads, the leads, extras. Soon it is all over."



It's 3:40am and someone just set fire to a car outside, so I'm now definitively awake. Being awake in the middle of the night is an opening to write something like this paragraph. Living in an apartment gives you an awareness for surfaces; insides and outsides, what goes on in the street or the corridor and occasionally, very imperceptibly what goes on inside other apartments. Everything is managed. The organisation or organism of everyday life seems to foam up and expand outside of the state's management systems. Management is synonymous with punishment. Goodnight.


During my residency at LMW last year, I would have to walk to my studio at the Museum through Pipemaker's Park. The park is a very active beat; there were often men in cars, cruising for sex or waiting, smoking, listening to music in their car, walking around, making eye contact, waiting in empty rooms of the dilapidated pipe factory. I've never used a beat because they're not places that I find desirous. But I know personally and historically that these are sites of liberation and fulfillment for many.

At the time, as I walked by I would take a distant photograph of a variation of parked cars at the beat. Nothing intrusive, just a marker of time and presence. Just now I exported the photos and a weird malfunction happened where they were all formatted to an incredibly small file size, with barely any visual information. I think this is perfect. So here they are. A footnote.


Video, as a medium, seems to make sense on the internet. Maybe its migrated here for a reason. In the gallery, I'm not so sure. I make videos all the time, even though I'm still not sure about it. I like the idea of group viewings, just being able to bare witness to something and then turning it off.

Yesterday, it was good to see a Nonna mowing the lawn in an apron. I mean, I don't think domestic labour is great, but the scene itself is one of the things that links me into living in North. I moved to Melbourne by accident, even though my Nonna lives nearby and my entire family immigrated to these suburbs 50 years ago. White people are settlers here, our job is to respect Aboriginal culture and to understand where we've come from. It might take a lifetime to do this.

For the past few weeks, every time I enter a shop or library I end up setting off the burglar alarms. Something about me is sensitised, I can't work out what it is. I was kept awake the other night by a burglar alarm directed straight into our apartment. It went on, unabated for 8 hours.