Sorry, everybody

I was looking for a picture of my brain on the internet, but I couldn't find anything grotesque enough. Sorry everybody: especially to t...

Review: Namatjira, Rising Water

The notion of "authenticity" in art has whiskers all over it. Art, by definition, is artifice, mimicry, representation: at its mos...

Holding note

Your Humble Blogger continues at a low ebb this week. As is probably clear to regular readers, Ms TN hasn't managed to control her wont ...

Review: Special, Silent Disco

I wish I could adequately explain the irrational joy that The Rabble's latest work, Special, invoked in me when I saw it last week. Ther...

Review: Pina

I've never seen a work by Pina Bausch. As with those of us who come too late, who miss the boat, who weren't there, my knowledge of ...

Melbourne Writers Festival diary dates

The Melbourne Writers Festival, which opens later this month, is bearing down like some kind of benign leviathan. And this year there are a ...

Review: Pin Drop, Observe the Sons of Ulster

We all know some variation or other of this feeling. You are alone, it is dark. You hear an almost inaudible sound, just on the edge of hear...