We’re right in the middle of the 2008 Biennale of Sydney, so naturally there are signs and fliers and advertisements everywhere. And as anyone who has discussed art with me for more than about three minutes knows, I despise most anything created post WWII. There are obvious exceptions, such as Warhol, and a decent amount of photography. Of course, I’m willing to be proven wrong, if anyone should take offense at my close-mindedness. I’m sure I also have a heavy handed reaction due to my first hand experience around self-important jackasses I encountered in art school. I absolutely can’t stand the self-aggrandizing used car salesmanship behind most anything created today, where the art is not the physical creation, but the game of coming up with the best psuedo-philosophical, socially conscious, inner genius explanation behind the pile of trash you found on the sidewalk and then piled in a gallery that contains zero percent craftsmanship, 100% bullshit.

On this note, I walked into the Art Gallery of New South Wales this morning to begin some follow-up research on the article I’m writing in the gallery’s library. As I am checking my bag, I notice a small TV showing something connected with the Biennale. And out of nowhere, I recognize the artist’s name. It was my design teacher my first year in art school. Who happens to be one of the biggest art-related wankers I have ever met. This is also not the first time I have randomly encountered his work in my normal life either. A few years ago, he was responsible for this, which some of my Brooklyn compatriots may remember. This time around, down under, he is doing this. On paper, both of these projects actually sound interesting, but knowing the douche behind the work really spoils it for me.

All of this is terribly ironic, considering a cornerstone of my art historical work is based on investigating the biographical nature of artists in the 17th century. Current scholarship is obsessed with historical context and messages for contemporary viewers in Dutch art of the Golden Age, yet shies away from the older, romanticized viewpoints that inaugurated the genre in the 19th century. I will spare you my normal polemic here, as I should save that for the actual article. Of course, while looking through catalogues today, I found a painting I’ve never seen before that I think should be attributed to Leyster. Just what I needed, a new distraction.

There is one thing I am forced to eat my words about; Ben kept urging me to look at gallery shows in case I wanted to visit any of them. I dismissed this out of hand, saying I fucking hate contemporary art, etc, it’s a waste of time. What should Ben leave out a few days later, but the art listings in the Sydney weekend magazine, highlighting a galley show of German Expressionist prints. Well fuck me, I love this period, especially Grosz’s drawings. I will happily admit defeat and finally go to a gallery next Sunday in Woolhara.

This will be my second trip to Woolhara in a week. Yesterday while Ben went into the office to work on a freelance job, I tagged along and went exploring the city for a few hours. I made my normal walk up Oxford St on the way to Surry Hills, but this time kept going and walked through Paddington and Woolhara, two incredibly nice neighborhoods right outside of the city center. There were countless small streets with old houses right off of the high-end shops on Oxford St. If Newtown is the Sydney equivalent to Carroll Gardens, this was more like the West Village. Although I did find a Smith Street in Woolhara. I made my way back through Darlinghurst back to the CBD (Central Business District) and then home.