Author Archives: Garth

About Garth

Cartoonist and rock musician. Passionate about wildlife and representations of it. Lives Down Under!

City Roos by Christopher Trotter

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City Roos 1

Since discovering Christopher Trotter‘s ‘City Roos’ on George Street, Brisbane, I have wondered how this sculptural installation has escaped the machinations of the Health and Safety officials and avoided immediate removal as a hazard to pedestrians who might trip over them.

City Roos 2

City Roos 3

Four kangaroos, constructed of scrap, congregate on the pavement. One feeds, two are attentive to you, hoping for a snack perhaps, and one lounges on a seat with his steel scrotum catching the sun. This is how they are if you wander amongst them at a zoo and it is this accurate portrayal of character as well as form and pose that attracts me. A kinetic effect is remarkably achieved as folk walk by, ignoring the ferrous Macropods, or giving them attention when smiles are the most frequent expressions generated. This is wonderful to behold and adds to the enjoyment of the ‘City Roo’ experience! We could all do with smiling more! I also spend time finding additional interest in the shapes of the scrap and guessing the scrap’s origin and former function. In my opinion ‘City Roos’ (1999) are imaginative, well executed and thoughtfully placed in their concrete and neon, skyscraper habitat.

I find no obvious message here but I would bet that Mr Trotter and the Brisbane City Council, who own the work, are stating Australian pride, indulging in some Australian humour and deliberately adding to the wonderful, urban environment that this city offers.

The Oxley Creek Bark Canoe

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I was watching Cormorants fishing at the point where muddy Oxley Creek meets the muddy Brisbane River in Queensland, Australia, when I came across a strange sculpture.

Canoe 1

Oxley Creek, near the junction with the Brisbane river.

Canoe 2

The Oxley Creek Bark Canoe.

This is a bronze which apparently is a facsimile of an Aboriginal, bark canoe that was built to ‘acknowledge the Jagara people‘s  use of Oxley Creek’ as part of the ‘First Oxley Creek Water Festival’ in 1997. Brisbane City Council then commissioned sculptor Sean Tapner to create the Bronze at lifesize.

I felt it, tapped it and looked at it. The second thought I had, after one of admiration for the sculptor’s skill, was that if this were in the UK it would have been stolen at worst or vandalised at best. In fact it would not even have been placed in a small, suburban park on a riverbank like this for those reasons. But here it was, sixteen years on, untouched and flawless.

Canoe 3

… and in the canoe!

The canoe’s edges curl inward and I imagined how precarious I would feel sitting in it. I imagined those edges cutting into my bare skin as I paddled. I imagined the smell of fresh fish, mud and sweat; for lying in the bottom of the canoe, as if the Jagara had just hauled it up the muddy bank, is the catch of Mullet and a Blue Swimming Crab, a woven basket, a fish spear and a decorated paddle. And that’s it. Simply a realistic rendering of everyday objects. A still life? No obvious message or meaning. A council funded sculpture surrounded by Council barbecue points and some children’s swings to commemorate, in some way, a Council funded festival. But this thing was speaking to me. It forced its way into my consciousness demanding me to think deeply about it.

This canoe and its contents were resonating with rythms of an unchanging lifestyle from thousands of years ago. It spoke also of white, European, national guilt and the hypocrisy of those who believe that an ‘acknowledgement’ is atonement enough for Manifest Destiny, whilst Aboriginal peoples still suffer the legacy of it. These were natural objects because they were from a time and a culture that did not separate Man from the ‘Natural World’. Their ‘beauty’ was in their efficient functionality. Handmade, utilitarian objects, their meaning and their use the difference between life and death. No wonder it resonated.

It was only when I recognised the effect that the bronze had on me that I thought it might be a suitable subject for Talking Beautiful Stuff.

Memorial to the Confederate Soldier, New Orleans

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This war memorial of white marble I found in Greenwood Cemetery, New Orleans, in the Summer of 2008. I do not know who the sculptor was. The city’s cemeteries are world renowned and some are truly vast, cities of the dead, endless rows of tombs in streets with names and one-way systems. This visit was the culmination of years of interest in this strange city, so, when I found myself in this atmospheric place, amongst its dead, squinting against the glare of the blistering Louisiana Sun reflected from the white tombs, I was in an emotional state and ready for some Beautiful Stuff. It was then that I saw him, this Confederate Infantryman leaning on his rifle. Inscribed below was:

IN COMMEMORATION OF THE HEROIC VIRTUES OF THE CONFEDERATE SOLDIER THIS MONUMENT IS ERECTED BY THE LADIES BENEVOLENT ASSOCIATION OF LOUISIANA 1874

Soldier 1

I found the realism of the style, the soldier’s pose and the composition of the work faultless. The skill involved, for me, is beyond admiration. For these reasons alone it is beautiful. But there was also a haunting beauty in the emotions that lead to its creation. This was a symbol of grief for the loss of the men these ladies loved so dearly, a symbol of acknowledgment of sacrifice and courage after what had been the most terrible war that Man had experienced to date. It speaks still of love and admiration for those who died for a lost and noble cause, a beautiful way of life and culture. I knew that culture relied upon the enslavement of the Black Race as the base for its economy but that does not detract from the pureness of the emotions that lead to the memorial’s creation.

It spoke to me also of the foulness of war, the corruption and stupidity of politicians, how patriotism, masquerading as a fine principle, can be so dangerous, how religion can create the ridiculous paradox of God supporting both sides, how the use of ceremony creates the heirarchies necessary to have men go to their death without questioning the order, the paradox of admiration for your enemy whilst you kill him, the hypocrisy of sending yours to kill theirs and then complaining when theirs shoot back and finally the overwhelming sadness I feel as I acknowledge the fact that war is as Human as is peace and that we can never be rid of it.