Zine Festival
Went to the Format festival zine afternoon for the Fringe, and bought Mr A a copy of “Yoga in your forties” for his 40th and a zine by a rent subsidised girl (lived in series of parent and co-op subsidized inner city places-very envy making). Noted girl was apologetic for still doing zines at 35 “not wanting to be the mutton amongst the zine-lambs”. Mr A makes a strong argument that this is a pointless notion and excludes you from the fun if you imagine you’re the wrong age for it.
Then Duckworth said to me something like “Oh and you’ve seen Ianto?” and I shook my head, never having been introduced. Ianto wrote my favourite zine (Westside Angst) and I keep wondering who he is, how D knows him. He is the sort of guy that can analyse the male dynamic, and wrote something on his blog that recalled the Michael Wilding short story I was reading out aloud when camping at Cygnet Folk Festival. (Two guys sharing a house with insufficent bedding for the cold winter, one works at a theatre restaurant as a vampire, never removes his make up, keeps climbing in through the bedroom window and bedlinen crashing, forcing the narrator to sleep fully clothed to protect his mandhood).
Scanning the trestle tables finally yielded his handwriting and the young man himself, dark haired, and definitely not familiar! It is weird to know someone by their writing, and know them not at all (D thinks he was at Sonja’s Boxing Day party in 2007, which was full of charming and interesting people, very few requiring props besides Benny who was unable to complete conversations due to the concentration required to draw cartoons). Whenever someone has made something, especially if they are a fellow print maker, I want to talk to them and find out what their story is, but there is a fine line. Will they listen to you explain the back history that has led you to their work?
So I didn’t tell him about reading the article on Sticky press in The Age, or visiting the shop in Flinders Lane, or finding his piece in Herding Kites, or how D gave me Westside Angst in a plastic bag when we saw Captains of Industry at the Jade Monkey and how I think Ian is the most amazingly youthful looking late thirty something, and I do think there is a Picture of Dorian Gray connection likely, perhaps the Will Self version rather than Oscar Wilde.
I didn’t even say that his writing reminds me of novels by Gwendoline Riley or Michael Chabon, that his academic background helps synthesize ideas to drive a short sharp piece better than many creative writers. Instead I said I liked reading about the time he lived alone house sitting and shifted furniture and bought more furniture from the same place that I love and want to keep secret and he explained what the sequel was about. It was written after he’d shifted house, when he lay on the bathroom floor and had big ideas. It’s titled “What would Tintin do?”, and as I purchased it D appeared and confessed that he’d originally purchased this zine for me but it was too good to give away, it was brilliant. “Oh, well he didn’t actually sell it me like that…”
My evening ended with an excursion to the Festival Centre where I met up with Rach and Adam to see Ben Lee perform with the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra. Adam explained he’d been to school with Ianto, and they’d competed in tournament of minds. Of course! A is taking it easy this Fringe and only seeing a few shows each week, compared to past years when he would see five shows in one day. The concert was good, Ben Lee was nice, friendly and happy but not at a Scientology level. The male cellists are attractive in a way that I don't recall from my primary school orchestra years-instead it was the viola player, Martin, that I fondly remember. He died in a car accident just after turning 21, was into music and drama and had the lovable traits of a middle child, I always feel sad remembering the loss.
Thinking about what made Ben Lee the way he is, or Adam so enthusiastically into stuff, I wondered about what effect my love of kid detective novels may have had. Like the lead character from Incredibly Close and Extremely Cloud, I had heightened observance of detail and limited emotional understanding. I clocked the kids at orchestra, gathered from different schools and kept a mental file on their foibles the way Harriet the Spy would have. Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew fiction intrigued me. Similar to the Peanuts or Archie comic strips, there were defined characters and defined dynamics and limited passing of time. Michael Chabon explains the world of a comic strip writer in KAVALIER and CLAY, how the writers might be influenced by new developments in the political and social sphere; but often were forced to avoid any transition of time for marketing reasons. Quite possibly the kids from primary school orchestra were the only real peers I had in that kind of nerd way and adulthood is a long quest to keep finding them again.
Then Duckworth said to me something like “Oh and you’ve seen Ianto?” and I shook my head, never having been introduced. Ianto wrote my favourite zine (Westside Angst) and I keep wondering who he is, how D knows him. He is the sort of guy that can analyse the male dynamic, and wrote something on his blog that recalled the Michael Wilding short story I was reading out aloud when camping at Cygnet Folk Festival. (Two guys sharing a house with insufficent bedding for the cold winter, one works at a theatre restaurant as a vampire, never removes his make up, keeps climbing in through the bedroom window and bedlinen crashing, forcing the narrator to sleep fully clothed to protect his mandhood).
Scanning the trestle tables finally yielded his handwriting and the young man himself, dark haired, and definitely not familiar! It is weird to know someone by their writing, and know them not at all (D thinks he was at Sonja’s Boxing Day party in 2007, which was full of charming and interesting people, very few requiring props besides Benny who was unable to complete conversations due to the concentration required to draw cartoons). Whenever someone has made something, especially if they are a fellow print maker, I want to talk to them and find out what their story is, but there is a fine line. Will they listen to you explain the back history that has led you to their work?
So I didn’t tell him about reading the article on Sticky press in The Age, or visiting the shop in Flinders Lane, or finding his piece in Herding Kites, or how D gave me Westside Angst in a plastic bag when we saw Captains of Industry at the Jade Monkey and how I think Ian is the most amazingly youthful looking late thirty something, and I do think there is a Picture of Dorian Gray connection likely, perhaps the Will Self version rather than Oscar Wilde.
I didn’t even say that his writing reminds me of novels by Gwendoline Riley or Michael Chabon, that his academic background helps synthesize ideas to drive a short sharp piece better than many creative writers. Instead I said I liked reading about the time he lived alone house sitting and shifted furniture and bought more furniture from the same place that I love and want to keep secret and he explained what the sequel was about. It was written after he’d shifted house, when he lay on the bathroom floor and had big ideas. It’s titled “What would Tintin do?”, and as I purchased it D appeared and confessed that he’d originally purchased this zine for me but it was too good to give away, it was brilliant. “Oh, well he didn’t actually sell it me like that…”
My evening ended with an excursion to the Festival Centre where I met up with Rach and Adam to see Ben Lee perform with the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra. Adam explained he’d been to school with Ianto, and they’d competed in tournament of minds. Of course! A is taking it easy this Fringe and only seeing a few shows each week, compared to past years when he would see five shows in one day. The concert was good, Ben Lee was nice, friendly and happy but not at a Scientology level. The male cellists are attractive in a way that I don't recall from my primary school orchestra years-instead it was the viola player, Martin, that I fondly remember. He died in a car accident just after turning 21, was into music and drama and had the lovable traits of a middle child, I always feel sad remembering the loss.
Thinking about what made Ben Lee the way he is, or Adam so enthusiastically into stuff, I wondered about what effect my love of kid detective novels may have had. Like the lead character from Incredibly Close and Extremely Cloud, I had heightened observance of detail and limited emotional understanding. I clocked the kids at orchestra, gathered from different schools and kept a mental file on their foibles the way Harriet the Spy would have. Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew fiction intrigued me. Similar to the Peanuts or Archie comic strips, there were defined characters and defined dynamics and limited passing of time. Michael Chabon explains the world of a comic strip writer in KAVALIER and CLAY, how the writers might be influenced by new developments in the political and social sphere; but often were forced to avoid any transition of time for marketing reasons. Quite possibly the kids from primary school orchestra were the only real peers I had in that kind of nerd way and adulthood is a long quest to keep finding them again.
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