A Response to Mr O. Boot

It was with a wonderful pang of pleasure that I received my first critical response on this blog. (I mean critical in the discursive sense). It gave me a chance to revisit my earlier musings. The comments below are my first response, but hopefully they will spark further debate, because reading through these (and my first post), I realise that I have not yet fully elucidated my theories on exile and Antipodality. That said, hopefully these comments will spark further discussion.

So, first, here are Mr Boot's comments...

Three things:
(i) It's not no-man's language heading into no-man's land - it has your name on it. You might write something here, that you wish you hadn't but someone, somewhere will find it stashed in a cache of memory and remind you that you once said it. Sort of like Rudd and the strippers, but more like the Liberal guy who lost preselection because he called Lynne Kosky a ho, or somethign like that. That is why it is better to be anon on the web.
(ii) You're not an exile, you're a migrant. Just like the Greeks, Italians, Vietnamese, Sudanese etc etc coming to Melbourne to seek a better like. It's good here. If you really want to assimilate you should go for Essendon or Collingood.
(iii) Welcome to the 21st century.


And here are my somewhat rushed, immediate responses.

Dear Mr Boot,

Thank you for your thoughtful comments. They certainly require thoughful responses, to which at this point I can only offer my immediate gut resposes.

My first response would be to challenge the blunt literalness with which you have taken my metaphorical musings. My major criticism of your response to this post would be your failure to recognise that, beyond dictionary definitions, states such as 'exile' or even 'anonymity' can be purely psychological states of personal identity creation. In fact, a good argument could (and has) been made that the state of exile is often a very personal decision on behalf of the exile. (See for instance, Adorno). This decision is very different to that of the migrant or even of the refugee. This is a much larger semantic argument, which I will take up further below.

So, for the sake of clarity, let me return to the original post and add some definitory clarifications in response to your three criticisms...

(i). The reference to 'no-man's' language in no-man's land' was a pointed one - it was not solely intended as a reference to the internet, nor to Victoria, to anonymity, nor even to the nature of Antipodality, but rather an amalgam of all of these and perhaps even more. You criticise the nature of my anonymity, and yet, even through the veil of your non de plume I have a fairly good idea of who you are...

But, of course, this is beyond the issue - the point is that we are all, to some extent anonymous. I for one, could stand in the middle of Times Square or Piccidilly Circus with an enormous banner saying 'Henry F Skerritt' and would be as anonymous as the man next to me. Anonymity is a state of recognition - and as the Kevin Rudd story proves - one only ceases to be anonymous when everybody knows who you are. His trip to the strip club took little importance until he became a figure of note. In fact, your comments make the amusing double take of refusing to recognise the 'Liberal guy', over Lynne Kosky - thus returning him to the anonymity of the blogosphere (such an unattractive word). As something to hide behind, anonymity is a con. Rather, I think any written word should be chosen carefully, with the view that it will be read. Why else go to the narcissistic exercise of a diary or a blog? Also, anonymity can be very restrictive. I really enjoyed writing the post on Col Jordan and my grandfather, which I could not have done and remained anonymous. And, yet paradoxically, such a post is really quite meaningless to anyone who does not know me. No, I think the nature of anonymity is much broader than what name you choose to put on a piece of writing.

So, why did I choose the term exile. Certainly I do not see myself as a refugee, nor indeed a migrant. Both these terms come with a certain level of cultural baggage that I was hoping not to invoke. No, exile is the right term. Like Phillip and the 300 officials who travelled with him on the First Fleet, I left Perth for many reasons. Some were about adventure and the possibility of better things, others were about running away - about leaving those things that cramped us in. The utopian vision of the Antipodes as a place of abundant space and wealth (as spoken of by Cook and Banks), was tempered by the much older view of terra australis as 'Hic Sunt Dracones' or 'Here Be Dragons'. Part of the reason that it took over 130 years from the European discovery of Australia to the eventual settling of a colony was that since the arrival of Dutch and Portuguese sailors, Australia had tended to be considered as a barren, inhospitable land inhabited by violent savages. These two competing visions of the new country bore heavily on the minds of the officers of the First Fleet, and in many instances were given as the cause of insanity that living in the new country produced.

The nature of exile takes in both these competing positions. When Adorno discusses the European exiles living in New York, the distinction becomes very apparent. For although these emigres fled persecution in Europe during WWII, many lived their entire lives out in America. Despite this, they largely refused to learn the language or make much effort to assimilate. These exiles couldn't return to Europe after the War, because the Europe that they left had disappeared, but more importantly, they needed to hold on to the great concept of Europe that they remembered. Their whole self-defintion relied on a Europe that no longer existed and for them to give this up - to relinquish the position of exile - was for them to lose the great history that defined them as part of a great European cultural tradition.

You can be in exile for many reasons, but perhaps the simplest defintion could be that you cannot return, but you cannot let go. I think that perfectly describes the condition that I spoke of, and more pertinently describes the condition of Antipodality that Australia desperately needs to shed itself of.

That and Collingwood suck.

My Life Flashing Before My Eyes.

We are just about to open a retrospective from the Sydney based hard-edge painter Col Jordan. I studied Col's work when I was doing my masters, so this exhibition is really important to me - it is such a thrill to handle works that you know so well from reproductions. Anyway, I was in the gallery hanging the show till quite late last night and then I got into work this morning at about 7am, so I am feeling a bit frazzled and generally a little nuts. For this reason, I doubt this post will be particularly cogent.

In any case, coming in this morning I had my first chance to properly survey Col's exhibition. It contains works done over 40 years - from 1966 to 2007. As I entered the gallery I had this strange thought about what entering a show like this must be like for the artist. After all, a retrospective like this aims to sum up an entire career's worth of production - it must be a bit like seeing your life flash before your eyes. I asked Col about this when he came in this morning. I think he was a bit hot and flustered after walking from his hotel to the gallery and thought that the question was a bit strange. That said, when he walked into the gallery and saw all of his works beaming forth, I think he was genuinely taken aback - I actually think the analogy of his 'life flashing before his eyes' seemed quite appropriate. Once he had caught his breath and thought about my question, Col replied "I just hope it looks this good when I see my life flashing before my eyes!" I thought that was a really great response, and I really hope that one day I can look back on something like that a say the same thing...

I am currently writing a song about my late grandfather. I don't know why this happened, but like most songs it just happened. Usually a couple of ideas come into my head and I then have to try and find something to tie them all together. In this case, the first line that came to me was"

We talked about how
you walked so slowly round the shops
using a shopping trolley as a crutch.


The second line that came to me was

Your last years were a labour
but you wore them like a matyr
till one day your knees finally gave out asunder
'neath all of the burdens your old Scottish shoulders could bare.



My grandfather, Jim Doherty was a really great old man. The thing I remember most about him was how he held the whole family together. Whenever something bad happened to one of the family, I remember my mother always being terrified about how much it would upset granddad. I don't recall him getting angry very often, but I do remember sometimes he looked upset about things that happened. He would be quite silent and you could see him carrying weight. Maybe this was why he was such a great patriach to the family. For most of the time I knew him (1979-2000), Granddad's arthritis was giving him trouble. His knees caused him so much pain that in the last days he could hardly walk. For such an active and social man, this was like being a prisoner in his own body. Up until he died, Granddad would relish any opportunity to get out of the house. In his later years, when mobility became a major issue this was largely restricted to visiting the shops twice a week. The trips to the Karrinyup shops followed a carefully plotted routine, where he slowly ambled around the centre pushing a trolley. Granddad always resisted a walking frame - preferring his old walking stick which my brother bought him in Scotland. But the stick wasn't much use towards the end, so the trolley became a substitute walking frame, which he mastered to quite good effect.

The other thing I remember about my grandfather was that he loved taking the family to Miss Mauds buffet on Murray Street. I don't know why he was so attached to Miss Maud's. My Dad always thought it was a reaction to the extreme poverty of Granddad's upbringing. According to this theory, having grown up hungry so often, the idea of being able to give someone 'all they could eat' took on a major significance. I don't know if this is true - it might be. Or maybe Granddad just really liked Miss Maud's. It doesn't really matter - but I haven't been there since he died. Anyway, the thing about Miss Maud's that sticks in my mind was how much my Grandfather remained dedicated to Miss Mauds, even though he was not able to get up and got to the buffet. He would be reliant on other members of the family to tell him what was at the buffet and to get his helpings, but that didn't worry him. As long as everyone else had their fill.

In writing this song about Granddad, I don't know why his physical ailments seem to be the continuing theme, but I think the reason is that even though his body was giving up on him, even though he was becoming more and more dependent on others, even though he couldn't help everyone in all the ways that I know he wanted to; somehow he still managed to hold us all together. Somehow, in the time when he was at his weakest and most vunerable, when we were all so terrified about what the future would hold, about how his condition would deteriorate and how unbearable it was to watch his and my Nannan's final days; even in those final months he held us all together and kept us a family. In the years that have passed a lot of things have changed. When she is really worried my mother still talks about wishing she could call up Nannan and Granddad. For me, I think that when Nannan and Granddad were alive it wasn't just about them or the advice that they would give, but about the stability and solidity that they provided our world. Amongst the family we would fight and people would hold grudges and grievances, but everyone would still turn up to Miss Maud's for Granddad's birthday. Just the idea of upsetting Granddad - of breaking his heart - was a symbol enough to keep us together. I think that is what I miss most about Granddad.

How Rad is CSIRAC?

The anwer is extremely rad...


Also completely rad are the following CSIRAC links:

CISRAC at Unimelb

CSIRAC at Melbourne Museum

The Machine That Rocked Our World

Number One Blog - Exile on Gore Street

Ok, so here goes... This is my blog. Something I have long resisted, but now have decided to embark up. To those wondering (and as I am the only person who, at this stage, is aware of this blog, this is clearly only for my own benefit) the title comes from a line from Ern Malley's poem "The Black Swan of Trespass". The Line in question goes:

"It is something to be at last speaking
Though in this No-Man's-language appropriate
Only to No-Man's-Land"

Why this quote? Well, it seems to me that the web is a big place. Recent statistics show that every day 2 squillion new blogs appear and because most blogs are immortal, eventually NASA scientists estimate that we are going to have to colonise at least another four major planetary systems just to have enough hard-drives to sustain these blogs. (Estimates calculated using CSIRAC: see above image - for those of you who don't know - CSIRAC is completely rad.) Anyway, as this blog is, for now at least, a space for my private rantings, it is a space where I can speak with the freedom of a 'no-man's-language', knowing that it will be heading into 'no-man's-land'.

That said, on another level, it begs the question; how much of everything that I say and do belongs to no-man's-land. Saying this, I don't just mean this virtual no-man's-land of the internet. Nor am I suggesting an existential dilemma to my purpose on the planet. Rather, I suppose I am pondering on a very specific question which relates mostly to myself and those friends of mine who have chosen to relocate from the seaside idyll of Perth, Western Australia to the burgeoning metropolis of Melbourne, Victoria.

And what shall I say about us? Firstly, there is a lot of us. Secondly, we all seem to congergate - largely in the Northern suburbs. We all seem like pretty motivated, intelligent sorts, so what has motivated our move? Were we running away from something? Were we just too gutless to move overseas, but too ambitious to stay in Perth? Or did we just want a seachange? I don't know - and I ask myself these questions often, along with other questions, like why are almost all of my friends here from Perth? Will we still be her in five/ten/fifty years time? Who knows...

What I do know is that, however long I stay here, I don't seem to ever shake saying 'I'm from Perth'. I don't say 'I grew up in Perth', I say 'I'm from Perth'. Like many of my friends, I talk about going 'back' or even 'home' for Christmas - but every time I go back to Perth it seems more alien to me. In some instances this is because things have changed, but mostly it is just because it really isn't my home anymore. From the day I got to Melbourne, I felt comfortable here, and I feel the city has changed me. But why then does this city never quite feel like home? Why do I still feel like an exile on Gore Street.

Part of the answer, I guess, is that we are still a community of expatriots. I was contemplating using a different word to expatriate - as WA is not a seperate country, although moreoften than not it feels like another world - but the more I thought about it, the more the word fit. We are an expatriate group - huddled together in the inner city suburbs, finding it hard to assimilate into the broader society. And why shouldn't we be... Personally, I think the Perth gang is great. I've met so many amazing people from Perth - I am just very disappointed that I had to travel to Melbourne to meet them.

I don't have answers to any of those questions... I just have more questions, and a whole bunch of meaningless speculations. For centuries, philosophers and scientists had speculated on the existence of a great southern land - terra australis. Ironically, one person who never believed in its existence was Lt. James Cook. Even upon sighting the east coast of Australia and landing at Botany Bay he remained unconvinced...

And maybe Cook was right. Maybe Australia doesn't exist. Maybe it is just a concept in our collective colonial imaginations. Not a place, so much as a conceptual formulation - something to balance out the idea of Europe - an Antipodes where eveything is upside down and nothing is as it seems. And then, maybe, just maybe it is not us expatriates from New Holland that are exiles in this country - maybe everyone else that lives here is also living in exile. This is not purely because we don't belong here, but because the notion of Australia actively rejects our ability to belong here. For this is the antipodes - the counterbalance and opposite of Europe - where Europe is small and full, here is big and empty, where Europe is civilised and cultivated, here is wild and ragged, Europe is up, here is down, Europe is home, here is abroad.

But I've never been to Europe. Like the rest of us, I'm just floating out to sea. Anyway, at least I'm living in Melbourne. I might be in exile here, but I've already learnt to hate Sydney ... which reminds me of a line from the old convict song 'Jim Jones':

And our ship was high upon the sea
Then pirates came along,
But the soldiers on our convict ship
Were full five hundred strong.
For they opened fire and somehow drove
That pirate ship away.
But I'd rather have joined that pirate ship
Than gone to Botany Bay.
With the storms ragin' round us,
And the winds a-blowin' gale,
I'd rather have drowned in misery
Than gone to New South Wales.