The Brisbane Writer's Festival has touched on a sore point of identity politics when the opening address by Lionel Shriver challenged the concept that only those who feel oppressed should be permitted to write or speak about it.
What has happened here? Painting has become writing. Or, rather, painting relies on writing as an explanation for its existence.
The pejorative Australian and New Zealand term bogan is almost entirely unknown outside those countries though that may be about to change.
I agree I should get a life, but a certain morbid streak in my character makes me wonder about stuff like costumes.
Today's art world is a very well mapped-out universe consisting of a few thousand leading galleries.
We Boomers don't like anyone taking the piss out of us. We worked very hard to get where we are and we take seriously the concepts of global warming, unemployment and migration.
What non-violent response can there be to the violence and hatred, the killings and the dispossession, the endlessly cruel siege of Gaza, the thuggery of settlers and the Netanyahu rants?
Either the project is thought to be politically tainted, or to be pointless, or to be something that is not relevant to Australia.
What we get in these descriptions is the blood driven response of a man towards a woman, the very essence of sexual relationships.
The point of this piece has little to do with Mr Bowie
per se (whom I think might have agreed with at least some of it) and everything to do with our response to his passing.
Tangling sharply against these kinds of ideas was a young Tony Abbott who, as a student, seemed under constant threat from radical university peers.
Today even lesser known artists maintain factory style production for their galleries and collectors. Their pieces are even booked in advance in massive quantities.