Filed under: RUNOFF
When I was twenty I suddenly, in a fit of pique and obsession, busted out of my family home and moved interstate.
In the years between being released from advanced daycare and boarding a plane to Perth, however, I’d been working in arts administration, which had led me to several shitty voluntary positions in several gratefully exploitative arts institutions. One of these subsequently led to a paid job, at a certain metropolitan arts college, helping to organise some insane modern opera set in a former hippie commune outside Melbourne. All fun and games, and working at the College was a modestly sized laugh as well.
Now, I realise my level of cynicism may be higher than the recommended daily output, but then we all have our art-appreciation limit; I challenge anyone claiming otherwise to maintain their stance after watching a my good friend James’ graduation recital involving a bassoon, a bear costume, and some very dubious wailing.
