Any excuse will do, but mine was my kid sister’s 50th birthday. She had booked a 2-bed, 2 bath “Pavilion” on site and kindly offered the second bedroom to her older brother and partner. This all happened in the course of a phone call about a feverish child in a ‘flu season only a couple of weeks before the event. And I normally NEVER do such things spontaneously!
We have dear family friends in Hobart and have only had
perfunctory time there in the distant past so this was an ideal opportunity to
do what many, even most acculturated Aussies have already done, visit MONA.
Hence we spent 4 days underground looking at the hundreds of
modern art installations … but for novelty none came near the 15 minute drive
up Mount Wellington. Somehow it seemed
better even than those border peaks in Tyrol and Switzerland. And that is saying something. We briefly met gambler David Walsh who
started MONA and who retains a unique apartment and garden on site. He was not forthcoming of anything revealing
his obvious vision and aims. My partner
thought he was vacant.
I am tempted to deign all the entire project as rubbish and
fraudulent but too many fellow human beings enjoy MONA in Hobart. As if continuing Mr Walsh’s penchant for
flesh, alcohol, death and the occult, they also have dozens of ancient Egyptian
artefacts, some in storage, but many on view, mixed in with the modern art
works. He has accrued some of the most
‘intact’ and beautiful stelae, coffins, mummies, hieroglyphs, mosaics, scarabs,
etc that I have ever seen. Unlike major
collections such as the British museum, most of the items are completely
undamaged.
MONA is a Disneyland of sorts, money making at every turn,
sex, flesh, smut and fake-art aplenty … not just some ‘poo on sticks’ … but one
after another of meaningless, shocking shameless installations (dozens of
bottles on rusty iron spears?). But that
is modern art for you, and you can take it or leave it in most places but here
it is in-your-face and en masse. And you have already paid for it
beforehand.
We were told that the most remembered exhibit was “Fat car”,
a red sports car with ugly adiposities all around.
The Hadron Particle Collider in Geneva apparently allowed
one artist, Royji Ikeda, into the program and his impression of the control
room is a long dark corridor with ranks of screens below and projections above
of fast moving numbers with beeping, zonking and flashing strobes. At least that is my probably imperfect memory
of a brief walk through. We were advised
to enter when all was in darkness and await the ‘light show’. This installation did not tickle my modern artistic
bone (if I have one) but unlike most of the others at least it had an
interesting origin from which the Higgs boson has finally been identified
confirming some missing link of sub-atomic physics.
One of the most prominent exhibits is the Cloaca Machine
which is supposedly a genuine imitation of the human digestive tract in numerous
suspended transparent vessels connected by pipes, tubing, pumps and
vibrators. We were shown it being fed
two meat pies cut into halves and inserted into what appeared to be an old
fashioned insinkerator, along with a large jug of water. This then travelled down a tube to the
stomach which had two types of acid being piped in before some pepsin and other
enzyme tablets were added by our guide.
The artist had made 10 of these machines and retained ownership of 9 from
which faeces were sold at a high price (!) but MONA was not permitted to do so
according to their contract. The name is
a misnomer like so much else in this museum.
The cloaca is the discharge organ in birds and has nothing to do with
human or other mammalian digestive systems. Yet it is
another talking point (and a pretty ugly word to my ear).
Another bizarre contract was with a man who sold all rights
to his back to be tattooed by a famous tattoo artist on condition that he sit
for the summer season in the museum as a exhibit and donate his skin to the
organisation after he died (!).
Uniquely, he would never be able to appreciate the art work
himself. Similarly there were dozens of
women’s vulvas carved into white stone and hung along a corridor just above
children’s height. Again, the many women
involved would not be in a position to judge the authenticity of the
representations unlike some of their partners.
I personally do not feel that my life has been enriched by any of these installations
but have to agree that each creates a huge talking point and tourist
attraction.
There were dozens of other permanent exhibits plus a special
showing of the “Museum of Everything”, 30 rooms of modern “art” much of which
was just OTT items hung, slung or perched in the many dank underground spaces
with no natural light or air.
There is a policy for no identifying tags, supposedly so one
has to appreciate the art work as it stands … yet they hand out and recommend mobile
proximity devices which even allowed feed-back.
Mine had almost worn out the button for “Art wank”.
At MONA there is a very classy restaurant called ‘The Source’
with magnificent views across the Derwent.
This is complimented by another café and a wine bar near reception open daily except Tuesdays when the whole venue is
closed.
In town there are also many good eateries to choose from the port at Constitution Dock to
North Hobart (there are regular ferries or taxi from MONA, each taking about 20 minutes). I recommend Suzie Luck’s Canteen at Battery
Point and ‘Urban Greek’ in an old city garage building.
Hobart boasts the southern hemisphere’s oldest synagogue in
continuous use in Murray St - it has a magnificent Egyptian style façade and caters
for both Orthodox and Reform persuasions who seem to be more au fait than in some other cities.
The story of Claudio Alcorso (started Sheridan Sheets)
retiring to the MONA site and planting early grape vines in the 1950s is told
in a great biography called ‘The Wind You Say’.
Walsh bought the peninsula estate from Alcorso including the two Roy Grounds
homes which are heritage listed. It was
partly because of this heritage listing that a museum could not be added so Mr
Walsh had his architects and engineers burrow out a space below somewhat reminiscent of Jenolan Caves.
