Belgo Geordie: June 2018

Aye, it were not long ago I were exposed ter the thinkin' person's art experience-the 19th Biennale of Sydney-oonder the treatment of the good Doctor Laird. An attempt as sooch were made ter educate me in the finer points of installation art. Including how ta read' grandiose statements that made philosophy seem like summat written on back of crisp packet or straining on the nettie after too much salted cod. And being I were still in recovery from last experience (post traumatic art exposure disorder) like and havin' made me peace that there were things in this wurld more mysterious than what fits inside the Belgo Geordie cranium; it happened again! Anuther Biennale crept oop like a liberal stacking a branch selection. I were whimpering and clootchin the aspirin packet like. This un promising bigger crowds, better art, denser explanations and twistier knots ter undo ter get ter meaning' within that didn't matter as getting in an understanding were not a requirement.
Noooo, this time I were having nun of it! It were better to stay in house with copy of Red Flag over me face and ponder whether the new messiah Rafa could save the Toon from going down as they were perilous close ter bottom of table. So, I managed ter miss Biennale 21. Toon managed to stay oop. All in all, a fair result.

Walking tour Newtown a hot March in 2018

Boot interooptin a lazy Saturday at home Mrs Belgo Geordie, the house arbitrator and organiser informed oos (me) she had booked oos (both of oos) on a walking tour thingey ter learn all aboot art, daubin' or painting or bombing, signing or spraying in a manner of speaking aboot street art. Mind it were free, nae brass were ter be exchanged. Aye, put on by local council, as happens when yer elect a greedy leftie leaning people focused un - like the Inner West Council. All it involved were walking the streets of Newtown with a thoughtful expression on yer face. Summat Mrs BG does well. Me, I has ter scratch me bum and mutter dead canny and fidget me way through the meatier stoof of who why and where. The toor were ter be curated (see good doctor I learned summat!) By the delightful, erudite an' informative Melinda Vassallo. An author no less of a tome "Street Art in the Inner West."

It were planned to be a two hour leisurely stroll, a walking party with thirty other folk looking at a procession of walls while perambulating across busy King Street and oop and down lanes, oonder car parks ter learn a bit about folk with spray cans, funny attitude, an' their own unique approach to art, street art an' littering. I already knew from walks on me own the spray can folk were big on dropping yer empty cans. empty fag packets and tabs, makin' a statement "Me, I'm a rebel me", not then some twat litterin'; like leavin' yer washing on floor fer yer ma ter pick oop. Aye, I already knew a bit of where ter find this stoof; high oop and inside dark, dank underground chambers seems ter get the blood boiling fer yon graffiti mob. Mind you, the side of hooses were joost as grand a canvas. Boot as the more canny wife pointed oot, it were an opportunity ter learn summat. Put names ter walls and differentiate tagging from graffiti and art from the Biennale and why folk leave them stencilled cats, cement pigeons and balaclavas glued ter pavement in odd places.

So ah groaned me way inta me walking shoes, rubbed liniment (burny stuff) inter the knees and gnarled feet , emptied me bladder and looked forward ter an autumnal stroll in cool breezes and a bit of leaf fall, migrating bin chickens, and folk wearing extra layers of facial hair, tattoos an' piercings. Boot imagine me surprise when we turned oop at meeting spot outside Newtown Community Centre there were a real live councillor takin' part in tour. A wee scrap of independence Called Pauline Lockie. Sharp as a North Sea Breeze and knowledgeable on all sorts of politics stoof. Belgo allus likes an ear ter bend.

The instigator

As it turned oot, it were hottest Saturday of year and peering oop at walls meant the a sun cooked me dome pink red as unprepared fer what was one of the hottest Saturdays of a long summer I'd left the slip, slop, slap grease at home. Aye the walking party started with about thirty and ended down by St Peters with about four. In-between were walls, an art gallery, a real artist, tales of a code of wall painters and bastardy. But it were mostly a day of pleasant crack and blistering heat. Now I were paying attention and it were worth the entry price- yer time and listening/walking skills boot if yer want ter know more. Book yourself a walk...enjoy yon pictures.