... between bourke 'n' elizabeth ...

... cocking the snoot with a bald archie ...

Irreverent ... larrikin ... tall poppy syndrome ... whatever it is - Australians have a grand sense of the ridiculous. There was a chap in Victoria, Douglas Wilkie, who thought that football was wankers-ville and established the Anti-Football League which awarded a medal to the person who had done the least for AFL during that year. What a hoot!

The Bald Archies is a send up of the pretentiousness of The Archibald Prize and the general hoopla that is associated with it. Its mascot is a White Cookatoo called Maude. The instigator of this slice of Australian flummery is a codger from bloody Mildura (where?); one Peter Batey by name who is so up himself that he ensures that OAM is attached to his name in print.

The 2008 Bald Archie was awarded to a a railway worker from Newcastle called James Brennan. James ... James ... what sort of name is that for a lad from Newcastle! He was so chuffed that he reckons he might enter the real event next year - if he ever knew anyone famous enough to paint!

And get an eyeful of young Jim's winning entry: tasteful, elegant, meaningful ... what more could the gallery-classes demand. Yep - that be them. The Danish Royal family in waiting: old thunder-thighs Mary and Frederick the Great - replete with Tasmanian Devils.

Here is the official spin: Created in 1994 as a spoof of the more serious competition, the Bald Archy Prize provides artists of all styles and standards with a genuine opportunity ranging from the hilarious to the bizarrely vulgar to create portrait paintings of humour, dark satire, light comedy or caricature.

This year's finalists are on display at the Watson Arts Centre in Canberra until 6th April should you be so inclined.

 

... Archibald voyeurism ...

My-onthewall-shortlist

Alison Mitchell (by Robert Hannaford)
Sarah Blasko (by Alexander McKenzie)
Wendy after two cups of coffee (by John Phillips)
Heath (by Vincent Fantauzzo)
Grabowsky (by Peteris Ciemitis)
You are what is most beautiful about me, a self portrait with Kell and Arella (by Del Kathryn Barton)

What made the hair on the back of my neck stand up?
Leaping off the wall was Robert Hannaford's portrait of Alison Mitchell - a vibrant, deep, rounded woman with an insightful gaze. Del Kathryn Barton's portrait of motherhood is an excellent winner even though it is terribly cartoonish. They eyes of all three are just mesmerizing. John Phillips' representation of Wendy Whitely was brooding and melancoly but was spoilt by the links to Brett. The image of Sarah Blasko (of whom I have not heard!) captured my attention for a long time. There is so much going on around her and she is posed in such a unique way - I tried to work out why. Reminds me very much of the old masters. I enjoyed looking at Peteris Ciemitis' rendition of Paul Grabowsky but acknowledge that is a a bit two-dimensional without setting the scene.

Which leaves me with Heath. This will win the "People's Choice" competition by a landslide (I voted for Del Kathryn Barton). There were people milling, with behind-the-hand whispering. And how can anyone look at the work and not immediately sense that this is a young man in intense trouble? Three wise monkeys? Hearing voices? The smirks of the devil? This is a difficult portait to watch for too long. I had to go back it is so intense.

Why was it Highly Commended? Would it have been hung if he had not killed himself?

... character inside out ...

Stretching back to the early 40s, Sydney comes alive during autumn with the hanging of the finalists for the Archibald Prize, which is Australia's premier portraiture prize even if not its most generous. That canny Edmund Barton has a way of milking the media for the attention that the event deserves: knowing the Packer's Prize will go to a photographic portrait takes the pressure off the awarding of the Archie to a character portrait.  Not that I think any of these are rigged - they have just been established to enable both ends of the spectrum to shine.

I like a portrait to tell me more about the person than I can see from the outside.  It can do this by directing my attention to certain physical aspects, by distortion or by artifacts in the background. Just a straight portrait might as well be a photograph. I yearn for interpretation, not representation; for inside character made manifest on the outside.

So from this year's finalists, which do I choose for my ... dah DaH!!! ... short-list? Here they be:

As the exhibition does not open until Saturday 8th March, it is difficult to say which portrait I will react to with the most feeling: which character will electrify the hairs on the back of my neck. My intention is to see it with the milling throng on opening arvo.