When Art Is a Playground

Art is more fun when you can play with it. (Remember finger painting?) My friends and I got a good reminder of how much fun art can be the other day at the Experimenta Playground exhibit at the Carriage Works cultural center. It’s an incredibly hard exhibit to describe unless you’ve experienced the technology before. My pictures probably won’t be much help either because they don’t show the motion well (and because I had to take them very sneakily).


The exhibit features a collection of interactive and digital art from several artists. The first piece we approached was an overhead projector shining pink against the wall. A few wooden shapes and numbers lay unassumingly next to the projector, but when you drop a piece on the glass, noise comes from somewhere beyond and the projected image comes alive. Dashes outline your hand on the wall, and what looks like confetti falls out of the wooden pieces’ shadows.


Similar to the overhead work was the shadow puppet piece. When you held your hands in front of a large light box, it would reflect your hands with added features, like eyes, teeth or spikes. When I moved my whole body in front, my shadow appeared with funky hair, a bow, a horn and other additions. Even a simple shadow puppet of a dog came out looking like a monster. In this photo you can see how my friend could ‘burp’ when he opened and closed his hand.


Our other favorite creation was the underwater scene projected on the floor. Cartoon-like blowfish swam around freely, but would suddenly puff up and float if you stomped on them. If you stepped on the seahorses, they’d play different musical notes.

There were a few other pieces and short films that were a bit over our heads as far as purpose and meaning are concerned. But we got a kick out of the interactive works, which did feel like being at some sort of playground.

Like I said, it's hard to explain so you should really just see it for yourself.

Autumn in Sydney and a Theory

Sydney has a moderate climate similar to Los Angeles. Many of the trees are evergreen, but there are a few varieties gushing autumn hues on my street in Darlington.

The weather has still been beautiful lately, sunny and low 70s or high 60s. Definitely still t-shirt and light sweater weather…unless you’re Aussie, in which case scarves and coats are more appropriate. Just because a few of the leaves changed color and they can’t go to the beach anymore, some people have decided to play the fall part and dress like it’s brisk out. They all look cute, but I can’t figure out how they’re not burning up. I’m too warm if I have one light extra layer on, but there are people walking around in wool, for crying out loud.

And then I figured it out. Cool people don’t sweat. Of course not. Only those unaffected by climate are cool enough to wear the Sydneysider uniform — boots, skinny jeans/leggings, spiffy shirt, scarf, cardigan, and fall coat — when it’s a cloudless 68 degrees. I’m so unhip, I take temperature into account when I get dressed.

A Photoless Visit to Dulwich Hill

The above photo, just to catch your attention, is from a corner in Newtown after my walk through Dulwich Hill. I don’t have photos from Dulwich Hill because I felt out of place with my camera. The neighborhood isn’t touristy at all, but my little digital camera is.

Why did I want to walk around the humble westerly neighborhood? The New York Times told me to. Well, it didn’t tell me to, but it convinced me to. (Newspapers are good at doing that.) I’d read an article called “In Dulwich Hill, Sydney, Finding the World in a Few Blocks,” and hey, if that’s where the world is, that’s where I’ll go.

Believe it or not, I think I found a good chunk of the world. I must have heard four or five different languages just as I walked down Marrickville Road. I got off the bus in what would probably still be considered Marrickville and made my way to Dulwich Hill. There’s nothing flashy about either part of town. It’s no Paddington or Balmoral. It’s a working class area with a diverse immigrant population. The streets are lined with discount stores, butcheries, Portuguese chicken shops, Greek cafés and Lebanese patisseries (with more unassuming pastries than Balmain). There’s even an Egyptian restaurant. Very few chains to be found.

A prime example of the authentic local feel came when I stopped in Eumundi Smokehouse (several Sydney food bloggers seem to be fans). A man was browsing the sausage selection when the woman behind the counter asked, “Were you here last week?” He said yes, and she said, “Yeah, you bought two of the hot Spanish pork sausage last week and left them on the counter. What do you want today? I owe you two sausages.” I thought that was great.

The houses along Marrickville Road were single-level Federation style with small front yards, compared to the Victorian row houses on the narrow streets of Darlington, Chippendale, Redfern and other areas near campus and around Sydney. The area reminded me of West LA where I lived with my parents in a tiny house when we first moved to California. Both have a lot of immigrants and working class people. The businesses meet needs without any additional flash.

I bought a scarf and sweater for $9 total at a second-hand shop, which if I was in the cooler Surry Hills neighborhood would be called vintage and double or triple the price. Same distinction between West LA and Melrose in Los Angeles.

I’m not going to romanticize Dulwich Hill like the New York Times, but the neighborhood had a good feel to it. Lots of life. Real life, at that. It's always refreshing to get out of the Uni bubble...to conveniently relate back to the main photo.