What fun to see an artist take a jab at the art scene and then be bought by those very same people! Playtime is a satirical dip into the world of art with all its crass trashiness and its discriminating commodification. Here the artist is portrayed as both the sign and the signifier and as such, is easy pickings for each cynical diorama. I like it!

Using toys for art is not new. Consider Destiny Deacon and her dolls of social consciousness. Also, Emily Floyd’s ominous rabbits caught in art intrigue.

It’s all fun and games until someone….gets collected. For big money. I wonder if Macintyre’s art can maintain the edge of sincerity now that he is clearly endorsed and widely consumed? In fact, isn’t he himself now completely objectified instead of flippantly objecting? Still, I wish him well and applaud his droll yet refreshing sense of ‘joie de vivre’. Anyway, what’s not to like?

I choose Warren instead… though he may not have such a high media profile. However, when you look at it, his life IS worth looking at. Warren Breninger, of the recent Charles Nodrum Gallery exhibition: ‘Resurrection of the Living and the Dead’ is the Warren to which I am referring; not the Shane Warne of The Musical fame or footballer Ben Cousins of Megan Roodenry’s potential entry to the Archibald Prize.

A contemporary of Godwin Bradbeer, I have always found Breninger’s paintings a challenge to process – particularly earlier on, as I was of the ‘smiley Christian’ ilk. Now, a few more years further on in my spiritual walk and a few more scars of reality on my own face……I have a much deeper appreciation for his unapologetic grizzly capturing of truth in humanity’s face. These are convincingly dead faces except for the life everlasting which backlights the ugliness of the now. I respect the fact that Breninger is a dedicated and involved Christian, despite a lifetime in the church. I hope I remain as faithful and become as credible as an artist.

If you’re interested in seeing his work up close it is on in Melbourne from 27th of November until the 20th of December.

Yesterday I visited an exhilarating exhibition called Traces by Louise Rippert whom I knew from Monash University days. She was already then doing brilliant work with a highly spiritual aspect and connection. Deakin University Art Gallery in the city of Melbourne hosted a retrospective collection, which is her (?!) first solo show. It is a fluttering of delicate paperish treasures, time capsules of fragmented debris and other sensuous yet serious frivolities.

I realized I dare not purchase her catalogue…as I might be unduly influenced by her discoveries to the detriment of my own art. I want to remember them as the mist of argument – nothing more. I know my outcomes would be dissimilar because I am, after all, a different person. Yet in the presence of true creativity, I can not be certain.

Rippert’s work seems pure and unsullied by the life they honour and document…. as traces remaining in a hallowed framed silence. My art offerings are troubled by their unsettled beginnings and traumatic births. By comparison, I think mine are noisy and demanding like the relentless children I rear, offering tireless challenge rather than peace.

Strangely, I have felt the same attraction yet resistance to the art of Gosia Wlodarcsak and formerly, to the art of Louise Nevelson and Ben Nicholson and Mary Kelly – drawn to them mutually by respect and apprehension.