By
Patrick Sutczak
Finding
myself in another tunnel and once again finding myself having to stop.
The
idea of a tunnel acting as a thoroughfare across Cockatoo Island (I assume to
save time) is proving problematic in that very intention. For now, these are
gallery spaces, sites of artistic installation, and sites of interventions. I
could also say they are sites of reflection. I am the token tourist on Sydney's Gloucester
Street who could be seen stopping every five meters to photograph the original terrace
housing – or to peer into the excavations beneath the YHA accommodation, and actually enjoy it. There is something
about history that captivates me, and certainly the endevours to unearth it,
preserve it, and more importantly to learn from it. A captivation shared by
many, but not enough. But those structures are the solid things, the remnants still here – the kind of relics that can be cordoned off, dusted down, chipped
away at and displayed - things of permanent exhibition. What if history is
oral, migratory, or is testament to an assimilationist – how might we engage
with that? Biennale artist Jonathon Jones raises his hand…
