I moved to France mid-2022, but finally gave into living in Paris to properly connect with communities for both work and pleasure. In these first weeks, so much happened everyday. Life can be so poetic, then bam. A number. A bad government website. Something you didn’t know you needed to look up. But also, these shapeless days between Christmas and New Year’s can be so quaint and expectant of nothing. I’m feeling good now, in my new home, looking forward to rhythms, new relationships, and Spring around the corner.
Brussels-based journalist Sarah Schug discusses the challenges of language in the art world, the need for accessibility, the diminishing value of art writing and her proud accomplishment—a self-published book on Iceland’s contemporary art scene.
Collingwood Yards hails itself as a response to Australia’s crisis of affordable arts space. But is it as simple as taking some idle buildings, polishing them up and calling it an arts district – or is there a muddier question of sincerity?
Over summer, I stayed in the south of France between living in Lille and Paris. In my final month – October – I lived in Sanary-sur-Mer, a small town near Toulon on the French Riviera.
Writer and editor Erin McFayden reflects on framing artistic activities as labour and advocating exploring the good it creates rather than its economic value – as well as her reccs for some artistic endeavours.
Back in Melbourne, when friends ask How’s your French? I say that I sit down to my French class each week, and I can get through my chores. I can check for my allergens on packaging. I can read menus at a bistro and signs on the metro. At the beach, I understand children speaking to their parents about poisson in la mer. I understood the drunk man on a bike telling me about the bon chien across the road.