Last time I did a VIA Institute personality assessment, my score for self-consciousness was off the chart. Now I sing in the street.
There is no gloating or syrup. There are therapy sessions, and a belief that trauma may be genetically carried from one generation to the next through nightmares and imagery.
Thank you for your very kind letter. My initial tax meeting with your very pleasant sub-contracting accountant concluded with a statement I was not expecting to hear. Not the mellifluous, “you’ll be getting a refund of a grand.” Rather, the strong and discordant, “you owe the tax office two thousand dollars.”
To be honest, I wasn’t sure I’d like it. It was quaint. But dinky. No place for a city chick. The roads were narrow. You could hide an orphanage in the potholes. And it was creepy, all those doilies.
HER (dir. bySpike Jonze) holds a mirror to what we have now – people disengaged with people. The love affair is with the technology that binds us together.
Galeria Aniela, Kangaroo Valley What strikes you first about Fred Cress’s latest exhibition is the richness of colour; pure blacks, pure whites, and every jaundice yellow and bloody red in-between. His large, caricature-like depictions are iconic images of people known to us from society; recognisable, but unidentifiable.
Review of Philomena (directed by Stephen Frears) a film based on the book by Martin Sixsmith about the true life story of Philomena Lee, who as a pregnant teenager, was forced into Roscrea Sacred Heart convent for four years.