For some reason this morning I found myself humming that forgotten classic by Peter Lilley and the Leisure Masters – Hanging round the house. You know how it goes: “Hanging round the house is the life for me, I won’t go hitchhiking with Bobby McGee…” and various other things the singer swears he won’t be doing. The really exciting moment is the news that his mum is on the way with another cup of tea.
Easter is traditionally a dull time but never so dull as this year. There seems to be no news apart from coronavirus stories. What we get are endless briefings, from Scummo, from Gladys, and worst of all, from Donald Trump, who will surely bore even his base to death if this goes on much longer. The news networks, with the exception of the adoring Fox, have apparently started to break off early, as the President rambles in an incoherent, stream-of-consciousness about anything that pops into his head, looking for people to pick fights with. It’s like watching a health and safety video pointing out the tell tale signs of dementia.
It’s pretty clear that the lockdown won’t – or can’t – be sustained for six months or more. Even in my neighbourhood people are starting to filter back into the streets, and more cars can be seen on the road. The problem for the politicians is that no-one wants to announce the end of restrictions and watch a sudden spike in fatalities. All that hard work striving to appear as masterful crisis managers would be undone in an instant. We’ll soon be at the stage when the biggest problem is not not the virus per se, but how to manage the transition back to normal life.
When it’s over there’ll be a few hedonistic types that will be eager to get back into swing of things, but for the most part we can look forward to an undercurrent of fearfulness that will make people less sociable and put a dampener on economic recovery. Folks would sooner be broke than dead.
My main assignment this week was to put together a piece on ‘uplifting’ films for the Australian Financial Review. Such pieces are invariably a test of personal taste, which readers may embrace or reject. I make no great claims for my taste, although it’s ‘catholic’ enough to encompass almost anything.
For the art column I found myself re-reading Aldous Huxley’s 1925 essay, ‘The Best Picture’, using it as a departure point for a few reflections on the way we relate to art today. It’s unusual for a newspaper article but I’m beginning to enjoy the respite from the regular review format. Perhaps the trick is not to be over-ambitious, trying to squeeze a dozen different topics into one piece. I’ve got a real antipathy towards reviewing exhibitions on-line, as this is always so misleading, but I’m feeling as if I need to find a few actual works to discuss. It’s a terrible time for artists who are being doubly harmed by the lack of opportunities to show work, and the unwillingness of collectors to spend money. They say crime doesn’t pay, but I imagine it’s quite lucrative compared to creativity.