After having seen the Patrick Pound exhibition, Oscar and I took note of the collections that were created.
The large scale of work acquired, in contrast to such a select subject pool was fascinating and led Oscar and I to explore our own collection for this second noticing task.

Our aim for this exercise is to head to each other’s chosen places and let the space and it’s rhythms evolve. Oscar had predominantly been to a street in Fitzroy during the evenings, saying it was the hustle and bustle of people and restaurants, bars and clubs that overwhelmed his senses. As he was always there with purpose, he couldn’t reflect on the place and recall anything else but the events he attended and his friends around him.

I sent Oscar to the Carlton Cemetery. Having gone there many times as a child with my mother, who told me ghost stories as we rode through on our bikes, the place was etched in my mind. Mostly there at night, the place held a certain appeal to me, whereas the day was associated with a purpose – attending a funeral procession.
The positioning of the cemetery intrigued me as well. Located on a busy road, the once large cyprus trees shielded the old and cracked graves from the passers by; now removed and open to the foot traffic and cars alike.

We decided that we would take approximately 10 videos each, breaking them down to 5 long videos (approx 15-30 seconds) and 5 short (1-3 mins) each.

Living in the area, I was accustomed to the rituals of passing through, day and night.
I knew the footpaths, the artwork, businesses and people – the fact that this place could open itself up to me further was a stretch.
The Fitzroy I knew some 10-15 years ago was an escape from the plain grey backdrop of metropolitan Melbourne.
I still remember my mother telling me  something and I must’ve mentioned something as a kid about someone’s fashion sense, “anything goes”.
It held a lot more weight back then and clearly enough to have resonated for me to have quoted her this far down the track.
What you see in Fitzroy has become ubiquitous with the rest of Melbourne. One large bleeding canvas of paint and grit.
I expected to hear tram bells, horns and general traffic chatter against the low murmurs of cafe life and whatever native species of bird was flittering about the streets, fighting over crusts and crumbs.

I didn’t expect to see too much that I hadn’t seen before.