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When Basil met Boonji: It was love at first sight, but not everyone is starstruck

When Basil met Boonji: It was love at first sight, but not everyone is starstruck

When American artist Brendan Murphy offered to give the City of Perth a seven-metre sculpture of an astronaut, Basil Zempilas embraced it with characteristic enthusiasm.
The former lord mayor saw the freebie as a cool, Instagrammable piece of public art that aligned perfectly with the recently elected council's rebrand of Perth as the City of Light, a reference to John Glenn's 1962 triple-orbit of Earth in which our young metropolis put on a glittering show for the future senator.
Zempilas was so entranced by an artist collected by the likes of Serena Williams, Ryan Gosling and Warren Buffett gifting a piece valued at $1.5 million to the City of Perth — albeit a gift that would cost ratepayers about $250,000 for transportation and installation — that he became part of the creative process, feeding the Florida-based Murphy information on the city he grew up in.
Fragments of the story Zempilas told Murphy can be seen in the text on the skin of our Boonji Spaceman (including the story of Glenn's famous flight), which was eventually placed in Stirling Gardens and unveiled on Thursday in front of a large media pack.
Zempilas is so invested in the Boonji Spaceman (titled Lightening) that he took time out from his duties as the Liberal leader to attend the unveiling and to catch up with Murphy and Gullotti Galleries owner Paul Gullotti, who set up the deal and who is holding the artist's first Australian solo show (Zempilas also hosted the opening of the exhibit).
'Basil was the one who sold me on doing the project,' says Murphy in the lead-up to the unveiling of the Boonji Spaceman.
'He was so fired up about Perth and had this incredible energy. Here was the mayor of a major city who was genuinely interested in my work and wanted to bring it here.
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'I received a long email from Basil full of history and dates, including the story of John Glenn's flight.
'So this Boonji Spaceman is not a generic piece built on the other side of the world and shipped here. It's been created specifically for Perth and with input from someone who truly loves the place.'
Zempilas said he told Murphy that Perth was 'very proud, it's adventurous, it's ambitious'.
'I note that he has adopted some of those,' Zempilas says.
While Zempilas and Murphy were all smiles at the media launch, they spent much of their time answering questions about controversy swirling around the Boonji Spaceman, which has been sucked into more general criticism of the City of Perth's cavalier treatment of the public art works in its collection.
Art activists believe that the city should not have paid a quarter of a million dollars for a work they claim has no merit and genuine connection to Perth.
Even more galling for those pushing back against the Boonji Spaceman is that Murphy's piece has been placed on the plinth on which for half a century stood Ore Obelisk, Paul Ritter's monument to the mining industry which, critics argue, was not properly maintained and chopped up and removed without proper consultation.
Now looming over the cherished Austaliana spread around Stirling Gardens — Joan Walsh-Smith and Charles Smith's kangaroos and Mae Gibbs' Snugglepot and Cuddlepie, statues of founding fathers and key historic buildings — is a hulking electric-blue space traveller whose clones grace public and private spaces in cities such as New York, London, Oslo and Riyadh.
Prominent art critic John McDonald labelled the work as 'space junk' and compared the councillors who voted for Murphy's piece to be placed near Council House as 'a bit like Donald Trump deciding that the Kennedy Centre needs to ditch all that elitist crap and put on a great production of Cats or Fiddler on the Roof '.
'The arts are there to start discussions, to bring people into the room. It is what I hope the Boonji Spaceman will do.'
Brendan Murphy
'It is not the role of the mayor to make decisions on art acquisitions for the City,' says Helen Curtis, a public art consultant who is leading the campaign to save both the Ore Obelisk and the Northbridge Arch, which were removed because of corrosion.
'The mayor's job is to promote the city and be a statesman. It is not making calls on works of art,' Curtis says.
'They can put something forward, like any elected member. But it must go through a proper process.
'Committees and advisory groups are a filter and safety net to ensure that the city does not find itself in this exact situation — paying an exorbitant amount of money for work whose connection to Perth is dubious and is so poorly regarded by the arts community.'
Curtis believes that Zempilas managed to sway councillors and circumvent the normal procedures because he was an unusually high-profile and charismatic mayor, a well-connected media personality who during his single term brought a huge amount of attention to the city.
She also believes the Boonji Spaceman represents a larger problem for the city and for Western Australia, in which the arts have been 'dumbed down' and subsumed by the grander project of branding, marketing and tourism.
'The Boonji Spaceman is a marketing stunt dressed up as art — and not a very good marketing stunt at that,' Curtis says.
'If the city wants to use art to draw tourists we need work that springs for here. Nobody is going to travel to Perth to see Ikea art that has popped up in Dubai or Miami or wherever.
'If the City wants something Instagrammable, we can do that here with authenticity. But fix the important works we already have first — that's what should be prioritised.'
Murphy said he was unaware of the controversy swirling around his work until a couple of weeks ago.
'Not everyone's going to like it. But trying to stop it from being shown is shutting down discussion.'
Brendan Murphy
Since arriving this week, he's fielded questions from journalists about the appropriateness of a piece of American pop art sitting in a civic space, and a large piece of ratepayers money going to what is could be construed as an advertisement for a show.
'Whatever opposition there is to my Boonji Spaceman it has nothing to do with me. And it can't have anything to do with Basil because his motives are genuine,' says Murphy, a former professional basketball player and Wall Street trader who pivoted to art after watching many of his colleagues die on September 11.
While Murphy has sympathy for the position of Curtis and the Save the Kebab movement — 'I stand by all artists,' he says — the Rhode Island-born sculptor and painter who counts Jackson Pollock, Jean-Michael Basquiat and Willem de Kooning among his influence does not want to be drawn into what he regards as a political dispute.
'Politics has no place in art. The job of the artist is to bring people together,' he says.
'I'm not interested in what divides us. I'm interested in our commonalities. I'm an artist. I'm not an American artist. All I care about is inspiring some young kid who dreams of one day being an artist.'
Indeed, Murphy believes in remaining neutral even though he has recently had a show in the Kennedy Centre, which became a flashpoint for the resistance against Trump when he fired 17 board members and made himself the chair.
'When Trump said something stupid, as he always does, a group of singers pushed back and did not invite him to a show, which is why he got so angry and took over the place,' Murphy says.
'It was not their role. They should have sung for him and made their point. It's what Bob Dylan would have done.
'The arts are there to start discussions, to bring people into the room. It is what I hope the Boonji Spaceman will do.
'Not everyone's going to like it. But trying to stop it from being shown is shutting down discussion.'
While the city says the Boonji Spaceman will be moved to Elizabeth Quay after 12 months, Curtis and her colleagues, who are fighting for the Kebab to be returned to the spot where Murphy's work now stands, remain convinced that Murphy's sculpture is here to stay.
'Our great fear is that in a year the city will announce that it is too costly to move the Boonji Spaceman and that it will be left there,' she says.
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Woman at centre of Coldplay kiss cam scandal resigns

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Sailors to bikies — How tattooing became mainstream
Sailors to bikies — How tattooing became mainstream

ABC News

time2 hours ago

  • ABC News

Sailors to bikies — How tattooing became mainstream

Rhys Gordon has been tattooing for over 30 years. ( ABC Radio National: Isabella Michie ) Tattoos have a long and rich history in Australia, but they have often been limited to an artistic subculture. This is the story of how they went mainstream. In the back corner of tattoo artist Rhys Gordon's studio in Sydney's inner city is a part of Australian history unknown to many. The walls are covered in graffiti, old tattoo designs and other memorabilia, while ribbons, trophies and plaques litter other parts of the room, won by artists who have shaped the industry into what it is today. The collection spans decades and is the result of Gordon's work documenting the history of tattoos in Australia. The tattoo artist has now packed up his collection and moved to the Gold Coast, where he has set up a new studio and one day hopes to open a museum. Mr Gordon inherited a large portion of his collection from artist Greg Ardron. ( ABC Radio National: Isabella Michie ) Mr Gordon travelled across the east coast of Australia to visit tattoo artists and grow his collection. ( ABC Radio National: Isabella Michie ) Mr Gordon has a collection of tattoo machines built by icons of the industry. ( ABC Radio National: Isabella Michie ) Tattooing is one of the world's most enduring forms of self-expression. And in Australia, it can be traced back to the bodies of weather-worn sailors, Gordon says. In the early days of the industry, tattoos were taboo. But much of that stigma has faded. "The social acceptance is at an all-time high," Gordon tells ABC Radio National's Sunday Extra. Now, one in four Australians wear ink. So, how did it go from subculture to mainstream? Many of the designs created in the 1960s are still popular with clients today. ( ABC Radio National: Isabella Michie ) Mr Gordon has now moved his collection from Sydney to the Gold Coast. ( ABC Radio National: Isabella Michie ) A popular pastime among sailors Body modification in Australia began with First Nations people through scarification and ceremonial body paint, rather than tattooing as we know it today. Between 1823 and 1853, approximately 37 per cent of male convicts and 15 per cent of female convicts who arrived here were adorned with tattoos. And many picked up the trade from settlers seeking fortune during the Gold Rush in the 1850s. While there have been accounts of other tattooers, the first widely-known commercial tattoo studio in Australia was run by Fred Harris in Sydney. John Hennington covered his body in tattoos, spending approximately £ 100 on his ink. ( Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales and Courtesy ACP Magazines Ltd. ) Around 1916, Mr Harris opened up a small shop in Sussex Street, where he tattooed thousands of clients, including lots of sailors. 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But many women in the tattoo industry at this time were typecast as the "tattooed lady trope," says Paige Klimentou, a tattoo academic at RMIT University. A Melbourne woman named Alexia claimed to be Australia's first "tattooed girl". ( National Library of Australia ) Alexia did not use any local anaesthetics, a method often used by other tattooed women. ( National Library of Australia ) "In a western context, [tattooed] women were often the sideshow freaks or sideshow attractions," she adds. "More often than not they were either coerced or put into these roles whether they wanted to be 'tattooed women' or not." War brings tattooing boom With World War I and World War II came a wave of patriotism and a shift in tattoo trends. Soldiers seeking patriotic emblems sparked a boom in tattooing along the east coast. In 1940, Fred Harris told The Sun that Allied flags, kangaroos and maps of Australia were some of the most in-demand designs. War had also brought many American soldiers to our doorstep. Those who visited Harris' shop requested the words "Remember Pearl Harbour, December 7, 1941". Meanwhile, Germans and people of German heritage who had called Australia home for some time came to Harris' shop "to have the old German flag removed". Regular people were also getting behind the trend. Butterflies were a popular tattoo design among men and women. ( Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales and Courtesy ACP Magazines Ltd. ) In 1945, 'Le Roy', a tattoo artist from Brisbane, told the Sunday Mail women handle the pain of tattooing better than men. ( Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales and Courtesy ACP Magazines Ltd. ) Thigh pieces were popular among Harris's female clients who liked to show off their tattoos through openwork stockings. ( Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales and Courtesy ACP Magazines Ltd. ) "Sailor Bill" attempted to become the most tattooed man in Australia. ( Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales and Courtesy ACP Magazines Ltd. ) John Hennington was a rival of "Sailor Bill", both claiming to be the most tattooed men in Australia. ( Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales and Courtesy ACP Magazines Ltd. ) In the early days of the tattoo industry, artists were limited in how they could customised designs. ( Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales and Courtesy ACP Magazines Ltd. ) Tattoo artist Billy Furness says there was a "tremendous increase" in civilian clients in 1940s Melbourne, particularly on Flinders Street, which became a cultural hub for the profession. In 1952, it was reported that Australia was one of the most tattooed nations in the world. "Many of the subjects are he-men from the outback, but most enthusiasts are sailors," a reporter declared. One Bondi local even asked tattooist Alex 'painless' Chater to tattoo his will on his back. According to the Daily Mirror, Alex "painless" Chater learnt how to tattoo by using a gramophone needle attached to a clothes peg. ( Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales ) It did not hold up in court, partly because he wouldn't have been able to sign his back in front of two witnesses. "[It's] quite impossible, even if he were a contortionist," a Sydney solicitor told The Sun in 1950. "After a person dies, a will must be produced for probate and filed. That would be more than slightly awkward." Supply shortages and stigma After World War II, artists struggled to source supplies with reports of colour shortages. Tattoo guns were also hard to obtain from overseas vendors, so many artists built their own. Sydney-based artist, Wally Hammond often built machines, and sold them to other artists after entering the industry in 1942. Thousands of sheets of pre-drawn tattoos or "flash" covered the walls of Mr Hammond's studio, which clients could choose from. Hammond would often test out new pigments on his own skin before applying them to customers, leaving multicolour dots along his forearms. "Sometimes [the] body would reject it or it would blister up. So he knew that code [was] not to be used," says Gordon. "So there's a lot of personal sacrifice, one of those things where necessity becomes the mother of invention." Within a few short decades, Australia's tattoo subculture was firmly established. But by the time the 1970s rolled around, new stigmas arrived. Sterilisation of tattooing equipment was limited, with artists often using the same needle on different clients, tattoo artists say. And some doctors blamed a lack of sterile tattoo equipment for the spread of blood-borne diseases such as hepatitis and later HIV. However, with the AIDS epidemic and the formation of the Professional Tattooers Association of Australia [PTAA] there was an overhaul of sterilising practices in the industry. By the early 1990s, tattoo artists began pushing the boundaries, creating more custom pieces and transforming the profession from a trade to an art form. "There are no limitations, tattooing has become a medium just like any other art medium. That's why it has attracted artists," Greg Ardron, a pioneer of 'sticker style' tattoo sleeves, told the ABC in 1992. 'Tattooing is no place for women' Tattoo artist Pasty Farrow started dabbling with ink in 1969. She believes she was Australia's third female tattoo artist after Bev Nicholas, better known as Cindy Ray, and Raelene Robinson. In 2009, Ms Farrow was presented with an award for working as a professional tattoo artist for over 40 years. ( Supplied: Patsy Farrow ) Patsy Farrow says in the 60s and 70s, studios didn't have fancy names but were just called tattoo shops. ( Supplied: Patsy Farrow ) Patsy Farrow and Bev Nicholas developed a strong friendship over their love of tattooing. ( Supplied: Patsy Farrow ) Farrow says her decision to pursue the profession was thanks to Nicholas' encouragement and guidance. However, not all members of the industry were encouraging. She recalls how famous Melbourne tattoo artist Dickie Reynolds wouldn't allow any women in his studio and would even scream at them to leave if he heard them approaching. At one meeting of the Tattooers Association of Victoria, he did not allow Farrow to even speak. "Tattooing is no place for a woman," he said, according to Farrow. Reynolds was eventually forced to apologise for his remarks. Tattooing remained a heavily male-dominated industry for the years to follow. When tattooist Clare Hampshire joined the industry in 2003, she was the only woman in her studio. It remained that way for the first ten years of her career. "There were always people that would not take you seriously because you're a girl," she says. "And being a male dominated industry, [it] wasn't a very comfortable place to be as a woman. But I just sucked it up because I wanted to tattoo." In the period between 2018 and 2020, the industry had its own "Me Too" movement, where artists felt empowered to call out predatory behaviour, says Hampshire. Clare Hampshire says a lot of young women visit her studio for their first tattoo. ( Supplied: Clare Hampshire ) "It really made a lot of people think about their behaviour and actions … I think a lot of men got really scared by it." Hampshire says the industry has come a long way since then, with greater visibility of female artists. "You go to conventions now or you go to shops and the ratio is … maybe not 50/50 but just about," she says. "I have a shop that's all women at the moment, nothing at all like that ever existed when I started." Bikie stranglehold on industry Tattoos now attract Australians from all walks of life but in the earlier days of the industry, they were commonly associated with outlaw motorcycle gangs. Born out of the disenfranchisement of ex-servicemen, homegrown motorcycle gangs emerged in Australia in the late 60s and early 70s, says Duncan McNab, ex-police detective and crime writer. "Tattooing is part of the tribal nature of bike gangs, mutual identification, all that sort of stuff," he says. McNab estimates by the early 1980s the criminal activity of motorcycle gangs, or bikies, increased. Often they used businesses, such as tattoo studios, to legitimise illicit money. "Tattoo shops … were a convenient way to push illicit money through, that's before tattoos went really legit," he says. Sydney tattoo industry legend Tony Cohen is the owner of tattoo parlour, Illustrated Man. He was also an original member of the Mob Shitters motorcycle club, which formed in 1970 and folded in 2015. Tony Cohen was first exposed to tattoos through his uncle, who got inked during World War II. ( ABC Radio National: Isabella Michie ) Mr Cohen has memories of bikie gangs "blowing up shops and all that sort of shit". Although he stresses he was never personally involved. "Obviously they hated each other's guts," he says. "[I] became friends with a lot of people, high-ranking members of different clubs — which kept the peace in a way." By the late 2000s, bikie gangs had intensified their criminal activity and tightened their grip on the tattoo industry, says Gordon. The violence peaked when artist Daniel Vella was shot execution style whilst he was tattooing a client. Mr Vella had no known bikie affiliations and the case remains unsolved. To stamp out criminal activity from the industry, the NSW and Queensland governments have introduced strict licensing laws. All tattoo operators now need to disclose detailed information about their personal associations, criminal history and be fingerprinted. Mr Cohen started tattooing after buying tattoo equipment from a man he met in a pub in 1967 when he was 17. ( ABC Radio National: Isabella Michie ) Mr Cohen has hundreds of photos categorised by year in albums, documenting his extensive career. ( ABC Radio National: Isabella Michie ) Mr Cohen says it's the boldness of his designs that made his work stand out. ( ABC Radio National: Isabella Michie ) McNab says licensing laws, such as those in the tattoo industry, don't stop criminal activity but can help police gather intelligence. "Organised crime thrives in prohibition more than anything else," he says. One unexpected downside of the laws, according to Gordon, is that they have added to the stigmatisation of the industry. "Nearly 15 years later, [with] these licensing systems we're still being discriminated against," he says. "Insurance is still an issue [as] they consider us a high risk business … we're not the bad guys, we are just trying to put tattoos on people." 'A glimpse into the world of tattooing' The social acceptance of tattoos was a slow burn, says Michael Forest, an artist and tattoo history enthusiast. The introduction of tattoo-based reality TV shows on popular studios and social media helped the general public develop a greater understanding of the industry. Mr Gordon says the tattoo industry has been impacted by cost of living pressures. ( ABC Radio National: Isabella Michie ) "I think tattoo TV, [shows] like Miami Ink, all that sort of stuff definitely gave people a glimpse into the world of tattooing and saw more artistic value in it," he says. These shows often explored the customers' motivation for getting tattoos and the diverse range of people who visited studios. Apprentices would also receive feedback on their designs from more experienced artists, teaching the audience the attributes of a good tattoo. Forest also believes that as more celebrities became heavily tattooed, acceptance among the general public grew. Mr Forest says the increased visibility of heavily tattooed celebrities has helped shift public attitudes towards tattoos. ( Justin Bieber: via Def Jam, David Beckham and Dennis Rodman: via Getty ) Now, even political leaders are showing off their ink. However, Hampshire says this acceptance extends more to men than women. "It's quite common to see male models or male athletes really heavily tattooed but then you rarely ever see a mainstream female model [heavily tattooed]," she says. "Like if you look on ASOS or something, and you're scrolling through, you see models on there that are male that are covered in tattoos, and the women may have, like, one little small one on their arm or something." Social media has also helped artists develop strong followings, allowing clients to enter appointments with a greater understanding of the tattoo artist's portfolio, Hampshire says. "You only need to click a few buttons and you can explore and see people's portfolios, without ever having to go into a shop," she adds. "You can really do your homework, find an artist who has good, consistent work. I think there's kind of no excuse for getting a bad tattoo these days." Rhys Gordon has a room dedicated in his studio to Australian tattoo history memorabilia. ( ABC Radio Sydney: Isabella Michie ) While the industry continues to face stigma and challenges, Gordon says demand for the craft will never cease. "No-one can predict where it's going to go. But there will be more diversification, more acceptance, more uniqueness," he argues.

Wrestling legend Hulk Hogan dies aged 71
Wrestling legend Hulk Hogan dies aged 71

SBS Australia

time2 hours ago

  • SBS Australia

Wrestling legend Hulk Hogan dies aged 71

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