Cultural Import

A FRIEND once likened my opening of a gallery in an inner city suburb of Melbourne as being a bit like the wholesale import of culture into the area.  Given that he is an urban planner, I thought about the remark somewhat.  The said suburb already had a reasonably well developed cultural scene, but I think the particular stretch of the high street I opened was regrettably a bit like the no-man's-land my old tennis coach used to warn me about steering clear of on the court.
But we live and we learn, but the high cost of rent in the world's major cities dictates.
I live in, let's say, an economically challenged area of Rome, many of whose inhabitants are not known for their sophistication. 
I particularly hate a lot of the people in the neighbour hood if you want me to be honest. 
Last night, a new nominee for my Dislike campaign received my vote; the woman who lives on the third floor in the building opposite mine.  She routinely clears her table each night, and bats her tablecloth out of her window, letting the debris (including paper serviettes) simply fall to the street (our street) below.  She watched with the kind of detatched fascination that most people watch snow falling as the grubby bits of paper simply floated down onto the street.
These two analagies came to mind when I got to thinking about one of the things that I actually do appreciate about my area.  The Wunderkammern, a groovy little artspace that opened on the otherside of the tracks, about a five minute walk from my place.
I've seen a few interesting shows there; not an easy feat in a space that has very limited opening hours; but increasingly, I am growing to love the approach and the program that seems to be unfolding.

Click on READ MORE to continue the post.

---

Read More