On the eve of the Archies – wot we fancy…

Darlings! Time again for The Arts equivalent of The Melbourne Cup.

It’s a fairly rum field, we reckon, but there are a couple of faves. The Gang fancies…

…(we love that bonus serve of Ex action)…and…

Quite compelling (not that we know aught about the Lord Mayor of Melbourne.)

Meanwhile, La Groppa’s laying her lobsters on Kev…

Bring it on.

Post script:…and the winner was…



…Sam Leach’s painting of comedian Tim Minchin. Now everybody’s carrying on about size!!

2 thoughts on “On the eve of the Archies – wot we fancy…

  1. I remember listening to Radio National many moons ago, on the eve of this auspicious occasion. A panel of discerning critics were assembled – one of whom referred most unkindly to the prize as “that annual event in visual failure”, comparing much of what’s offered up as being like “a chocolate salmon blancmange”. But you’ve gotta love some colorful criticism, especially given the fact that painters tend to get away with a hell of a lot more than any other artform…just because in the hierarchy of media, they are painters. A few years later passing through London, flipped through a copy of TimeOut to see what was on. Turned out Prince Charles was exhibiting a suite of recent watercolors. The reviewer wasn’t exactly complementary, judging the show overall to be “unremarkable”. But wasn’t entirely condemning either, and did grant that P.C. was very good at depicting “Scotland… dull weather… and ferns”. Reaffirming, that there’s always something for everyone…

  2. There is indeed something for everyone. And the grannies are not alone in loving HRH’s watercolours. Why, they’re pretty dang good if you’re into conventional historic nostalgia (through that metaphoric vaseline lens) – and, strangely enough, people would give them more credit if they didn’t know he’d painted them, poor old Chazza. My fave arts/critical scenario is Chopper Reid – where nobody in their right mind would be foolish enough to give him a bad review. Besides, there’s an artist in all of us, as the dreaded soft’n’fuzzies would say.

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