This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?
Visual Presentation QCA & JCU Study Tour Semester 2, 2011
I went to Europe and I returned! A good sign it is, though it made me yearn, For life, for love and one thus fulfilled, So I stepped forward in faith To a future I‟m driven to yield. After months of trepidation, And weeks of contemplation, We began the preparation With much anticipation. Yes, we went to Europe and we returned But what happened in between was a little more than „learned‟.
After 30 hours of transport we had arrived, From Brisbane to Frankfurt, so sleep deprived! Our lungs soon filled with the potent Deutsch air, Shrouded in the heat wave: the humidity and glare. This was soothed with a cool beer-filled stein, Our study woes were also solved with a festival of wine. Hotel Wurzburg was a sight for sore eyes As we warily pulled our possessions for a few weeks of our lives. We were soon informed of the Frankfurts banks, To the riveting lecture, on vegetables, at length! So the element of study had sprung with haste I did have a fear of the next two days we faced.
Now before I continue with my tale I‟ll tell you about how I shall make memories prevail
Here‟s a rundown of the pact I made, Stemmed from my past travels, I needed to intergrade.
I promised myself that my trip wouldn‟t be viewed From behind a camera lens, To take in each experience, and to elude To the power in seeing and feeling without pretense. But through the very lens of our eyes, The memory can be maintained, The essence of each moment without disguise, „Cause memories make photos seem tamed.
So, with my little knowledge And this thick in mind, Tackling the photography element, We were intrigued as to what we would find. Before us stood a masterpiece, With a freshly pressed scarf, His fragmented English and dimples Was irresistible to some, and made us laugh. Vladimir Salesski is his name, Not just a pretty face, he‟s good at his game! Inspired and informed, we photographed away, Despite my skepticism, I was soon hard at play.
A partner task was at hand, And mine was Sir Degroot! He sought out to humiliate me, With his lens and all his brute. Maybe I drew the short straw Maybe a lack of luck, But he soon took the opportunity To run a freaking muck. He showed the group of fifty The portraits of me from hell! With his ego high and nifty, They were an easy sell. So, Simon, I am yet to forgive You for my humiliation But when you make it big, I have your shots ready to show the nation!
When the time permits, Sir Simon Degroot, I shall seek my revenge, For the damage you have caused While hiding behind your lens. However brutal his actions, It would be remiss of me not to say That the group that began as strangers Had progressed a really long way. Associates were soon becoming friends Forming indelible bonds to never end.
As photography saw the limits Of our thoughts and minds transcend, The sun set down on Wurzburg, And our time drew to an end.
The grand tour progressed to Czech, Though after our first day of sightseeing, We were all a wreck.
From the monuments and the museums To the galleries galore, We found Prague to be The place we all adore. A stroll down the street Lead to bridgexs and palaces each way, We became lost in a city, But we were never left astray.
De and I explored the town, We wandered around in awe. Without our wits but, with the map we found, This was our fatal flaw. As we frotted and frayed and stumbled about, Asking for directions only enhanced our doubt. With sweat dripping from our faces, The harder it became to navigate Around these foreign places.
Amidst the tension of the moment And the fear of our very lives We found a small ray of light, Essentially it was disguised.
We laughed aloud, And took a picture, Of the futile fountain… There on the pathway fixture!
Cigarette buts floating on the surface, Of the 3cm of water; tampered. This served absolutely no purpose We re-named it „fountain rancid‟. As the excess water trickled off the edge, It created a monolith of slime. Leading across our path to the hedge, The construction and location was sublime! This moment of insanity Was a telling one indeed. As we stood there in hysterics, At where our outlooks lead. With our optimism, and great joy We re-kindled our wits. Twas a buddy artist convoy Resulting in laughter of fits!
From the powder tower view, To the Charles bridge, Were beauties far from few, Even in the water‟s ridge. We caught the cable car To the very top of the hill, It didn‟t take us far But at the summit we could be still. So there we embraced the view Of the skyline of Prague at night, As we drank the bottle through We embraced the majestic sight. Prague was a place of contradictions Of old and new combined. The city resonated with its own conviction And the nightlife certainly shined.
Now Berlin was upon us, at last, at last! It was an incredible and memorable Three days that passed. From the street art tour, To the chocolate connoisseur. As the grand tour progressed My fellow artists were inspired, With each gallery we assessed, Adrenaline pumping, far from tired. Yes, fatigue was far from sight As the light of the day turned into night. The sun would set after ten That‟s when the Berlin ruckus really began!
An authentic experience we went out to seek, But dinner and drinks seemed far from unique. So through the city streets we went, Drink after drink, soon we were spent! Drunk and disorderly, we swayed at the bar, “what‟s your strongest drink?” We were gone by far. We then stumbled back to Hotel Berlin, Ruckus had occurred and Manda was feeling her gin. As I bolted inside, not a second to spare, My head was in the sink, Rosie clutching my hair. I felt grateful for my cultural experience, and all I had to drink, Even if it made a comeback and filled up the sink! A comforting factor was my roomie, Rosie, Friendly and like minded she made it homely and cozy. We‟d sit and chat and reminisce about our day. Endless hours of topics while in our beds we‟d lay.
Leaving our trace on an already marred place Its richness imbedded in soil. Seeking restoration on a city that was defaced, Walking and awakening the emotional turmoil. The energy that resonated was deeply optimistic, Through the museums and monuments, a new patriotism portrayed. The essence of their spirit was somewhat intrinsic, The history was preserved and with integrity conveyed. So, night came with haste as we rested our weary eyes, Venice was tomorrow we were in for a surprise.
With the heat of the day, we had landed! With the heat of the day, our enthusiasm was candid. As we stepped of the tarmac on that sweltering day, We didn‟t expect the four hour delay. Wed come so far to reach Italian soil, It didn't‟t take much for our excitement to coil. Frazzled tourists gathered in a heap Were the „lost and forgotten art student fleet‟. As worry and rumors began to circulate, Our tour guide bustled towards us, Putting and end to our wait. “VENICE BABY” we screamed into the air. As we looked around with gratitude, We were finally there.
Pizza, pasta and gelato galore, Indulgence became our fatal flaw. And no one could resist the glorious wine, And the gondoliers in tank tops with suntans divine!
As we cruised along the Grand Canal, The first stop was the Venice Biennale, The highlight of our tour could now begin. Our paths as artists and designers were paved With the nourishment we needed, that we didn‟t know we craved. Backing it up day after day, The brain stimulation and art satisfaction, Meant more that I can convey.
With a pavilion suited to everyone, each one unique By the end of each day, we were totally beat. Bianca Hines
And on the third day… I was exploring with Joe, Contemplating a day of rest, we wanted LIDO. As we were leaving, we stumbled upon „Chance‟ Sir Boltanski‟s work had won me over first glance. His existentialist theories and provocative installation, Left me with a great deal of food for contemplation. So as Joe and I relaxed on the beach, We spoke and reflected on the very things we preach. Like the events that lead to that moment in time, Could it be fate, or even „chance‟, or something more Divine? We concluded not to question… and to finish the wine. But it was these quiet moments of reflection, That made the trip complete. And the triggering of perplexion Carried my very feet.
With each exhibition, there was something real to learn. Hoping for that one day that we might return. Maybe to exhibit or maybe a tourist menace, But we certainly placed our indelible stamp on the very heart of Venice The beauty was authentic, in and around the art, In Venice, Lido and Merino, the aesthetics stole my heart. With the aging of the buildings And the tarnish and peeling paint, One can leave feeling faint From the beauty that is yielding.
And what‟s a girl in Italy, Without visiting a capital of fashion? We were all getting fiddly, and scraping our last pennies, To indulge a girls deepest passion. Before we ventured home, Milan was our very last stop In true cultural tourist fashion, We headed straight to the shop! And who could forget the painting on the wall? In every art or renaissance book, if I may recall, Viewing Sir Da Vinci‟s „Last Supper‟ was a momentous occasion, To stand in the presence of a genius was quite a powerful invasion.
With the several years of restoration And not to mention the modest location, From the codes and guards in an air tight room, I was affected by the mysteries and histories that loom.
feeling humbled and content, I silently packed my possessions. I sorted and sifted and returned all I‟d leant Before we had our last supper, I wrote down my confessions. “Both enlightening and profound, Is my experience of the tour. I am no longer confound For my woes, I‟ve found a cure. With each day that passed, But not with riches, I‟ve become wealthier, From looking at such pictures.
Through the souvenirs I‟ve gathered, I can sense progress. From the shampoo I‟ve used, and the soap I have lathered To the clothes I have worn and the suitcase a mess. From the postcards I‟ve accumulated, To the maps of every place. To the tickets now outdated, And the burns on my face. From the Biennale and the gondola pass, To my boots now marred with mud and grass. And who could forget the photos taken
Although I kept them at few,
-Just one memorable tokenA memory triggering queue.”
I arranged these in order and buried them away, And I prepared for our last supper that night. I knew it would be the time to convey Our gratitude before we take flight. The unending thanks to our lecturers, Craig and Steve for putting in more passion and time than we could believe. And to thank our new, long-term mates, And to reminisce of memories shared. I watched the joy from our trip translate, Into these friendships now declared.
So, I hope my visual presentation Contrary it may be, Is an accurate translation Of what the tour meant to me. It is the only logical response that I knew how to portray, Using my own visual approach. Of the power that poetry can convey Hopefully, more than images can evoke. I believe the power of rhyme Can incite an anthology of perspective More than the pictures could, of mine, This approach I found more affective When the image is evoked from a word And sauced from a personal circumstance, The mind conjures an visual, unlike a photo, never blurred. This notion, no image can enhance.
In order to conclude, I must say If home is where the heart is, mines 16000 miles away.