We went to see Weightless Matter at Oddaný directly after visiting the Affordable Art Fair. Let me tell you those two experiences couldn’t be further apart even if they tried. But I’m decidedly not going to tell you about the Kmart stock room we found at the exhibition building masquerading as “affordable”, instead I’m going to tell you about Ava Nunan’s poetic responses to Max Frances’ abstract paintings currently on show at Oddaný.

Warsan Mohammed crafts a palpable narrative about longing and belonging in her solo show To Ourselves. Hillvale Gallery’s walls have been painted a deep burgundy for the occasion, bringing out the rich colours in the photos. In an age where we can hardly see what’s happening in our movies and TV shows with their dark and moody colour palettes, Mohammed’s warm deep colours are heartfelt and true. These are fantastically crafted images that have a depth that’s difficult to create in a still.

Sydney is not a city I spend much time in. Between the ever increasing cost of flights, and that a singular sandwich was going to run me $29, weekend sojourns are not often in the cards. The only thing that could get me on a Westjet flight at 645am is love – platonic, lifelong, very true love. And the promise of an extra day to see as much art as possible. I did go to the AGNSW (and loved the Young Archie and And Still I Rise) and of course White Rabbit, but we aren’t going (that) highbrow today. 

Olivia Laing is perhaps the author I recommend to those with a passing interest in art criticism, or just good writing. They capture the essence of things without bogging you down, expanding your understanding without talking down to you. It can be read straight through, or copiously noted and annotated, a starting point to go further. It’s the kind of writing that makes you a better reader, and a better writer in turn for that. Laing’s prose has turns of phrase I want to sink my teeth into: “the glowing clamshells of their laptops”,  “the rest are simply openings, apertures”, “palliative to loneliness.” My list could be endless, my notes surely feel that way.