MONA

It’s time to write our impressions of MONA, the Museum of Old and New Art, opened within recent months. I don’t believe it was here on our last visit. When Martine confirmed our reservation, she mentioned it and coincidentally, we spied an article about it in either the NY Times or the Toronto Globe and Mail. It sounded intriguing and though I didn’t remember the exact details except something about tunnel and that the collection was underground, I wanted to visit.

Bit.Fall video

We were befuddled when we arrived a bit later than planned. We knew one could come by boat, bike or bus and that cars were discouraged in the information brochure with the statement, “Parking is free, but there’s little of it.” Since we were already paying a fair bit for a rental car, we resisted paying $30 to take a ferry or bus. After a few wrong turns to the overflow car park, disabled car park, restaurant only car park, we finally found the elusive regular car park. There was a long line at the door at 11 a.m. so I went back to the car to get a jacket and my book in case we had to wait a long time. When I returned Duncan had advanced to the doorway ,and I garnered a glare from the official at the door. I explained my line-cutting behaviour and was reluctantly admitted ahead of the others. Another official escorted us to the cash desk. The tourist brochure we picked up at Hobart airport states: If you are Tasmanian, and identify yourself as such (yes, yes, second head etc. etc.), or under 18, you get in for free. Since we were neither, we paid the price and were greeted with enthusiasm for the first time by the two women at the cash who loved the fact that we were Canadian. They were just that very day starting to record postal codes into their data base. These were the only two friendly faces in the entire museum. Staff wear black and seem to condescend to the visitors with statements such as “Here, let me show you how to do that,” if you have problems with the iTouch guide or the headphones with a retractable cable. This seemed so un-Australian and especially un-Tassy behaviour that I began to imagine we were in NYC where such behaviour is derigeur.  

The first official instructed first time visitors to begin at B3 - the entire collection is underground between dolomite limestone walls. We dutifully descended the stairs and after about an hour Duncan commented that this is how he imagines hell, spending too much time underground being forced to look at artwork he detests. I wasn’t as negative, but found the collection curious. I should mention that this is a private collection and via the iTouch deduced that the collector was one David Walsh. I hadn’t registered these details when I read about the museum months before. I’d never viewed a private collection that was open to the general public. In Chicago I remember going to the home of a private collector with my art history class, and I’d seen travelling exhibitions of pieces from  private collections but this was a new experience. After an hour, with few exceptions, I could see that this collection he labels “Monanism” (a play on the word onanism) has a strong focus on the human body, sex, mutilation and death. I really liked some interactive displays (on different subjects!), one by an Italian whereupon gripping handlebars ones heartbeat is visually evident by a series of pulses in hundreds of incandescent light bulbs that line the corridor and a small room and another, Bit.Fall, where computer-generated random words are translated into a shower of water drops that spill from ceiling height. I also liked Fat Car an overfed bright red Porsche bursting from its chassis. The commentary from the artist was fascinating. There is minimal signage in this museum, but one could spend several days reading and listening to the commentary on the smart device. There were a few very elderly people visiting, and I couldn’t help wondering how some were coping with the very low levels of light and the high-tech devices. Duncan rebelled from the audio commentaries because many interviews were conducted in a busy restaurant and accompanied by high levels of ambient noise, extraneous conversation, clinking cutlery and glassware. It was if the audio was unable to focus on the artist’s voice and chose instead to recreate the atmosphere. Duncan’s hearing is very acute, and he found this almost painful. I’ve seen this same reaction in some of my former students who had various multiple disabilities when there is too much auditory distraction.

Fat Car

We took a break from the cave for lunch at the Wine Bar. Ordinarily I would really enjoy such a place but I was feeling quite alienated by the atmosphere at this museum. The staff was appropriately overly sophisticated and cool. Duncan went the whole hog with a glass of wine and a charcuterie plate. I opted for a bowl of potato soup and a glass of water. I just wasn’t in the mood and I was suffering from a bit of indigestion. The soup was warm, thick, sludgy and unadorned, about as far from the Pigeon Hole version as one could imagine. When the server took my order, she said, “You only get one piece of bread with the soup, would you like to order more (for about $8.50)?” I declined stating that I would score a few pieces from my husband’s platter that cost about $28. Duncan’s food was much better than mine and sated we returned to the collector’s darkened lair.

I should also mention that after viewing a work of art, one is invited to vote with either a LOVE or HATE response. There is no in between, no neutral or indifferent choice. After a response, you find out how many others agreed with you either by % or number. I thought this curious but anyway...

After another hour or two, I lost track of time underground, Duncan rebelled and insisted we ascend into the sunlight for a coffee and a panorama. Architecturally the museum is stunning and is positioned for a beautiful view of Hobart across the water. There were conventional tables or chairs on the patio in addition to oh so cool hot pink bean bag chairs in which to sprawl. 

After coffee I was given a time limit of  half an hour more, and we left at 4 p.m. Duncan commented that he felt released. When we got to the parking lot, I went to look at some of the parking spaces that had very artful name plaques on them to match the small buildings opposite. I thought maybe these were museum employee’s offices until I read the notices. I am posting the signs because they are so typical of this museum. This egotist must be sitting on a fortune, only allowing the public to view his art because he wants to show it off and must care very little for others’ opinions of him. I would say the place is permeated with rudeness.

When we met up with Bill and Martine later that evening, Bill asked if we knew anything about the collector; we didn’t. Apparently he is and an exceptional individual with extraordinary mathematical ability that he put to work earning all his millions or billions from the proceeds of gambling. Bill laughed when he related that when visitors vote on the artwork, if a piece gets a very positive reception, the eccentric collector removes it and replaces it with another piece that will garner a more negative reception.  He bought this property from an Italian wine maker who developed it as his private home along with the adjacent vineyard that he was forced to sell.  Mr. Walsh installed a glass elevator up the centre of the building and hung his private collection in the unique underground space. He bought the wine business, Moorilla Winery and includes Moo Brew, a microbrewery as part of the venture. All I can say is I’ve never been anywhere like this before! I’ll have to read those articles again to check the facts.
Here is a link to an article about David Walsh.
www.theaustralian.com.au/...david/story-e6frg8h6-1225991011160