Yesterday I was interviewed for an up and coming display that is going to be installed at the Powerhouse Museum in December. The theme of the display is still a little unclear to me at this stage but I think it might be the 80's in general, with certain sub-cultures as bit parts on the side. Of course the sub-culture that I was interviewed for was Goth. Surprise, Surprise. So yesterday I basked in the undeniable glow of my own ego whilst I was filmed by a team of museum curators eager to learn more about being a Goth in the 80's.
I was initially contacted by the museum after they had spoken to Steph who organises the Under The Blue Moon Festival and she assured them I was the person to whom they should seek reminisces. So here I was yesterday, in my lounge room, with a film crew with lighting and camera's fixated upon my good self all for the purpose of finding out what it was like to sway around a darkened club to the sounds of Depeche Mode, whilst wearing a musty St Vincent De Paul outfit that cost a mere $5 tip to toe total.
I was surprised I kept them as captivated by the whole experience of the 80's Goth subculture as I did. I even managed to shed a tear at one point when explaining how I felt I had arrived home and met my other space aliens when first entering the Goth nightclub Sanctuary. In fact it is possible what I actually proved to them and possibly anyone who visits the installation or AV as they called it, "that's Audio Visual for those like me who don't understand acronyms," is that underneath it all I am still just a red headed dork who dyes my hair to be different.
My hope now is that I never have to see vision of me wearing the only clothes that currently fit my "with child" state. The fact I had to jazz up my boring outfit with a pair of lime green Nike sneakers fresh from my LA trip should speak volumes. Of course the husband was scathing in his assessment of my attire stating how much I should avoid the sneakers. Well fuck him I thought, if I was going to look like a middle aged has been what better way to express myself than to wear something not even an 18 year old would dare to touch, right?. My thanks to Leigh Bowery's spirit yesterday that reiterated the slogan "Wear it like your life depends on it"
So after my adoring crowd left along with the tape of me gushing about an era that if I were to be transported back to via a "back to the future" machine I may now think it wasn't that super dooper after all. I retired exhausted into my inner sanctum - "this is my bedroom to those who have never heard me refer to it in this manner". Then I drifted off to sleep to dream about all the things I didn't do in the 80's but obviously my subconscious still thinks is a good idea to tease me with - passing the HSC, having long natural black hair and a tan and being a very very naughty school girl with Peter Kapusi.
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