What I love about the Australian art scene is that people think they can destroy it by taking away its funding, but the horrifying reality is that people in this country will always keep making it, even if it means working on a budget that makes Kevin Smith’s cash look like a Scrooge McDuck swimming pool. You think you can kill the art with a funding reduction, but this isn’t any ordinary environment, friends. This is a place where whatever CAN survive in this blasted hellscape of an outback consistently lurks, and each creature you think is dead haunts your mind. Australian Art’s like that bloody terrifying zombie dugong that keeps following the two campers in the movie Long Weekend, never leaving them alone, always lingering as a reminder of society’s, and their own crimes. It cannot truly be erased, and it continues to scrape on its belly bleeding in the most intimidating way possible until those who have wronged it have their bodies absorbed into the ecosystem they’ve tried to damage to their peril.

All attempts to TRULY kill culture in this country have failed. Why? Because in a country with a landscape as brutal as ours, the wimpy life-forms may have died off, but the freaking unholy behemoths that refuse to be screwed with are left.