MONA, the world’s largest house cat, it seems I might be dead, and are you rushing to the poo machine?

When my little Tassie tour was first conceived, there was no MONA. The Museum of Old and New Art opened in January last year. It’s the brainchild of David Walsh, of whom there is a rather interesting introduction on the MONA website:

…he has a Great Dane called Bruce and a cat called Christ. Like some of the greatest minds of the modern era (the people with the minds) he consumes too much dairy, and sometimes obscures insecurity by acting like a prick .Usually, however, he's a prick because he feels like it.

Basically, he’s a millionaire who built a museum, and refused outside funding for the sake of maintaining control over what it exhibits. The lady at my hotel's reception assured me that everyone considers at least one piece of art in the museum to be “very confronting”. I made a mental note to avoid her on the way back as I was pretty sure I wouldn’t join the ranks of the confronted. Instead, I was somewhat affronted at the lack feeling confronted. Too many art galleries in my travels? Too few morals? Too little religious fervour? Who knows.

I took the ferry to MONA. There were two extremely irritating women who talked through the entire commentary on the way over so I caught things like “to the left are”, “to the right is”, “zinc works”, “looks like the Kimberley” and “original boats only allowed to be used twice weekly”.

Click to enlarge
"Looks like the Kimberley" // Zinc refinery // Stools/hands at  MONA

When we arrived someone commented on a huge, HUGE cat, white with a tail bushy enough to stick on the back of a fox. It is quite probably the largest house cat in Australia. With a swish of its tail, it sashayed up the steep slopes of Moorilla winery, which houses the museum.

The museum is a large, long building, mostly underground. You ascend 99 stairs from the jetty, and arrive on a turf tennis court with little white stools that look like hands dotted around the place. The entrance is a smooth, polished and reflective metal doorway.

Inside, MONA eschews the usual little white label under each piece; instead you are issued with an “O” (not an orgasm, tho the place does like to shock). It functions similarly to an ipod and searches for art in your vicinity, then tells you about whichever piece you click on, often with the added options of listening to an interview with the artist, and reading about the associated “art wank”. You also have the option to “love” or “hate” each piece, after which you are told how many others agreed with you. Most of the pieces I loved were also enjoyed by people numbering in the two or three thousands. There have been more than twenty million viewings of the pieces by over four hundred thousand people – make of that what you will. I didn't "hate" anything - it's art, you can't hate it unless you hate freedom of expression, which I don't. (Schoolchildren and loudly speaking women excepted.)

MONA entrance // The "O" and artwank

Map and “O” in hand, I descended to the depths. I wandered the catacombs a little before making my way to the “Death Gallery”. It’s a small room with white stepping stones, black water, two mummies (one real, one on screen), a hanging noose and a poem about a disappearing butterfly. The map says things like “if you are here, you are probably drowning” where the water is. It’s quiet, and the stepping stones step up and not just across, which nearly caused me to end up in the bit where I’d be drowning. Depth of field is difficult in that kind of space.

I wandered for several hours. There was a “fat car” – a bloated Porsche -  whose creator says he has heard that the fatter you get, the more your brain shrinks. Not sure I buy that one. There’s a fair smattering of Ancient Egypt, some very interesting works, a lot of beauty, and a fair amount of typically modern artish stuff (the bookshop sells a book called “Why Your 5 Year Old Couldn’t Have Done This” – I flipped through and remain unconvinced). There are also a lot of vaginas but a notable absence of much phallic action. Apparently vaginas are more “shocking”.

I shall describe my favourite works.

An interactive piece, a series of light bulbs that flicker constantly. At the start of the line of bulbs is a heart rate monitor. You hold it, and your heartbeat is repeatedly flashed in the globe in front of you. When the next person comes along, your heart moves one spot down the line. My heart is probably still beating a lonely series of lights inside the MONA as I write this. I wanted to photograph this, so I held the sensors for a second time. But this time, no heartbeat! Does MONA assume I have no heartbeat because I am not shocked by vaginas?

I also enjoyed the blue skull made of taxidermied jewell beatles, who was eating a cute little bird that looked decidedly put out by the whole thing.

And Cloaca – the poo machine. I was wandering through the basement when a museum attendant came to me and said rather urgently “are you rushing for the poo machine?” For a minute I thought this was Tasmanian for “you look like you need the toilet” until, upon seeing my confused expression, she clarified “it’s about to be fed”. Well, that clears it up. Following her pointed finger, I slipped into a room that smelt like fresh rennet, where several engineered stomachs were hanging from the ceiling. Cloaca – the poo machine. He’s basically a digestive system. He is fed twice a day (by food from the museum café would you believe) and at 2pm, he poops. Sometimes he has diarrhoea. You can go and watch, but I choose to leave on the ferry instead. Still, it was engineering genius, fascinating to watch, and almost confronting to smell.

The little Death Gallery, and the Machine

Other pieces occasionally elicited a little smile from me, the brief flash of excitement at a new discovery, but mostly it did what modern art usually does; leaves me shrugging. At one point I thought my "O" was malfunctioning when it couldn't tell me anything about the black, bulbous artwork on the ground in the middle of the room, until I realised it was actually just three beanbags to sit on. However, the museum itself, the architecture, watching other people’s reactions, the sounds and scents and wandering, the mixture of the ancient (real mummified human remains) and the new (realistically moulded, vagina shaped “cunt soap” available from the gift shop – sorry for the rude word but honestly that’s what it says in the brochure) all made for a very interesting and enjoyable day.

Outside the MONA complex

Upon my return I wandered the streets, bought salt and pepper grinders made of Blackheart Sassafras, which is indigenous to Tasmania, and then picked up some groceries and wine for dinner and returned “home” to my hotel room.

I’ve decided that Hobart is like a country town, and I don’t mean that disparagingly. People ask you questions and actually want to know the answers. They tell you things, recommend places to go, show an interest in your travels. It’s lovely. I still don’t know where I’m heading tomorrow, apart from north east. Hobart has been fun, but I’m itching to get out into the countryside.

Sullivan's Cove

Want to see MONA for yourself?There are no close up photos here of the actual artworks because I am choosing to respect the museum's wishes that they not appear online, but you can follow my tour on the MONA website, as the "O" saves everything you view. I viewed a lot of pieces, but only selected the 61 pieces I judged most interesting. Go to the link, enter my other, other email address: serrins underscore karma at hotmail dot com (but replace the “underscore”, “at” and “dot” with the proper keyboard characters – it’s a security thing). Once you're in it's easiest to scroll down, and click on the "Works you Viewed" filter. Otherwse, roll over the pink dots and click them for more info.

My MONA tour: http://mona.net.au/theo/