The Cushion and the Wedge
Artist
Matthew Harding
Medium
Stainless steel, polished granite "wedge" plinth, steel inlayed poetry pages
District
Civic
Commissioned
2001
artsACT
Because of the landscape upgrades at Garema Place, this piece has been temporarily removed and stored. It will be returned to Garema Place once the construction is finished.
People can often be seen lounging in this large stainless steel cushion which is one of the most popular artworks in the city centre. A poem by Marion Halligan lies on scattered pages on the granite plinth below the cushion to form a tribute to Garema Place.
Matthew Harding
Cushion, 2001
Stainless steel, polished granite "wedge" plinth, steel inlayed poetry pages
Garema Place, Civic
This Place
Smell
It is desire that you can smell
coffee, food
love, sex
Look
at the noisy skill of the skateboarder, going nowhere, but arriving
where he wants to be
at the centre of attention and height of his craft
And underneath, listen,
you can hear the quiet footsteps of the Ngunnawal crossing the grass
from this their camp
to the fish-full creek
meeting, breaking spears.
Now it’s pavement underfoot, but it’s still a good place to hang out.
The pigeons think so.
The chess players.
The sippers of coffee and wine.
The protesters, the soapboxers.
The actors and the transactors.
It’s a stage.
Everybody’s a performer.
Everybody’s the audience.
Playing out their lives,
their desires.
Smell the desire
and desire’s denial
despair
in the sharpness of needles, no homes, rage,
jealousy and broken hearts.
Garema Place
living room of the homeless
haunt of the prosperous
stage
where lovers sit searching for kisses in coffee cups
and babies in prams remind you that life is always
beginning again
Shoppers buy
health they hope
promises
dreams of the person they might be
salty yummy food
not fresh meat and vegies any more
books and bibles and stuff mended
shoes
sunshine
spectacle
glasses of wine
beside old memories of Young’s
taking the weight off their feet
moments of respite
But the music is free
unless you take pity on the busker
his living.
Look, and reflect …
It’s a dark mirror that lights this place
and yours is only the latest
of generations of faces
laying their images over the lie of the land
Marion Halligan