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Gunther, a rugged, loincloth-wearing male, is based on memories of a commune in the Kaipara district near my uncle and aunt’s farm. I never went there but heard the stories from my cousins. The commune encouraged a casual atmosphere where nudism was practised. One of the mothers was often naked, sunbathing on a banana lounger, her overgrown pubic area a topic of lengthy discussion among my cousins and me. Instead of consuming lollies and biscuits like normal kids, the children of the commune ate handfuls of savoury yeast from large jars and had odd names like Shanu and Cyrus. We embellished their parents’ nudity to high levels of perversity, although the boring truth was that they were gentle hippies, self-sufficient, working the land, making feijoa wine.
—Yvonne Todd
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Check out my epic Yvonne Todd exhibition Creamy Psychology at City Gallery Wellington. 6 December 2014–1 March 2015.

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Curating has become cool, and, consequently, the term is much abused. The idea has become inseparable from the Internet-age phenomenon of aggregation. We hear of people ‘curating’ shop windows, fashion shows, their websites, dinners, and parties. But actually, I like the idea of the curator as party liaison: bringing together particular artworks and particular audiences, creating occasions. There is a slutty, impresario aspect to it. Curators are often cast as autistic pointy-heads, concerned with the art and artists rather than the audience, but, in my experience, that’s totally untrue. Curators curate audiences as much as art. It’s a social thing.
—Robert Leonard
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More here.