The land of my birth, Australia, suffers from a dysfunctional identity crisis. It is too big to be and island and too small to be a continent. Just don’t fit conveniently into a pre-determined box. Bugger!
And here I am on the horns of a similar dilemma
I have been invited to exhibit my work at the Florence Biennale. Under usual circumstances the poverty stricken artists trots off to their government funded art’s support agency, cap in hand. Fills in the 27 page application (black ink or typed only), submits it in triplicate and with a bit of luck gets to wave their country’s flag on the government payroll.
As an expat with 4 years up my sleeve, I am not long enough in my adopted country to qualify as a citizen, too long away from my home country to be considered a resident. Bugger!
I guess private sponsorship is my only option, ‘cos I am still a poverty stricken artist, tally ho.