i’d been wanting to go to cockatoo island for ages. i live a way across the water from it, this island with its history of convicts and wayward girls and shipbuilding. from our balcony, we can see the big old sunwashed sheds, and the towering cranes. we can hear — and see — the cockatoo gulls: sometimes they squawk as one, and rise into the air and dive at the water with great force like a gust of microscopic white specks. some days we hear the industrial sounds of heavy metal grinding on heavy metal. most mornings we see a barge go past loaded up with trucks and other such large, wheeled vehicles. so intriguing!

this year, cockatoo island is one of the venues of the biennale of sydney, and a free ferry service will shuttle you between circular quay and the island. it is a very, very cute little ferry, crafted of wood a long time ago, and painted a fetching combo of milky coffee and raspberry jam. you see where this is going?

yes! we went to cockatoo island! me, and the kid, and two of my cousins, to see art! well, ok, i actually wanted to see the island, but what better way to lure some long-lost cousins, with at least one ex-arts-journalist among them, than with the promise of some world class contemporary art?

so under the bright blue sky, we caught the cutest, and slowest, ferry in the world to cockatoo island. us and a big, fat chorizo baguette, and a tub of marinated mushroom salad, and a tub of bacon fried rice (fried in butter! it was proclaimed as the tub hit the picnic table), and a cereal bar. but i am getting ahead of myself.

we got off the ferry, and it was like we had arrived at the land where time stood still (except for the understated but exceedingly modern cafe right next to the wharf)… in the middle of a wind storm. sand and dust whipped around us at a terrific speed, and we walked backwards into the wind to keep the dust from our eyes. truly, it seemed like we were elements in an enormous installation. we gamely explored a few buildings, each of which housed a single artist’s grand statement: one of the statements was racist graffiti scrawled all over the walls of a historical toilet block. another, banks of tv monitors screening footage of… well, i didn’t pay too much attention, but i’m guessing it was something to do with the weather, given the name of the collective responsible. there was a lot of video art.

after we succeeded in fighting our way to the end of the second wind tunnel (not the one in which a dramatic soundscape had been installed, oh no.) and discovered a shiny new sheltered structure with picnic benches (and BBQ hot plates and a microwave and fridge, if you’re interested), we claimed this little sliver of the island, and sat there for as long as we could, until the wind had died down, and we no longer felt like cousins who had not really seen much of one another in twenty years.

[ nothing like a dose of painfully didactic modern art to make us go all breakfast club. ]

and yet, after our windswept luncheon, faced with the choice of catching the next ferry back to civilisation, or venturing out to the higher ground, we picked: more art. because, y’know, i thought we might feel a sense of regret about what might have been, had we jumped (on the) ship. and behold, in one of the charmingly scruffy buildings up on the hill, i came across this amazing, perforated cork-tiled wall in a kitchen corridor leading into yet another video installation.

but look at it, look! so great.

possibly the best thing i saw on the island.

that hour to the next boat passed surprisingly quickly. we stumbled upon the education centre, channelling scandinavia with its glorious natural light, and wide open space, and neat modern furniture (and banks of video screens). and before we knew it, there was just enough time to scramble down the hill right as the ferry pulled up.

around the wharf, the air was rich with the greasy smell of fat, fried chips. and — whether it was placed serendipitously or by design — that sticker in the window of the vandalised toilet block? pretty much summed up this portion of the biennale, for me.

the island though, that was great.