More rain fell in the night and was still falling as we contemplated our plans for the day. We were pleased that we did not have to move to another site. Brigette, the very prim camp administration manager, had surprised us again with her efficiency and compassion, by juggling booked campers onto other sites thus leaving us in situ. And so, with no need to be dismantling and resetting camp, we viewed the day as a blank page, albeit it possibly a wet one.
Chris
suggested we visit the Brett Whiteley Studio; we had attempted this once before
but realised half way there we were on the wrong day. (We do this so often!) We
have come upon this famous Australian’s work in galleries across the nation
during our travels, and more recently at the Hazelhurst Regional Art Gallery where there
was an excellent exhibition of his Bondi
work and some of his sculptural work. It was here we had been alerted to
the existence of his gallery open to the public almost as a shrine.
The gallery
at 2 Raper Street, Surrey Hills is where the artist actually lived and worked
from 1988 through to 1992 when he died. I was a little disappointed at the
paucity of work displayed, having seen so much more at the Sutherland gallery,
but enjoyed immensely a DVD about the
artist titled Difficult Pleasure. I
also enjoyed being in his studio and mess of work just as he had left it. The main feature of the downstairs studio is one
of Brett Whiteley’s more disturbing compositions, Alchemy; a huge multi panelled work taking up most of two walls; a surreal kaleidoscope of colour and content reminiscent of Hieronymus Bosch’s
work, the product of a very screwed mind. I do love most of Whiteley’s work and
it was a real pleasure to spend more than an hour and a half there at the studio.
We
returned to Central Station after pausing to eat our lunch in a park on
Devonshire Street, a street full of delightful terraced houses, and caught the
train on to Martin’s Place. Now the sun was shining, we hoped to find Pitt
Street Mall buzzing with buskers and shoppers, and so we did although nearly
every busker seemed to spend more time getting ready for their act rather than
actually performing. We walked on through the crowds to the Town Hall Station,
caught the train in the bowels of the underground and came on home.
Once
back at Miranda, we walked across to the Coles supermarket, shopped and carried
our bags of groceries back to camp along the streets lined with flowering
frangipani and hibiscus. The day had turned out well; weather wise, entertainment
wise and from a practical aspect as well.
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