We left Ballarat at 11am and met my eldest daughter Corrie at Flinders St. She had ridden her bike into town from the inner north where she has lived since leaving home ten years ago.
Corrie, I’m proud to say is a fully fledged Melbourne woman who doesn’t mind putting up with her old man for a few hours at a time. Yesterday she wanted to take Lynda and I to ACCA, the Australian Centre for Contemporary Art to see some First Nations art from Tennant Creek and the Western Desert.
ACCA is situated right next to the Malthouse Theatre and over the road from the VCA, The Victorian College of The Arts where Corrie graduated from eight years ago.
The walk there has been enhanced with new landscaping between the VCA and The Recital Centre, which just adds to the joy of walking through that precinct from Flinders St past the Art Centre and the NGV.
Corrie’s story is an example of perseverance given she hated high school and only scraped in to pass year twelve. She put a portfolio together and was accepted solely on her art into a Fine Arts Degree at VCA where she excelled.
Of course a degree such as that is often Latin for ‘unemployed’, so she completed both horticulture and childcare diplomas, where she now works. We are naturally very proud of her.
She continues to do her artwork and refuses to let us into that other world. She had two exhibitions in Collingwood that we had to sneak into to see, such is her quiet, humble nature.
Anyway the exhibition was outstanding. Tennant Creek has been devastated with mining and grog, so the themes were mostly dark but the paintings were stunning and almost Basquiat-like at times. Here are some snaps and a website link. The exhibition is free.
Strangely enough there was a book selling near the entrance that contained a couple of photos of my youngest daughter Mia.
It was a fashion photography book from when our wild child Mia took herself to Sydney for a couple of years and found herself doing some modelling. Thankfully she took her mother’s looks.
We popped into the NGV because its there. Exciting news is that there is a Yayoi Kusama exhibition coming in December.
It’s clearly massive because the gallery is being reconfigured like I’ve never seen before. The bookshop is half its size and the first installation as you enter the foyer is ready to be unveiled, but is currently hidden behind a wall.
Walking back to town down St Kilda Rd I took a photo of one of my all-time heroes, Norman Gunston floating in the Yarra. I shot the photo from the other side of the street so I wasn’t sure how it would turn out but when I saw it I exclaimed to Lynda that I may have just taken the greatest photo since the cover of Neil Young’s After The Goldrush. She didn’t say anything.
Lunch in Fed Square and during lunch the Indian Diwali Festival was in full flight with the most gorgeous kids and costumes Bollywood dancing on stage.
Conversation soon started around how bland white Australia is culturally. What’s our national dance?…The sprinkler?…perhaps the Sharpie dance?
To our credit, we do have the highest percentage of passport ownership in the world but most of us only speak English. We were looking at kids on stage that speak at least two languages, play three instruments and excel at sport before they’re twelve.
We said goodbye to Corrie and had a couple of hours to kill before heading to the Comedy Theatre to see Will Anderson and Adam Spencer, so did the usual wander.
Bourke St has some places at the top end that are absolute gems. The Hill of Content Bookshop is one.
I feel like I’ve betrayed John and Marion at our favourite Ballarat bookshop Everybody Knows Books, but we couldn’t help ourselves. Ridiculous as it is, Lynda and I just buy each other things for birthdays and Xmas spontaneously, whenever the need arises and with full disclosure.
So for Xmas, she bought me Al Pacino’s biography and the latest Richard Osman book and I bought her Bill Bailey’s memoir and a Patti Smith photography album. Xmas done.
Coffee, as cliché as it sounds, at Pellegrinis then off to the theatre. It never seizes to amaze me either at a show or the footy in Melbourne, just how contemptuous the crowds are when it comes to punctuality. Five minutes to go and the stadium or theatre is two thirds full. Ten seconds to go…..full.
We weren’t familiar with Will and Adam’s JJJ show from twenty years ago, just liked both of them individually. We’d seen Will many times and his satire was beautifully offset with Adam’s laser-like intellect. A very entertaining two hours of stories and the odd surprise.
Time to get a tram to Southern Cross and a train home. It’s late and we’re hungry. Waiting for the tram which is ten minutes away, I spot a Maccas.
We never eat Maccas unless its desperate and when I get inside this one, it’s another late night, apocalyptic gathering of the DDD’s (drunk, drugged and desperate).
I too was once one of them. After another failed night out trying to latch on to someone of the opposite sex by yelling as opposed to talking, with a beer and cigarette breath that could take the scab off a cold sore from ten paces, where else would I go?
Wallowing in self pity I would shovel two Big Macs, a large fries and a large thick shake into my gob before getting a cab to the western suburbs past golf clubs where members were pulling their clubs from the boot of their cars to start the day.
The worst Maccas we ever encountered was in Harlem NYC. We had been to see a wonderful show at the Apollo Theatre and walked into a Maccas that looked like someone had strolled past it and rolled a hand grenade down to the counter.
It was absolutely appalling. Bits of leftover burgers and chips over the laminated tables and chairs and those brown bags everywhere, as though they’d been multiplying.
I think there’s a distinct correlation between the attitude of Macca’s staff and the time. The longer the night, the intensity of the apathy.
So much for what was a beautiful day in Victoria. Melbourne was buzzing and enabled plenty of quality people watching. We do miss it but it’s nice to get back to ‘The Rat’.
The only disappointing aspect was we had hoped to see a documentary made by Tony Wilson, a fine author and former broadcaster on 3RRR but couldn’t fit it in with limited time. If you love a good sports documentary, by all reports it is a ripper. This is a link:
https://www.palacecinemas.com.au/movies/gff24-ange-and-the-boss-puskas-in-australia
