A night at the gallery

Little did I think as I held our firstborn baby that one day I would see her art work hanging in the Art Gallery of New South Wales.

But there she was last night at the official opening of the Archibald, Wynne and Sulman Prizes.

And there we were, soaking up the atmosphere, sipping our champers and celebrating with Maz, our son-in-law Nathan and their friends.

Note:  My camera threw a hissie at being taken out on such a cold night and became quite temperamental. It produced blurry images and half the time took video shots when decidedly not asked to do so.  This is what really happened:   

Along with about 1,000 of our close personal friends, we listened to speeches from officials and politicians, buoyed by even more champagne and Matt Moran catered food.

At last we were invited to view the art works and the rush was on.  Artists and celebrities mingled with us mere mortals as we entered gallery after gallery of paintings on view for the first time.

The Wynne Prize was taken out by Michael Johnson (r) who was suitably chuffed with his win (no pun intended).  

Another entry in the Wynne which caught the eye.

It was difficult to get close to the Archibald winner Fiona Lowry's haunting portrait of architect Penelope Seidler.  It was a popular win and looks so much better viewed in reality than it comes across on the web.

The Sulman Prize was taken out by Andrew Sullivan with his wonderful entry T-rex (tyrant lizard king).  Do you notice what a gracious person I am, considering he was in competition with my daughter?

What Death Leaves Behind

  

I was so happy to finally meet an artist I have admired, Jason Moad who flew up from Melbourne with his wife Peggy to attend the opening.  His beautiful painting was quite poignant - I loved it.

We took one last look at our daughter's entry before braving the winter winds to drive home.  If pride is one of the seven deadly sins, then I stand guilty.

One perfect day

One of my favourite authors is Sydney writer Kate Grenville.  And my favourite Kate Grenville book is The Idea of Perfection.  Well, today was my idea of perfection.

If you had to be in Sydney, today was the day.  On the last day of the first month of autumn, it was as warm as summer's day.  The sky was blue, the gardens looked spectacular, the lawns were greener than should have been legally possible and Sydney Harbour positively sparkled.

Today was the first opportunity we had to see our daughter's art hung in the Art Gallery of New South Wales.  She was a finalist in the Sulman Prize which was announced yesterday.  She and her husband had spent quite a bit of time at the Gallery over the last couple of days, viewing the hanging and keeping up their strength with the odd glass of champagne, poor things.

Yesterday they were privileged to be present at the media announcement of the winners of the Archibald, Wynne and Sulman Prizes, the three most prestigious art prizes in the country.  They rubbed shoulders with some of Australia's most esteemed artists and avoided tripping over TV cables.

This morning they met us at the Gallery so that we could experience the joy of seeing our daughter's work in their delightful company.

Congratulations to the winner of the Sulman Nigel Milsom.  The prize of $30,000 must have made him very happy!  

Sadly, we were not permitted to take photos, but here's one our son-in-law took during the Gallery's function for the artists the day before the announcement of the winners. The Gallery had hosted a lunch (with champagne, of course), so The Artist was justifiably happy.

While we were standing near Maz's entry, I noticed a couple of women stop in front of it uttering positive noises - you know - oooo, ah, etc.  I smiled at them and advised that the artist was standing right behind them.  If you can't embarrass your children at some point in your life, where's the fun in living?

To complete the perfect day, our daughter and son-in-law took us to celebratory lunch at the nearby Botanic Gardens Restaurant where we had ... more champagne.

If you are in Sydney or are planning a visit any time up until 3 June, I highly recommend a visit to the Gallery.

Today was one of those special days which we will remember with pride for the rest of our lives.  My idea of perfection.

Tread Softly

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams

W.B. Yeats (1865–1939

My favourite poem came to mind this weekend, brought about by three events, all involving school teachers.  The last two lines of Mr Yeats's beautiful poem could easily be a student's plea to a teacher.

On Saturday morning we met up with my brother for brunch.  He is a high school teacher in his final year of teaching (but he could be doing a Melba).  He had just returned from a two day excursion which he had organised - the Year 9 History/Visual Arts excursion to our National Capital involving well over 200 boys.  His passion for teaching history is infectious and has not faded over all the years.  I know he will be greatly missed when he does retire .... eventually.

On Sunday the order of nuns who made my school days so happy celebrated their 800th anniversary and no, I was not an original student.  St Clare of Assisi founded the order in March 1212 and it was a joyous occasion yesterday when past students, friends and family gathered to help the nuns celebrate the momentous occasion.  The young nun who inspired me way back in the Fifties was there, now in her late eighties.  I sat next to her along with my classmates, and we grandmothers were for a short time once again teenagers, sitting with our favourite teacher, a strong woman with a delightful sense of humour who helped guide us through those difficult adolescent years.

The third teacher related event was something I recalled a few days after our daughter called excitedly to advise us that she was a finalist in this year's Sulman Prize.  I had completely forgotten that as a young high school student in Queensland she had been so poorly treated by her art teacher that she dropped the subject completely.  This teacher took away all her self-confidence with her sarcasm, scorn and sharp tongue.  

We returned to Sydney when our daughter was entering her last two years at school and during the interview with the school principal Tony happened to mention that Maz had been a promising art student until the her art teacher's appalling treatment all became too much for her to handle.  It was a chance remark which the principal immediately took up and encouraged Maz to consider resuming her art classes, as the school had an excellent reputation with their arts programme.  Thankfully she was persuaded to do so and under the care of the school's art teacher, printmaker Rick Badger, she blossomed.  The rest is history.

Three wonderful teachers, one bad one.  We've all had them.  Thank goodness it's the good ones who remain in our memories.  God bless them.