This is Myra Demetriou, 90 years old, and refusing to leave her home. She lives in Sydney in public housing with “million dollar views”. She opened up her home for a couple of houes this morning to encourage awareness about the campaign to stop the building in which she lives from being pulled down.
If you’ve ever crossed the Sydney Harbour Bridge, and looked over to the Sydney Opera House, there’s a good chance you’ve also seen the Sirius Building. Let’s not beat around the bush, it’s ugly. It’s a classic example of architectural brutalism.
Despite its ugliness, the building has been home to a number of people for around forty years. Many have been there since the 1970s, when the NSW Government approved developments in Miller’s Point which forced people out of existing public housing. The Sirius Building was the replacement. And now, forty years later, the NSW Government wants to move those people on again. Or should I say, “has moved those people on”, because there’s just Myra (and I think one other resident) refusing to leave.
This morning, for a couple of hours, the group campaigning to keep the building did their best to “humanise” the story of Myra and the many other people who have lived in the building. Amidst a strong campaign in the media that “people in public housing shouldn’t have million dollar views”, it was awesome to meet Myra. It was an absolute privilege to be invited into her home. “Do you mind if I take a photograph?”, I asked her. “Of me?”, she said with a surprised voice. “So long as you put it on Facebook and tell everyone about this”, she added.
Also speaking this morning was the building’s architect, Tao Gofers who located the building’s construction within the context of 1970s green bans, the activist work of Jack Mundy and the women of Kelly’s Bush.
Ikea at Rhodes is big. Really big. Much bigger than the one I used to have at nearby Moore Park.
I was so upset when Moore Park Ikea closed. It was so convenient, being only a ten minute walk from home. Getting to Rhodes was a far more complex affair, especially since there was track-work today.
I went there with a couple of goals in mind: to buy some household goods and to eat some “typically” Swedish food.
The meatballs were a bit of a disappointment to be honest, falling far short of the meatballs I enjoyed in Sweden, and most memorably at Skansen. For a start, the accompanying potato was mashed. And secondly, the meatballs were a little dried out, and definitely in need of that murky brown sauce and cranberries to make them edible. Yes, I knew it was always going to be the case, but I hoped nonetheless.
Still, I enjoyed some Marabou Chocolate which is the same all around the world, thank goodness.
After lunch I went in search of some new cutlery. That was all I wanted. Though of course I ended up buying some saucepans, a bedside light, and some some cards.
I also walked around practising my Swedish by saying as many words and names as possible outloud. Clearly, I have no shame anymore, or perhaps it’s confirmation I’ve joined the ranks of Sydney’s freaks err bohemians.
Ikea Sydney
As I’ve mentioned previously, I’m not a good shopper. In fact, I kinda loathe shopping. And after a while I had a minor panic attack. “Get out of here”, I thought to myself after about an hour or so of mindless consumerism.
Despite this, the whole experience remained wonderfully Swedish. Although the vast majority of shoppers were of Asian descent, I heard three or four people speaking Swedish which was kinda fun.
In particular, as I was looking at some of the Swedish food on the way out, I overheard three young people looking at the food and speaking in Swedish. “Jag har inte”, I heard one of them say, as he looked at the goods in the freezer. Literally it means “I have without”, but in this context it means something more poetic like “I miss them so much!”.
As I sat on the train station at Rhodes to catch the train back I thought for just a moment I was back in Sweden. It was modern and quite clean. The trains ran on time, though obviously less frequently. The colour scheme was the typically Swedish blue and yellow/gold. And it was surrounded by medium-high apartment blocks. For just a moment I was back at Solna Centrum in the dark suburbia of Stockholm. Of course, I was in Sydney’s equivalent.
The two artists, the curator and the photographer, sat before a crowd of about 100 people at the National Art School in Sydney yesterday. Behind them, two rows of photographs alternated between images of the Melbourne skyline and more intimate views inside the Sofitel Hotel, creating the illusion of being high up in a luxury skyscraper.
“Who wouldn’t say yes to six weeks in a luxury hotel?”, photographer, Anne Zahalka said during the talk to celebrate her restrospective exhibition currently showing.
While the photographs from Melbourne were not in a “traditional photo documentary style”, due to privacy considerations for guests staying there, the series of photographs was deeply inspired by her experiences. Many of the photographs featured friends who visited her at the hotel.
Zahalka and the curator also discussed a series inspired by Bondi, reimagining iconic imagery of the area. The famous Bodysurfer by Max Dupain, though not actually shot at Bondi, served as a starting point for one of Zahalka’s photographs. The image depicted a person with striking red hair and pale skin, androgynous in appearance. While many viewers assumed it was a woman, Zahalka revealed the subject was male, emphasizing the photo’s gender-bending quality.
The artist talk accompanying the retrospective at the National Art School was both informative and engaging. Zahalka spoke about her early fascination with art—meticulously cutting out images with a scalpel—and her influential residencies, including a year in Berlin during the 1980s. Her vivid descriptions of the pre-reunification city transported me back to my own brief visit, where I, too, had been captivated by the soft, warm European light.
Having attended opening night a couple of days earlier, I remembered it was almost exactly a year since I’d attended an exhibition opening while still in hospital recovering from lower limb amputation surgery. With the invaluable support of my friend, Kate, I’d navigated the challenging Darlinghurst footpaths in my wheelchair, creating a night filled with unforgettable memories, including a surprising encounter with a hospital physiotherapist. https://thelimbshift.com/2023/08/exhibition-opening-in-a-wheelchair/
Now, while no longer reliant on a wheelchair, I still felt unsteady on the historic grounds. The predominantly dark clothing of the crowd and their engrossed conversations added to the challenge of navigating the uneven surfaces. After a near-miss, I hesitantly asked a woman to share her seat. Reluctant at first, she graciously agreed upon seeing my leg.
A chance meeting with a friend I hadn’t seen in years added to the evening’s magic. He shared a heartfelt story about Anne photographing him and his late partner, Steven.
After a brief overview of the exhibition and speeches, I returned on the weekend for a more leisurely experience. Immersed in the art without the distractions of a crowded opening night, I more fully appreciated the artist and curator talk. However, the desire to revisit the exhibition with even fewer people lingers, perhaps on my upcoming day off.
I suspect it’s because I don’t have kids that I can lead the lifestyle that I do. Sometimes I’m incredibly busy; other times I’m incredibly lazy. I suspect that if I had kids I would need to lead a more regular, more ordered lifestyle which may or may not be a good thing.
This thought occurred to me earlier tonight at Grumpy Old Women at the Capitol Theatre, the stage show based on the BBC television series of the same name. In their midst of their very funny “schtich” about getting older, menopause, having sex and so on, their were a couple of genuinely tender moments, as they reflected on their fears of death and the joy that came from children. “I worry about dying and leaving my children behind”, Linda Robson said, “Because no one will ever genuinely love them as much as I do”.
Of course, you may recall that I met Linda Robson last Friday night at the Crystal Palace Hotel. On a whim, a colleague and I went to the pub on Friday night, only to have Linda sit down next to us. I instantly recognised Linda because she played Tracey on the BBC series, Birds Of A Feather, and after a polite enough interlude I asked her for a photograph. She was sitting there with her daughter, I suspect, and her grand-kids, and, as granny, she was for a moment anxious to make sure the grandkids could happily and legally sit outside the bar, asking me if it was okay. “Sure” I said, totally unaware if it was or not.
Of course, that wasn’t an issue for Martin and I. We just sat down and did it. We didn’t have to think about it. We didn’t have to plan. We just did. It’s been pretty much the same over the last week.
Last Thursday night, for example, I left work at a time that suited (I have a healthy work ethic and do more than my my fair share of hours) to head off to the Sydney Mint, for the launch of this year’s Writer’s Festival. Having arrived right on time, maybe a little early, I found myself a little “Nigel No-friends” for a while. There was a speedy resolution as two older women (no, not Grumpy Old Women), both with an interest in writing and history, brefriended me. We chatted about history, politics, the media, and numerous other topics ahead of the official launch. The only thing they were grumpy about, by the way, was the Howard Government, and “we voted for him” (they told me).
But yes, like much in my life, it was something I could do without having to think too much about others.
The same was true on Saturday night when I caught up with Mark who has just moved back to Sydney. “Feel like a beer?”, he said. No consultation, no one else to tell, no baby-sitters to organise. It will be the same catching up with some other bloggers next week at The Sydney Weblogger April Meetup. Just make a commitment to myself to go and do it.
Even tonight, on the way out of work, on a whim I asked Miss Andrea if she’d like to join me for a meal in Chinatown, ahead of going to see “Grumpy Old Women”. Although she’d already made plans, they were quickly modified and we had an enjoyable meal at BBQ King.
Tonight’s show, by the way, was great fun. With many memorable moments of “observational comedy” (which I normally don’t like). Most memorable was the Jenny Eclair monologue, when she related the embarrassment of farting during a massage, and then wanting to giggle so much she was afraid she’d wet herself as well. Also memorable was the monologue about how life for “women of a certain age” is full of various bags.
And then afterwards, I came home to surf the net and watch television and so on. And it occurred to me, ahead of writing this blog, this freedom comes from not having children. Of course, when I was in a relationship a few years ago I had to think about someone else. No, I didn’t HAVE to think about someone else, I WANTED to think about someone else.
But now I can be as spontaneous as I want to be. For example, I can spend Good Friday doing absolutely nothing except watching television. I can make those decisions to go out to dinner on a whim.
And does it make me happy or unhappy? Well, I suspect you’re thinking I’m gonna say no, and how I really want kids, and I really want a family and a relationship… and my life is empty without those things. But I don’t actually think it is. I mean, I wouldn’t mind a relationship.
But it’s also quite okay to live alone, to be spontaneous, to do things on a whim etc. Maybe when I’m 10 years older I’ll regret this feeling, that I haven’t made those “relationship plans” for the future, and I suppose if that occurs I’ll be able to look back on the folly of my forties with regret. But at the moment, it’s okay that I don’t have kids.
P.S. On Monday I had amusing moment when I received a work-related phone call from blogger, Harley. “Oh hello”, I said, recognising his name, “I know you, I read your blog”. Hehheheheh, he laughed in recognition. “I don’t know why I came through to you”. “Because I’m the boss”, I joked. “You haven’t been blogging much lately”, I told him. It was rather amusing to hear a real live voice on the phone from someone who I was partially convinced did not actually exist in “real life”. But yes, he does exist, dear reader, but his voice wasn’t as I imagined it might be.
“It’s a lot more hippie than I remember”, my friend Sue said as we made our way along the main street of Nimbin. “There’s a lot less drugs on offer”, I thought to myself. Sue had actually grown up in Nimbin to a family who had lived there for a couple of generations, whereas I’d only visited on a few occasions.
My only really significant connection with the “Rainbow Generation” was when they arrived at South Lismore Railway Station in 1973. I was living close-by and remember and to this day remember walking down the street to take a look at the arrival of the hippies.
Sue still has a lot of family living in Nimbin. Our other common connection is Paul who we went to school with (and his partner Kerry) who run Nimbin Valley Dairy which specialises in cheese production (especially goats cheese) but who also run a small milk line as part of their operation.
Nimbin RocksNimbin Valley PanoramaNimbin ValleyNimbin Cheese
When you’re a dairy farmer, both Christmas Day and Boxing Days can tend to be like any other work day. And so when we were invited out for Christmas Lunch/Dinner, there was an in-between period when we helped them with bottling, capping, and crating the milk ready for delivery. Sue was the capper. I was the stacker. “Are we slowing you down or speeding you up?”, I asked at one point with a smile.
“The Windows Project” featured compositions by many of the most talented composers of Australian musical theatre and cabaret including Phil Scott, Eddie Perfect and Matthew Robinson, although I’m not exactly sure which came first… the musical or the songs.
All of the songs contain a reference here and there to windows or glass, with recurrent themes of seeing reflections, looking at people from a distance and breaking glass as a metaphor.
Some of the best songs were the comical ones. “www.alicia.com” by Matthew Frank and Dean Bryant was about an online relationship with the classic phrase “smiley face” the unexpected and hilarious rhyme. “My Best Friend” by Peter J. Casey and Carissa Campbell was about a young man’s lifelong love affair with the television. On a more touching note, “Choosing Windows” by Phil Scott and Tony Sheldon took us back to primary school memories of the TV show “Play School” and “Stained Glass” by Nicholas Richards concluded that stained glass windows weren’t as good as real ones, and that although attractive, it was what was on the other side of the window that really mattered. You get the idea…
With the exception of one or two songs which I thought were unnecessarily complex (Colin says it’s often a problem with younger performers and writers that they want to show off) all of the songs were melodic, literate, and mostly well performed.
I though Nick Simpson-Deeks especially good, as he sang with both passion and precision. The other perforers – Lisa adam, Margi de Ferranti, Benjamin Lewis, Sharon Millerchip and Shaun Rennie – were also very good, especially when they sang in unison.
At the end of the day, however, nothing really moved me in this performance. I thought there were some good moments, some even slightly touching moments, but I wasn’t really moved.
However I think it was really good to go along to see this show at Darlinghurst Theatre. After a few years of extreme popularity, Australian musical theatre and cabaret is at a low ebb at the moment, with many of the jobs drying up. Recently, while attending a show, a young performer told Colin and I that after six years of almost continuous work, he was now contemplating “getting a bar job”. After the heady years of “Mamma Mia” and all of those other pop musicals, perhaps we’ll see a return to the old days with the Broadway traditions once again dominating?
Tragically, 100 maybe 200 homes (or more) will be lost in the bushfires currently on the outskirts of Sydney. Meanwhile, here’s the view in inner city Surry Hills where the ashes have been cast asunder. Thinking about all those currently fighting the fires either directly or indirectly as support people.
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4 Comments
As a lover of all things brutalist, I’m absolutely crazy about Sirius and was pretty thrilled about the reprieve from the wrecking ball!
I think it is an astonishing building; both beautiful and ugly at the same time. Perhaps it’s worst perspective is when glimpsed from passing vehicles on the Harbour Bridge roadway.
As a lover of all things brutalist, I’m absolutely crazy about Sirius and was pretty thrilled about the reprieve from the wrecking ball!
I recently acquired this print https://www.instagram.com/p/BUfroAlFRvL/?taken-by=katemulheron_art which I really must do something about framing.
Nice piece. The architect told a story this morning about not being able to afford white concrete, which was his desire.
I think it is an astonishing building; both beautiful and ugly at the same time. Perhaps it’s worst perspective is when glimpsed from passing vehicles on the Harbour Bridge roadway.
You have it, Victor. Both beautiful and ugly.