In the (probably) fifteen years I’ve been going to Art After Dark at the Art Gallery of NSW, I’ve never seen a crowd like this before. My colleague Jo (who is a big fan of Tim Minchin) and I agreed we needed to leave work a little early today to make sure we could grab a seat. And just as well we did, because it was standing room only for tonight’s conversation between the wonderful composer and performer, Tim, and the amazing artist, Ben Quilty.
Clearly they were fan-boys of each other, as they discussed art, creativity, funding for the arts, and Australian identity. The crowd lapped it up.
Tim MinchinMinchin and QuiltyMinchin and QuiltyCrowd for Quilty and Minchin
These are some photographs from tonight, as well as a short video piece featuring a very amusing and topical piece, with words by Ben, and performance and music by Tim.
“Well, well, isn’t that a happy face!” began the email from h2, who comments from time to time on this blog.
It was such a lovely surprise to receive the email which alerted me to a video clip on the website of the Swedish newspaper, Expressen with yours truly front and centre. My friend Graeme can also be seen in this image.
As we arrived at The Ensemble Theatre last night, I was blown away by the view. It’s not the first time I’ve been there – quite the opposite, I’ve been there many times – but it’s the first time I’ve been there early enough to enjoy the daylight view. Although I snapped this photograph through the full-length window using my camera phone, which explains the mystic blue quality, it’s still quite a beautiful view, don’t you think? And quite fitting too, as it’s probably the best play I’ve ever seen at The Ensemble. Smart, intelligent, warm, and reasonably challenging.
The Busy World Is Hushed is set in the United States, focussing on the life of a 50 year old (or thereabouts) female Episcopalian MInister (Anglican) and her son. They only have each other, as the father died weeks before the son’s birth. Neither has ever really gotten over it, with both searching for some meaning. Both are also searching for an explanation about the father’s death: did he drown or did he commit suicide? As a result of their individual searches for meaning, they both love each other desperately, though they’re unable to communicate that love. The mother buries herself in her work; the son “goes missing” for great swathes of his life.
The employment of a “ghost writer” for a book on theology brings a third person into the relationship, a young man who develops a relationship with the son, with the mother’s “permission”. But even that’s misunderstood and badly communicated. And at that point I won’t go any further into plot development, as it would take away some of the surprises if you’re planning to attend.
And I suggest you do. It’s a pretty good play, though I thought the second act lacked some of the intellectualism of the first. On top of that the acting and direction are excellent. All of the actors are genuinely convincing in their roles, and there wasn’t a single occasion when I didn’t believe them. They’ve obviously been well directed.
Obviously it’s not a play for everyone. At half-term, I heard a bloke apologise to his wife/girlfriend… “I didn’t know it was a religious play. And I didn’t know it was a gay play”. Amongst those in the audience there was a significantly large contingent of younger gay men. But I also spotted a prominent journalist and his wife, who are well known Christians. So if you have an interest in both theology and sexuality, it’s probably the ideal play for you, as it deals genuinely and honestly with some complex issues. It’s very “Uniting Church” if you know what I mean.
Aside from that, life remains pretty good. I went shopping on Thursday night for my Swedish language text book (ahead of starting lessons on Tuesday). I also bought a couple of DVDs including Shortbus which The Other Andrew has written enthusiastically about and Angels In America which I enjoyed immensely when it screened on ABC-TV. These DVDs might just be the solution to the continued wet weather in Sydney. I have a fair bit planned, though, with some Chinese NY activities today, the Mardi Gras launch, and then dinner and drinks with my mate Michaela, who, in further blatant advertising I wish to remind you has a terrific new show on SBS this Wednesday night.
You know how smells can take you back in time? Visual and audio clues are one thing, but smells can take you right back in an unexpected kinda way. I’m sure it’s something that goes back to the womb (or earlier?)
The first time I opened the bottle of newish shampoo, recently, I thought of my dad forty years ago. Yes, I use shampoo, despite my male-pattern baldness. “That’s the same smell of the shampoo dad used to use”, I thought to myself.
As a child, I remember dad used a particular type of shampoo with a distinctive smell. Nothing “floral”, it was the smell of tar. Yes, tar, the stuff you find on the road, though there are probably a few “sweeteners” in the mixture. It’s not just bitumen. I’m sure I thought it was odd back then, but now “tar shampoo” makes far more sense.
That’s because, throughout my life, I’ve lived with a skin condition called psoriasis. Not consistently, just from time to time. First, as a teenager, and then more recently over the last couple of years. It’s pretty gross, resulting in really bad dandruff, and sometimes bleeding (if you pick it, which I sometimes do). On my legs, my back, and now on my scalp.
Psoriasis is a long-lasting, noncontagious autoimmune disease characterized by raised areas of abnormal skin. These areas are red, or purple on some people with darker skin, dry, itchy, and scaly. Psoriasis varies in severity from small, localized patches to complete body coverage. Psoriasis is generally thought to be a genetic disease that is triggered by environmental factors
I’ve followed all of the online advice – “Dr Google” – about topical treatments as well as longer term solutions. I’ve tried every hippie treatment possible, always avoiding the “tar based” treatments, because I thought the blah-blah-blah treatments would be better.
Tar based treatments for psoriasis
But then recently, as nothing seemed to be working, I decided to give “tar-based” treatments a go. And you know what? They appear to be working.
Coal tar comes from coal. It’s often used to make coal-tar pitch, which is used as a base for coatings and paint and in roofing and paving. But it can also be used to treat certain inflammatory skin conditions, such as eczema, psoriasis, and dandruff. When you have psoriasis, your skin cells turn over rapidly, which causes red, itchy, scaly patches. Coal tar helps slow these cells’ rapid growth to restore your skin’s smooth appearance. It can also help relieve the inflammation and itching that occurs with psoriasis.
Coal tar can work well to treat psoriasis, especially if it’s used in combination with other treatments. Some people see their psoriasis go away completely. Others go into remission, which means they go for a while without a flare-up of their psoriasis.
No single coal tar product is best for psoriasis. You can’t just assume that the higher its tar concentration, the better it is. In fact, studies have found that lotions containing just 1 percent of coal tar were more effective than those that contained 5 percent coal tar. It’s a good idea to ask your dermatologist to recommend a product.
The other day, while driving around with a colleague, I received a message from Karran, a family member, that demolition has officially begun on South Lismore Public School (SLPS), my old primary school. It was severely damaged in the 2022 flood. Having attended SLPS from 1971 to 1977, I personally experienced the rebuild after the 1974 flood. The constant sound of pile drivers was a familiar backdrop for a couple of years back then, but it ultimately resulted in a much better school. I sincerely hope the current construction is far less disruptive for the staff and students.
South Lismore Public School 2025
Over the years, we’ve had a couple of large high school reunions, notably in 2004 and then again last year, 2024 for students of Richmond River High School. A few people missed the last one, and one of those classmates had a brilliant idea: since most of us are about to turn 60, why not have a joint birthday party this year?
The plan was simple: head to a pub for dinner, drinks, and a good chat, with an ’80s band playing at Mary G’s as an added bonus. That’s exactly what we did last night, and it was a fantastic idea! Because it wasn’t an “official” school reunion, the atmosphere was much more relaxed. We all had a wonderful time chatting, honestly and openly, about our lives and the experiences of the past few years. We enjoyed a few drinks, and some of us even hit the dance floor.
I must admit, only a handful of us made it to the dance floor, and I found myself bracing against the pillars to avoid toppling over amidst the ’80s tunes, while others preferred to stay back and continue their conversations. I managed to make it home by 10:30 PM, which is well past my usual bedtime. Then, I received a message from Amanda, another classmate, saying she got to bed around 1:30 AM! It sounds like their party went on for quite some time, which I think is pretty impressive given we’re all, or nearly all, turning 60 this year. Most of us are still 59, actually!
This was before I started school, as we were still living in Kyogle Street. I'm guessing I was about 4-5 years old.
I played football or catchies or a combination of both with my five year old nephew this afternoon.
Well, I threw it to him so that he could catch it. And then he threw or kicked it back to me, which meant I had to run half-way around the yard as some of his hand-eye co-ordination skills are still developing.
He’s going to kindergarten at the moment, ahead of starting school next year. And thus, he still has the great innocence and joy of youth. He’s passed the terrible twos, but hasn’t reached the cynical sixes yet :)
Did I feel in any way clucky? Nah, as he’s quite the chatter-box. Believe me, a small amount of a five year old goes a long way.
I love his honesty though. My family have started to calling me “James” instead of Jimmy, which I’ve been known by for almost all of my adult life. “It’s Jimmy, not James” he keeps reminding them.
I guess they’ve come to a collective decision you can’t be a “Jimmy” when you’re 44 years old. I quite like, however, having a name that my family calls me that no one else does, except perhaps when they’re being sarcastic.
It’s part of that bond you have with your family, but not your friends. And equally you have a bond with your friends that you don’t have with your family.
So today, we just hung out. We watched some television. We went to the supermarket. I renewed my Worker’s Club Membership, we visited some relatives. Nothing much in particular, but rich in many ways.
It’s Saturday night and I’m at home in Lismore. We’ve just watched “The Simpsons” and had dinner and I’m just taking a few minutes out to update my diary before a night at home. Quite a bit has happened since my last update on Sunday night. I have been on holiday this week which is why I’m in Lismore.
Although I had always planned to come to Lismore this week, it was, perhaps a fortunate (?) co-incidence that I was here for the death of niece’s son, Lachlan. After fourteen months of suffering, he died on Monday morning. It has been good to be here for that reason alone.
I arrived Tuesday morning and the next forty eight hours or so was taken up with family things. The funeral was held Thursday morning. I was asked to read a passage from the Bible, Psalm 23, which I was a little apprehensive about – apprehensive that I would mess it up with nervousness – but it all seemed to go okay.
I have had a couple of social occasions, including lunch at a new Italian place with some colleagues and a drink or three last night at Lismore’s “gay and lesbian venue”, The Winsome. Last night was Karaoke Night, which meant that it was marginally better than the last time I was here. It reminded me, however, why I left Porpoise Spit.
There was a further reminder today at the Lismore Square, when I found myself surrounded, it seemed, by thousands of shopping trolleys and prams. Although I have looked with genuine interest, this time, at real estate in the area, which is extremely affordable, I recognise that, at this point in my life, it’s still not the place for me.
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Tim is terrific. I will listen later today when home alone.
Tim is terrific. I will listen later today when home alone.
Only two lines from that song but that was enough to win me over James!