The most recent visit I made to the National Art School was back in August 2023. At that time, I was still at St Vincent’s Hospital, recovering from my below-the-knee amputation. It was before I had my prosthetic leg, and I was still in a wheelchair.
At the time, there were significant risks for me in leaving the hospital, and so I needed special permission from my specialist. Though the gallery is only metres away from the hospital, it was still a significant trip for me and my friend Kate. She was, herself, recovering from some back pain, and it didn’t help that I was in a wheelchair. Although it was exhausting, I had the time of my life. https://thelimbshift.com/2023/08/exhibition-opening-in-a-wheelchair/
Today, I returned to the NAS to attend the annual Graduate Exhibition. Upon reaching the front desk, I told the attendant of the immense joy I felt, being able to make it it to the gallery, using public transport, unassisted. This, by the way, was one of the explicit goals in my rehabilitation plan.
With only a handful of people present at the gallery today, I loved the opportunity to take a leisurely look around things.
Among the exhibited pieces, these three stand out as my favorites.
Fire at 5am, endometriosis by Chantelle Monique BubicSunflowers never lie by Ben FayleRebirth by Samantha StrongGetting out and about, visiting the National Art School in Sydney
It’s been a busy day for me with both a lunch-time birthday at a pub at Manly, and then a dinner-party tonight in Surry Hills. The conversations covered a range of issues, including news of the death of Margaret Whitlam. At both functions there were both Labor and Liberal voters, and although we got into a slightly heated discussion about the role of Prime Minister’s wives (and husbands) at lunch, universally, there was sadness at the passing of Mrs Whitlam. As a public person, she always came across as someone with intelligence, wit and warmth.
I know this for a fact, because in December 2002, I had a chance encounter with Mrs Whitlam at the opening of an exhibition at the Museum Of Sydney. This is what I wrote on my blog at the time.
December 22, 2002
During the opening speeches, I was leaning against the wall, watching the proceedings when all of a sudden a face and voice appeared asking, “Do you mind if I borrow your wall”? It was Margaret Whitlam, the iconic wife of the former Australian Prime Minister. “If I don’t lean against a wall these days I fall over”, she said. When I replied, “Yes, I have the same problem”, she laughed.
After a little while someone asked Mrs Whitlam if she would like a chair and if she would like to sit with Mr Whitlam. She said something like, “Oh, I’ll have the chair, but I’ll be fine here thankyou”.
So we stood there with Margaret Whitlam on the chair in front of me. She became my new best friend with her whitty remarks and wry observations about the ceremony underway. When a group of dancers came out with elaborate headgear, she commented, “Oh I wish they’d given us all those when we came in. Of course, you’d have difficulty keeping it on your head without sticking plaster”.
During the kava-drinking ceremony Mrs Whitlam observed that it “tastes like dirty dish-water” and thought it was hillarious when Mr Whitlam was given some to drink. “Dish water”, she said.
She was also amused to discover she had spent 30 years mispronouncing the name of a Tongan King and commented the dancers and singers, “Look more West Samoan than Tongan”.
After a while she and Mr Whitlam went to the book store, leaving her glass behind with a comment, “Can you look after that and make sure they fill it up by the time I get back”? I didn’t actually expect her to return, so I didn’t watch the glass, but when she did return she didn’t appear upset that I had neglected her wish. I asked her if she’d like some more and she replied, “Oh no, thankyou… I’m fine”.
At the end of the evening she walked over to Mr Whitlam with the comment, “I’m just off to see what His Highness wants”. Shortly afterwards they left.
It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m at work. The last week or so has been a blur. As it was a week dominated by work, I’m struggling to remember much of what happened, aside from work.
As for my social life? The highlight, I guess, was going to the Central Coast last night for the monthly dance put on by “Coastal Connections” at the Wyong Tennis Club. It was a last minute decision to go. I was sitting at home watching the new ABBA DVD, and was reminded of a quote from “Muriel’s Wedding”. When I lived in Porpoise Spit, I used to sit in my room for hours and listen to Abba songs. But since I’ve met you and moved to Sydney, I haven’t listened to one Abba song. That’s because my life is as good as an Abba song. It’s as good as Dancing Queen. It was the sudden realisation that I live in Sydney, my life is pretty good, and that I should not spend a Saturday night alone at home watching “The Bill”, that made me decide it was time for an adventure. So, I called Graeme, asked if he wanted to go and we caught the 5.17 from Central Station.
As inviting as the nearby caravan park looked, Graeme had booked accommodation at the Central Coast Motel, just down the road from the Wyong Tennis Club, where the dance was to be held. We were told it was about 800m from Wyong Railway Station so we thought it would be okay to walk. It wasn’t. It was quite a long 800m through parkland. nyhow that was okay. We booked in, watched a little of “Perfect Match” and then, thanks to the Wyong Tennis Club Courtesy Bus made our way to the dance.
We realised almost straight away that we had arrived far too early. There were still traces of the so-called normal tennis club crowd enjoying their roast dinner and poker machine activities. We sensed straight away the guy on the door wasn’t too happy about the two crowds mixing, so he made a big point of us having to be signed in by a member. After fifteen minutes or so a couple of lovely ladies arrived. We explained the situation. They signed us in. And so there we were… we played Keno, we drank beer, we chatted and waited… and waited…and waited. And then finally some other people arrived.
Overall it was a good fun night and we spoke to quite a few locals. Some of them were quite lovely. Others were quite insane. Some of the boys were cute, the music was mostly Top 40 style pop, which went down a treat – they played “Crying At The Discotheque” and the beers were cheap. What more could you want?
Graeme has a different “take” on things. Unpublishable, really!!!
Though I can’t be sure of the exact date, it was sometime in February 1988 (thirty years ago) when I got my first full time “paid job” in radio, working at 2WEB, Bourke. Prior to that, I was a volunteer at 2NCR-FM, Lismore (since 1978), and worked as the phone answerer for Saturday nights requests at 2LM, Lismore (since 1981), where I was paid $10 for three hours work. 2WEB was an awesome station to start out with. I was 22 years old!
I turn 53 this year, and being in a defined benefit superannuation scheme, where there are strong advantages to retiring at the age of 60, I’m starting to think more seriously about where I’ll spend my later years. It’s not like I feel I “should retire”. “There’s plenty of life in the old girl yet”, I’ve said to a number of people. Will I stay in Sydney? Unlikely, due to the cost of living, and because I don’t think Sydney is a friendly place for older people, so more likely it will be somewhere I’ve lived previously.
As a result of this reflection, I’ve been re-connecting lately with some people from my days in Bourke, and with my extended family in Lismore and Brisbane.
And with the recent elevation of Michael McCormack to the role of Deputy Prime Minister (replacing Barnaby Joyce), I’ve been chatting with friends about my days in Wagga Wagga.
A friend from that time, who also lives in Sydney now, located this long forgotten photograph of a Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras float in 1994. Take a close look to see the face of Deputy PM, Michael McCormack. He was the Editor of the Wagga Wagga Daily Advertiser back then, and wrote a number of deeply nasty editorials about LGBTQI people. These editorials led to a successful case for homosexual vilification brought to the NSW Anti-Discrimination Board by our late friend, Chris Jones. Wagga Waggacommunity members concerned at being identified in the media area at Mardi Gras held up MM masks to hide their identity and protest his homophobic newspaper editorials. I should note he has since distanced himself from those editorials. Oh, I’m in the photograph too!
Twenty-something years later, I hardly blinked when walking home on Crown Street, Surry Hills the other night. To my surprise, there was a woman, completely naked, standing outside the Via Napoli pizza restaurant. It was close to 10.00pm, so, thankfully, there were no children in the restaurant, and thus no parents who had to explain, what was going on. The responses of those seated is something to behold.
So there you have it, thirty years of history. So much change. What’s next?
Though there have been a few of these before-hand, focussing on the 50s, 60s and 70s, I’ve only only recently discovered “Kings Cross Stories”.
The event is described thus:
Join iconic and ‘ordinary’ locals as they bring Kings Cross’ unique character to life with stories, live music and film. This special series produced by artist and performer, Vashti Hughes, will take us on a journey through the decades. Going back to the 1980s, the Cross is still the place to let your hair down. The thrill of nightlife is now mixed with an increase of people doing it tough. AIDS and drug-related deaths were fast putting out the party. In the background, sounds were changing and so was fashion and feel.
A bit like a “talk show” a series of guests were interviewed for 10-15 minutes about their lives and connections to Sydney’s Kings Cross. In reality, for some the duration wasn’t nearly enough, for others it was maybe too long.
The event started with a screening of this classic Australian song…
Today’s guests included
Haydn Keenan, who spoke about the film he directed, “Going Down” which told a true-life story about a group of young women living in Kings Cross during the 80s. He was wonderfully candid, about the behind-the-scenes activity that was involved in making the movie.
Julie Bates, who spoke about her life, moving from Melbourne to Sydney, and working as a prostitute, and as an advocate for sex workers and safe sex. She spoke about her role in ensuring condoms were used by sex workers in Sydney. A terrific speaker, with a terrific story.
Lee Young, who spoke about his role as MC at Les Girls, after Carlotta left.
Vittorio Bianchi, who ran the famous “Piccolo Bar”.
There were lots of wonderful stories, all told with a wonderful sense of humour with a recurrent theme being the prevalence of street prostitution, police corruption, and heroin abuse. It was a little bit “before my time”, but enjoyable. And definitely heading back for the 90s in about four weeks time.
And fascinating to witness, since I’m working with others on a project with similar goals: to tell real life stories of our part of Sydney.
One of the constants of being an amputee is the need to repeatedly “tell your story”. From curious children on the street to family, friends, workmates, and medical professionals, you are constantly asked the question: “What happened to your arm or leg?”
Being a journalist, I’ve adapted to this fairly easily, but many people find it difficult. So, I have begun a process of trying to better understand how we tell our stories.
For The Limb Shift, I’ve spoken with another journalist who found it hard at first to tell even his own family. I discovered Miles O’Brien while Googling my own story to see what was out there. Despite sharing a surname and a profession, we don’t think we’re related. Nonetheless, I found an immense amount in his journey that I could relate to.
His story will feature in a future episode of the podcast, launching in October 2026.
Miles O’Brien’s life and career shifted dramatically at age fifty-five, following a severe accident while working as a freelance science and technology journalist on a one-man-band reporting mission in the Philippines.
After stacking heavy equipment cases in his hotel room, one of the cases fell and landed on his arm. Initially brushing it off as a bad bruise due to a “fairly good dose of denial,” Miles realized within twenty-four hours that the pain and numbness were far more severe.
Diagnosed with acute compartment syndrome—where internal swelling creates dangerous blockages of blood flow—he underwent emergency surgery, but during the procedure, complications forced the surgeon to amputate his right arm above the elbow.
The Immediate Aftermath and Mental Pivot
Rather than immediately notifying his family thousands of kilometres away, Miles chose to process the shock alone.
He confronted his reality by testing whether he could still write and produce stories to support himself, opening dragon dictation software and pecking away with his remaining hand. Recognizing that he could still work was a vital psychological turning point, moving him past a brief descent into a “very dark road”.
He noted that amputees inevitably face a crucial crossroads:
“Are we going to think about what we’ve lost or are we going to start working on what it’s going to be like to operate in life in a different way?”
Embracing a “power through” mindset inspired by Winston Churchill’s maxim—”if you’re going through hell, keep going”—Miles refused to sit on the sidelines, believing that taking time off would have sent him into a tailspin.
He finally reached out to his partner and children right as he boarded a flight back to the United States.
Life Since the Accident and the “MacGyver” Approach
Back home, Miles adopted what he calls a “MacGyver” approach to daily existence, solving each challenge like an individual puzzle rather than looking at the overwhelming whole:
“Every time I was presented with a challenge of how to do something, whether it’s tying a tie or putting cream cheese on my bagel. I had to be the one armed MacGyver.”
As an experienced pilot, getting recertified to fly became his ultimate benchmark of recovery—his personal “Olympics”. By placing a hook on the yoke of the aircraft and managing the throttle closely, he proved he could fly just as well as he did with two hands.
Miles O’Brien flying again (pic supplied)
His professional life as a television journalist also adapted. Though initially reluctant, he appeared on CNN to tell his story, and continued reporting for the PBS NewsHour, choosing not to hide his missing limb. When discussing whether to use a cosmetic hand or shoot around the amputation, his executive producer simply told him, “Miles, we love you. Come as you are”. Miles noted:
“I realized that I didn’t want to walk around hiding anything. This is who I am… I’m comfortable in my own skin and I don’t feel like I have to hide it for the benefit of others.”
A Transformed Perspective
Looking back twelve years after the accident, Miles reflects on his transformation with candor.
While he contends with phantom pain and has explored therapies to manage it, the overall impact on his worldview has been profound. He shared:
“If I would have had the opportunity to go back, I wouldn’t change things. I’m happy with my life and happy how it turned out. And I’m happy how it has changed the way I view the world, the way I view people with disabilities and the way I view my place in the world.”
Ultimately, the experience taught him that reaching out for help is a sign of strength rather than weakness. By leaning into what he has rather than dwelling on what he lost, Miles discovered a deep reservoir of resilience, turning a life-altering loss into a powerful personal win.
PS. We have the same surname, and we’re both journalists, but we’re (probably) not related!!
Graeme and I enjoyed a terrific afternoon at Sydney’s Powerhouse Museum where two of the current exhibitions were right up our street: exhibitions featuring fashions and photographs from Kylie Minogue and about the fiftieth anniversary of television in Australia.
The Kylie exhibition came about through a large donation to the Victorian Arts Centre (I think) of dresses, illustrations, production notes, etc by Kylie herself. The donation has been transformed into an exhibition which features a range of Kylie’s well known clothing including, spectacularly, the 50p gold pants bought at an op-shop and then made famous in “Spinning Around” and the hooded outfit from “Can’t Get You Out Of My Head”.
Although she has been through many “stages” – from the Neighbours days, through Stock Aitken Waterman, through indie-Kylie, through “gay Kylie” – as you wander around the exhibition a “Kylie-style” emerges. I’m not exactly sure, however, how to best describe the Kylie style, but some things do emerge: for example, the clothes are designed to match her tiny size. At one point, an eight year child next to us, honestly said of the denim shorts, “They’re so small, I could wear those”. I think there’s also a multi-layered element to many of the designs and also a “fashion school” ethos in some of the experimentation.
The television exhibition, by its very nature, is far more broad, and thus far more enjoyable. Although emphasising the nostalgia associated with the television programming itself, the exhibition also features some of the technology and seeks to explain how it has also infuenced the output.
Highlights of the exhibition for me included the opportunity to watch some classic moments from favourite childhood programs, including “Number 96”, “The Box” and “Certain Women”. Yeah, I know they’re not children’s program, but they’re certainly strong memories of my childhood that I haven’t been able to relive in recent years, despite the availability of DVD.
On a totally different level, it was just amazing to see how plain some of the television costumes were in real life, including the Aunty Jack costume and a fairly plain house dress from the “Mavis Bramstom” show.
In all, we probably spent about 30 minutes at Kylie and 90 minutes in the television exhibition. Both were good in their own ways, and represented a very good $10 entrance fee investment.
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Wonderful works of art. Thanks for the tip. I’ll put the NAS on my list for when I come up to Sydney for the Biennale. Hope you are well James. Terrific to know you are out and about.
Wonderful works of art. Thanks for the tip. I’ll put the NAS on my list for when I come up to Sydney for the Biennale. Hope you are well James. Terrific to know you are out and about.
As well as the art, the NAS has wonderful historic buildings.