This session was designed and hosted by co-convenor Neville Gibb to explore a question he often asks ‘Where is the Art?’ Benalla Art Gallery staff responded to Neville’s request for works by two well-known Australian painters to be exhibited before our group, setting the scene for a talk about two greats of Australian Art Neville describes as ‘both arguably geniuses’, Albert Namatjira and Hans Heysen. Neville began the session with a thoughtfully prepared response to the paintings. His premise was that we can tell where the art is when we look at both men's work. “Both were able to produce works that are close to perfection in their capturing the spirit of the land. Not an easy thing to do”. Neville contended that there would not be an Australian anywhere in the world who would not feel identification with the work of both men. Namatjira and Heysen were contemporaries and it is not known if they ever met but it is known that Heysen admired Namatjira's work. Namatjira came to painting in his 30s. Heysen was recognised from a young age as someone within immense talent. Both had good and bad times. Namatjira suffered mightily the slings and arrows of being an Aborigine and Heysen had to lay low during WW1. Namatjira's intention was to record the land - painting came into it but getting the essence of the land into a painting was his intention. It is an easy argument to make that this was Heyson's intention also. Neville considers both men to have produced work of great worth and feels proud that we have examples of their work in the Gallery. As he sees them standing head and shoulders above most other Australian Artists, Neville hopes we see more of their work on display. Neville then invited local painter Mervyn Beamish to give his opinion. Merv made several comments where he clearly differed from Neville. Merv said that in his view, art is determined to be art by the beholder, not by someone telling them it is art, because it hangs on a gallery wall or because someone is willing to pay a large amount of money for it. ‘Your two year old grandchild's sketch stuck on the refrigerator door triggers an emotion; a memory, that, to you, is a work of art. A crack in the footpath can be a wonderful work of art and be quite fascinating because it stimulates senses, emotions even a memory.’…’If the item stimulates you senses; disgust and fascination ... the colours, the pattern, the situation, the swirl, there is something about it that takes you beyond the moment’. Merv was able to explain where he felt the strength of both painters lay and made several valuable explanations, warming to his task as the morning went on. Merv's work is on display at NEA. Merv is a well known and respected artist in the area. He will shortly have an exhibition in Krakow Poland. Neville and Merv’s follow up discussion, together with contributions from the floor by Val Dunin; Carol Perry; visitors Reuben and Hazel Frankland; Bev Lee and others concluded an absorbing and lively session. Neville Gibb
0 Comments
What follows is not the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. In the early 50’s an itinerant family moved to Meadow Creek. Father Mother Daughter and Son. Where they came from or what their background was I don’t know. Father was what was called a seasonal worker. This meant he found part time work on local farms depending on the time of year. They moved into a house not far from the school that had been deserted since the war. It had no electricity or running water. They had no car. Neither the father nor the mother drove. The overwhelming impression their appearance gave was that the whole family were poor. They certainly looked it. Both parents had prominent teeth missing. The father was skinny and the mother was stout. She always wore socks instead of stockings. Their clothes were unfashionable and looked like hand me downs. They had that second hand look. The children’s clothes looked handmade if that. What they were made of was previously used or previously discarded. They were torn and tattered. Their shoes were always scuffed and falling apart. The girl was in grade 3 and the boy was in grade 2. The boy was white skinned with red blotches and he had large freckles all over his face. He had frizzy red hair. The girl was grey skinned and also very freckled but her freckles were black. She had grey frizzy hair. Neither child was muscular. The girl was shy and introverted. Silent. The boy was more open. He always wanted to be friendly but no one wanted to be friendly with him. Society at that time was structured in a strictly rigid form. Graziers were at the top of the ladder and seasonal labourers were at the bottom. Society was ruled by a strict class and caste system although no one admitted it. The children at my school followed this class hierarchy with great determination. The two children came to the school in the middle of the term and on their first few days had to stand out the front because there were not spare desks or chairs for them. When the furniture came the teacher gave definite instructions as to how each should carry and take care of their chairs. This was a sore point with him. Chairs and desks were scarce. He had a thing about furniture being broken. It was a punishable offense. It meant the strap for anyone who broke anything. These two children were never accepted and they were mercilessly treated by the rest of the school from the start. It was said that their parents were not married. It was also said that the father had a touch of the tar and both these rumours were often expressed by the older pupils as having great importance. Children obviously got these beliefs from their parents and elders. I didn’t really understand what they meant but I did not question it. The statements concerning the two children were made with such authority. What was said seemed very important. It was not uncommon to see a group of girls half chasing the girl around and calling in unison tar baby because of her dark skin. The girl would be in tears but no one cared. This was fun. They knew they would never be stopped doing it because the girl was not liked and she was both unattractive and poor. The result was the girl spent a lot of time by herself crying and sobbing. Her body would heave with sobs and this only made the mob happier. She was an outsider and was not liked. She was not an attractive girl. She could not defend herself. She had no dignity. It was as if she deserved it. I cared but of course I said nothing. I did care. I felt sorry for her. My heart went out to this poor girl. I wanted to go and put my arm around her but I didn’t dare. I did not want to be seen as the odd man out. I did not want to be thought of as being sympathetic with this undesirable person. I did not want to be thought as being the same as her. I was frightened I would be treated the same way. No one would talk to me. I hated being teased. I always felt so humiliated when I was teased and was always struck dumb. It was the worst thing that could ever happen. I was terrified of it happening. I could never go against public opinion. So I stood silent. I did nothing. I was frightened. I did not know what to do. I wanted to be part of the mob. I wanted to be accepted. I felt I could do nothing. A few weeks after their arrival there was a reorganization at the school. Desks and chairs had to be moved around. Children had to pick up their chairs while the grade 6 boys moved the desks. All the young children were standing holding their chairs. One of the popular boys lifted his chair above his head and attempted to hold it like a circus performer would. He said look at me and tried to swivel it around. He quickly lost control of it. It fell to the floor with great noise. A leg was broken off. The whole school looked to see who it was. It was the son of a prominent farmer who was on the school committee so we all relaxed. He would not be punished. The teacher never punished some pupils and he was one of them. But for some reason the red haired boy spoke out – “look Mr S – he’s dropped his chair – are you going to give him the strap? Look at me. I’m holding my chair properly”. The room of students found this funny and laughed out loud but the teacher found it infuriating and he ran at the boy shaking his fist as if to hit him. The laugh was caught in everyone’s throat. What would happen? The teacher did not hit the boy but went up to his face and screamed at him. Imbecile. Stupid. Idiot. Shut up. Get out of the room. The boy wilted visibly and stepped backwards. He started to cry silently. The rest of the children started laughing again. His sister came to his aid to comfort him. She put her arm around him. Some pupils even jeered at her. The teacher turned around still fuming and strode away. I did not laugh. I stayed silent. I knew a great injustice was occurring. I knew something terrible was happening but I was powerless to do anything. I could do nothing. I felt sorry for both of them. I wanted to go and stand with them. But of course I did not. I did not know what to do. I stayed in the background. I was one of the crowd. I did not want to be noticed. I did not want to be seen to be connected with their lower class. I did not want to be disliked. I did not want to be associated with these two undesirable children. I did not want to be thought of as being the same as them. I wanted to be liked. I wanted to be popular. I did not want to be thought of as being different. I did not want to be the odd man out. Has the world changed? This is me pretending I am someone else.
The man is Peter Norman. An Australian hero for everyone except the Australian Olympic Committee. Judy Patching hang your head in shame. My career went bung the day I had my biggest triumph. I did not know it at the time but then no one knew. My career going bung was decided by morally corrupt men thinking about what I had done and making decisions which they then kept to themselves until they could do something about it. I had come second in a 200 metre sprint. A special athlete is required to run 200 metres. You have to have enough energy to push yourself through the pain barrier and sustain your speed for perhaps 50 metres more than normal athletes can. You start the race and try to get settled as quickly as possible. You try and increase your pace as you go past 100 metres and then you stretch out as much as you can and after 150 metres you push for the finish. A good 200 metre runner can make up a lot of ground over the last 50 metres. This is virtually how my greatest triumph occurred. As we went through 100 metres the two fastest runners had been about 2 metres clear and the favourite was able to even increase his speed for 10 metres or so. But then I was able to use my latent strength and started to make up ground on them both. I made up a lot of ground the last 50 metres and I was able to pass one but not the other. I came second. I wasn’t displeased. I was happy. My mistake was that I liked the other two place getters and made a pact with them that from then on we would always be friends. I would stand with them no matter what. They wanted to stand together at the prize giving ceremony to make a statement and I said I would stand with them. The showed me respect by actually telling me what they planned to do. I said we would all stand together. And I did stand with them. I supported their stand. I didn’t exactly say this to anyone else but I did to them. I had made a pact with them. This was a personal thing but somehow the people in authority took offense at this. Not that they said anything threatening to me at the time. But it was reported in the press that they were ashamed of my actions. Four years later I was excluded from the team. I was considered to be in the top five runners for the 200 metres but I was not picked. When I objected and pointed out the lack of logic in not picking someone who was ranked in the top five they responded by saying OK we will not pick anyone who is ranked below fourth in the world. And they did this. The team was greatly reduced by this action but they did it. They made no explanation for their actions. But they were not questioned by anyone who should have questioned them. Why they treated me like this has never been explained. When I heard that I was definitely not in the team I retired. I turned my back completely. I had had enough. I was being punished for acting morally by people whom were immoral. I didn’t mind saying this. In my private life I had an obligation to act morally at all times and I tried my best to live up to this creed. I often wondered if me being a Salvationist might have influenced their behavior but it is probably because I said I opposed the White Australia policy. This is not logical but again there is nothing logical in the sequence of events and there is nothing logical in the deep seated racism that exists in conservative mainstream Australia. Forty years later when there were big celebrations concerning the Sydney Olympics lots of people were asked to perform special tasks. That is all except me. Lots of celebrities were invited to take part – even the children of celebrities were asked to perform. People who had power pulled strings so members of their families could take part in proceedings. Celebrations were the order of the day. But not for me. I could not understand but I didn’t complain. My way of doing things was to say nothing and put my faith in a higher authority. I was punished for treating people with dark coloured skin with respect. I treated them as human beings. As I would have treated myself. I believed in their cause. The world is racist and no one should be punished for pointing this out. I think it can be proved that I was. |
Categories
All
Topics
All
Archives
February 2024
|