An Astonishing Eight Days @ the East End Gallery

Sunday evening at Station House after a particularly busy period at the East End Gallery. So much so that I am sitting, rather like a stunned mullet, in front of my laptop. I dare not lean back and let my head tip forwards as I may very well slip into the unconsciousness of Cloud Cuckoo Land, and I'd really like to stay up just a bit later and watch "Grantchester" on the telly.

Last week, we spent anticipating our Open Gallery (celebrating Michael's birthday) on Saturday and the aftermath on Sunday. The previous Thursday and Friday had been building in intensity with more guests in the Gallery than we had experienced before. The weekend geared into overdrive. Michael, the Birthday Boy (his birthday was actually 4 September) thoroughly enjoyed basking in the limelight. We were also lucky enough to have a number of the vintage cars that were being shown on Sunday in York taking time out on Saturday afternoon to come to Beverley. 

For me, Saturday culminated in a meal at the Freemasons' Tavern followed by bed. For Michael, mischief was calling him. Lawrence Jones, another boy in a man suit, was totally unsuited to the task of supervising Michael. As the evening progressed, they were joined by local Ron, who took the role of the final Stooge. The three of them partied on in the Gallery until the early hours of the morning...

Sometime about one o'clock, I was rudely woken by a heavy and incoherent lump collapsing on the bed next to me. Shortly afterwards, Lawrence came to the door to request the keys to lock up the Gallery. Apparently, Michael had decided that bed was a more attractive option than sitting up any further with the other Boys and had lurched his way home. Eventually Michael prised off his boots and fell back into a deep and snory sleep until daybreak.

He was not a happy camper in the morning. He'd lost his glasses. He wasn't feeling terribly well. He soaked his head in the shower, which perked him up enough to go to breakfast with Lawrence. As I walked to the Gallery, I found his glasses on the bench outside U Beauty and Hair...Fortunately, he was wearing his spare pair as he carefully made his way to the Red Vault Cafe with Lawrence.

That was the high point of his day. Breakfast was a huge mistake for him. Michael's gut tended to be dodgy at the best of times...Last Sunday morning was anything but that.

And so, he retired miserably back to bed. I was too busy with guests to notice the time, except when I realised I was busting to go to the loo. Eventually, at a quarter to five, Michael made a very subdued entry into the Gallery. He looked so dejected that I couldn't be cranky at him.

Our three days away from the Gallery disappeared far too rapidly. Monday and Tuesday were spent at home catching up on housework. Wednesday was paying bills and shopping. Thursday was once more upon us. Back in the Gallery.

Do not get me wrong. We are revelling in our change of fortunes since COVID restrictions were lifted in Western Australia. Every weekend, city slickers are heading for the country. York was jammed last weekend with the Motor Show. The overflow who wanted to escape the Madding Crowd ended up in Beverley. Suddenly, two Wheatbelt towns were both jumping.

The Beverley Caravan Park, surely the best-kept secret in the Wheatbelt has been fully booked for the last two weeks. The long weekend is approaching with more guaranteed escapees from the Big Smoke.

A fortnight after that is the Beverley Heroic, a weekend event celebrating the bicycle with rides, vintage bikes, a BBQ and very un-serious prizegiving. Plus "Cocky's Crossing" a musical comedy production at Beverley's Platform Theatre for four performances and Beverley Off Road Motor Sports Association (BORMSA) Khanacross and Driver Training day. October is rounded off in Heavenly Beverley with our annual Rose Show.

Our beloved Gallery has provided us with the means to pay off some of our shire rates. The building insurance is still hanging over our heads, but at least we have been able to breathe again.

More artwork has come in. New pottery by Jan Cross (Gone Potty). Delightful small and affordable paintings by Shirley Gillis. Incredible sketches by Murray Cook and a provocatively edgy piece called "#Me Too", also by Murray. And I thought he was just a ceramic sculptor...

This coming Saturday is another of our Famous Sundowners -

Coffee and cake throughout the day

Sausage sizzle from 5.30pm

LIVE music from 6.30pm

Please bring a plate and bottle to share if you are attending. This is a chance to let our hair down and enjoy the Gallery's art and artists, great music, easy conversation, singing along and dancing like we only do when nobody's watching.. . Until we send the last revellers on their way. 

And hopefully, Michael's resulting hangover will not be as devastating as last time!

On Saturday 12 September, we enjoyed the vintage cars en-route to the York Motor Show

And our Open Gallery to celebrate Michael's 65th birthday -

And a Sneak Preview of our Beverley Musos...

Gallery images September 2020 -

And coming events in October 2020!

BORMSA Khanacross -

Blooms from last year's Rose Show

Deceiving Weight...!

In my opinion, the English language is ridiculous. There are Rules and then there are Exceptions to the Rules. Grammar can be incomprehensible and personal pronouns are a nightmare to learn. Words that are spelt the same way may have utterly different meanings. There there are variables - British English, American English, Kiwi English and Australian English. Even more confusing is that different words in each Australian state can describe the same item. Polony ( a bland sandwich filler masquerading as meat) is also called luncheon or Devon. A swimming outfit may be referred to as togs, a cossie or bathers, depending on which state a person inhabits. Best of all, cheerio is the curious Queensland noun to describe a small red cocktail sausage...

Last week was a frantic week of one mammoth trip to the Big Smoke, two epics days of rearranging the Giftshop, three slightly desperate days of generalised terror regarding bills and four days of fabulous guests and ripping sales, plus an Open Gallery celebration on Saturday. We even cleared enough money to start paying the rates!

Given this whirling dervish of constant activity, I was innately searching for any humour to lighten the various situations in which we found ourselves.

Tuesday wasn't the best of days, but my black comedy antennae did fire up. An X-ray and visit to the Boy Wonder concerning Michael's troublesome arm were both somewhat bleak. The X-ray showed shadows around his hand bones that are supposed to be fused. The official term used by Ben Kimberley was that Michael's bones had yet to start properly knitting.

My brain immediately posted an image of his three metatarsal bones trying to knit. I mean, honestly, DUH. How can bones knit when they don't have tiny hands of their own or tiny knitting needles or tiny threads of yarn. Or maybe some ancient nano-crone is supposed to materialise into his hand to repair the damage with a supply of wool sourced from a nano-Spotlight (aka Fantastic Voyage).

Which led to slightly more doom and gloom. The spectre of more surgery was thrown into the mix. If this comes to pass, our hero surgeon could just use a tiny knitting machine and do the job properly!

*sigh*

Fortunately, the week did improve after Tuesday's disappointment. Hairdresser and Hairdresser's Apprentice to the Stars, Kerryanne and Lindsey were able to deposit some rent into our account.  Suddenly we were saved (in an immediate financial sense) and bills that had been sitting awkwardly semi-ignored were able to be paid. Yippee for small mercies.

Thursday saw the beginning of our "working" week in the East End Gallery. Artists Play Day has settled into two regular attendees - Jan and James - along with Michael as a semi-regular. Great endeavour and activity were photographed for posterity by our three artists. Guests began flowing into the Gallery as well but giving no indication of the human deluge about to happily hit us.

Friday saw an injection of our supply of Southern Wheatbelt Art Directories. This is a terrific publication featuring fifteen shires from Beverley and Quairading down to Lake Grace and Kulin. Unfortunately, I had allowed our guides to Run Out, just prior to our Open Gallery event. I picked up some extras from the Shire Offices, York artist Katie West dropped off more and then a parcel arrived from Casey Thornton of Arts Narrogin with the intriguing sidenote of "Deceiving Weight".

My interest was immediately piqued. What were the parcel's evil intentions? Or not? What was so deceiving about the weight of the art directories? Were they known for giving misleading information or telling downright porky pies? And what about the possible alternative of "Shifting Weight"? Does this mean that the parcel shifts from side to side with downcast eyes? Maybe the deceiving led to the inevitable shiftiness? I was left gasping with scenarios...

Which reminded me once more of the foolishness of this language spoken by so many of the world's population. Always open to interpretation and innuendo (which of course is Italian!)

And our weekend of impending busyness is a story unto itself...

Stay tuned!

 Knitting bones!

The aforementioned nano-crone...

Ye Gods!

Saved by Kerryanne and Lindsey!

Artists Play Day Thursday 10 September -

More telling lies!

 What the...?

Ban The Birthday! (Or Not...)

Birthdays as events are like families as institutions. There is absolutely no choice about the date of your Grand Entrance or the people who claim to be blood-related to you. Hence, both birthdays and families are problematic; liking either of them is dependent on personal circumstances or context. Plus, there is an individual personality to add to the equation.

Michael turned sixty-five last Friday. That he achieved such a significant birthday was, in his eyes, both astounding and unexpected. He cheerfully admits he never dreamt of reaching official retirement age, given his penchant for speed and smoking, beer and bonking and risk-taking with relish. Now that he has actually reached an age when he can choose being a Pilloch of Society or a Grumpy Old Git, he is pondering this state of affairs with a view to surprisingly, living a great deal longer.

In my sixtieth year, my biggest irritant is "having a fall". As Jodie startlingly pointed out the other day, I have succumbed to describing an unplanned and usually painful tumble as "having a fall" rather than just explaining that I fell over. Since this fact has been pointed out, I shall now endeavour to vigorously deny any hint of "having a fall", as well as wholeheartedly ceasing to engage in this pointless exercise.

Having said that, I actually think that emotionally and intellectually, ageing is an adventure. Earlier birthdays, particularly those milestones that hold such expectations, were on the whole, not entirely satisfying and often involved much gnashing of teeth. My twenties revolved around waiting for the appropriate moment to start a family, a need or want that I desperately craved. My thirties disappeared into the that particularly awful, wonderful, grinding and topsy-turvy maelstrom that is parenthood. Forty saw me exhausted and trapped in a disintegrating marriage. Only in the recent past have I felt more confident, more adventurous, more stimulated and seriously happier. And had lots more fun. The catalyst for this change was meeting Michael. Who hit the jackpot when he organised a surprise fiftieth birthday for me.

I think fun can be the antidote to middle-aged monotony. So many of us regard fun as an instrument of the young. We become safe and secure and boringly pompous in our ways. Bugger that. Fun is vital to our well-being. Fun can't be generated as a planned occasion. Fun usually pops up when we're not looking.

Slipping over on a muddy slope. Turning the hose at each other on a hot summer's day. Watching Stella and her squeeze Zeus romp around the park as two goofy and exuberant best friends. Drinks or dinner with those excellent kindred spirits who are our friends. Opening the Gallery halfway through getting my hair cut and coloured.

Laughter definitely makes the world go round.

One of the great pleasures of 2020 arrived in the form of Imogen Ivy, our divine grandbaby. I am the worst singer in the known universe, but Immy gives me the courage to sing to her at the top of my voice.  I have remembered all those long-forgotten nursery rhymes and ditties. We have reminisced our own childhoods. We have poured over photographs of Callum and Bronwyn, Immy's fabulous parents when they were babies and children. We recognise her mannerisms as being echoes of our families that are instinctive rather than learned. Imogen has provided so many opportunities in her first year for us all to have fun.

So maybe birthdays (and families) have a flip side. Cherishing the rellies as well as just enduring them. Creating those shared experiences and memories that form the foundation of who we truly are. Remembering the hilarious times that have meaning only with those who have always been there.

And on Michael's birthday, last Friday night, I had the utter privilege of watching Michael being loved at an impromptu party with those we are honoured to call our friends. We had fun. The family sent messages of congratulations. Most amusingly were the best wishes from my brother Simon, who is famous for forgetting such trivialities, including his own.

My darling Dad, God bless him, was a true believer of fun. We could learn a thing or two from his attitude to life...

PS Michael may not live to see another birthday after Saturday night's shenanigans. "Patriot Games" was at full throttle on the telly, followed by complaints about boulders in our bed, copious snoring and farting, a desire for a wrap at three o'clock this morning (the food not the blankie) and waking me repeatedly with weird ravings. The final straw was taking over my boulder-free side of the bed...

Some long-haired yahoo in his twenties...

Into his thirties...

In Port Hedland August 2020... 

With Vanessa...

With his latest installation last weekend...

September 2019

With Alex August 2018...

With Immy summer 2020...

Another triumph...

Surprise!

@ Callum and Bronwyn's, pre-Immy...

B1 and B2 - Michael and Michael...

With Callum July 2020...

A Human of the Wheatbelt.