Another Momentous Week Or So...(PS - I Need A Dresser!)

We had a rip-snorter of a day just yesterday. I'm not sure if I believe in Feng Shui, but having my jade shrub outside the front door of the East End Gallery surely hasn't caused any of the usual havoc. In fact, I would have to say that my Crassula Ovata (to address my plant by the correct name) is a particularly pretty specimen, in a lemon yellow pot and is very healthy indeed.

Anyway, I have digressed. After a particular difficult Friday, in spite of working as hard as I could, I sold not a brass razoo.  I was a bit despondent due to this lack of the financial gain when I returned to the Gallery on Saturday morning.

Right now, mid afternoon on Sunday, I cannot believe how our fortunes have become wonderful. Yesterday, we sold one of Mister John Kaye's simply stunning paintings named "Silver Princess".  We then expected that having had such a great Saturday that we would have nothing for the rest of the weekend.

Much to our joy, serendipity then returned once more. A short while ago, we sold one of Michael's amazing sculptures - "About Time". For those of you who have never seen my fabulously talented husband's sculptures, Michael uses historic metal artifacts we find through fossicking to tell the stories of the items. For example, "About Time" was a three dimensional 'painting' - a recycled border with parts of bed frames and a brass clock as the centrepiece. He even left some red Pilbara dirt that had been embedded in the pieces. The story illustrated that, just like us in 2026, past folk started and ended each day in bed, with the clock or time dictating how they spent their days.

This is the first of Michael's sculptures we have sold this year. For me, this sale has vindicated his immense skill, imagination and originality as a sculptor. Michael has been sculpting for forty-five years and has always been self-deprecating. That means I need to promote and support him and his artworks. Apart from his fridge magnet spiders, he never reproduces any of his pieces. He is the master of the one-off, always pushing the limits of his intellect and creativity. I am so bloody proud of him.

Last week also featured other wonderful experiences. The bandage came off my hooter last Wednesday and my skin specialist declared his satisfaction. We quickly found a hairdresser so I could have my hair washed properly for the first time in nine days and trimmed. That was Selma, who is at Salon Express in Mirrabooka and Morley. Another hairdresser, Vanessa, took Michael in hand and transformed him from the Wild Man From Borneo into a more respectable and much tidier chap.

Onward to the kids and grandies for a welcome cuppa and then to find fuel. Burk servo in Landsdale supplied us with the cheapest diesel we had recently seen. The queue in and out was horrendous, but we persevered and eventually drove up next to a bowser. As I was standing there, pumping the fuel (complete with my rigger's gloves) into Lily, I heard a voice behind me calling out -"It's Kate the Great"! I turned around and there was my old friend Tracey who had lived quite close to me in a past life. We had a quick but fantastic chat, and if you are reading this post, Tracey, you have an invitation to visit Heavenly Beverley for your birthday.

The Gallery is looking so beautiful at present. May I say even with a touch of sophistication. However, we are determined we will remain with our original focus - to promote and support artists and artisans from the Wheatbelt and surroundings. We are determined that we will never become too unwieldy again. 

Finally, I have decided that like a queen, I require a dresser. Now that the cool (freezing today) weather has arrived, I have to attempt to successfully add more than one layer of clothing. So far this week, I have twisted my bra, pulled on my singlet inside out, ended up with my hoodie backwards and having my long sleeved teeshirt ending up halfway up my arms. I have to wriggle to get my dress smooth, leave tags outside and forget to put on my socks before my leggings. Oh the trials of late autumn! 

Over this weekend, we have earned enough to pay for the vet tomorrow, a friend who lent us money and some materials for Michael! Life is suddenly like a blast of fresh air. Until we are broke again....but maybe, just maybe, our jade plant is bringing us some much needed luck.

 

 

 

In other words - nothing!

 

 

 

John Kaye - artist,  repeat offender and all round good guy...

 

 

 

Just SOLD today - "About Time"...

 

 

 

Michael is the Man! 

 

 

 

This is fossicking!

 

 

 

 

 

The East End Gallery - May 2026 - 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Need some warmth? The East End Gallery has that as well!

 

 

 

Ah! A dresser, just what I need...

 

 

 

And this is my jade plant, happily outside on the south eastern side of the door to the Gallery. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ode to Tortured Trolleys, Demented Dishwashers. Conniving Computers and Petrifying Printers!

Recently, we were stuck in heavy traffic on the corner of Lord Street and Guildford Road in Bassendean, an eastern suburb of Perth. Looking out my passenger window, I was horrified by a seemingly random act of domestic violence...

Standing triumphantly upright was a supermarket trolley. Next to this dissolute and obviously aggressive individual was another supermarket trolley. However, this trolley was in a distraught upside-down position, obviously in a predicament of extreme disadvantage. I felt a surge of anger at this observation. How dare one supermarket trolley plan a cowardly attack on another defenseless trolley? I was speechless, for at least a second. We then drove on. I hoped that common sense would prevail and the injured party would be returned home to the busy nearby supermarket. As for its abuser, I didn't give a toss.

Which brings me to the menace of everyday devices that lurk in the background, pretending to be benign when they are seeking world domination. Take our dishwasher, for example. Because he is a cheap Italian Job, his name is Fabio and he frequently has hissy fits when he doesn't wish to operate for days or weeks. We have worked out that Fabio will not have any heavy items on his top shelf and will not fling the dishwashing tablet into the interior unless the way is completely unhindered. Added to this, I have to press the power button whilst his door is open and then close the door, whilst praying that when I press 'Start', Fabio will decide if he will begin the cycle. Or not. Occasionally, I have to walk away and wait for the highly anticipated 'Beep', which means Fabio is being cooperative. Give me strength!

Then, of course are those devices that cause me terror on a daily basis. I have left my newish phone out of this equation as I think I have mastered just about all I Want To Know, as opposed to what I Could Know. I am very selective about the functions I use. Calls, texts, Messenger, emails and Messages. Wordle and Spider Solitaire sometimes. I occasionally take photographs if I never wish them to leave my phone screen. I have unsuccessfully attempted to try one of those new fangled cords to move photos from my phone to my computer, but this task is not worth all the blood, sweat and tears. Plus, I absolutely adore my Nikon digital camera, which is relatively Kate-proof and has a handy SD card. I have no idea what the 'SD' means but at least I can move photographs into the Pictures file on my computer. 

I am speaking, of course, of conniving computers and petrifying printers. These technological items can smell fear. Take this morning for example. I had turned on the computer and after Chop the cat walked over the keyboard, the computer refused to start as per usual. I had to use the old 'Control, Alt, Delete' for the computer to kick into action. Thankfully, as my anxiety levels were on the rise. On another famous occasion, I pressed 'Sleep' instead of 'Shut Down' and I think I had to ask some communication genius how to wake Sleeping Beauty from its obstinate slumber. As a result, I am hyper-vigilant to press the correct command so I don't have to endure that particular terror ever again.

And printers are a law unto themselves. Inevitably, I have issues with scanning, copying and even choosing the correct computer, as I have one at home and one at the Gallery. I am always surprised when I think I have chosen the correct printer, only to find the work being spat out on the other one when I change locations. Woe betide if I ever have to load a new printer onto Settings as that process brings its own exquisite dread. 

There you have it. Once a Luddite, always a Luddite. Trying to phone the bank the other day, I could not speak to anyone without loading the App. And choosing a PIN, which of course I have promptly forgotten since then. I loathe Apps. When I have an issue, a challenge or a problem, I want to speak to a person. Not some electronic bimbo who has the vocabulary of a flea. Which is probably very unfair to fleas.

I live in hope of a mass world wide rebellion of people such as myself rising up in protest against all of these unhelpful Apps and demanding to speak to a human, not matter what. As well, I would like to see the back of all those virtual departments, where I have visions of giant bobbing heads drifting in cyberspace. Honestly, this is the pits.

Who is with me in this quest for a return to people actually being the first port of call, rather than a mindless App?!  

The aforementioned abused trolley...

This is our dishwasher's secret identity...

With all the angst of a battle of wills...

 

Remove the word 'People' and exchange for any communication device... 

 

 

 

 

To keep us all in a state of heightened tension... 

 

 

Usually accompanied by the worst music ever written...

 

 

 

My sentiments exactly... 

 I am so there! Who is with me?

 

 

 

 

A Small Step for Hair, a Giant Leap for Kate!

Five days ago, I had a basal cell carcinoma removed from the right side of my nose.I really believed I had dodged the skin cancer bullet this time as the delicious Daram Singh, MOHS Surgeon to the Stars, did not ring me until a week after the biopsy had been performed. Bollocks!

The result is that I am now sporting a stunning array of white plasters across my nose. In addition, due to Daram's superb needlework on my nose due to a prior skin cancer, he had to take a graft from behind my left ear to fill the hole he'd removed from my offending hooter.

Now, I have described Daram Singh in the past, but he always deserves another mention. Daram is half Croation and half Indian, which means standing in front of him causes my beating heart to quicken. Apart from being exceedingly handsome, he is genuinely caring, empathetic and an extremely skilled physician. 

However, there are no images of Daram online at all. My theory is that he would have women of all ages swooning at his feet if he put up his photograph. He shares rooms with his Dad, Gian, also a skin specialist at Hollywood Medical Centre and Murdoch Medical Centre. He has been checking us both for suspicious spots over a number of years and is extremely thorough in his examinations. The only downside of this process is that, while standing in a presence of this glorious human being, he utters those magic words - "Down to your bra and knickers, Kate". *sigh*

Every six months, he checks me from the top of my head to under my feet, As melanoma is is my family, he is particularly vigilant. So, far, no melanoma has been discovered. I have had numerous skin cancers removed - some a tad nasty - from my head, nose, cheek, shoulder, and leg. I have also had the liquid nitrogen applied to both hands, arms and my chest at most visits.

The two most irritating issues surrounding this latest surgery have been pain from the graft site behind my ear and our lack of imagination working out how to wash my hair. 

Ever since Michael removed the white tape from the graft site, I no longer have my glasses or my CPAP machine mask pulling on the incision. Which means no wincing on my behalf. The most difficult part of caring for the stitched site is applying the antibiotic cream. This morning, I managed to smear the sticky ointment everywhere except where it was supposed to go.

Washing my hair without getting my nose wet took a Great Deal of Thought. This movement of the Little Grey Cells took several days. Eventually, I could not stand my unwashed hair a second longer. Michael had proposed stripping naked with me in the shower and pouring warm water over the back of head, ah la, a bucket bath inside. I decided this was unsatisfactory, so we hit upon the idea of placing a dry hand towel over my nose, putting my head back as far as possible and carefully shampooing, rinsing, conditioning and then rinsing my hair again.

Oh my giddy aunt! My nose remained dry, my hair had been altered from disgusting to respectable again and enough trickles of water had refreshed my eyes. Even though I hadn't actually washed my face, just a bit of moisture was enough to make me feel like a New Woman. And I performed this task without a naked man in the shower with me. I may adore Michael, but seriously, one must Maintain Standards.

Today is Saturday. I only have to endure another four days of looking like Jack Nicholson in "Chinatown" or being teased for perhaps being too nosy... 

The moral of this story? Being an idiot as a teenager caught up with me. I will continue to wear hats, stay out of the sun as much as possible and wear appropriate clothing, but the damage was done long ago.

We can't take our bodies for granted. And who on earth wants to suffer from unwashed hair for five days?! Eurgh!

 

 

 

 

Not pretty, I know...

 

 

 

How I felt I looked!

 

 

 

And what the hell is she smiling about?!

 

 

 

Added to all this was Bad Hair...

 

 

 

And this is how I FELT I looked after I washed my hair! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whoops! I Did It Again (Twice)

There are similarities between being the Front-of-House at the East End Gallery and becoming aged. The link is tenuous, I grant you, but I find myself undertaking or being undertaken by two quite distinct activities on quite a regular basis. 

The first activity involves moving items and artworks around the East End Gallery. Friend Tracey felt obliged, and quite rightly,  to tell me she was tired of seeing my arse in my chair as she passed the Gallery. The location of my desk, and my arse, would be far better served by becoming a display area in the front window. Of course, she was correct. I had just never thought about my arse in quite that way. 

Yarn Barn proprietor extraordinaire, Robyn, knowing my propensity for falling over and hurting myself, offered to help me swivel my desk by one hundred and eighty degrees and leave space in front to create a far better view than one of my arse. I then spent several hours perfecting the 'Look'. 

In between all this Movement at the Station, Brian and Jean dropped in with more of her little girl dresses, whilst Brian brought me two new plants for my jungle. Brian was also responsible for his gift to me of a dunny door. When he enquired whether I would like a dunny door, I was incredibly flattered. What else could a girl possibly want? I have yet to find a permanent use for my dunny door, but I feel quite comforted in having such an item should I ever need one.

The weekend in the Gallery was relatively brisk, except for Sunday afternoon, which was excellent, as I was spending most of my free time ensuring Tracey would no longer see my arse as she passed. Then, as I was almost finishing this project - still chaotic in a smallish section of the Gallery, a charming family wandered in and dropped $128 on my desk, delighted with three pieces produced by Gone Potty, who is our chief pottery queen up the road in York. Just before closing, a travelling couple from New South Wales thoroughly enjoyed visiting both the Gallery and Michael's Man Cave. Because of their lack of space in their caravan, they picked up a pile of tourism information, our brochure and one of Jess Edward's lovely cards. All in all, an extremely satisfactory finish to Sunday and creating a total absence of viewing my arse from the footpath.

This morning, we travelled to the Big Smoke for yet another appointment with that MOHS Surgeon to the Stars, Daram Singh. This could be construed as a regular event, (rather like my energetic efforts in the Gallery) due to my aged status. Like it or not, all the damage I did to my body a very long time ago is coming back to bite me on the arse. Actually not so. This particular affliction was actually on the right hand side of my nose.

Now Daram is a sneaky bloke and there is not a single photograph of him online. This is probably a practical way to keep women of any age swooning at his feet. Half Croation and half Indian, he is a glorious being to stand before every six months. Whilst literally glowing in his presence, Daram will then utter those truly magical words - "Down to your bra and knickers, Kate". *sigh*

At our last visit, I was hopeful that I had dodged another skin cancer bullet. Alas, no. Hence we arrived at Daram's rooms at nine o'clock (!), having risen reluctantly from our bed at five and left at seven. Ye Gods, that was bad enough but then I endured, with assistance from Daram, his lovely nurse, Michael and a squishy stress ball, the several thousand local anaesthetic injections (I may be exaggerating) the removal of yet another Basal Cell Carcinoma from my nose and a skin graft, taken from behind my ear, neatly stitched onto the gap left on my hooter. 

I am sure Daram arranged my appointment to be first on his agenda, due to my habit of uttering, loudly 'fuckity, fuckity, fuckity, fuck!' in times of stress and discomfort. Obviously,  he doesn't wish to upset his following patients, maybe  waiting with trepidation for their turns.

Michael took a photograph of me mid surgery, before the graft was added. I deleted this said photo, due to my resemblance to a horse's arse. I had a nose the size and colour of W.C. Fields after a bender and due to the position of my head, looked like I had about four hundred chins. Not flattering in the slightest...

Anyway, much to everybody's relief, Daram made sure he had given me clear margins around the removed cancer and completed his extremely neat needlework. I reeled out of his rooms after three hours and we retired to the Midland Tavern for a bite of lunch and a glass of fortifying and medicinal vino.

After collecting my antibiotics and pain relief, we turned Lily in the direction of Station House. Gratefully arriving just before four o'clock, I fell into our bed and slept for over two hours. Michael gently woke me after six o'clock and we have enjoyed a quiet evening. Interestingly, the graft site is far sorer than my nose. 

Stella and Lexi were delighted to welcome us home, the cat demanded food and the wonderful Michelle had cleaned the house. Bliss! Now imbibing my last glass of delicious vino, I shall soon retire back to our boudoir after another antibiotic and more pain relief, and hopefully sleep the night away. Without any possible public view of my arse. 

 

 

"Feed time" - Sally Skewes... 

 

 

"Screwed!" - Michael Sofoulis... 

 

 

Plein Air weekend - Leon Holmes and Alan Pickering... 

 

 

Marylou Hutchinson... 

 

 

Andy Conlin... 

 

 

And now presenting the NEW LOOK at the East End Gallery! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What I considered I resembled... 

 

 

My nose! 

 

 

My chins... 

 

 

And ending on a serious note, PLEASE get checked if you think you may have one of these.