The RETURN Of My GOOD HUMOUR!

I had the need...the need to vent spleen. Like a dummy-spitting Joan of Arc, I mounted my High Horse of Righteous Indignation to launch a withering diatribe at the unfairness of the Universe. Joan and I were joined at the Hip of Time and Space, a valiant Crusade against the Bad Guys, whilst being shafted by the Good Guys. With a virtual Rod of Fury shoved firmly up my arse, I railed against the injustice of our still limited presence in Western Australia's art community and venues. What did I actually want? I wanted more buck for all my banging of course...

I wise friend took courage in hand and suggested I was chucking a "sad". Initially, I was mildly outraged that I might have been thoroughly milking a "woe is me" moment. Then, naturally, I cooled down and considered my outrage and her measured response. Wise woman, she is...

The East End Gallery and Giftshop has been our Labour of Love. We chose quite deliberately to follow our vision. We bought a broken down building in a great location on Beverley's main drag. Did we have any idea what we had done? Absolutely not. Did Michael envisage being covered with dirt, dust, rat pooh, fretting plaster and broken bricks for four and a half years? Definitely not. Did our money come to a screaming halt with our entire project unrealised? Yep! Have we still built the dream of an inclusive Gallery and Giftshop on tireless enthusiasm and boundless passion? You bet we have.

Which means I really can't complain. If trying to raise more revenue means changing our style, charging our artists and artisans to be part of  the Gallery and raising our commission, that is not going to happen. I could no more be a Stuffed Shirt Front-of-House than enter a Silent Order. Michael could become very disciplined and carefully timetable his creativity. We could set up a Rigid Regime of workshops and have him teaching welding for art with me in the background wielding the whip.

Bollocks to that. We are definite about who we are and what we want. We promote and support artists who have a connection to the Wheatbelt or to us. We share their hopes and dreams. We know their stories. The End.

So, what prompted my blast of momentary misery and aggrieved anger? Misplaced jealousy and envy. That we have a thoroughly unfair and unequal share of art dollars flowing in our direction. My pragmatic socialist views were being booted out the window. My God, I had turned into a greedy Capitalist!

This cathartic journey of self discovery has appealed to my sense of the ridiculous. Stuff money. I am sure that if we ever were really against the financial wall, we could prevail. Somehow, we always manage to produce enough funds out of our bums to pay the insurance and rates. We have teetered of the edge of ruin more than I'd like to admit. Knowing that cash is going to materialise to pay for essentials would be nice, but much more boring!

Now I shall cease to behave like a despicable despot (think Jabba the Hutt), climb down from my soapbox and have yet another cup of tea.

And I have made a new resolution today. I am going to embrace my curves, rather than shudder at them. I accept me, I accept my beloved Michael, I accept the East End Gallery and I accept what will be.

Stay tuned!

 

 

 

Who said I needed a megaphone?

 

 

And boy, did I let rip!

 

 

Like Joan of Arc on her horse...

 

 

With a rod of fury up my arse!

 

 

Where's the vino?!

 

 

Can't say I could become a Stuffed Shirt or a nun. I run off at the mouth far too often!

 

 

 

 

Bugger all these beliefs...

 

 

Absolutely...

 

 

Hence the "Sad"...

 

 

I temporarily morphed into an unpleasant creature...

 Until I had a cathartic light bulb moment!

This Is An Impassioned Plea From The East End Gallery

I try not to give way to histrionics very often, at least not through my written words. I pride myself on being positive, ever optimistic, pragmatic and accepting. What I actually say out loud, particularly when I am frustrated or angry or disappointed, has the capacity to make even me blush.

I have spent this week revitalising the East End Gallery and Giftshop once more. We have welcomed another new artist and accepted new works from existing artists. The East End Gallery resembles the TARDIS. With one hundred and fifty square metres of art space, we always are able to squeeze in just one more piece, just one most talented individual looking for any recognition. We don't have to seek artists out; they come to us. We pride ourselves on being the most welcoming and inclusive art space we can be.

Unfortunately, our joy and our passion aren't enough anymore. We have been playing this game for over nine years. We have always run at a loss. We have begged and borrowed and scratched for funds to pay for the building insurance and the rates and the utilities. Forget maintenance and paid advertising. They don't even enter the equation. We just don't have the money.

We are constantly being praised for having an eclectic Gallery, a beautiful Gallery, an exciting Gallery. We have striven to provide a fantastic experience for our guests. We offer a chance to see Michael in his Studio. We offer welding tuition for creating art. We have tried Artists' Play Days. We have set up artisan demonstrations. We hold Sundowners. We have tried and failed with a website, because the web designer deserted us. I am on social media - Facebook and Instagram on a daily basis. I write this blog. Our monthly newsletter has over four hundred and seventy contacts on the mailing list. What else can I do to promote our Gallery and Giftshop and attempt to give us some sort of income?

Beverley is not Fremantle or Yallingup or Margaret River or Albany. But the East End Gallery and Giftshop also does not have the Fremantle or Yallingup or Margaret River or Albany prices for our displayed artworks. We have affordable prices. We believe that everybody, regardless of their financial circumstances, should be able to own a piece of original art. 

Our latest endeavour is a "Celebration", which hopefully will be held on Friday 3 May from 6 - 8pm in the East End Gallery. We plan to have this event catered, provide decent beverages and encourage our supporters to attend and purchase art from our artists. The RSVP date is currently 3 April, so we can give our caterers (local of course) the numbers. To date, we are looking at no more than fifteen responses.

We can't run the "Celebration" with under thirty attendees. We can't keep operating the East End Gallery and Giftshop without adequate numeration. If we close our doors, over one hundred artists and artisans will lose a home. We can't keep afloat on the sniff of an oily rag.

Please give us a chance to impress and RSVP for our "Celebration" by 3 April.

An artist we know reasonably well has two Galleries in successful tourism spots in Perth. He is a lovely chap. He also had a sizable (to us) profit last year. We would give our back teeth to have a fraction of his profit. We are so tired of this financial hand-to-mouth existence.

Our local non-for-profit Gallery has had a recent plug through the print media. I contacted ABC 720 after listening to a rundown of a suburban open studios in Perth. They didn't even respond to my e-mail...

We survive on pensions and the consistent rent of one shop. We currently provide lodging in an en-suite room in our house to an elderly gentlemen, but we are parting company in two weeks. We have absolutely no guarantee of securing another suitable tenant. We both have health conditions that dislike the cold, hence we try and head north for at least part of each winter in our battered 1997 A-liner. Which of course needs repairs.

The solution? We need our supporters to do just that - support us. We needs those who can to buy the art from our artists to do so. We want to believe our networking will be successful - that those with an eye for interesting or the different or the tantilising or the engaging will turn their vehicles to the East for ninety minutes rather than three or four hours hours to the South or South West.

Please keep our dream alive for us and our artists at the East End Gallery. Come and buy art.

And because this is what I do, week in, week out, here are the latest photographs from our beloved Gallery and Giftshop, taken this evening...

 

 

Sculpture by Michael Sofoulis

Oils by Lorraine Pichugin...

 

 

Watercolours by Val Burns...

 

 

Fabric and feathers by Kira Thompson...

 

 

Cards, soaps and oils...

 

 

Northern Giftshop wall...

 

 

Giftshop goodies...

 

 

Acrylics by Shirley Gillis

Eco printing by 

 

 

More Giftshop treasures...

 

 

Whatever you can envisage, we think we have the answer...

 

 

Dorothy Lullfitz...

 

 

Cloches, brooches, pottery, a skull and octopi...

 

 

Photos by Anna Harris

Pottery by Jan Cross...

 

 

Need a present for that special somebody? Find an original item at the East End Gallery and Giftshop...

 

 

Dorothy Lullfitz...

 

 

Brian Aylward...

 

 

From the Giftshop to the Gallery...

 

 

Marri resin, ink and watercolour by Irene Perry...

 

 

A curtain of Irene Perry pendants...

 

 

Upcycling by Ian Kay and Michael Sofoulis...

 

 

Jess Spring and Michael Sofoulis...

 

 

Paintings, mosaic and metal...

 

 

A touch of French brandy by Mark Price...

 

 

Kimberley scenery by Mark Price...

 

 

"The Blues"...

 

Gallery view...

 

 

Gallery Eastern wall...

 

 

Jane Gates and her fantastically whimsical artworks -

 

 

 

 

Last view of the East End Gallery... for now...

How To Add Drama To Boring Medical Diagnoses...

The old-fashioned British term "rude health" has always amused me. Apparently, to be in rude health is to be fit, strong and very well. A person in rude health might be able to undertake a vigorous run, a challenging bicycle ride or a swim across the English Channel. My own favourite image of rude health is somebody with the gas capacity of Jupiter, trumpetting triumphantly down the High Street, keeping those not in rude health at a safe distance.

Then, there were also those who might "enjoy poor or ill health". My paternal grandmother could have been described as this. She wheezed like a freight train her entire life, possibly due to rheumatic fever as a child. She was an employed and successful unmarried woman, rising to be manager of a small office. Engaged to my grandfather, they had to wait to build their own home before they married. 

Once they'd tied the knot, she produced three strapping boys in six years, and promptly turned into a not terribly bright dithery matron. She enjoyed the card game Solo - a form of Whilst - and procrastinating what to order when the grocer was actually at her back door. She had household help and of course, never worked again. She also lived to an exceedingly ripe old age. And I seem to remember she had a chaise lounge at close hand in case of a sudden fit of the vapours.

Unlike my grandmother, I am most irritated at developing a few chronic health conditions in my early sixties. All of us who have reached a certain vintage would agree that ageing is not always beer and skittles. In fact, becoming older sometimes totally sucks. 

In spite of my recent and rather startling medical results, I am determined to stay as well as possible so I can continue to enjoy life, the universe and everything. Hence, I am now a very good buddy of our GPs, respiratory specialist and skin specialist. In fact, I believe that Scott, our respiratory specialist should provide a repeat offenders discount as now Alex, Michael and me all see him...

What really irks me is the totally banal titles for my conditions. Take "small airways disease" for example. This phrase does not even come close to describing the extent of this nasty little bastard inhabiting the itty-bitty inner tubes of my lungs.  I think a re-name to "Enormously Irritating and Disruptive Pesky Lung Schemozzle". Quite catchy I think...

Then, there is my "Stiff Left Heart Syndrome", which is a much more obscure and perhaps tasteful definition of left heart failure. Basically, my left ventricle doesn't relax well and thus inadequately fills with blood, and then inadequately pumps out that blood to my body. Obviously, a more appropriate explanatory title should be "Buggered Left Heart In Need Of A Long Holiday With Plentiful Cocktails".

"Pulmonary Hypertension" describes high pressure within the arteries that travel from my heart to my lungs. This pressure impedes the blood flow to my lungs, increasing my most annoying breathlessness at inopportune moments. Given that this is a bit of a battle to get through, I suggest to change the name to "Up Shit Creek Without A Paddle In Rather Unhelpful Tunnels". 

"Mild Regurgitation of the Mitral and Tricuspid Valves" really sounds rather revolting. The valves just don't open and close as well as they should, resulting in blood getting really confused about which way to go. Given that this is a problem with opening and closing swinging door-like structures, a far better descriptive phrase would be "Just Try And Close The Bloody Doors! You Weren't Born In A Tent!" 

"Atrial Septal Defect" used to be known as a "Hole in the Heart", which was both terrifying and incorrect. An ASD is actually just the case of a foetal communication called the Foramen Ovale not closing after birth between the two atria as it should. My ASD is apparently quite small but has never closed and was not picked up until a couple of months ago. Apparently, I shouldn't have any problems with its presence in my heart...Yeah, right. In light of its potential influence with all my other hick-ups in that general vicinity, I will now refer to my ASD as "Another Stunning (Albeit Small) Disaster".  

That just about covers reclassification of all my ailments. Just one further whinge then I will be on my way...

I am somewhat cranky at my inability to rid myself of a persistently disagreeable chest infection. Last Friday, I was prescribed two Atom Bomb antibiotics and an oral steroid. I was familiar with one of the antibiotics only. The other one promptly gave me a unprecedented case of the shits which has only subsided today as I ceased taking this explosive pill. These effects were entirely unexpected and I shall be having severe words with my quack when I see him next. Having an infection is one thing. Sharting is not acceptable, especially if ill-prepared for this horrendous consequence to a drug.

In summary, I am not currently in rude health, but I have no intention of enjoying ill health. I am focusing on being at fit and healthy as possible for our Great Northern Exposure this winter, so I can walk and fossick and commune with my beloved Michael, Stella and Lexi and the stunning Western Australian landscapes.

 

 

Most helpful...

 

 

 

Brilliant!

 

 

My interpretation of enjoying rude health...

 

Immediately lie down when having a fit of the vapours...

 

 

I didn't know dinosaurs could talk...

 

 

This ute is buggered...

 

 

Looking forward to plenty of these - to relax my heart of course!

 

 

In the beginning...

 

 

Exactly...

 

 

Now that's "Another Stunning Disaster"...

 

 

You bet I did...

 

 

How unfortunate for the poor lad...

 

A vital addition to the first aid kit in times of emergency...

 

 

Most succinct in this situation...

 

However, I shall prevail! And enjoy time away with Stella and Lexi 

 

 

And my best friend and soul mate, my darling Michael - somewhere in the North-West of Western Australia.