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OzCloggie

A Dutch-Australian Connection

Posts tagged with "gallery"

Exhibition a success.

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There was such a wonderful variety of friends, family and their friends present, including virtual friends, from the redbubble.com Australian section.

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Grumpy old men, like me......

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Yesterday, my camera captured the shape of my grandfather, known, in Gouda, the Netherlands, as Fat John (Dikke Jan Mul, de caféhouder.).

I'd inherited it! What happened? O.K.. At Wollongong Teachers College, I learned that endomorph is my body-type. At least, I learnt the word. I already knew I was one, because I used to go, in Gouda, with my best friend, in primary schooldays, to the gymnastics club, where the instructor always had to give me more of a lift-up to the rings, than all the other (skinny) kids. .. I also like to blame a phone-call. I got that, one morning, on the way to school, earlier than normal because, first I was going to give my soccer teams some training. It was my father, via my mobile. Barely audible, telling me not to worry but he didn't feel well. I rang the ambulance. Did a u-turn and when I arrived back home the neighbours were in the street and the ambulance men were just getting ready to take my father to Bankstown Hospital. .. Later, at school, there were complaints because kids had missed out on their training. It was the time when my mother had been taken from the nursing home, to Bankstown Hospital and the registrar informed me that she did not have long. But she did. Dehydration. Wrong medication. She was returned to the nursing home. The District Superintendent summoned me to regional ofice. .. Decision time: Your parents v. the interests of the school. Suggestion: Resign. .. After being a member of the Teachers Federation, since enrolling at Wollongong Teachers College, in 1962, this became the time when I most appreciated its presence. One of the officers there was just great support. Just via the phone and looking after my interest. However, after a few strange weeks, at another school, it became obvious that a somewhat early retirement was the only way. .. The granny flat became my _nursing station_. The iMac my companion. And I sat a lot. .. I was present, in the nursing home, when my mother did pass away, a few years later. (2004). After many falls, my father, had been eligible for _high care_ for some time. The inevitable happened and after a short stay in an unsuitable nursing home, the good news came, that he could move into the retirement village, where he is getting great care.

Yesterday, in the Tap Gallery, Darlinghurst, I briefly chatted with the current exhibitors. Something the man said, *clicked*. It's been said, in different ways before. It's going to take a while to get back _out there_ again. And do things. My iMac will miss me! Such a pity that I wasn't needed to assess beaches, for the first time, since 2002, this year. On the other hand, I'm have _a ball_ getting ready for the exhibition , 6-12 October. I could not have done both. (Assessing beaches is happening - again - right now.)

It is so often told that I was my paternal grandfather’s favourite grandchild (because I was much calmer, than the others, who ran around too much when we visited his café). He’d put me on his lap, while playing cards with his regular customers, when we came for our regular Sunday visits. The maternal grandfather was less impressed. Took me fishing and discovered that I was not game to grab the little struggling fish, on his hook. Although he was quite happy to let me stand on the bridge, while he turned it, to let the ships through.

Party in the 70s. Darlinghurst. Old East Sydney Tech. Being a tourist in my own Sydney. Remembering.

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Last night, walking down a dark street, between Museum Railway Station, in Hyde Park, and the Tap Gallery, in Palmer Street, for a brief moment, I felt exactly the same, as when being a tourist, in Paris, in December 1971, or meeting school-friend, Hans, in Germany, in January 1972, or on more recent trips to Europe.
!http://img508.imageshack.us/img508/6685/walk2cv3.jpg!
Even though I've lived in Sydney, for 52 years, for about 90 seconds, I felt like a tourist.
There was such a mix of old buildings, interesting people, huge, brightly lit windows of some _posh_ establishment where there were clearly businessmen, arriving for some meeting and a very brief look into an internet café, where I caught a glimpse of a woman, of about my age, intently staring at the pc screen, sitting among, I guess mainly back-packers, reporting to relatives and friends, all over the world, on their impressions of Sydney.

In recent years, I feel so much like a country-bumpkin, coming to the city, when very rarely, I catch the train, into town.
Even slightly disorientated. Had not had any reason to actually walk through there, in many years. I *knew* already that I was going to the street, where best friend, Terry, from Maroubra Bay High School used to live, but now, in the dark, I also remembered being at a party, in that street, a bit further up the hill, in 1969, standing on the balcony, with glass of wine, with colleagues, from my favourite school.
One of these was also Dutch and (as often happened) the topic was the lack of culture, compared to Europe.
(Whenever my parents met up, and that was very, very often, with Dutch friends, in the 50s and 60s, the most common topic was the state of the highway here and the lack of proper signage, on street corners.)
..
I will never stop being surprised, at how your mind is like an iMac that stores certain images and memories, which never get wiped.
..
In my enthusiasm for for this event and the lack of experience with train time-tables, I was quite early.
Steve was still taking care of the snacks and things.
I straightened up a painting that had let go of the blue-tack and was proud to see one of my paintings, as I walked in.

Last night, one of the guests, sat down at the keyboard and played a tune. I rushed up to him an explained that I have *everything* that was ever produced by and about Dean Martin.
This includes, on several CDs, Bob Hope introducing Dean, with the words: I went over to Slapsie Maxie's the other night. As I walked in, that brand new pair of comedians, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis were performing their act. Dean Martin was singing..................
....and then you hear Dean sing: Everybody loves somebody sometime......
which is what this fellow played, last night, except that he expressed surprise.

Said he had no idea that that was Dean Martin's tune!
Now I feel like writing........_as I walked in last night, Steve was still cutting up the cheese and arranging last-minute details_.........
[IMG= http://img440.imageshack.us/img440/8295/nibbliesnq0.jpg]
http://img440.imageshack.us/img440/8295/nibbliesnq0.jpg
Anyway........
.....I could have a good look around, before the place got crowded, soon afterwards.
The brother (I assume) of the Boy from Bourke (My painting) and Remi and The Girls, I found, around the corner.


After the conversation, with George (at the piano) and the whole experience, I reckon I shall be in the neighbourhood there more often, returning where it more or less began, nearby, in East Sydney Tech and the Art Teachers Conversion Course.
...........
Some time later..............

My son and my daughter came with me, to visit my father (91), in Abel Tasman Retirement Village, on Sunday.
It was Fathers Day. (Celebrated in September, in Australia. Mothers Day is in May, like the rest of the world.)
After we visited my father we drove to the city and had lunch, in Oxford Street, Sydney.

Then we walked around the corner, into Palmer Street, where, in the 50s and 60s, my best friend, from Maroubra Bay High School (Heartbreak High setting, when it was abandoned.) used to live.

We walked into the Tap (Art) Gallery where I showed them the four paintings of mine which are part of the About A Man exhibition.
We had coffee upstairs and then we spoke to Lesley (in-charge).

Before I knew it, we had agreed that a great way to celebrate my birthday would be the opening of my own exhibition, with 65 paintings to celebrate my 65th birthday, on October 8, 2008.
Gosh! Once again, my daughter and my son gave me the push that was needed.

(My son, quite a few years ago, took ME to buy MY car. HE spoke to the salesman because my son knew what was best for me. I just told the salesman I wanted a white one.)

(My daughter, a few years ago, took me to lunch - on Valentine's Day - to Hazelhurst Art and Community Centre and THAT is how I ended up attending a regular, weekly art class there and producing, in less than three years, those 65 paintings.)



Party in the 70s. Darlinghurst. Old East Sydney Tech. Being a tourist in my own Sydney. Remembering.

, , , ...


Last night, walking down a dark street, between Museum Railway Station, in Hyde Park, and the Tap Gallery, in Palmer Street, for a brief moment, I felt exactly the same, as when being a tourist, in Paris, in December 1971, or meeting school-friend, Hans, in Germany, in January 1972, or on more recent trips to Europe.
!http://img508.imageshack.us/img508/6685/walk2cv3.jpg!
Even though I've lived in Sydney, for 52 years, for about 90 seconds, I felt like a tourist.
There was such a mix of old buildings, interesting people, huge, brightly lit windows of some _posh_ establishment where there were clearly businessmen, arriving for some meeting and a very brief look into an internet café, where I caught a glimpse of a woman, of about my age, intently staring at the pc screen, sitting among, I guess mainly back-packers, reporting to relatives and friends, all over the world, on their impressions of Sydney.

In recent years, I feel so much like a country-bumpkin, coming to the city, when very rarely, I catch the train, into town.
Even slightly disorientated. Had not had any reason to actually walk through there, in many years. I *knew* already that I was going to the street, where best friend, Terry, from Maroubra Bay High School used to live, but now, in the dark, I also remembered being at a party, in that street, a bit further up the hill, in 1969, standing on the balcony, with glass of wine, with colleagues, from my favourite school.
One of these was also Dutch and (as often happened) the topic was the lack of culture, compared to Europe.
(Whenever my parents met up, and that was very, very often, with Dutch friends, in the 50s and 60s, the most common topic was the state of the highway here and the lack of proper signage, on street corners.)
..
I will never stop being surprised, at how your mind is like an iMac that stores certain images and memories, which never get wiped.
..
In my enthusiasm for for this event and the lack of experience with train time-tables, I was quite early.
Steve was still taking care of the snacks and things.
I straightened up a painting that had let go of the blue-tack and was proud to see one of my paintings, as I walked in.

Last night, one of the guests, sat down at the keyboard and played a tune. I rushed up to him an explained that I have *everything* that was ever produced by and about Dean Martin.
This includes, on several CDs, Bob Hope introducing Dean, with the words: I went over to Slapsie Maxie's the other night. As I walked in, that brand new pair of comedians, Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis were performing their act. Dean Martin was singing..................
....and then you hear Dean sing: Everybody loves somebody sometime......
which is what this fellow played, last night, except that he expressed surprise.

Said he had no idea that that was Dean Martin's tune!
Now I feel like writing........_as I walked in last night, Steve was still cutting up the cheese and arranging last-minute details_.........
[IMG= http://img440.imageshack.us/img440/8295/nibbliesnq0.jpg]
http://img440.imageshack.us/img440/8295/nibbliesnq0.jpg
Anyway........
.....I could have a good look around, before the place got crowded, soon afterwards.
The brother (I assume) of the Boy from Bourke (My painting) and Remi and The Girls, I found, around the corner.


After the conversation, with George (at the piano) and the whole experience, I reckon I shall be in the neighbourhood there more often, returning where it more or less began, nearby, in East Sydney Tech and the Art Teachers Conversion Course.
...........
Some time later..............

My son and my daughter came with me, to visit my father (91), in Abel Tasman Retirement Village, on Sunday.
It was Fathers Day. (Celebrated in September, in Australia. Mothers Day is in May, like the rest of the world.)
After we visited my father we drove to the city and had lunch, in Oxford Street, Sydney.

Then we walked around the corner, into Palmer Street, where, in the 50s and 60s, my best friend, from Maroubra Bay High School (Heartbreak High setting, when it was abandoned.) used to live.

We walked into the Tap (Art) Gallery where I showed them the four paintings of mine which are part of the About A Man exhibition.
We had coffee upstairs and then we spoke to Lesley (in-charge).

Before I knew it, we had agreed that a great way to celebrate my birthday would be the opening of my own exhibition, with 65 paintings to celebrate my 65th birthday, on October 8, 2008.
Gosh! Once again, my daughter and my son gave me the push that was needed.

(My son, quite a few years ago, took ME to buy MY car. HE spoke to the salesman because my son knew what was best for me. I just told the salesman I wanted a white one.)

(My daughter, a few years ago, took me to lunch - on Valentine's Day - to Hazelhurst Art and Community Centre and THAT is how I ended up attending a regular, weekly art class there and producing, in less than three years, those 65 paintings.)



Inspired by Rembrandt

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Inspired by Rembrandt is the title given to a competition, or search, organised by Radio Netherlands and it truly DID inspired me to paint, in recent months. Sadly,my work did not make it into the list of 18 finalists.

There was my self - portrait.













My painting of me, in front of the entrance to the town hall of the city (Gouda), where I was born.














There was the 'group portrait'. Three children. Two from Rembrandt's time and one from this century.
The painting celebrates two lots of '400'. 400 years since the birth of Rembrandt. 400 years since the Dutch found and mapped large parts of the Australian coast. The girl is Australian. The boys Dutch.













There was the painting of Ike, who lives in the Netherlands, praying.

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