Fred Williams was afraid of the bush, I was told once. I’ve never known what to make of this ‘interesting fact’. Is it even true? Did he leave his Hawthorn home every month to overcome fear? Why spend a lifetime painting landscapes you’re afraid of? A Prahran art student painted Fred Williams pizza. A disc of black blobs and red straggles resembled an overladen Napoletana. This pizza was not amusing. I liked Williams. He showed me new understandings of micro fern and macro ranges. His eye spent years in beatitude examining January wreck of bushfire, July hint of early wattle.
Saturday, 23 July 2016
Frances Perry knows appearances are false. The history of photography is a history of falsity. One day that will be a platitude. These thousand-image devices prove incidental, a gallery of deceit. Sufficient unto the day are the images thereof, but in the morning a new song will arise. Best be ready for its challenges, put away all appearances and attempts at appearances. Psalms repeat lines for effect: a new city rises from the rich earth. Frances Perry has births to attend to, visitations, counsels, and lectionary. It’s a kind of exile, the beautiful colonies, burning in January, frozen in July.
Thursday, 21 July 2016
Barbara Darling managed libraries. In 1983 she invited me to a conference that July. She came to my room in Parkville to make clear I was needed. It was the first time we met. She was a great one for book learning, but the person came first. Barbara became a bishop. Not that this is the person I remember, in an official Reiss-Orford photograph. The last time we met was in my room at the Community library in Cheltenham. Always her friendly smile. Barbara had a bootload of books to donate, now she was ‘retiring’ to study further Spiritual Direction.