Pavement drawings: Julian Beever
I came across Julian Beever’s chalk drawings in a lesson plan someone had put together for a high school art class. They are pretty amazing. One of my favourites is below. There are lots more here.
Yellow
Yellow always makes me think of sunflowers and sunflowers always make me think of my Bobba (yiddish for grandma). Yellow paint on white paper is so bright you almost have to look away.
blue
Blue is reflective and deep, enticing yet elusive, drawing me in.
chasing my shadow
This time two years ago I was in Apollo Bay on a Sunday morning feeling a bit seedy (boys weekend), watching the runners from the inaugral Great Ocean Road marathon cross the finish line. I had just starrted running occasionally and remember thinking how insane it seemed to run from Lorne to Apollo Bay.
Twelve months later I was down there again, completeing my first 1/2 marathon.
This year I was ready to attempt the full 45km.
We drop Ben and his bike in Torquay and head down to the Lorne caravan park. The weather’s a bit dodgy and I’m regretting my tight-arsedness in booking a tent site. Unfortunately the cabins are all booked so we’re stuck with it. And a sand bar has formed across the Erskine River so half of the caravan park is submerged- caravan park guy says he should charge us extra for the water frontage. Now all of this would have been fine had I not turned my back on the tent at a crucial moment. A gust of wind takes the tent. Simon gives chase but too late. My tent is sailing down the river. I strip off and swim after it while Simon grabs the video camera. Tent is saturated. We’re now faced with the prospect of sharing a small tent and quite possibly cooking breakfast in the rain on the morning of the run.
Ben arrives and we drive him down to Apollo Bay. Feel a bit intimidated driving the route of the run- it’s a long way and hiller than I remembered. Then like a gift from the gods the caravan park guy calls and says someone’s cancelled and we can have the cabin. Such a relief to have a kitchen and beds.
Sleep reasonably well and head down to the staring line after a big breakfast. After months of training and anticipation it’s great to hear the starter’s gun and get underway.
I settle into a bit of a rhythm and pull away a bit at the first couple of climbs around Cumberland River. It’s nice once the groups start to thin out a bit. Ultimately running is a solo event. Weather conditions are perfect- cool but not too cloudy or windy. It’s morning and we’re running west so I chase my shadow all the way as the road unwinds before me.
I stick to my plan and it seems to be working- don’t go out too hard at the beginning, but don’t cruise too much, then see how much I’ve got left after the big hill just after the 1/2 way mark at Kennett River. I take a couple of ‘power gels’ in the second half- there’s no magic surge of energy but if seems to help keep fuel in the tank. In the last 15km I’m feeling really sore across my hips but my legs are still going. Ben’s waiting with the camera on the outskirts of Apollo Bay and I pick up the pace a bit; a big cheer from Gary, Rachel and Penny who’ve done the 1/2 marathon carries me over the line.
Collapse in chair. Drink bottle of water. Stagger to table drink bottle of juice and eat banana. Limp to cafe for more water and jelly beans. Simon joins us- he finished 10 minutes ahead of me, improving on his time at last year’s Melbourne marathon- a very good effort as this is a much harder course. Limp to beach to wade in the cold water- don’t go in further than my knees for fear of being knocked over. Back to cafe where a big meal does wonders. Gary gives us a ride back to Lorne, Ben drives us home with a stop for chilli chips in Lorne and chocolate in Geelong. A spa and sauna at the local pool works wonders. Time for more food now.
Then bed.
3:30:31 (42km)
3:46:00 (45km)
red
Even with the muted tones of the wet on wet technique, tonight red is angry and sharp, pushing me away. Where is the love, the warmth, the life?
in praise of libraries
I love libraries.
At my local libraries (Fairfield and Nortchote) they have lots of books and DVDs and all sorts of things. Today I borrowed Series One of Deadwood, a book about permaculture, and a book of Aesop’s fables.
If something you want to borrow is at one of the neighbourhood libraries they will deliver it to your local library the next day.
If someone has borrowed something and you want it next you can reserve it and they email you when it’s available. They also email you when it’s time to bring your books back.
You can look at all their catalouges, check availability and reserve things on the web. I think you can even extend a loan online.
The librarians are very friendly. Today the librarian let me borrow the 3 Deadwood DVDs even though I already had 3 other DVDs at home. I thought that was really nice of him because I didn’t know you were only supposed to borrow 5 DVDs at a time.
It is all FREE. (Well you have to pay $1 if you reserve something but that’s not very much and you only have to pay if you still want it when it’s available).
Why can’t public transport be more like libraries?
PS. These are some of my favourite libraries:
Fairfield and Northcote libraries
The Baillieu library
Rotterdam library (an odd choice perhaps but I spent many happy hours and read my first Patrick White novel there).
PPS. Someone pointed out the other day that it is hard to think of any famous librarians. Here are a few:
- Casanova
- Laura Bush
- Marcel Duchamp
- Mao Tse-Tung
- J Edgar Hoover
- Karl Marx
- Barbara ‘Babs’ Gordon (Batgirl)
- Ben (my friend)
three into seven
In addition to studying for a Dip Ed this year, I’ve also started a part-time course in Steiner Education. This term we’re doing painting (as well as lectures, reading and stuff).
Here is my painting from the first week’s exercise.
You start with a blank white sheet of paper. So full of potential, yet also vaguely intimidating. Come on. Show me what you’ve got.
A band of yellow splashes across the middle third. At Steiner schools the children paint on wet paper, encouraging them to learn to paint rather than draw with paint. The paint bleeds into the paper and often the painting changes a lot as it dries.
Red on the top third.
Then blue across the bottom.
At this point if you tilt your head to one side it looks like a flag, possibly for a small central American or Caribbean country.
When the yellow is taken up into the red some softness and texture starts to emerge. And more depth when the blue is brought up into the yellow.
Sunset, a lake, a landscape.
I am happy to leave it there, the blue is open and inviting.
Others add red to the bottom of the painting, completing the cycle and the spectrum.
missing pumpkin
MISSING - One large green pumpkin (Like the one pictured below*)
Last seen in our garden on the 30th of April.
Much loved and missed, we had been nurturing and caring for our pumpkin for months. Our pumpkin was happy and has never disappeared like this before. We fear foul play.
We would be grateful for any information regarding our pumpkin’s whereabouts or wellbeing. Reward by negotiation ($/kg).
The missing pumpkin does not have a face.
Big M
I have never seen anyone’s ashes before and I find myself wondering about the minutiae. What colour are they? How big will the container be? I am standing outside my house; it is a little after five o’clock in the morning on ANZAC day. The Southern Cross is visible in the clear sky, which bodes well for our trip.
Although Simon and I haven’t climbed for a couple of years the road to Mt Arapiles is still very familiar. We notice small changes- the public toilets in Beaufort have been moved, there’s some funny graffiti on a sign just outside Horsham. We talk a bit, but not much, about some of Simon’s climbing trips with Morgan.
The only time I ever met Morgan was on a weeklong climbing trip to Mt Buffalo. He’d bought a big new tent and christened it the Taj Mahal. Simon and the others who knew him from school in Sydney teasingly called him ‘Big M’ (little organ), a schoolyard gibe that they all enjoyed.
On our first day there Morgan, Simon and I climbed Maharajah on the Cathedral, topping out in the afternoon sunshine as below us a storm raced down the Ovens and Buckland valleys. Later in the week we got up early and tackled Where Angels Fear to Tread, a stunning 300 metre crack climb up the southern wall of the gorge. Morgan’s climbing, like his humour, was effortless.
I would hear news of him from time to time over the years that followed- the writing, the surfing, the awards, but we didn’t ever meet again.
We get out of the car at the Pines campsite at the base of Mt Arapiles just before nine o’clock and start to rack up. We decide on a Joe Simpson-style ascent, keeping the weight down to maximise ease and speed. The ashes are in a little film canister in Simon’s pocket.
Amazingly, given its popularity, we are the first group heading up the Bard today. A guy on his own wanders up and asks if we mind him watching. He’s visiting because someone he knew died climbing here last year.
Morgan died in a plane crash in Indonesia.
Simon uses his knee while leading the first pitch, an uncharacteristic and unsettling display of nerves and poor style. I’m OK seconding but already feeling edgy about the lead. If Bard is the jewel in the crown for easy climbs at Mt Arapiles, the second pitch is a black diamond- a short traverse across a cramped but beautifully exposed ledge. I make my way out onto the ledge and get a couple of pieces of gear in. My mouth is dry and I’m breathing hard as I squeeze past the under-cling, but still a part of my mind is calm and confident. Physically I know that this is well within my range. I lean out and reach up to find the holds above the ledge and complete the pitch smoothly.
Simon comes across and joins me at the belay. We’re both still a bit freaked but have settled into our routine now. He runs the next two pitches together, giving me time to sit back, take in the view and reflect on why we’re here.
The beautiful duality of climbing is that you spend a lot of your time alone yet always responsible for, and trusting your life to, someone else. A bond is formed.
I join Simon on the ledge at the top of the Bard. The panorama before us takes in Mitre Lake, a vast curve of the Wimmera and the distant Grampians. This is the place we have chosen to say farewell.
Morgan’s ashes are a greyish brown dust. The wind carries them away.
He was a friend and climbing partner. We were lucky to know him. We will miss him.
Vale Morgan Mellish.
Back to school: Week one in prep
Like a couple of other occasional contributors to this site I too have gone back to school. For me it’s a much-anticipated and oft-postponed foray into the world of primary teaching.
After several weeks of sitting at my computer or table reading textbooks and journal articles (I’m studying by correspondence with an interstate university) it was good last week to spend a couple of days in the prep room of a local state school- my first of what will be 96 days of teaching rounds this year.
Highlight- reading ‘The Gingerbread Man’ and ‘Green Eggs and Ham’ to the kids just before home time on Friday.
Lowlight- am already on very good terms with the photocopier.