Monday, August 12, 2019

Cauldren

A few days ago I drove a 200km round trip to attend a JobSearch meeting, reciting to myself the whole way 'I am grateful to be invited to this compulsory meeting. I am full of gratitude for my unemployment benefits as it has allowed me to be a bear for a full fortnight at my favourite place, the inlet.'

Yes, my hibernation was for a full two weeks. At times I wondered about my mental health but really, I think I just needed a break. It's been pretty stressy recently, so sleeping, eating, reading, drinking, has been an absolutely marvellous break time in a place where I feel safe and at home.

Anyway, I motored to my appointment, schooled myself on gratitude, had a lovely encounter with JobSearch lady, and then walked into a local art gallery to get my art fix. About six women were sitting around a fire, plastic chairs on the concrete floor. The gallery was shut, they explained, 'but you are welcome to join us' for a meeting about the use of text in art.

I looked around thinking, so this is the beginning of that joke, right ... 'A writer walks into a bar and -' but what followed was a few hours of like-minded creators talking about their art and their creative processes. Never before have I been so keenly aware of how starving I am for this conversation. I love my friends and neighbours; the pig hunters, shack dwellers, bar tenders, fire spotters and wood workers, but I miss terribly the focussed discussions of esoteric yet disciplined researchers. Friday, I met with landscape architects, graphic artists, painters, musicians and poets, and we talked about how we do the things we do. Friday around that fire was absolutely bloody brilliant.

4 comments:

  1. That's me. I wrote not long ago about walking around the city for an hour in a daze after meeting a friend (who I have now dumped) did my head in talking about nothing but car boot sales and bargains for two hours. Not my scene at all. I stumbled upon an art gallery and a tutor from the Royal College of Art in London in a backstreet of Norwich. It is another story why he was there. I talked to him for an hour. It was like drinking nectar.

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    1. Isn't it a brilliant feed on something substantial? I just loved it.

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  2. In the old days, art students would turn up at building sites and ask, "Any fear of a job?" The answer was usually 'Yes' and I cannot tell you the depression which set in at the prospect.

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    1. Ha ha. I’m working again now, few hours but really happy to be back into academia. Back in the day the Oz dole was called The Great Australian Arts Grant. Now it’s pretty hard yakka to get either.

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