Mijn beste vriend, op de middelbare school (Maroubra Bay High School, waar, toen die school leeg stond, het gebouw en speelplaats, enz., gebruikt werd for de TV serie: Heartbreak High), was Terry Turner.
En hij woonde in Palmer Street, bij de binnenstad van Sydney, in die jaren 50. ( Denk aan de walletjes in Amsterdam. )
50 jaar later ben ik weer eens terug geweest, in die zelfde straat.
Helemaal veranderd.
Daar wonen nu mensen met geld en, om de hoek is Oxford Street, en daar wandelen veel heren en dames die samen leven met dames en heren en een goed inkomen hebben.
Daar is al enige tijd de Tap Art Gallery. Wordt beheerd door kunstenaren. De manager is Lesley.
En, afgelopen week hingen daar vier van mijn schilderijen. De tentoonstelling was genaamd: About A Man.
Het was hier vaderdag, vorig weekend. (Ja Moederdag is het zelfde als in Nederland. Maar Vaderdag wordt op een andere datum gevierd.)
Trots nam in mijn zoon en mijn dochter naar de Tap Gallery.
We spraken met Lesley en voor ik het wist, hadden we afgesproken dat ik mijn 65ste verjaardag daar zal vieren met 60+ schilderijen, die ik binnen de afgelopen drie jaar geproduceerd heb.
Dus nu ben ik een paar keer weer terug in Palmer Street geweest en, om de hoek, waar de andere ingang is kwamen nog meer herinneringen terug vloeien.
Het was in begin jaren 70 dat ik een keer daar ietsje verderop in die straat, was uitgendigd door een collega. Een onderwijzeres dus.
Er was een party.
In die tijd was er geen politie langs de weg met aparaten, om je adem te keuren.
We dronken wijn uit die grote flessen (flagons). Was nog vóór de dozen.
Gek dat ik me zo goed herinneren kan dat het onderwerp, op die warme zomer avond, was: Australië heeft geen cultuur. Niet genoeg kunst. Opera. Ballet enz., om van te genieten, zoals in Europa.
Mijn indruk is dat mijn collega, ook een immigrant uit Nederland, een beetje heimwee had.
Maar ja. Toch had zij TOEN wel een beetje gelijk.
Ik heb al, via Redbubble verteld hoe het komt dat dit nu allemaal weer door mijn hoofd gaat:
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.
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 and 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_………
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 (Alleen Op De Wereld) and , 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.
………..to be continued……..
