[Miscellany]

Working in a school I know that "sorry" is a word that is of paramount importance. One encounters it on a daily basis, an hourly basis even. It's apparent to me and has always been, that only the truly arrogant do not see the point in saying sorry. It's the same children that can't give a sincere apology that find it hardest to not only make friends, but more importantly keep friends. It's those that can't say sorry, that also have problems empathising, problems sympathising, problems engaging and problems growing emotionally as humans. Some never say it at all - steadfastly refusing on some technicality never realising that the word is symbolic of mate ship - the one true Australian value. Some children need to understand a situation better before they will utter it, some will take the responsibility on the chin and say it when it needs to be said and others still will say sorry even on behalf of their friends because they know that sorry is not always about blame but also (and most importantly) about comforting someone to the point where they are then able to move forward.

And so, with this in mind the collective we: Australians who cared about taking a united step forwards, waited today for the word we knew was aimed to give comfort, to put a hand on the shoulder of a whole race of people, our oldest people, and say not 'we regret that..' but that we are sorry - because when all is said and done this is what a friend would say to another friend. I'm sorry, you didn't get that job. I'm sorry your mother died. I'm sorry this bad thing happened to you. And yet, this devastating issue of an indigenous generation ripped away from their families many years ago now, had not heard that simple two syllable word...until today.

And it was said.
And it was good.
And hopefully from this little thing big things will grow.

From Little Things Big Things Grow - Paul Kelly (written with Kev Carmody) (A song worth listening to)


in case the player doesn't work

Labels: dirty pinko, music, oz, political musings, symbolism

posted by M at 6:41 pm 26 comments

Australia day was served up to me this morning via a smallish flag atop a lovely dish of breakfast in North Melbourne as the sun beat down from the bluest sky. My post today is actually one that was from the old blog. I wrote it a few years ago but haven't posted it here and it's one of my favourite posts I've written about Australia day.

You might not get all the references and you know what? That's a good thing.

As Australian as..

a pot of cold beer (letting the kids drink the head), sunday cricket in the street, licking sunny boy dribble from down your arm on a 40 degree day, the insriparional words of Dorothea McKellar, fractured conversation in broken English from migrant women wearing black mourning clothes, souvlaki on the beach, Ned Kelly's last stand, the stolen generation, drinking good Italian coffee outside a busy trattoria, fluro zinc on the tip of your nose, drunken singing along to the Hunters and Collectors, fear of red backs, slip slop slap, playing under the sprinklers while the sky turns pink above you, stubby holders in your football team's colours, water bomb fights in the school yard, good yum cha, Cathy Freeman's two Australian flags, free settlers, European Migrants, Bloody stupid wogs, Indian accented Australians, Indigenous to the land, Aussie, Aussie, Aussie.. oi oi oi, a friendly smile, a rude joke, heavy rain after a scorching day, Bert Newton's hair piece, Ray Martin's hair piece, Aboriginal Art in New York City, "My home lies wide a thousand miles in the Never Never land", Tim Winton's famous waves breaking on the West Coast, Uluru; sacred heart of the red centre, the dichotomy of Steve Irwin; both ridiculous and knowledgeable, picnics by the Yarra, having a bet on the horses, staying up late to watch the world cup, watching the 7.30 report on Auntie, revering Parkinson as god of interviews, holidays in Bali, drug running in Indonesia, American sitcoms on the telly, listening to the crickets loud song reverberate well into the night, Australia shaped car aerials on a VWs, vegemite on toast for breakfast, matzah ball soup for dinner, Burka's adourned with beautiful broaches, duty free Bundy, coupling with GW, lamington drives, Dawn Fraser's magnificent trifecta, Foreign News on free to air telly, The First Fleet, swatting the flies from your face, "you call that a knife?", Holocaust survivors settling in Bondi, Whispering Jack, Kamahl, beaurocracy, Kylie Minogue's fake British accent, Jason Donovan gone bad, Greek Greengrocers who know their shit, really bad perm jobs, Fashion Week, bush fires leaving a black trail across the parched land, twisted gum trees reaching their spidery fingers towards the sky, Kebabs outside night clubs, the gay and lesbian mardi gras, Making fun of American reality television, Opera House tea cosies, Eiffel tower calendars, learning another language, watching old men play bocce at the local park, blogging, David Helfgott's mastery of classical piano, Baz Luhrman's quirky reappropriations on celluloid, leaving European history behind for prosperity in a new country, Mabo, Mambo, surfing, skate parks, homeboys holding their pants up yo!, Koala Bear (but it's not a bear!), embarrassed at ourselves, race riots at the beach, moshing at The Big Day Out 'till you pass out from heat exhaustion, Making fun of the politicians, men in suits wearing Burberry, men in stubbies wearing metho, arse not ass, shiraz, "Australia don't become America", a Maccas run at 3am, roast on the spit in the backyard, Buon Natale!, Happy Hannuka, a gift of dyed red eggs on Greek Easter from your neighbour, The Southern Cross; mother to us all, Waltzing Matilda; father to our theiving hearts, "not happy Jan", Pauline Hanson picking at the scab, the myth of Australian ethnicity?, performing ethnicity Helen Demidenko style, drinking Grappa and singing loudly until the neighbours call the cops, weird busking spacesuit guy on the corner of Burke and Swanston, Bluey, the Packer media empire, 8-up doc martins with pink laces, gothic babes in pleather, plumber's cleavage, Carlotta, Germaine Greer, Asian-Australian football league, Midnight Oil's heartfelt political diatribes, Schindler's List (yes Australian!), click go the sheers boy, "Hello Possums!", fighting against conscription, beatlemania, ABBA Down Under, John "bloody" Laws, Making fun of the Eurovision Song Contest, playing Scopa while drinking Fosters, absolutely refusing to go near Fosters, Molly Meldrum's hat, of course I can use chopsticks!, Multiculturalism, White Australia Policy, dole bludgers, Mandawuy Yunupingu, "I say Arthur", tai chi on the beach, raves at the docklands, muck up day, Truganini's determination, Rolf Harris' wobble board, Come on Aussie come on!, Fish and Chips, suishi in a classy restaurant, Aussie battlers, bloody whinging pomms, the reclaiming of the word 'wog' in order to make fun of Skippys, Shakespeare in the park, Sidney Nolan's historical accounts without using words, The big Pineapple, bush polka, ballet recitals, Macedonean wedding dances, the Japanese Gold Coast, still a Monarchy?, "you little beauty!", making and bottling your own spaghetti sauce for the year, "there was movement at the station for the word had passed around..", the Amercians poisoning Phar Lap?, Bicentenial coins for Australian children in 1988, take away curry, dim sims, The Rainbow Serpent creates land and life, bi-lingual families, European roots planted firmly at home (everywhere), working visa, dual citizenship, detention centre hunger strikes, diaspora; "from all the lands we come".

It was never really one thing, was it?

Labels: memories, oz, pop culture, the list

posted by M at 5:31 pm 15 comments

In my world there are a few main types of art.
-That which tells a story
-That which allows you to tell the story
-That which is the story.

In visual art I totally reject the claim that abstract art is not art. That kind of claim is ignorant. Sorry, if you are one of those people who believe abstract to be "lesser than", but you're narrow minded. Abstract art allows the viewer to tell the story, to re-interpret, to invent and to dive in. Abstract art is not always my cup of tea, but it's important.

That art which tells the story is different to abstract. The art which tells a story has it all planned out from the word go - it's a straight forward narrative, and there is certainly merit in that. It might be a historical account, a dance or a slice of the madness within. It allows the viewer to sit back and ponder the life and times of what was happening when the art was created. It's also important.

Then there is that which is the story itself. This is the piece of elusive art that captures by controversy, or by titillation, or because it's simply famous - and fame breeds fame. Also important, people respond to it.

Music is the same. Sometimes I don't want the lyrics, because I want to make my own story up, and sometimes I just want a bit of fame-whore pop to get senseless too - but sometimes I want to be told a story. For me there are a few wonderful storytellers through music out there - Bob Dylan, Nick Cave, Leonard Cohen, Joni Mitchell... so many more. But in recent years Paul Kelly has really captured my imagination. He reminds me of being young and having a story read to me. He reminds me of being a bit bewildered and excited by something which takes me outside of myself and also for reminding me of the things that are intrinsically me, maybe just because I'm Australian. When I think of Paul Kelly, I think of Melbourne and her stories nestled in the spaces between buildings and drifting along the power lines of the outer suburbs and then outwards again into the wide deserted landscape of the 'country'.

When it was Australia day I wanted to write about how being Australian is really only ever defined by the stories we tell. I got caught up in other things - but I really believe that our stories are all we really ever have. It's what this country was founded upon - Dreamtime stories and dances and myths and song and...art. Then stories of settlers and their struggle with the land and the stories of immigrants and their young families, of exclusion, sadness, wisdom and triumph. Now, the stories we tell are the ones which feature everyday maladies of being young, or old, in love or ...just reality.

That's what I like about Paul Kelly. He has a story to tell - and it feels real. This song is one of my favourites. I always wonder what happens next...

To Her Door - Paul Kelly

Labels: life and art, musical monday, oz

posted by M at 9:19 pm 21 comments

The thing about Australia Day is that I'm always left wondering what it means to be 'really Australian' - and if there really is such a definition. Do we look to our international perception? Kangaroo pet keeping, 'this is a knife' quoting, beach going, blond/e, always tanned, ocker colloquialism saying, unable to speak or understand other languages, beer guzzling, cricket loving, laid back rednecks who surf. This may or may not be true, in fact as I was writing it I recognised that despite the fact that I don't know anyone who owns a kangaroo every other stereotype is more or less true - ...and also more or less false. We all know some people who are like that and also people who defy that stereotype while still maintaining their Australianess.

How do you pigeon hole a nation that is always completely at odds with itself? A nation that is always trying so hard to define what it is, and always trying to set boundaries and limits as to what it means to be Australian and un-Australian but always falling short?

Maybe we should define ourselves not by how other see us but how we see ourselves - meat eating, good wine drinking, educated, good humoured, in many cases bi-lingual, sun-kissed beach going, animal loving, accepting, politically aware and continental. But that too is problematic - not all of us see ourselves that way and many of us reject many of those things as unAustralian.

Is it about the piece of paper or passport that proves you are Australian? Or is it knowing the words to the national anthem (does anyone know the second verse?)? Or is it a feeling? A pedigree? A skin colour? All of those things? None of them?

As part of our celebrations of Australia Day Tim Flannery was awarded "Australian Of the Year". I'm reading his book "We are the Weather Makers" at the moment and wondering about our Australianess. Maybe it doesn't matter how we see ourselves or how others see us but where we are going in the future? What will Australia be like in the future? Already we're seeing how irresponsible we have been regarding environmental factors - will our whole culture and society change in order to facilitate change for the better or will things get worse? In 50 years are our 'young and free' children going to be able to get a suntan, while BBQing fresh meat on the beach as they're taking in the backdrop of our abundant and strange flora and fauna - or are these the things we're taking for granted that will be around forever? Does Australianess depend on Australia; the land itself? If the land is deteriorating then what will our culture be like in the future?

But it's not all bad yet, is it? There will be much consumption of good food, and good laughs shall be had today as we take in the rays as we celebrate ourselves.

What is your impression of Australia?

Labels: oz

posted by M at 9:28 am 42 comments