/karen/

So you think you can Degas?

Sunday, 01 March, 2009

Saturday 28/02/09

The alarm went off at 6 which was way too early. I really needed more sleep, but I hadn't planned Friday evening very well. (When I came home after counselling and meeting Guan at BerkelouW Newtown without Bec because she was doing a photoshoot, but we still did a good hour's worth of writing anyway, oh, and then I wandered down King St, poking in the shops and buying cheap CDs at So Music, and then remembering I needed bok choy and some nibblies, which I got from Franklins ... anyway, then I came home and made grilled basa for dinner with bok choy and 2 minute noodles, but Ben was feeling sick, and we sat on the couch for ages, watching taped TV, and then he was too sick to do the dishes, so I washed up, but it was 11 o'clock and I still hadn't packed, so I printed out my packing list and tried to get it together, and packed somewhat haphazardly, and was in bed by about midnight ...)

I felt like I was getting sick, but fortunately I still had some more Vick's First Defence (take at first sign of a cold!), so I took that and some Vitamin C, ate a banana and had some echinacea for good measure. I finished the rest of my packing, then said goodbye to Ben (who was well and truly sick by this stage), and stumbled out into the early dawn to the car.

The fuel gauge was at halfway so I pulled into the closest service station to fill up. Unfortunately I didn't realise I couldn't turn right out of it, so I ended up going this really convoluted route to Liwen's, sort of following my fairly good sense of direction. I had sort of an inkling of where I was and managed to get myself somewhere I recognised, and I got to her place in one piece, relatively on time (7 am), so it wasn't all bad.

We loaded the car and were off fairly quickly, speeding down the highway to my “New” playlist (Jesca Hoop, Beirut, Aimee Mann, She & Him, Ani DiFranco, Bat for Lashes, The Swell Season, Ladyhawke, Andrew Bird, Camille and My Brightest Diamond). It was kind of exciting to be leaving the city behind and going on a road trip (which was the whole point of the thing; when I had dropped off her belated birthday present, she had been full of talk of special deals on cruises to New Zealand, and cheap airfares to Victoria, all the while lamenting she wasn't going to get leave until August. It planted a seed of an idea in my mind: I had been wanting to go to Canberra to see the Degas exhibition at the National Gallery before it closed in March, and she, also being an Impressionist-lover, was the perfect candidate to come with me. Within a week, we had set a date and booked accommodation ...)

We talked TV and movies and the Oscars, food and Chinese medicine. We had agreed to have breakfast on the road, and I was looking for the McDonald's near Sutton Forest, but it seemed like it took a long time to get there—it was further south than what I had remembered. It didn't matter too much; we did have food in the car.

About an hour and a half into the trip, we stopped not at McDonald's, but a diner, and had a big breakfast (hash brown, fried eggs, bacon, mushrooms) for around $11. Then it was back on the road again, and we drove pretty much non-stop to Canberra.

Well, we did make one stop: Lake George (which isn't a lake at the moment [and therefore always reminds me of Holes]).

I hope it becomes a lake again in my lifetime.

We continued on to Canberra. The day was shaping up for its 30 degree heat, as promised. We drove down Northbourne Avenue but took the wrong turn-off to the National Gallery of Australia (NGA). Again, I managed to navigate us back to where we were supposed to be. But the carpark was closed for renovations. We circled the block and even went down to the underground, but there were simply no spots. So I suggested we go to Old Parliament House first—a suggestion to which Liwen readily agreed.

There was plenty of parking there, however I hadn't realised that the portrait gallery had been taken out of Old Parliament House and moved to its own building—the National Portrait Gallery. This had only been done in December last year, so my ignorance was excusable and I didn't end up looking like an idiot.

Old Parliament House is quite a nice building. There was a gold coin donation to get inside, in the lobby we were handed a map containing a self-guided tour, and then we just wandered all around the building. Here's the central table inside the House of Representatives:

And me sitting in one of the seats:

The view from the press gallery:

And the awesome lights on the ceiling:

The building was completed in 1927 so some of the architecture owes its roots to Art Deco.

The offices were another matter: they were still decked out in their 70s/80s trappings—lots of wood panelling, tiny spaces, utilitarian and ugly furniture ...

Here's Bob Hawke's corner office:

(Sorry about the lighting issues.) Here's the main corridor of the Prime Minister's suite:

It's lined with framed photographs of past Prime Ministers who held office in the building. (And that security guard told me to bag my water bottle, never mind that it was already properly capped. Really, what was I going to do? Trip over and wet the carpet? Did he think I was five?) Here's the government party room:

It had a Superman-like phone booth in the corner for MPs to make private calls. This is one of the octagonal tables in the library/reading room:

This, from memory, is the members' lounge/meeting room and mailboxes:

The members' dining room:

(I think we weren't allowed to go in there, but the place wasn't cordoned off properly. Oops.)

The press offices weren't much better, but they had more of a sense of excitement (that or I was just heavily influenced by the way the exhibit was set up). On the way up the stairs to the press offices, we saw this quote on the wall:

It says:

One of the joys of working around here was that you were so close ... you felt always that you were a part of public policy making because you were working so close to Ministers ... and you could write things that you felt perhaps influenced the debate here and there ... Journalism after all is the first rough draft of history. (Fred Benchley, Press Gallery journalist, 1960s-74)

Here is one way to use old paper for decorative purposes:

This is what the press offices looked like back in the 50s or 60s:

A wall of typewriters:

The studio where ministers would give radio interviews:

I don't know about Liwen, but all I could think about was The West Wing while we were walking around. It's kind of sad that my grasp of the American political system is much stronger than the Australian one ...

Whereas the interior seemed rather cramped and claustrophobic, the exterior was bright and expansive:

On the bottom floor two exhibitions were running—one on William Hughes (our Prime Minister during the war years) and one on Prime Ministers' wives. We sped past them. We poked around in the shop (which didn't have anything much) and then went to the Cafe in the House for lunch. (This was where Ben, Lorien, Deb and I went the last time I was there.) It didn't disappoint. I ended up having the roast of the day (pork) for lunch:

Liwen had the fish:

We passed a lovely hour there, then drove back to the NGA. Again, there was no parking underground. Instead of circling, I turned left to go alongside Lake Burley Griffin, and parked somewhat illegally behind a string of other cars. (Liwen pointed out that it wasn't illegal because the parking sign applied hours to weekdays only, and it said nothing about weekends; I maintained it was slightly illegal because I was halfway along the parking sign. But I was also exasperated by this stage and wasn't planning to do anything about it.)

We started walking towards the NGA, and then I remembered I'd forgotten to bring the tickets (booked at the eleventh hour the night before after a week of their site and Ticketek being down), so headed back again. The gallery was humming with people, and, unsurprisingly, most of them were there for Degas. I was glad I had managed to book tickets beforehand; it saved us queueing at the ticket counter and in front of the exhibition doors. The line creeped forward slowly, and wasn't aided by the fact that certain groups (probably those who had paid extra for the tour) got to jump the queue. But Liwen was very patient and didn't let the delay bother her, so I tried to follow her example.

Once inside, it wasn't too bad, despite the crowds. I got to read everything and file slowly past all the paintings and prints. I thought the lighting was rather poor, and the colour the walls had been painted didn't help matters. But I was impressed with the collection. I loved how they chose to group Degas's work according to subjects (one room was devoted to ballerins; one to women bathing; one to horses and racing; one to his photography, etc.) while at the same time working through his repertoire in rough chronological order so you gained a sense of his development as an artist, and the particular flavour of Impressionism he brought to the table (portraiture, capturing movement, informal subjects, etc.) There were also a number of bronze sculptures that had been cast from his wax models, and I stared at them for a long time, marvelling at how well he had captured horses mid-stride and dancers mid-arabesque.

The final room only contained two works: a painting and Little dancer aged fourteen (which is an astonishing sculpture—also cast from his wax original. Apparently it's the only sculpture he ever exhibited.) It had been arranged in such a way that you could view her from three sides.

Then the exhibition ended with the obligatory exhibition shop, with all sorts of Degas-related (and Paris-related) parphernalia on sale. Liwen bought herself a freshwater pearl bracelet, and I finally succumbed and bought the Boston Umbrella Company Frou Frou parasol/umbrella I'd been eyeing for around 12 months (black, of course). I rather like that it has a curved handle; it makes it much easier to carry it on your arm.

On the way out, we were going to have a look at one of the smaller exhibits, but I was told I would have to check the umbrella in at the cloakroom (because otherwise I would poke the paintings with it ...???) We decided not to. We passed through the gallery shop, and we were going to leave, when I caught sight of Monet's waterlilies and was urging Liwen towards it. Once again, we were stopped and I was told to check in the umbrella. I was starting to lose my temper by this stage (given it was the third time I'd been accosted by an exhibition official for some trivial thing), but Liwen turned us both away, and we left.

It was crazily sunny outside, so I thought it the perfect opportunity to make use of said umbrella/parasol. Unfortunately when I opened it, something happened which meant that some of the spokes of the frame around the edges completely snapped. I was horrified. Liwen suggested we take it back. So we walked back in towards the Degas exhibition shop (and were stopped once again and were told to check it in, at which point I snapped at the woman and said, “It's broken. I'm taking it to return it,” and she sympathetically withdrew). I was lucky enough to have the same sales girl, and she swapped the umbrella over for a new one, no questions asked. We exited the NGA yet again, I unfurled the new umbrella with care over our heads, and we crossed the bridge over to the National Portrait Gallery.

I rathered liked the architecture of the place; it reminded me of Berlin where most of Æon Flux the movie was shot.

I especially liked how open the foyer looked.

Once again, we were told by an exhibition official to put the umbrella in the cloakroom. I had been expecting that; I just hadn't been sure where the cloakroom was.

After complying, we started wandering around the portrait gallery which was a lot bigger than what I remembered of it in Old Parliament House. There were paintings, drawings, marble sculptures, photographs, etchings, cartoons, etc. Some of the people I recognised; most I did not. Their stories were really interesting. We didn't make it all the way around to the end because the gallery closed promptly at five and kicked everyone out. One day I'll have to go back there ...

We walked back to the car via the gardens.

Then we drove back north to our hotel (had to circle the block again for that one too as we realised too late we couldn't get into the underground parking without a pass). I waited in the car while Liwen checked in. She returned with two swipe cards, saying that we could park underground but they couldn't guarantee us a spot, but we could try anyway. So we tried, and there was a spot that I squeezed into carefully.

We dragged our bags up to the eighth floor (I pack too much. Or rather, I need to get smaller luggage. With wheels.) Then we flopped onto our beds and relaxed for a bit—turned on the TV and broke out the nibbles. For once, Channel Ten programming was on our side because we caught the beginning of Centre Stage, a movie that we both love (despite its trashiness!) So we watched the first third of that while eating pumpkin seeds and dried apple, drinking green genmaicha tea. I was holding up okay but fading a little; I had missed my lunchtime dose of First Defence, which meant the cold was winning. I tried to get on track again, but I could feel the fatigue and the soreness at the back of my throat.

Finally, as it got close to 7:30, I suggested that we go down and get ourselves some dinner before it got too late. We had talked earlier of going to Manuka, but neither of us could be bothered getting into the car again, and besides, we weren't sure our parking space would still be there by the time we got back. Civic wasn't far away, so we proceeded on foot towards the main shopping strip, talking about our favourite trashy movies on the way (and whether or not they were actually trashy).

We weren't too fussed where we ate, so I suggested Gus's, which is where Ben, Fish, Gary, Jess and I had lunch on our way home from Mount Kosciuszko. Although the specials sounded good, I wasn't in the mood for anything heavy, so settled for the pumpkin risotto (quite delicious!) and a mango and peach frappe. Liwen had fish again. We sat and talked for hours—continuing the conversation about trashy movies, Twilight, adolescence, childhood and how story operates in movies (and therefore the things that annoy me about 10 Things I Hate About You and Ever After).

It got to around 11 o'clock and we decided to go. I was half-heartedly in the mood for dessert, but Liwen can't have sugar, so that made up my mind. We did swing past Koko Black but they were closing, so we headed back up to the room instead. I had a shower while Liwen watched a Chinese film on SBS, then she used the bathroom and I sped through the first 80 pages of Breaking Dawn. Then we went to sleep.

Sunday 01/03/09

With temperatures ranging from 14 to 30, I had wondered whether I would be uncomfortable, sleeping in Canberra, but it wasn't too bad; the cool was actually quite good as it meant I didn't overheat and dream of vampires. I woke unnecessarily at 8, which woke Liwen, but we both lay in our respective beds and dozed for an hour longer. When the alarm went off, we got up, packed our things, Liwen showed me her photos from Tasmania, and then we loaded the car, checked out, and drove to Kingston.

Thanks to a very helpful glossy tourist brochure that we had picked up the day before at Old Parliament House, we figured out how to get to the Old Bus Depot Markets and managed to get there in one piece. Signage for parking was great. Once there, we soon realised that the markets were located right next to the Canberra Glassworks (more about that later).

We hadn't eaten breakfast (well, I had had another banana), but we kept picking at the food stall samples as we went around. I was very taken by some wasabi and seaweed macadamia nuts at the nut stall. I also rather liked this floppy hat at the hat stall (but it was black, and as it was a sun hat, I didn't think it was a good idea to buy a black one, no matter how nice it looked). There was also a stall selling Turkish delight and baklava (yum!) so I bought some for Ben. Unfortunately there was no coconut ice in sight. But there were fruit, vegetables, cheeses, honey, jam, bagels (!!! They are one of the things I miss the most about Canada) and gourmet sausages. There was also freshly squeezed juice from a very interesting machine, and a whole food court of interesting cuisine.

We wandered around slowly, taking it all in. There was a good mix of merchandise available, including felted balls—

—beautiful glass candle holders and ornaments—

—and jewellery. Liwen bought an apricot freshwater pearl necklace, while I finally replaced the necklace string that holds my star around my neck with something a little classier and less likely to catch on my hair.

When we had had our fill, we went down to the food court for some lunch (rice paper rolls for me with a very yummy dipping sauce!)

On our way back to the car, we noticed the Glassworks were now open, so we went in.

It was a gold coin donation, and there were some lovely pieces on exhibit by Clare Belfrage. I probably broke the rules by taking photos, but there were no signs prohibiting photography.

That last one is the skylight above the circular exhibition space in the old kiln.

We poked around in the gift shop, gawking at all the lovely but extremely expensive glassware. I especially liked these cloud paperweights but even they were $88 each.

In the lobby, there was a video playing of some of the artists creating their glassware. We also noticed people coming down the stairs, and wondered what was in the room opposite. We took the lift upstairs and discovered a glass workshop with an area where people could watch the artists at work.

After a while, one of the people down in the workshop put on a portable microphone and started telling us what they were doing. There was this one girl who apparently used to be an artist-in-residence at the glassworks who was making a prototype for a glass tumbler that the Glassworks were thinking of selling in their shop. It was fascinating as he talked us through the process: she would keep returning to the kiln, heating the glass, then working with it for 20 or 30 seconds, before putting it back again; she had only that long to fiddle with it before it would become too cool to be pliable. The ovens were set to 700 degrees, but the heat didn't seem to bother her at all. The other guy—the one who was narrating—helped every now and then, holding things as she rolled the glass, blew into it and shaped it with her tools. When she had finished the base, they transferred it onto another stick (?) so that she could start working on the rim. We watched until she was pretty much finished, and then she put the finished work in another oven where it would slowly cool, coming off the 700 degrees without cracking.

Watching her, it made it hard for me to understand how on earth someone could make something like this:

or the thing next to it:

But they do.

In the room beyond, there were workspaces where other people were taking classes. There was one where some women were learning how to make glass plates:

I just love these paperweights:

They make me think of A.S. Byatt's “The Djinn in the Nightingale's Eye”. And there was also a section of the workshop for people to make glass beads (apparently they do that on Sunday afternoons and the workshops cost $25).

After our tour, we got in the car and drove out. I took a wrong turn, completely forgetting that Brisbane Avenue has a medium strip between oncoming and outgoing traffic, so I had to do U-turns to get back to where I was supposed to be. We navigated our way shakily back to Northbourne, then headed north, listening to Dr Horrible's Sing-a-long Blog (with me explaining the plot to Liwen in between songs). We needed more petrol but I figured we could probably hold out for a bit longer, so I kept driving.

I filled up at Goulburn, then we hit the road again, this time listening to Wicked. Liwen fell asleep as I sang along with Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel. We had talked about going to Berrima to visit the BerkelouW book barn, but when I checked my watch, I figured that there was no point as they would be closing soon, so we continued on to Sydney.

I dropped Liwen home, then continued on. I stopped at the IGA to buy milk and to try and get some more First Defence, but the IGA was just closing. So I drove home, and met Ben on the street. We exchanged brief greetings before he was gone—off to church band practice—so I carried my luggage inside, unpacked and took stock of the weekend.

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