May 1964, the neighbour comes for a quick visit to my dad in New Guinea.
More sensible – he (dad) was a visiting medical witness in a number of court cases and would always bring home some of the rich artworks that were made in this region. Without full knowledge I believe this is part of a welcoming ceremony. I have the images but the stories are left to the imagination.
This sepik ancestral mask was gifted in one such visit. It was one of many that looked sternly down at me most of my growing years. Maybe it was approving, but it didn’t feel like it.
Sanur Beach, Bali, 1973. This was well before the island became Australia’s drinking hole. I’m apparently the only person swimming that day.
At the centre of Sanur village was a gamelan instrument which could be operated by myself (long pants) and brother (no pants). This was an important musical influence for both of us.
The best way to defeat Rangdar (apart from being Barong) is to buy her mask and then use it on an album cover.
When I was very small I was taken across town every weekend to see my grandmother, sadly in the last days of her life, stuck waiting to get onto the next bit if it exists. Being small I didn’t understand and was only pleased that we would pass by Ces Cook’s Magic Shop on Oxford Street.
Looking back at the photos (which have been hard to find) I can’t believe the difference between the memory (which is astoundingly magical) and the reality which sat on cheap metal shelving. That difference is exactly what I desire from life.