High on poetry, I read a poem at the Brett Whiteley Studio on Sunday afternoon during the open mic section. The poem, 'Paternal Song', a flowing pastoral thing springing from my son and I walking through the fecund stretches of Seymour Park in Moss Vale, and opening up the world as a result, went nowhere in this year's Blake Prize (I was dejected for a few hours the day I found I hadn't made the shortlist - still, life's in the bouncing back). It was great to broadcast the piece at the Studio and have it received well - one lady in the audience, bless her, likened the work to Gerard Manley Hopkins. I wish.
Hats off to Angela Stretch, Brooke Emery and co. for hosting the readings at Whiteley's Studio. The gorgeous space, with its more-than-a-moa-sized bird eggs on nests almost as expansive as Brett's hair, dead birds (I think I saw either a rock or elegant parrot in a box - cue a Monty Python reference!), range of interesting photos (inc. one of Brett and Malcolm McLaren - spot the difference!), vinyl collection, old stereo, multiplicity of magic art tools and magnificent 'The balcony 2' from 1975 (surely Brett's greatest work) is a beacon in inner-Sydney.
LJ, August 24 2010.