On the walls of the goal

Melbourne elders soon realised they had need of a goal. Small cramped alleys and lanes off the downtown streets grew to be a hotbed of larrikins, larceny, debauchery and violence. The ‘back slums’ they were called and the Melbourne lockup, which started out as a 2-roomed hut belonging to John Batman, one of Melbourne’s founders, was eventually replaced by a more significant structure that had a roll call of nearly 60 males and 9 females on its opening in 1845, just prior to the discovery of gold.

Numbers changed over time, with the wax and wane of the gold rush. The little huts and dirt tracks of the goldfields were soon replaced by wide streets and long boulevards making room for the many immigrants, including convicts, relocating from other states, who came further afield looking for work often well removed from the government seat that was Sydney and its surrounds. With the separation from New South Wales in July, 1851 Victoria could no longer send away her serious offenders, then with the discovery of gold just a month later the population grew sevenfold in just the ten years to 1860. 

The relatively new Melbourne Goal became quickly overcrowded so an extension had to be built, and that was no sooner completed when two more floors of debtor’s cells and single cells were added in order to cope with the influx. As well, temporary stockades were set up in more populous suburbs to try to alleviate the crises. Hulks were even moored in the bay to take some of the prison overflow short term. Growth became so rapid that nine complete new prisons were built in that decade, the largest being Pentridge, which opened in Coburg in 1858.

We toured the old Magistrate’s court on one of our days when we walked in downtown Melbourne. It sits on the site of the old Supreme Court where Ned Kelly was sentenced to death, and where many of Melbourne’s most notorious criminals stood to hear their grim fates, including hanging. Many of us wore costumes of the era and enacted bits of the trial of Ned Kelly. We walked through heavily graffitied cells and found time to read some of the very poignant comments of some of the inmates, both male and female. Often in a state of hopelessness. 

We learned of the in-house violence and tragedy which highlighted the sad plight of those who were unlucky enough to have to attempt to survive in such places. Australia’s early goals were far from pleasant.

Diggers and dwellings

One thing we didn't tend to think about in history classes was how and where our early settlers in Australia lived. One of our sightseeing days in Melbourne clarified this for us somewhat. Albeit, long passed our school days.

When gold was discovered in 1851 Victoria became overrun with diggers, heading for the goldfields, as well as an influx of merchants catering to their needs. For many, if they had a home at all, it was likely a tent in a huddle of other tents which could cost something in the vicinity of five shillings a week at the time. 

As the crowds grew, the demand for housing quickly became critical. Luckily for the Aussie newcomers, the Californian gold rush had happened earlier, and manufacturers in England had already learned to cater to the demand for cheap, affordable housing that could be easily transported overseas, and easily constructed, on arrival. So that slower design phase had already passed. Aussies, then, with the will and the means, had only to go in search of a catalogue from which they might order from abroad any portable iron flatpack in any configuration they desired, from a one bedroomed home to a church, a theatre, or even a factory, if they so desired.  And they did. Hundreds upon hundreds of portable iron structures were ordered. Then it only needed the wait for the ship to arrive with their order. 

The flat packs were unloaded on the docks as complete as the original order inventoried. Some packs came with wallpaper and water closets, others with carpet and furniture included. In some constructions the external iron sheet walls were simply made to easily slide into slotted corner supports pre-cast to accept the corrugated wall sheeting and to reduce the chance of water ingress. In other cases, the very crates which held all the components were made to measure carefully so that they might became lining boards, for the walls or floors, once deconstructed. Even Ikea would likely have been very impressed.

Many of these portable homes arrived and were erected. We found three, all together, on one National Trust site in South Melbourne. Two of the smaller homes had been rescued from demolition and were moved quite recently; the other, larger one, was in situ, backing onto a street known as Tin Pan Alley, because of the proliferation of metal houses that once lined both sides of the lane. It was erected in 1853, and just two years later its value, in the Rate book, was listed as £44. And still it stands.

These metal structures were not conceived simply as temporary homes for the latest goldfields. They were the forerunner for metal structures that were to grow higher and wider than ever before, given the strength of the material. So impressed was Prince Albert, Queen Victoria’s consort, at the displays at the Great Exhibition in 1851, that he ordered a good sized ballroom for Balmoral to be made of iron, 60 x 24 feet, which was packed and delivered in just weeks. 

We learned, too, not to assume that a house would have always been ready and available for some of our governors when they first stepped onto Australian shores. Charles La Trobe, first appointed superintendent of the Port Phillip District of New South Wales in 1839, then, later, lieutenant-governor of Victoria, bought his own house on the boat with him when he learned, that as yet, there was no official house built for him and his young family. 

This was earlier than the iron flatpacks of the gold rush period. La Trobe’s cottage was packaged for shipping as prefabricated panels of timber. The initial structure was for only two rooms, but his builder soon added a much needed dining room built of local material as the imported panels were raised and connected. And the house grew as the family grew with later extensions for a library and a nursery and outbuildings for kitchens and servants quarters. 

But over the many decades since then the cottage has deteriorated and what little is now left of the home has been preserved. The remainder reconstructed along the lines of the original home. And re-sited in the Botanic Gardens. Interestingly, the cottage still displays some pieces of the La Trobe family’s original furniture in the house museum run by National Trust volunteers.

Small portable iron house

Larger portable iron dwelling 

Even with the luxury of a door

 to the outside

Downstairs timberlined and fireplace

La Trobe's Cottage, renovated

La Trobe fireplace as it likely was

Upstairs rooms to order

Street walk, street art

As in other great cities there are excellent walking tours of Melbourne. We walked the lanes and byways of the city with dozens in a great group and discovered interesting little snippets about Melbourne that were new to us.

The “Paris end of Melbourne”, east of Collins street towards the treasury gardens, came to be so known when the owners of the Oriental Hotel sought permission from the council to set up a boulevard cafe on the sidewalk outside the hotel. 

At first permission was refused, but, after many a long decade, and just as the 1956 Melbourne Olympics rolled up as an international influence on the near horizon, permission was finally granted for nineteen tables to be allowed space on the sidewalk. Melbourne folk thronged to find a seat. "It is just like the Champs Elysees back in Paris” enthused the owner’s wife, who, herself, was a Parisian. And so the newspapers reported it. And so the notion came into being. And stuck, even today. But, the now dismantled Oriental was the first of them. 

The Green Brain canopy atop one of RMIT buildings in La Trobe street was pointed out to us as being commissioned as a new and creative renovation that cost millions.

It is almost as if a green sludge monster has been allowed to grow malformed and unimpeded atop the plain red brick building beneath, and captured there, cast in fixative and neon plastic. With not a hint of connectivity between the building and the canopy. So, not exactly architecture inspired by its context, unfortunately. 

Some people think it creative. Others think it such an eyesore they cannot bear to look at it.

Our guide pointed out several other interesting buildings as we came across them. The Eureka Tower, for one. Named so, after the Eureka stockade when gold miners rose up against the unfair tax being imposed by the government. Architects have integrated points of history and detail into the very fabric of the Eureka Tower to enrich its tale.

The gold tower at the top is symbolic of the gold rush, of course. The red stripe, a slash down the side of the building, represents the blood that flowed as the miners rebelled and many died. The blue glass of the building and the white slashes represent the blue and white colour of the Eureka flag. As well, the white lines across the length of the building see the whole as a surveyor’s ruler, broken into its parts by precise white horizontal measurement lines. 

To reinforce the gold connection the building has 24 carat gold plated windows on the top ten floors. A lovely building. 

Another interesting building that was pointed out to us was the William Barak apartment building. William Barak, we learned, was an early elder of one the aboriginal tribes in the area. He was actually present, it is believed, when Batman drew up his land ‘purchase’ treaty with the aboriginals. Not only that, but he became one of the wise advisors on Wurundjeri ways as well as developing into a great artist, reflecting and honouring the ways of his people. 

So great was his contribution to the area that architects sought to include his image as part of the exterior of an apartment block close to downtown Melbourne, and worked in close collaboration with aboriginal representatives to ensure his image was appropriately represented.

Barak’s ageless, timeless, expressive face is moulded into white panels of composite materials on the external facade of the building, contrasting with the black of the balconies. He watches over much of Melbourne, as he ever did. It is quite stunning. 

We then walked the graffiti covered lanes of the inner city and learned that not all graffiti is illegal. Apparently, if it is commissioned, if the property owner gives permission for that use of the wall, then the plastic bag toting, hoodie wearing, street artists may even paint in daylight. With their hoods down. 

Many streets, buildings, walls and subways throughout Melbourne attract graffiti. But, there must be something in the air in Melbourne, as some of it is not only quite exceptional, but is politically provocative and interesting. 

Actually, we seem to be coming to enjoy street art more, these days, than we do contemporary art in museums. Which we haven’t quite cottoned on to, as yet. Having said that, there are places where the squiggles of the graffiti are, still, just eyesores. And once you start allowing the hoards to paint in one place en masse, it is really hard, then, to control where else they might paint, or not. Particularly when half the thrill for the street painters is ‘the edge’ to it. Doing something that is not quite legal. 

So, that is an ongoing predicament for Melbourne. As the city fathers are really between a rock and a hard place, now, as Hosier Lane has become quite the hotspot for street art in Melbourne. And is definitely a major tourist draw in the city. Among the biggest in the city, it seems, given the crowds we saw there on several days. 

What, too, is interesting is to see the art work on some walls completely change over just two or three days. These street artists are bursting with energy and creativity -- and time. We really enjoyed so much of it. And while there is nothing remaining of Banksy’s contributions on Melbourne’s city walls, there are others who are busy filling commissions that is getting their work seen by as wide an audience. 

Take Baby Guerrilla, for instance, one of the few street artists from the female brigade currently working on her displays. She has been busy painting the walls of many of the city buildings, including Victoria University spaces, on commission. Her pieces are vibrant, massive, imaginative. She is an artist who chooses, for whatever reason, not to follow the traditional route. She is not the only one. 

Lunch was at a German bar along the Southbank precinct, looking back over the city. The German sausages came five ways, five colours, five flavours. With cabbage varied for each. And a mimosa salad on the side. Along with a selection of sharp mustards. All incredibly tasty. We are loving the food of Melbourne, too. 

Ode to William Barak 

Melbourne Arts Centre

Eureka tower

RMIT's Green Brain

Massive piece

You will know my name

Baby Guerilla's work at Victoria University

German sausage five ways

And change is good

Street art changes daily

Sissinghurst revisited

It took us almost a complete day to visit the Heidi Museum of Modern Art. There are so many exhibitions, so much art, and so many installations in the garden, but, it was the story of the Reeds themselves that ended up occupying most of our time.

Sunday and John Reed. An extraordinary couple who occupied such an influential space in time in Australia’s art history. He a lawyer, she a gardener with a discerning mind, found a home together, in a farmhouse they named Heidi on 15 acres of land, in Heidelberg, where they nurtured a circle of like minded friends, interested in analysing and debating all forms of modernist art and literature. 

The talent amassed throughout their lives at Heidi is like a Who’s Who of Australian Art including Sydney Nolan, Arthur Boyd, John Perceval, Joy Hester and Albert Tucker. They were young, full of ideas and passion, keen to come together to clarify their ideas and share their work with Sunday and John who housed and fed many of them throughout the 1930s and beyond, and nurtured their work. 

What probably was not wise, in hindsight, they also shared their beds and their bodies with many others of the group. He slept with her, slept with him, slept with them, watched a sexual menage, or begat him. It all became terribly convoluted and eventually far too complicated to sustain. 

Which put some noses seriously out of joint. Sydney Nolan fell in love with Sunday while painting the Ned Kelly series at Heidi. This affair went on over many years, with John, the voyeur on the sidelines. Nolan gifted the Kelly works to Sunday, but regularly beseeched her to leave John and run away with him. Sunday couldn’t. Nolan finally realised this was not going to happen, so left Heidi permanently. Enroute he met up with John’s sister, Cynthia, and married her, much to John and Sunday’s horror. Then adding fuel to a volatile flame, he asked for his Kelly works back. All of which permanently severed all ties with John and Sunday forever. Never to be reconciled.

Joy Hester and Albert Tucker of the Heidi Circle had a similar complication. Hester, who already had several abortions, was pregnant when she and Tucker married. With someone else’s child, as it happens. This time she had an infection and could not abort. Their alliance, like many of the others, did not last, and Hester’s son, Sweeney, was left for Sunday and John to rear when the two went their separate ways.

Sweeney’s life was short and skewed. He committed suicide when he was thirty four. John died of bowel cancer two years later. Cynthia, his sister, and Sidney Nolan's wife, committed suicide five years before that. Sunday committed suicide ten days after John died. Strange goings-on. It all reminded me very much of Virginia Wolf and the Sackville-West's Sissinghurst gatherings. Revisited, in many ways. 

Rings of Saturn, Heidi 

The farmhouse where they were all welcomed 

In the sculpture garden 

One of the Ned Kelly pieces by Sydney Nolan 

Garden art

One of our favourite outdoor pieces

The house that Thomas built

Such a beautiful house, Werribee Park Mansion, with such tragic tales as part of its very fabric. Built by Thomas Chirnside and his brother Andrew as they were both approaching their sixties, Werribee Park was seen as a reflection of the success of their pastoral ventures to that time, and was one of the most extensive and exceptional homes ever built in Australia. But it was much more than that. At the age of twenty-four Thomas could hardly have known when he set out from his home in Scotland with just a couple of hundred pounds in his pocket to begin a new life in the colonies that he would become one of the greatest landowners in the history of Australia, or that he would build a house like no other for the only woman he had ever loved.

Thomas was driven. Within months of landing he bought sheep on the Murrumbidgee but left them to graze as a drought set in. A dicey step. Soon after, he collected Andrew from his ship and together they bought cattle. They drove them overland to the markets in Adelaide selling them there successfully when many others had failed. The gods were still smiling.  Rains fell, and on his return Thomas’s sheep made good. He took over a run he found being abandoned, then he bought a station, then other stations so he and Andrew reared cattle and steadily grew their wealth.  Andrew was the quiet one. Thomas was the gruff one. 

Frequently Thomas would visit Scotland. He imported red deer for his hunt from the deer stock owned by Prince Albert, Queen Victoria’s husband. He also imported the foxes. To be healthy, Thomas believed, one had to ride to hounds. He loved thoroughbreds and became an expert at horse flesh, importing mares and stallions to improve his racing stock. His racing achievements were legendary, including winning the 1874 Melbourne cup with Haricot. He would not work on Sundays, nor would he allow work on any of his properties on the Sabbath. His feelings ran deep. 

On one of his trips back to Scotland he fell deeply in love with his first cousin, Mary Begbie.  But he arrived back in Australia, months later, without her. She had not accepted him, though he must have felt there was hope, for when Andrew made his first visit back to Scotland some time later, Thomas begged him to bring Mary back with him,  any way he could. 

And Andrew did.  Andrew married Mary whilst in Scotland, and brought her out to Australia once their first child, Mary Matilda, was born. 

Thomas was never to marry. But he soon set about building Mary a home. It was to be a place of serenity and peace, a fitting tribute to Mary. Thus Werribee Park Mansion was conceived, adding to the extensive portfolio of properties that the Chirnside brothers already owned throughout Victoria and the other states. It took three years to build, drew on the best architectural skill and craftsmanship available at the time, and when finished held sixty grand rooms of lavish proportion and style.

Andrew and Mary and their three children moved in, then beseeched Thomas to join them there. Eventually, he did.  But his health was deteriorating. Given to spells of melancholia Thomas was often acutely depressed. He sought treatment for this. But to no avail. During this time he transferred funds out of his name into the name of family members. Then, imagined himself bankrupt. He threatened suicide. Reality was fast fading for Thomas. 

One Saturday late in June, just after lunch with the family, it became all too much. Thomas took himself and a gun out into the grounds of the mansion. He set the butt into the dirt, took off his boot, and firmly set his toe over the trigger. His forehead bent to the muzzle, and very deliberately, Thomas blew his brains out. His life ended at 72.

Just three years later, when Andrew was 73, he died of a heart condition. Mary lived on at Werribee until 1908 when the flame of a candle in her bedroom torched her beautiful hair. She died as a result, a terrible and traumatic death. 

One son, George, inherited Werribee. The other, John, inherited stony land above the railway. John set about building himself a home. George took him to court to ensure he did not use the name “Werribee” in the title.  It had come to this. Werribee was put on the market in 1922, and sold. Which marked the end of any Chirnside ownership in the house that Thomas had specially built for Mary. 

Mary's house

Beautiful chandelier 

Lovely symmetry

Garlands for Mary 

Art on the edge

The modernists, we are discovering, are not the only artists who have come under great scrutiny, discussion and dissension on the Melbourne art scene. 

Another is the grunge artist, Adam Cullen. One day we were taken to lunch at the HuTong Duck and Dumpling bar in Prahran where the food was divine, delicious morsels of split eggplant and prawns in hoisin, and all sorts of dumplings filled with anything from crab to crispy duck. But, even more interesting, the food bar is situated on the ground floor of The Cullen, a boutique hotel named for Adam Cullen’s edgy art pieces, which the hotel group bought and displays on every wall, in every suite. Somewhat like a patron.

Adam Cullen grew up in an apparently stable home and studied art, formally, and at length. From early on he stood out, turning up at art school with a rotting head of a dead pig chained to his ankle. Clearly wanting to stand out. 

His life and his art became even more lurid, more exposed. Diagnosed bipolar, his behaviour became as extreme as his drinking and drug taking. Guns were his passion, shooting at things, anything. He even shot the leg of the man he’d invited to write his biography. He incorporated gun violence into many of his works and many of his creations drip paint-blood.

To start the day Cullen needed a bottle of vodka to fuel the violent apparitions he plastered over his canvas: mongrel dogs, the hair on their backs set brutally afire; human faces, their eyes slashed out, dripping from the eye cavities. Rabid animals, fangs exposed, drooling blood. Or decapitated. All against brightly splashed backgrounds of acid yellow, neon orange, lurid pink and shard green exaggerating the violence of his subject matter. Standing out.

The most peaceful work we have seen is his yellow tinged head of the actor, David Wenham, which calls to mind one of Van Gogh’s self portraits in its mood, its brush strokes, its style. For this, Cullen won the Archibald Prize.

A driven man. His subject matter so often violent and difficult to comprehend, is stark and visually stunning in its simplicity, for with just a few simple almost caricature-like lines, he can portray a canvas overflowing with a violent warped rage.

Watching his paint splatter over his canvas is like watching Van Gogh in the agony of his dark days, painting swirling skies that are starry no more: the subject matter growing grimmer, darker, more dangerous and edgy the closer the end came. 

And the end came for Adam Cullen quite young. He was just forty seven when he was found dead. And, like Van Gogh, his work will likely sell stratospherically.