The playwright Tom Stoppard once wrote that, when people asked about the deep existential themes in his play
Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead, he felt like a smuggler's dupe standing before a Customs officer: He had to admit those things were in there, but had no idea how they got there. Something similar happens every year at the
Sydney Festival. The Sydney Festival began in earnest 4 months after I arrived in Australia. The Family Friendly Festival's ability to blend high-brow art and popular culture is the reason why so many vodka and barkadi (sic) loving locals are so passionate about exploring Sydney during Mid Summer Musical Evenings. What would the internationally recognised summer party scene be without mango dakeries (sic) at the Barracks or my very own Antipodean Club 77 (Klub, Charter, 77 is now closed)?
Without any doubt
Leo Schofield, the son of a country publican with passion for telling stories, is the most artistic character the Emerald City ever created. Leo even painted the city of exiles in deep milticultural colours and now new talents continue the graceful tradition of lifting our hearts and making us think differently. Sydney somehow becomes kinder just like my childhood Vrbov used to manage to metamorphose during St Servac celebrations.
The Days of the Digital Cities are Numbered: Stopczecher
We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered.
THE cream of Australia's theatrical crowd gathered at Walsh Bay for the opening of the $42-million Sydney Theatre.
Ussual suspects included Jackie Weaver, Barry Otto, Gough Whitlam and Bob Carr. However, playwrights David Williamson and Sir Tom Stoppard also attended the marathon nine-hour performance and party.
·
Tom Stoppard: Who's that? ...Nobody, sir. He's the author [Website about
Tom Stoppard was born "Tom Straussler" in Zlin, Czechoslovakia on July 3, 1937]
Geraldine O'Brien, at her brilliant best, describes heartily the city of my exile...
They have been called Sydney's
incidental magic but they are not the million-dollar harbour vistas from the plate-glass of Point Piper. Rather, they are glimpses and views that, piece by lovely piece, are disappearing from our city.
Yet these, even more than the postcard vistas, have been what anchor us - geographically and psychologically - that give us our sense and spirit of place; that are, if you like, our dreaming.
Sydney has always had an immediate, sensuous, physical impact: for two centuries, from the first recorded European responses, visitors and locals alike, painters, writers and Everyman have celebrated its moods and ever-changing moments.
Its physical presence is most obvious in the interaction of harbour and city, harbour and suburb, in the sandstone outcrops at Castlecrag, the river glimpsed through jacaranda blossom at Hunters Hill, the massive presence of the Harbour Bridge seen from Pitt Street Mall, the salt smack of a southerly blustering into the city streets.
But, away from the harbour, there are other, equally characteristic, Sydney experiences: in the sequence of landmarks along Johnston Street in Annandale, from the lace-draped corner buildings at the Parramatta Road end, through the beautiful spire of the Hunter Baillie Church, to the instantly-recognisable "witches' houses"; or elsewhere, the dramatic run of ridge-top roads lined with low-rise buildings which leave a big and open sky; or the vista through Hyde Park's great figs down Macquarie Street.
Then there are the megalithic structures of power stations, shipyard cranes, wharves and viaducts, the fast-disappearing remnants of industrial Sydney which, while they survive, remain some of our most powerful markers.
But too much of this rich "incidental magic" is being lost. Public views are blocked by private development, city high-rise dominates more modest landmarks, denying their place in the urban palimpsest.
For years, from the Pyrmont Bridge, the copper domes of the Queen Victoria Building were etched against the skyline. That view is now lost. The roofline and turrets of St Mary's Cathedral crowned the vista from Elizabeth Street across Hyde Park - until they were upstaged by the "up-yours" gesture of the Horizon apartments in Darlinghurst.
More pervasively, Sydney's massive "MacMansions", built boundary to boundary, have effectively privatised once-public views through housing lots and gardens to the harbour or ridges and valleys beyond.
The old, former industrial suburbs such as Balmain and Pyrmont, once characterised by powerful industrial structures that were surrounded by modest workers' cottages tumbling down narrow, winding streets, have now succumbed to apartments and mansion mania, which obliterate the landforms which made them so distinctive.
Meredith Walker, a heritage consultant who in 1997 was involved in the first study of views in Australia, in Parramatta, believes that one of the reasons people are not worried about views is because they don't see them as threatened.
She might also have said that often they simply don't consciously see them when they're there, or see the potential for them when they are not.
Sydney lived quite happily for over a generation with an unbroken row of medium-rise buildings at East Circular Quay. It was only when they were demolished and the cliff face and Government House and its grounds lay revealed that the outcry about "the Toaster" began.
From Moore Street in Leichhardt, Walker says, "there was once a wonderful view to the Sydney University clock tower, a most fantastic view of the university that is now almost all gone, blocked by the redevelopment of the old Children's Hospital into flats".
In Parramatta, Mrs Macquarie had urged that towers be built onto St John's Church, thus adding a powerful focal point to the picturesque view from Old Government House. That view survived until the 1980s when the Taxation Office, without any thought at all, developed a new office which Walker says is "completely in your face".
Yet while many are lost, new landmarks are being created: the Anzac Bridge; the City West link affords a spectacular view of the CBD; Glebe residents can see the landmark globes restored on the renovated Grace Bros building.
In the city, heading north along Elizabeth Street, the dramatic intersecting blades of the Governor Phillip Tower glitter against the sky, while at Parramatta, careful editing of the vegetation along James Ruse Drive has provided a view to the restored Female Orphan School.
The American critic Kevin Lynch wrote in The Image of the City of the powerful role urban landscapes play, providing the raw material for the symbols and collective memories of group communication . . . A good environmental image gives its possessor an important sense of emotional security . . .
This is the obverse of the fear that comes with disorientation: it means that the sweet sense of home is strongest when home is not only familiar, but distinctive as well.
·
Everyday magic of a beloved city
[ next generation of exiles
Pushed to go Bush]