Saturday, March 8, 2008
Desperate to get out of the house, we went Clarendon today. It was glorious. The grounds were filled with sunshine. The only sound was the humming of the bees amongst the last of the roses.
Lucy whined the whole time.
Like Good Parents we tried to capture her imagination and help her relate to these surrounds, so filled with interest and mystery. She whined.
Like Bad Parents we tried to buy her silence with ice cream. She whined.
Like Defeated Parents we packed the girls in the car and drove off back home. She whined.
You'd never guess it from this:
There are lies, damned lies and statistics. And then there are family photographs.
On the way home we stopped at the Glover Exhibition, a Tasmanian landscape art prize, always glorious. I look closely - the paintings are so beautiful and after three days they are sucked into private collections; most I will never see again.
Today I turned a corner and my heart stood still. Because there it was: the painting I've always wanted to see even without knowing what it would look like. A hazy Bruny Island pastoral, nothing identifiable but recognised by my mind's eye. I bought that painting. I'll have no new clothes for around about three years but it's worth it. You can't wear a canvas, it's true, but in a world stuffed with Things To Buy it's not often I get that sudden rush of blood to the heart.
I climbed back into the car on a high.
And Lucy whined and whinged and waa'd all the way home.