JOAN. This Sunday evening I have just returned from a quite extraordinary talk at the Sarjeant.
A crowded gallery heard from Dr Siva Namasivayam, a Malaysian anaesthetist now living in Whanganui, speak of his recent month in Mosul, working for Medecins Sans Frontieres. I was moved to tears by what he told us. I now desperately want all local societies to listen to this talk and powerpoint presentation for, young or old, this is our chance to understand so much about what we normally only glimpse on our news broadcasts. I need to thank him personally for not only his talk today but his courage, compassion and tolerance of the lives, beliefs and culture so far removed from his own. I shall write next week of all he told us but I know each one of us present today is changed by what he said. Terima kasih, Dr Siva.
MIKE. Sunday, August 13, was not only my birthday, but the date of the annual soccer match between the WCS 1st XI and an Old Boys team. A serendipitous conjunction, especially as it was the 40th such occasion. Having aimed at staying on the pitch for half an hour, I surprised myself - and disappointed my team mates - by lasting the full 45 minutes of the first half, after which I thought it prudent to withdraw. I say 'lasting', but there were no real physical demands on my body. It was simply required to trundle up and down the touchline on the left wing, keeping out of harm's way. It had received strict instructions.
"Don't tackle! Don't get tackled!" In this cowardly fashion I achieved my premier aim of not being injured. With an overseas trip looming large, I would not have been popular with Joan!
The Old Boys produced a quality team, with only one of the squad of 14 not having been a regular member of the 1st XI. As usual, there was a wide age range, stretching from our elder statesman, Gregor Vallely, all the way to Luke Burgess, the sole player yet to reach 30. There was so much talent in the team that, despite virtually playing with 10 men in the first half, we were still 2-0 in the lead. As an interested spectator on the left wing, I could only admire the skill with which the ball was played to the right or down the middle. If, under pressure, a colleague inadvertently passed the ball in my direction, his annoyance was palpable, as a promising move came to an abrupt end. The game ended as a 4-0 victory for the Old Boys, an apt result for the 40th fixture! As it was also my age when I played in the inaugural match, there may be a mystical numerology hiding in there! May I publicly extend my sincere thanks to Ian Rogers, without whose hard work and organisation this fixture would have faded away over the years. Here's to number 41!
MIKE. One Hit Wonder is an impressive exhibition at Space Gallery, as part of the Winter Wonderfest. A committed group of ladies is behind this project, a partnership between Carla Donson's Women's Network and Sarah Williams of Space. From small beginnings, it has already grown into a major event in the Whanganui calendar. Looking extremely chic in her Rita Dibert kimono, Sarah told me that 30 artists were on display last year, but she had decided to restrict it to 20 this time, to make it more manageable. That number certainly suited the gallery, each piece having a clearly defined area, which enhanced the variety of shapes and colours round the room.
Which works appealed particularly? An untitled archival digital print by Kaye Coombs contained foliage, ferns and flowers, mainly in shades of blue and green, with some striking use of 24-carat gold. Not Entirely Unexpected was a work in pencil and watercolour by Margaret Silverwood. A female figure, reclining in an armchair, appeared to have a large cloudburst of red and orange replacing her head. On fire? Spontaneous combustion? Metaphorical embarrassment? Unfortunately, Margaret had left before I could ask her about it. I liked it.
My favourite was definitely the ceramic lion in blue and white, reminiscent of Chinese pottery. Leigh Anderton-Hall had given it the title I Am the Sun. Two wings on the lion reminded me of a sphinx, but it was a Classical reference rather to Icarus, the wax of whose wings melted when he drew too near the sun. But not this lion! On his body was written 'Icarus? No! I am the sun'! I would also have liked to have found out more about Cecilia Kumeroa's Poutiriao, a print containing birds and what might - or might not! - have been daggers. A dark black edging gradually suffused into a pinkish tinge, the viewer being drawn inexorably into a white central area, as if sucked into a hole. A little unnerving.
If these feeble verbal descriptions of visual items have failed to resonate with you, then the answer is obvious. Please go along to Space and see for yourself! You have until Friday September 1.
