Missed Art

Just a quick post (I will write about my farewell to the QE2 tomorrow).

So I was talking to mum and dad on MSN tonight (yes, they have come a long way from the days when they didn't know how to turn on the computer - now they can send emails, read facebook and instant message!), and they told me that I had received an invitation to Gali's art exhibition. Let me explain.

Gali was a neighbour who lived in the flat one floor above mine. She was a nice person - friendly, helpful, but there was also something else to her - an almost quiet sadness of some sort. I remember a few vague things from when I went to visit her in her apartment - chocolate brown, leather sofas; a dark, almost brooding oil painting suspended on a wall; folding doors with glass windows drawn to one side; pale, cream carpet; shelves of books on anatomy and art; and a plump, inquisitive cat of some non-descript colour. Gali was an artist and was undertaking a PhD when I first met her. She has since moved out and is in the final stages of finishing her PhD and is presenting her final project (I suppose equivalent to a thesis) in an art exhibition. I was a model for one part of her project.

No, she did not paint my portrait or sculpt my form. Nor did I have to pose awkardly or anything like that. The project involved a selection of thirteen males and thirteen females, to be presented in the form of a book. I shan't try and explain the project in any detail, as I do not fully comprehend (or remember) its exact origins or what Gali was trying to express. What I do remember is that she was collecting certain "parts" of people's faces - their crown, their brow, their eyes, their nose, their lips, their chin etc. To do this, she applied Vaseline to the desired part, followed by powdered charcoal or some similar black dust, then pressed a sheet of paper against the prepared area on the face. The result was a hazy, charcoal imprint. It was interesting to see what shapes and forms came out - some were strong and dark, others were merely ghostly grey.

After we had finished, she invited me to come view the final product at her exhibition which would be held in Novemeber. I remember being excited, saying I would definitely come. I even tried to figure out who I would take to accompany me.

But now, I obviously can't go. This is just another thing I will miss by being overseas. As much as I love travelling and experiencing things abroad, there will always be part of me that wishes I was back home in Melbourne.

I found out about my cousin, Stephanie, giving birth to a beautiful, baby girl called Sarah, when I was standing in the shelter of a phone booth in Colmar.

I found out a close friend broke up with his partner over the internet in Lyon.

I found out two friends got engaged via email in Southampton.

I wished my mum a "Happy Birthday" under the Eiffel Tower at midnight.

In all these instances I wish I was back home. I wish I was there for the christening; the arm around the shoulder; the handshakes and hugs; the kisses and warmth. But it's not just the anniversaries and special occasions I miss, it's also the simple everyday things - mum's cooking, dad's help with filling in forms, Winston's jokes, afterwork drinks, helping the preregs pass their exams, randomly chatting to friends on the phone, watching normal free-to-air television, catching up and hanging out, cheap chinatown meals, clean timber floors and a clean kitchen. And creamed corn (they don't sell it here - only mashy peas).

I'm surprisingly not actually homesick though. Whether it's because I haven't experienced the full brunt of a gloomy, English winter alone yet, I'm not sure. However, there are just some things back home you wish you were there for.