In April 2013 I posted about street art on this same wall, opening with the words Life is pretty
dull quiet at Chez EllaDee & the G.O. but luckily what we lack the neighbourhood provides, just a short walk away.
Same same… the chilly Sydney winter weather is a plausible seasonal explanation; our ancient natural inclination to hibernate derailed by modern work-life environment still exerts enough influence to subdue our out-and-about doings.
My convenient consolation is that wall is an ever-changing canvas. So I’ll avert my eyes; divert my Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock-type thoughts of decisions & revisions, coffee spoons, should I eat a peach while wearing the bottoms of my white flannel trousers rolled when walking upon the beach; and allow time to take care of itself.
Goddard Street is a great example of the street art Newtown is renowned for.
Sometimes I get so caught up in the workings of day-to-day living I forget things; often which home something is at – we’ve been wondering for a week about the location of an item thinking it was at Taylors Arm but it was right here in the city apartment on a shelf in plain sight.
Similarly, the Belief that is necessary to imbue everyday life with magic wasn’t missing, just overlooked.
The days following the G.O.’s birthday lazy long weekend quickly resumed their everyday feel but with magic restored it seemed like no time at all had passed and I was back at Velvet Garage, this time meeting up with Celia from Fig Jam and Lime Cordial and her husband on Saturday morning. After shuffling arrangements we finally managed a catch-up. We exchanged gifts, each sharing a bit of our lives… I offered a few things I’d been accumulating for this purpose, dragon pearls from my friend Nancy-from-Narrabri’s Hip Herbal ‘n Happening Tea, lemon myrtle seasoning from Perry’s and a small bottle of Isabella from Gruber’s Winery at Taylors Arm. I was thrilled to receive lemons from their tree, a jar of Pete’s quince jelly, and package of chorizo. After a pleasant hour breakfasting and chatting we departed to our respective Saturday errands.
I headed over to Eveleigh Farmers Market primarily to pick up the beef cheeks I’d ordered. The Linga Longa Farm stall was my first stop, and I waited patiently, as you do at farmers markets, while the 3 people manning the stall discussed the meaty offerings with a customer. Eventually I was noticed, introduced myself and requested “can I pick up the beef cheeks I called the number on the business card and ordered over the phone… leaving a message on Lauren’s mobile”. Response: I’m Lauren – blank look – When did you ring? Hmmm, I thought… “Wednesday or Thursday”. [ I checked, it was Wednesday ]. Lauren looked at me as if that explained everything: oh, it was my birthday on Wednesday; your message must have gotten mixed up with the others… Still hopeful, I asked “so do you have any beef cheeks?” Lauren shifted her attention to me once more: no, we’re sold out. A little bemused I waited but that was it, so I stepped to the stall next door and impulse-bought a Thirlmere duck, while the man chatted to me about how much better value a whole duck was as opposed to buying packs of maryland or breast, how to cook it, and rounded the price down from $28-something to $25… once again I was stepping out of my culinary comfort zone.
[Note: Received text on Tuesday from Lauren of Linga Longa Farm offering me beef cheeks this coming Saturday market. Nice gesture but I’m not sure of plans this weekend. However, I’ll call them next time I’m going.]
Wandering home from the markets I found a colourful memo-board free-footpath offering to take up the overload of loose bits & pieces from the fridge door, and spent a couple of dollars at a footpath sale on a decorative cage that I’ll sit a plant in and hang from a hook or in a tree at our Taylors Arm house.
We’re car sharing due to the G.O.’s being in for repairs after a small bingle during the week, so when the G.O. returned from his morning activities, we immediately set out for necessities to driving-distance shops; at which a box of glossy dark plump cherries imported from the U.S. caught my eye. Usually I would think imported-no but I thought duck-yes… and grabbed a handful, and a bunch of orange gladioli that remind me of my Nanna’s garden.
We paused at home again only momentarily, before going off on foot locally to re-visit a couple of items from last week’s birthday browsing-shopping expedition still lingering in our thoughts, to which end yet another old kookaburra and flower picture found a home with us.
Back to normal after the birthday-fest, this weekend was about eating in, therefore cooking. On Saturday afternoon, thinking ahead I quickly chopped and cooked pear & apple compote for Sunday morning porridge; and a bag of tomatoes, onions & basil and put them on to simmer for sauce: later combining a cupful with shallots, prawns, crème fraiche and pasta for a quick Saturday night dinner; and during the week, duck ragu.
Sunday morning was leisurely but chilly so I warmed the apartment with the oven, baking the G.O.’s smoko banana bread; chopped and sautéed kale for weekday breakfast and lunches, chopped cherries and peeled potatoes & carrots for dinner.
I’m new to duck, and had never cooked it whole before, so once the G.O. washed, dried and pricked it I followed my usual slow-roasting practice: into the cast iron pot with halved potatoes, a couple of dried bay leaves, stock and Madeira/Malmsey at 140 C (284 F) for 3 hours, popping in carrots toward the end, then lid off at 180 C (356 F) for an hour.
While the duck & veges were resting on a tray in the still-warm oven, I ladled a scoop of cooking juices with the cherries, 3 slices of fresh orange peel, a dash of Madeira/Malmsey in a saucepan, and set to simmer & reduce. The rest of the cooking juices were saved for the ragu.
I learned a couple of things…
Given the size of the bird, I’d anticipated a couple of roast duck dinners and a couple of duck ragu dinners. The duck was flavoursome, more-so than chicken but there was a lot less of it. So no follow-up roast dinners.
And, as pointed out by the G.O. in response to my gastronomic stage-fright, roast duck was the domain of many home-cooks, including his grandmother and mine, before the elevation of its profile by fancy restaurants and TV cooking shows.
“In fact, people who possess not magic at all can instil their home-cooked meals with love and security and health, transforming ingredients… Cooking is a kind of everyday magic.” Juliet Blackwell
This post is dedicated to Christine of the dadirridreaming blog who I met early on in my wanderings through the WordPress world. Her husband Stuart kindly let her many [blogging] friends know via a touching post of her sudden passing. Many of you would have seen dadirri7’s delightful thoughtful comments on my posts, which I will miss. Christine has been a wonderful inspiration, and very much in touch with the magic of living. I’m sad because I didn’t get to meet Christine in person but I am richer for having known her.
It’s not the end of the world when the G.O. doesn’t work on a Saturday. In fact, it’s very nice. In the construction industry, Saturday work is pretty much a given. But the G.O.’s current work site is located on the South Coast a 80 km each way commute and in exchange for working Monday – Friday 7 am – 5… or 6 pm he’s not been working [many] Saturdays. So on work-free Saturdays we have a glorious sleep in, then over coffee consider possibilities.
Last Saturday, motivated by Celia of Fig Jam & Lime Cordial’s post about Little Flowers, who share premises with Velvet Garage café a short stroll from us, encouraged further by the neighbouring Apocalypse Yard’s garage sale we headed over. Our foray into the garage sale was brief as they were burning something noxious fuelling their Atomic Cafe barbeque, bestowing an acrid authentic end of the world aura to the proceedings. Read the rest of this entry »
Local Inner West resident and artist Thomas Jackson painted the George Street wall of Hive Bar in Erskineville, a comment to the recent Western Australian government’s shark cull that began on January 26.
It was so much easier to blame it on Them. It was bleakly depressing to think that They were Us. If it was Them, then nothing was anyone’s fault. If it was us, what did that make Me? After all, I’m one of Us. I must be. I’ve certainly never thought of myself as one of Them. No one ever thinks of themselves as one of Them. We’re always one of Us. It’s Them that do the bad things. Terry Pratchett, Jingo
At the same time news headines also declared “Buses the big killers of pedestrians in Sydney’s CBD…”. I ask myself, should the NSW Government take a cue from WA and cull the buses?
In the comments to take the money and ride… I was asked “what’s tagging?” I responded “Tagging is where the graffitists spray letters or a symbol that represents themself or their gang, and as they often spray over street art or indiscriminately, they are quite unpopular.”
But as Frederick R. Barnard said in 1921, a picture paints a thousand words… the pictures in this case being the ones I took this morning at St Peters train station.
One of the earlier items of street art featured on elladee_images was the old Waratah Motor Spirit advertisement uncovered by the demolition of the neighbouring building after a fire. But some idiot tagged over the Waratah Motor Spirit advertisement, then it was painted over. Yesterday the G.O. and I spied a new piece of street art on the same wall.
However as the G.O. noted, the empty site on King Street, Newtown is about to become a residential apartment complex, all pre-sold, so the wall and the street art won’t be visible for long… and the developers will Take the Money and Run.
Postscript: I went back and tried to get a better shot of the silver spaceship on the right but it’s obscured by the chain wire fence, and lacks the clarity of the rest of the artwork.
“You come into the world with nothing,
and the purpose of your life is to make something out of nothing”.
Henry Louis Mencken
You might wonder why many elladee_images posts focus on street art in one form or another. Or you might not. But anyway…
In August 2011 the G.O. and I moved 2.6 kms from the Sydney city fringe village of Darlington where any unofficial art painted on-street surfaces seemed to be immediately “tidied up”, to the Inner West village of Erskineville at the St Peters end, neighbouring Newtown.
I wasn’t too happy about the relocation. What redeemed it? Street art. We’ve always been regulars in and around Newtown where murals and street art have long been evident but at about the time we moved street art came out of the back alleys and into its own right especially around our new neigbourhood. In the ensuing time since our move even Darlington has come along.
My day to day life is pretty routine so it’s a boon for me to be going about my business and come across a new offering. I’m not alone in my appreciation of the art form.
I read a recent interview with local street artist Nico.
“… I enjoy painting the inner west because I feel that the works are embraced here more than in any other area in Sydney. Painting in the Inner West is always a pleasure, as there are so many people here that really appreciate the artform. In my opinion, the Inner West is far more progressive and culturally aware than the rest of the city…”
At the moment, I’m enjoying the relaxed form of stencils and paste ups. Here’s a few more I spotted recently.
Why do I love street art? This says it best.“Art is an evolutionary act.The shape of art and its role in society is constantly changing.At no point is art static. There are no rules.”
The kids have been out & about, transforming the neighbourhood into a mixed media collage.
“Scissors, paste, images, and genius in effect superseded brushes, paints, models, style, sensibility, and that famous sincerity demanded of artists.” René Magritte
“If one looks at a thing with the intention of trying to discover what it means, one ends up no longer seeing the thing itself, but thinking of the question that has been raised. The mind sees in two different senses: (1) sees, as with the eyes; and (2) sees a question (no eyes).”