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We both enjoyed the last six or seven hours of the trip: from Tarcoola, where passengers from and to the Ghan de/embarked, through Port Augusta to Adelaide. There was changing scenery and a sort of bustle of new folks and getting ready to get off. Rachel must have checked our stuff half a dozen times.
We got a cab to the Stamford Plaza hotel and registered. Check-in time was 1400, but I'd told them we were arriving on the train when I placed our reservation.
"Are you as tired as I am?"
"Yes! And sticky, too."
"Let's shower and nap and then lunch."
"My clever husband!"
By 1300 we were awake and re-clad. We went down to have a quick bite in the hotel coffee shop.
"Well," I asked. "What's on the agenda?"
"Art Gallery and, possibly, Hahndorf. You?"
"Art Gallery, dad loved the Turner there, and Tandanya."
"Tandanya?"
"National Aboriginal and Torres Islander Arts Centre."
"Is it near?"
"I think so."
"Lets go now, if you want, we could return."
It was a brief ride. There was no admission charge. There was a sign pointing to "Undoolya – Pmere." We went there.
"Undoolya is near Alice Springs," I told Rachel. There was a woman painting. We watched.
"You're not Arrernte," she said, looking at me. [People of Central Northern Territory.]
"No. Kullila. Queensland and Western Australia."
"Kangaroo?"
"No. My teacher was a red kangaroo. I am a carpet python." She nodded and returned to her painting.
"You are good 'un. Not a kookaburra." She laughed. "I'm Pat ... Patricia. All these mine." She waved at the walls.
"They are fine work. You are touched by Biamie."
She gestured at another couple who were staring at us. "They do not see. They cannot hear."
"They have not learned to hear or see. They look at your bush tomato and see colours and dots."
"You are young, but wise. You were taught well. Go. Come back Thursday morning."
I nodded, took Rachel's hand and walked out.
When we were outside, Rachel said "Wow! That was intense."
"Yes. She is an artist and could read me. Want to see the other show?"
"Very much."
"It's from the Mangkaja Arts Resource Agency, from the Kimberley. They won't be here."
We spent about 20 minutes looking at the work and then left. We walked into the Botanic Gardens and sat down.
"If she could see, won't others as well?"
"Of course. Another true artist or a nungungi. I am hoping someone at the law school will know me. We learn from the past, we are not hostage to it."
"What did Pat mean, that you're no kookaburra?"
"Unlike most of the Europeans she sees, I'm not a chatterer."
"Right."
Wednesday we went to the Art Gallery. First we located the Turner. Turners. Two watercolours and several engravings. I knew "Alnwick Castle" was the one dad talked about. But the other, "Scarborough Town and Castle," painted 20 years earlier, was interesting, too. After ten or 15 minutes, we went off to locate the Heysens.
The Art Gallery of South Australia holds the largest and most representative collection of works by Hans Heysen, including more than two thousand drawings, oils and watercolours bequeathed by the artist himself. Included in the exhibition are many of Heysen's greatest oil and watercolour paintings, alongside rarely-seen preliminary sketches and studies.
There were dozens and dozens on display. It was quite overwhelming. Rachel immediately focussed on the landscapes. But there were a few extraordinary still lifes. "Autumn Fruits" and "Vase of Flowers" both caught my eye, as did his "Studies of Turkeys."
It was after 1300 when I told Rachel: "I'm starving. We can come back." We went to the cafe, which was pleasant but quite pricey.
"I wish they had some of his daughter's work," Rachel remarked.
"His daughter?"
"Nora Heysen was a painter, too. She was the first woman to win the portrait prize. 1930-something."
"I guess you learned something in those classes after all."
We spent another hour looking at the Heysens and a few other pieces. Then we sat outside. It didn't feel like winter.
"Five months."
"Hmmm?"
"We're getting married in five months."
"Unless you change your mind." I squeezed her hand.
"Not a chance! You'll not escape my clutches!"
"Oh, God! Rachel Manchu, dreaded granddaughter of Fu!"
"Yes, Patrick Nayland Smith, you cannot evade your doom!"
We both laughed and kissed.
We were back at the Tandanya before 1100 the next morning. There was an older man with Pat. We stood silently until we were noticed.
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