Eye of the Beholder

As the Sydney City Council seeks $63 million to refurbish the Museum of Contemporary Art, local artist Calvin Colourblind has pointed out that St Marys Memorial Hall is available for a fraction of the cost.

Mr Colourblind made the statement at an exhibition of his new art form, Cheryllian Schematics.

Asked how he, a novice in the art world, had developed such an extraordinary medium, he was happy to explain.

My wife took me to an art show and I realised that you don't really need talent to be an artist, you just need a gimmick. After all, look at the millions of dollars Jackson Pillock (oops!) got for Blue Poles. So I went to the boozer to have a think.

That's when I had my great idea and I named it for Cheryl who was working the bar that night.

I was drawing pictures with the bottom of my glass in the puddle of beer on the bar and realised that all I had to do was sprinkle it with coloured cement, wait for it to set, and be famous.

The trouble is, they're all Philistines, them publicans. I never met one yet who'd let me get near his bar with a chain saw.

But it didn't matter in the long run. The wife was pretty good about the kitchen table."

Mr Colourblind is planning another St. Marys exhibition later this year and is watching the mail for an invitation to exhibit at the National Gallery in Canberra.

This yarn had its origin back in the 1970s when Australian Prime Minister Gough Whitlam spent about $A1.5 million to buy Jackson Pollock's Blue Poles. Very shortly afterward, some genius with more (taxpayers') money than intelligence, invited Christo, the Bulgarian wrapper, to come to Sydney and wrap Little Bay in polythene.

Amidst all the kerfuffle that followed from outraged taxpayers and comical journalists, one man (I think it was Edmund Capon, director of the Art Gallery of NSW) said, "If you can't understand art, leave it to those of us who can."

Well, that rang bells for me – it was obvious that the Emperor had a new suit of clothes. I was talking about it over a beer one night when I realised I had the start of a whole new art movement staring me in the face.

Yes, the barmaid's name was Cheryl (at the King's Hotel in Sydney) and no, the publican wouldn't let me cut up his bar.