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Ejo #176 – A Love Letter To Dubai

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A little over 16 years ago, David and I were swimming in the Mediterranean Sea off the coast of Ancient Korinth, Greece.  We’d swum out a fair distance and were in deep waters.  It was a little bit scary, a little bit exciting.  And as we bobbed around in the warm water, we debated the finer points of a decision we’d been mulling over for the previous six weeks while gallivanting around Spain, Italy, France and Greece.  Are we doing this?  Are we actually moving to Dubai?  David had been offered a three year contract at Dubai International Airport, and I’d been promised a job at (the yet to open) Al Maktoum International.  We’d already weighed the pros and cons of taking the plunge before setting off on our epic European adventure, so as we treaded water in the glittering blue sea that afternoon, all that was left was to decide. 

This is the correct way to make an enormous decision of life-changing proportions

Obviously we bit the bullet and made the move, and I’m glad we did.  But my life in Dubai has been a dichotomy, the city simultaneously giving and taking so much from me.  Shift work has wreaked serious havoc on my physical health.  And living in such a harsh and indifferent city has really fucked with my head over the years, exacerbating my social anxiety and intensifying the feeling of isolation and disconnection from my family and friends.  On the plus side, I’ve made some pretty good coin (tax free, thank you very much), bought an apartment in Amsterdam and a cottage on the Greek island of Kefalonia.  We’ve travelled the world like jet-setting globetrotters with PhDs in cross-continental exploration. Oh, and it’s also allowed me the singular luxury of retiring at the tender age of 53.  So, you know, swings and roundabouts. 

Our Amsterdam and Kefalonia cribs

But all good (and bad) things must come to an end, and after nearly two years of letting the idea roll around in our brains like a very persistent marble, David and I recently decided to take the plunge, bid farewell to ATC and embark on a brand new life adventure.  Coz after a combined 60 years of air traffic control (36 for David and 24 for me), we’re tired (so very tired), and more than ready to turn the page and start anew.  So, four months ago we pulled the trigger and submitted our emails of resignation to our employer.  Our final transmissions as air traffic controllers were broadcast on 24th July 2024 and we’ve spent the last few weeks lounging around our apartment waiting for someone to please buy it so that we can get the hell outta here!!!

So, the question on everybody’s tongue seems to be “What are you going to do?”  And the answer is nothing!  Everything!  Whatever the hell we want!!!  I want to write more.  I want to read all the books, and listen to all the podcasts.  I want to make short films as mementos of our far-flung travels.  I want to sort the thousands of songs in my playlists, and organise the thousands of photos in my computer.  I want to take classes, and learn.  About economics, art history, Bitcoin, Hamas.  All of it!  I want to volunteer and get into activism and advocacy, I want to be a voice for the voiceless.  I want to get up every morning and watch the sun rise.  I want to regulate my fucked up circadian rhythm.  Be in nature, get strong, and stretch my horizons even more.  I want to travel around Europe by train, by car, by boat, by bike and by foot!  Trust me, I will not run out of things to do.  And David?  I’m not sure what he’s going to do with his time, but I know he’ll figure it out.  He’s got 36 years of air traffic control to shake off first, and that’s no small thing. 

I once made a list of all the things I liked about Dubai in an ejo, and it consisted of only one item: leaving Dubai.  I famously copped a bit of flack about that from one of my readers, Flo, who rightly pointed out that my negativity was kinda shitty.  It was a watershed moment for me, one which forced me to introspect and turn inwards.  And ultimately it was a moment that changed my life.  I started a practise of sharing daily gratitudes with my friend Melinda, I killed my “Things I Hate About Dubai” series and I promised myself I’d find a way to make peace with the city I’d chosen as my home.  Though I still don’t love it and probably never will, I have developed a sense of acceptance for Dubai after nearly 16 years of living here.  And while there are still plenty of things I hate about this city, there are also lots of things about it that I am grateful for, a few things that I love and lots of people that I’ll miss.   

ZIMMY
Zimmy, you are absolutely, hands down, the number one person I’ll miss the most when we leave this place.  It’s difficult to capture in words just how much you mean to me, both as a therapist and a friend.  I’ve often said that your therapy saved my life (and I mean that quite literally).  We met over 14 years ago, when I was at my lowest point, desperate and in despair. You reached your hand down into the darkness and offered me a lifeline that helped me regain my footing and slowly rebuild my life.  Your extraordinary legacy was giving me the tools to face any challenge with courage, confidence and grace, all on my own.  Even so, it is as my friend that you have made the most impact in my life.  You love me for who I am, and this unwavering acceptance is a gift I will always treasure. 

Besties

MARISSA
Marissa, I remember the first time you came to our apartment.  It was between 2-6pm on Sunday, 4th April 2021.  And by the time you were done, our house was absolutely sparkling.  You might be tiny, but you have a big heart (and a ridiculous work ethic) and I could see that you were special on that very first day.  Before we met you we went through a rotating cast of cleaners, but no-one ever came close to you.  No-one ever cared as much, or took as much pride in their work as you do.  You are simply amazing and I am in awe of you.  You’re a serious person, thoughtful and responsible, which are great things to have in a cleaner.  And you are kind and generous and have a beautiful smile, which are great things to have in a friend. 

It’s always a bit tricky navigating an employer/employee relationship and I’ve never wanted to push that boundary.  However, I’ve always felt so ridiculously grateful for the fantastic job you do cleaning our home, that I always tried to make it clear that if you ever needed anything in return, you could count on us.  So it meant a lot to me that I could lend you an ear when you needed to vent about the drama with your family in the Philippines.  And I was humbled that you asked us for help when your brother died and you needed to get back home.  I was so happy that I could support you during the court case you filed against your former agency, and I was thrilled to be able to celebrate with you when you finally got your independent work visa and were a free agent.  Marissa, you’re a good person in a city full of crappy people.  I wish nothing but the best for you, and I sincerely hope that we stay in touch.

How did I get so lucky?

SHAWNA
Hey hot stuff, some people might be surprised to learn that I’ve been having a passionate love affair with a very sexy chick for the last four years.  Your name is Jean, but a lot of guys call you Shawna (if you know, you know).  You, my stunning Jaguar F-Type R-Dynamic, with your three-litre V6 engine and a breathtaking 380 horses under the hood – you are a masterpiece. You corner like you’re on rails and you’ve pulled me out of more sticky situations than I can count (even if you are the one who got me into them in the first place).  These last four years have been one hell of a ride.

I only paid you off a couple of months ago, and now, the thought of letting you go?  It hurts Shawna, it hurts.  Every time I’ve settled into your leather bucket racing seat, you’ve given me such a rush, and a sense of joy that few other things in life can match.  People say that cars depreciate the moment they’re driven off the lot, but you, Shawna, have only gained value in my eyes.  Every fast drive we’ve taken together, every moment of pure exhilaration, has been worth every penny I spent on you.  And as far as mid-life crises go, I wouldn’t trade one single second of ours.  Thanks for all the thrills, spills and speeding tickets, Shawna.  No other car will ever come close. 

Sexy, no?

FIVE GUYS TEAM
OK, so it might seem weird that after living here for sixteen years, some of my favourite people are a group of anonymous fry cooks from a burger chain, but the team at our local Five Guys won my heart, one bite at a time! 

Eating regular meals as a shift worker is really difficult (especially when you’re trying to stick to a meat-only diet), so David and I found a quick and easy alternative for when we didn’t feel like cooking lunch and/or dinner to take to work.  Cheeseburgers (hold everything but the meat) from our local Five Guys burger joint.  These kids make the tastiest burgers, and they’re so consistently good.  Like damnnn!  Maybe I’m becoming pathetically grateful in my old age, or maybe it’s just that most things seem to be pretty shit these days; so when I’m nourished by food that other people regularly make for me, I actually feel love in my heart for them.  LOVE, I tell you!  So I started writing them little thank you notes on my order, hoping that they were well, wishing them a great day, a couple hallelujahs every now and again for how tasty their burgers are – that kind of thing.  After a while, I started getting notes back, handwritten on the brown paper delivery bag.  Which totally makes my day, every time.  Jay, Joanna and the rest of the team at Five Guys at Nakheel Mall, thank you so much for being such a delicious highlight of the last couple of years.  I’ll miss your mouthwatering burgers, and I’ll miss you.

Can you feel the ♥♥

COLLEAGUES
When you work so closely with people, doing shifts around the clock in a very confined space, you develop a uniquely close bond with them (after all, that’s how David and I met – nudge nudge, wink wink).  This doesn’t often translate to a friendship outside of the tower, but sometimes it does.  Doug (yes, Dangerous Doug) was my first tower husband (and don’t worry, David had his own tower wife to keep him company at his work).  Doug and I talked about everything.  We also argued a lot.  In fact, we almost got divorced when he filed a patently absurd safety report against me during a particularly rough patch. But we made up again when the case was dismissed by the Safety Department (as being patently absurd).  He obviously just needed to get it out of his system, and I forgave him for that.  Because that’s what work spouses do.  Doug and I were partners for a decade, and I feel lucky that our friendship was strong enough to withstand his adamant support for Donald Trump, and his relocation to Canada after he retired in 2019. 

My former tower hubby.

Since around 2012, Doug and I were also part of a group of work colleagues that used to get together for illegal poker nights (shhh, don’t tell anyone).  There was also Kevin (a Maltese air traffic controller), Rickard (a Swedish air traffic controller), Leewin (a UAE-born Indian air traffic assistant, turned corporate administrator) and of course David.  Let me tell you, trying to schedule a poker night with six people that are working opposing shifts is nigh on impossible, so we didn’t play as often as we would have liked.  But when we did, oh boy, did we have some fun! Over the years, our numbers dwindled as Rickard moved back to Stockholm, and then Doug retired to Canada.  Now that David and I are also leaving Dubai, there’s almost no chance we’ll ever be able to gather the whole crew together again and that does make me feel quite sad.  But the poker gods smiled upon us in June of this year and the six of us got together at our place for one last drunken hurrah of The Desert Aces!  Trust me when I say, we made it count! 

On the couch, from left: Leewin, Doug, Rickard and Kevin – September 2019
The Desert Aces Farewell Tour, June 2024

Over the last few years I also developed a wonderful working relationship with my team, Khalid, Mark and Brad.  Around the clock we talked endlessly, laughed heartily, and complained about work even more heartily.  But above all, we had each other’s backs.  We genuinely cared for each other, like a weird little family.  We checked in on each other when someone was sick, shared tips on what to expect in simulator exams, and even negotiated who got to use the sleep room on those gruelling morning shifts.  We shared food, brewed endless cups of tea and coffee, and always covered for one another.  When someone needed an urgent toilet break in the middle of the night (it was me, I’m the one who needed an urgent toilet break in the middle of the night), one of the guys would always run up from his sleep break, without hesitation, no questions asked, and no fuss about it.  You can’t put a price on that kind of solidarity.

And when you sit next to the same people for eight hours a day, every day, you learn a lot about each other.  Not just the names of pets and family members, but what their wives had for breakfast, what issues their kids are having at school and why they have a doctor’s appointment later that day (hint: sometimes it’s a vasectomy).  You learn about each other’s phobias, prejudices and fears. Dreams, morals and life experiences.  You hear about each other’s childhoods, witness personal milestones and share in the ups, downs and details of their daily life.  These shared moments build a deep and unique bond, creating a sense of family beyond mere colleagues.  In a rare rostering miracle, all three of my guys were in the tower for my last transmission, making the moment even more meaningful.  I’m not going to lie, I became emotional.  There were tears, and hugs and goodbyes.  And then I left.  I walked down the spiral staircase for the very last time, and I went home.  They were like brothers to me. 

From left: Brad, Mark, Khalid (my second tower husband), Bader (an infrequent B-Watch member) and me. Queen of my domain!

SHORELINE GYM
Our apartment has a gym, but it’s a ten minute walk away, across a busy road and in another building.  So, being the lazy sods that we are, we never used it.  I mean, it’s a ten minute walk away!  Across a busy road!!  In another building!!!  But that all changed in November 2023 when David and I decided to get strong, goddamn it.  In the past I was always obsessed with losing weight so I stuck to cardio.  This time I’m obsessed with gaining strength, so it’s the first time I’ve ever done weights.  And from the moment I walk in the door and start my 30 minute full-body workout, alternating between arm and leg machines, I’m absolutely fucking loving it!  I can feel myself getting fitter and stronger, and more physically powerful and resilient and it makes me feel like Xena Warrior Princess.  And what’s not to love about that. 

Giving Wonder Woman vibes!

AL ITTIHAD PARK
Our apartment overlooks Al Ittihad Park, a beautifully landscaped oasis that features over 60 varieties of native trees and plants, as well as a 3.2km walking track that winds through the lush greenery.  People jog, cycle, walk their dogs and do wanky personal training sessions at the many fitness stations dotted around the track.  There are lawns and children’s play areas and nearby cafés and shops.  It’s really quite delightful.  Considering the harsh Dubai environment, Al Ittihad Park is a beautiful escape from the city. 

A verdant oasis of tranquility, in the heart of the desert.

Since retiring, David and I have developed a lovely ritual of walking a portion of the track after we finish at the gym, and then stopping at the dog park to sit on a bench, talk about stuff and, if we’re lucky, meet some furry friends (yes, we’re the dogless weirdos loitering in the dog park!).  We’ve met Masha and Muffin, Harvey and Ginger and Winston and George.  And my favourite dog, Terry, and his new brother Koda.  The first five years in Dubai we lived in a 24 hour construction zone.  I am talking non-stop drilling and jackhammering and excavation and bulldozing and pile-driving.  Al Ittihad Park is such a refreshing antidote to that.  It’s a place I cherish, where I can unwind and enjoy a little bit of nature right in my backyard. 

My furry friends, Koda and Terry!

SHOP & SHIP
Like so many others, I made the transition to full blown online shopping addict during covid lockdown.  I’m talking multiple deliveries per day.  And thanks to the bizarro-world postal system in Dubai where things don’t get delivered to your house address, but to a post office box (which most online retailers won’t deliver to), I had to find a way to get my hands on my merchandise.  Enter Aramex’s Shop & Ship, a clever way to spend a shitload more money on online shopping from around the world.  Just have your order delivered to one of their many courier addresses in over 30 different countries, and then a lovely man on an Aramex motorbike magically delivers it to your front door!  Convenient as fuck!  I regularly get stuff flown in from New York, Paris, London, Sydney, Frankfurt and Ontario, and yes I do have a problem.  Now that I’m no longer earning any money, I know I should just go cold turkey.  Or maybe, just hear me out, I could investigate, you know, hypothetically, if it’s possible to change my delivery address from Dubai to Amsterdam, and just promise to try really, really, really, really hard to not shop as much. 

He gives me my package, and I give him a tip and a bottle of cold water, because its hot outside.  Everybody’s happy! 

TIPS & TOES GIRLS
I’m not really a girly girl.  I don’t wear makeup very often, I don’t get my hair coloured or blown out, and I don’t really do high heels.  But bitches, ever since I moved to Dubai, you better believe I get my nails done.  I’m lucky to live about a three minute walk away from a really nice salon where I have, over the years, assembled a crack team of beauticians to pamper me every few weeks.  Susan does my pedicure, and Girlie does my mani.  And while those two are working on my nails, my darling Desi melts away the knots in my neck and shoulders with her small, but deceptively powerful hands.  It’s indulgent, I know (don’t hate me coz you ain’t me).

Even though it’s super nice, I don’t think I’ll miss the indulgence all that much.  But I am going to miss my girls.  They all light up and run over to give me hugs when I walk into the salon.  We chat, and I try to make them laugh.  I recline in my seat and give myself over to them so they can look after me, so full of care and kindness.  There is an intimacy involved when someone touches your body to nurture and attend to you.  When Girlie tenderly holds my hand to paint my fingernails, when Susan gently exfoliates the bottom of my feet, when Desi massages oil into my shoulders, there is affection and tenderness and warmth in those touches.  There is real human connection.  And that’s what I’m going to miss. 

My girls!!! From left: me, Desi, Girlie and Susan

#806
Our two bedroom apartment on Palm Jumeirah is absolutely amazing.  And yes, I’m house-proud as fuck!  In 2016, we bought our peaceful hideaway from the relentless grind and chaos of Dubai, and over the years we have completely gutted and renovated the kitchen, and all four bathrooms (yes, I said four bathrooms).  We have meticulously shaped and transformed our place into a beautiful, light-filled sanctuary adorned with art and flourishing plants and books and freshly cut flowers and music.  We turned it into our own little world, a delightful microcosm, from the Greek mikros (little) and cosmos (world).  If we could somehow transport our entire apartment intact to anywhere but Dubai, we would do it in a heartbeat, because it truly feels like home.  Sadly though, constrained by physics and reality, we must leave it behind, along with most of our beautiful furniture.  I will miss this place, but as we embrace our new beginnings, I’m already looking forward to infusing our new homes with the same warmth and charm that made this one so special.  

Welcome! Please make yourself at home.
Ahhh, the serenity.

MY PLANTS
Plants, plants, plants!!  I love my plants.  They bring joy and fulfilment into my life, and they fill the house with oxygen and beauty.  And sure, sometimes they give me a little bit of grief but all children do that, don’t they?  One of my only regrets about moving from Dubai is that we’re going to have to leave our beloved green kiddos behind.  From the baby of the family, Aziz (three and a half) to our oldest teenager Shane (15), each has their own unique personality, preferences, sensitivities and, of course, their own name.  The thought of abandoning them breaks my heart, but I do hope to find good, stable homes for each and every one of them with the foliage featurette I’ve made, showcasing all their good looks and undeniable charm – because even plants deserve their moment in the spotlight!!

Ejo #166 – Christine Olmstead: What Is An Artist?

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While we were both in residence at Chateau Orquevaux in May 2022, I had the opportunity to sit down with award-winning conceptual and abstract mixed-media artist Christine Olmstead while she was working on her collection A Little More. We chatted about her history, her art and her creative process. And she was kind enough to allow me to delve a little deeper into what she’s looking for in her life and in her career, and how she plans to get there.

I caught up with Christine while she was working in her Chateau studio.

Okay, so let’s dive in. What is an artist? 
I think an artist is someone who has the ability to make connections and create something new from many sources.  And I think that you can be an artist in every area.  You could be a math artist, you could be a financial artist, you could be a writer, a word artist.  I think that the term artist connotes creativity and the ability to see things and make connections and create something new in whatever your craft is.  

And what makes Christine Olmstead an artist?
What makes me an artist?  The complete desperation and lack of ability to do anything else.  It felt like the only thing that I could do, the only option.

Talk us through the formal training you’ve had, and also any self-taught training.
My mum taught us traditional art history growing up.  She wanted my brother and me to be able to understand and recognise art movements as well as try to recognise an artist based on their stroke palette or subject matter.  So growing up, she taught us a lot.  And then, we both did art lessons, learning charcoal and pencil portraiture, in elementary and middle school.  And then, in high school I was doing still life in oil with a teacher.  So that’s most of the training that I’ve had.  In college I did some graphic design and illustration as well. And then I did go to grad school for an MFA in the studio and painting, but I dropped out of that.

Why?
Um, a few reasons.  I was in the middle of it when covid hit, and my husband was laid off, so I was the only one earning for a period of time.  And it didn’t seem financially wise to keep going, especially not knowing what the future with covid was going to hold.  So I dropped out of the program for financial reasons, but also I wasn’t really getting what I wanted out of grad school.

How long did you do it for?
About a year.  Yeah, it wasn’t the experience that I wanted.  And I’m usually a finisher, and I have a really hard time walking away from things and not finishing the things that I start.  So it was a big deal for me to drop out of grad school.

Did it feel like the right decision?
Yeah, it felt like the right decision.  And I might go back.  I think I would transfer maybe, and try to seek the experience that I was hoping for. 

What kind of experience were you looking for? 
I think what I was looking for in grad school was connections, and camaraderie, as well as being able to study under people that I’ve really respected.  And it wasn’t that I didn’t respect my teachers. I did.  It was just that it was also a hybrid program, so I wasn’t in studio on campus, and I think that was also part of the reason why it just wasn’t right.  Because I think so much of learning is best in person.  Because it’s the little conversations, it’s the small comments, it’s the passing remark from a professor, it’s the stopping by their office or their studio. To me that’s the richness and that’s where deep learning happens, and it just wasn’t happening. So I think that’s what I was looking for.

Tell me about something new that you are working on, or planning to work on, when this current series is done. 
I always have like 10,000 series ideas, and there are so many things that I’m always experimenting with in my mind, and then also in my home studio.  This current one is definitely more commercially focussed because I tried to mix it up and make sure that there’s something that’s easily consumable.  And then, maybe later in the year I’ll do a series that’s just for me.  But this one is in conversation with the previous series that I did in 2020, at the beginning of covid when there was a lot of hopelessness and fear.  Obviously we were all going through it, and so I created a series, There’ll Be More as the only response that I knew how to have.  Which was to try to take hope and tell people there will be more goodness again, there will be more hope again, there will be more play.  There’ll be good things again one day.  And I think that was the only way that I knew how to deal with it, to believe that it would be okay.

So what is this current series about?
So this one is sort of the outworking of that.  Obviously covid isn’t over, but we sure are acting like it is.  And because this residency was postponed, I made that series right after I learned that no-one was going anywhere for a long time.  And now that I’m here at Chateau Orquevaux, it’s sort of like some of those good things that I promised you are coming to fruition.  And so this series is called A Little More, and it’s just some of those good things, some of those hopeful things.  And they’re not perfect and they’re still shrouded in some darkness because we all lost a lot, you know?  But they are meant to be a little bit of, not a mournful celebration, but just a coming out, a little bit.  If that makes sense.  I don’t know if that makes sense.

I was lucky enough to nab A Little More Growth after Christine’s open studio exhibit at the Chateau.

It makes total sense.  So for the next series, do you think you would build on that again or do something completely different?
I have something completely different in mind.  I feel like I need a mental break and reconfiguration.  I think once I come back home from the residency, I need to re-organise my thoughts.  And I’m also in the middle of building my new studio, renovating it and getting it in place.  So I think that when I get home, I need to re-settle, re-digest everything that happened here, while I market these pieces, get my studio set up and re-evaluate what I want the next thing that I’m going to bring into the world to be.  But, we’ll see.

Tell me about your studio. 
So my husband and I bought a house almost a year ago now, and it has what used to be a horse barn on the property.  So we’re renovating it.  There was electricity and central air but we’re adding running water, we’re drywalling.  We’re doing all of that, and transforming it into my studio. The last studio space I had was in my home and it just started getting really claustrophobic.  I work really big so I’m really excited to have a space that’s outside of my home, but just down the road.  Just a little bit of separation.

Christine posing with her Synesthetic Bodies collection. The use of 24K gold is a signature technique of hers.

My dream for the studio is that it’s also sort of, not a community space, but a place where I can host events and other artists and where people in my community, other artists or friends can say, “Hey, I’m going to bring over a bottle of wine and let’s talk”, or “I want to show you my work”, or “Hey, can I see what you’re working on?”  And, you know, maybe even do dinners in the studio.  And I would love for it to be a mixed use space where so many things can happen, and there can be deeper connections.  A multi-purpose space, but also my studio. 

That sounds absolutely incredible, and it kind of leads onto my next question.  What goals do you have for the future and what would you like to achieve artistically and professionally?  
Career wise, goals wise, I mean wouldn’t we all love to be in The Met or something.  But you know, to be in a museum, if that sort of thing were to ever happen, you know, it’ll probably be when I’m dead.  I don’t anticipate that necessarily in my lifetime.  I think that’s a very big goal to have.  But I want to continue to be able to be sustained and supported by my work.  That’s a goal.  I want to bring people together and give them a piece of hope, mostly. 

Christine’s latest collection is called Fun, and was inspired by something her marriage counsellor said to her and her husband:
“OH MY GOSH YOU GUYS ARE SO SERIOUS, DO YOU EVER HAVE ANY FUN!?!”

I like that you want to give people hope.  And I think it’s quite noble of you really, because there’s a lot of it lacking, in the world right now.
Yeah.  I would say that I lack it a lot, and that’s probably why I want to try to give it to the people.

Are you giving yourself some hope too?
Yeah, I’m trying to.  I’m trying to.

Tell me about someone who has inspired you artistically, whether it’s someone that you know, or another artist.
First and foremost is my mum, just because she gave us a lot of tools growing up, to understand art. When I was about two and a half years old, I made a whole series of tulips. They were abstract tulips.  And I made hundreds of these things, and it was because she had told me about the impressionists.  My mum loves impressionism. 

You were two and a half? 
Yeah.  And so she was showing me Monet and I thought, oh, I can do that.  At two and a half [laughs]. And so I did one stripe of black paint, and then either green, or green and yellow, over top.  And then the tulip bulb colour was red with a white stripe over, or pink with red over.  And so, I understood the basics of what she was talking about, but I made so many of these, and she framed one of them and she still has it in her bathroom.  And that’s a silly little thing, but because I know how much she values art, it meant so much to me that she thought that one of my tulips was worthy of being framed.  And that inspired me to think that what I make could be valuable.

And then the other artists that inspired me, I really love Joan Mitchell and Helen Frankenthaler.  I remember seeing Frankenthaler’s piece Jacob’s Ladder, and it just brought me to tears .  And the way Joan Mitchell uses paint and texture, just beautiful.  She’s one of my favourite artists, if not my favourite.  I think her works are beautiful, and her pieces are the ones that have moved me the most.  I like Mitchell’s painting style more, but I do love Frankenthaler’s creativity.

Helen Frankenthaler’s Jacob’s Ladder.

There were some things about Joan Mitchell, like she’s also synaesthetic, and the way she approaches painting is the way that I was approaching painting before I knew about her methods.  In the sense that she would paint music, and she would paint a poem, and she gives bodies to intangible things.  And that’s the way that I was viewing the world and my work, as well.  Can I give a body to a concept or an idea?  Like what would love look like?  Or what would peace look like.  You can see the outworkings of those things in the world, but if it did exist, what would it look like?  So I loved that.  Not that I’m anything like her, because she’s prolific and amazing, but once I learned about her it was like, we thought in the same ways.

Joan Mitchell (1925-1992) in her studio, Paris, France, September ’56. Photo: L. Dean/The LIFE Picture Collection/Shutterstock

You have synaesthesia?
Yeah.

Can you tell me more?  I’m so fascinated by this.
So, I have a couple of different kinds, but the one that is the most fun, and that I enjoy the most and use the most in work, is sound to sight synaesthesia.  So when I hear music, I see it as colour and movement.  And honestly they’re not all really pretty.  Some of them are… well, it depends on the music.  So I don’t paint songs, because a video would be better, animation would be the best medium for that, I think.  But what I do use synaesthesia for in my work is for colour inspiration, because different genres of music or different pieces of music in particular tend to have overarching colours, right?  Like one of my pieces, if you look at this, you’d think mostly blue, but of course there are other colours dancing around in there. So that’s the way a song is.  It’s maybe mostly blue, but it moves with other colours too.  

Synaesthesia is being able to experience more than one sense simultaneously. Christine listens to music, and sees colour and movement.

It’s a dynamic thing?
Right, right.  Exactly.  So when I listen to music while I paint, I usually choose music based on what palette I know it’s in.

And is it the same colour every time you hear a song?
It’s always the same palette, but it might move differently, you know?  And depending on what you’re paying attention to in the song, you can focus in on different colours, or movements. So I mostly use it for colour inspiration, but it’s a fun way of existing.

What advice would you give to yourself when you first started pursuing art, and would that differ to advice that you would give to somebody else that was starting a career in art?
I’m definitely a believer in individual solutions, so I wouldn’t give the same advice to everyone, because I think everybody has different values and everybody wants something different out of life.  So I don’t think that advice is universal.

So what advice would you give to yourself?
To myself, I think I would say slow down.  Yeah, I think I would tell myself to slow down.  It’s hard to tell yourself that when you’re young though, you know, because there’s so much pressure and you feel like you have to be something and do something.  And there’s also pressure to provide for yourself.  So I wish I could have told myself to slow down.  I think that’s the main thing I would say.  Just go slower. 

Do you push yourself?
Yeah.  Yes.  I’m not good at resting, I don’t think.  So yeah, try to slow down.

Ejo #165 – Dad

Good Life, Greece, grief, Learning About Me, Photographs, The Extraordinary People I Know, , , , , Leave a comment

My father died 20 years ago today.  His death fucked me up pretty good.  Actually, his illness didn’t do a bad job of fucking me up either.  Watching him deteriorate from a strong and vital man into a shell of a human being, someone I barely recognised, sent me plummeting into the deepest and darkest depression I’ve ever experienced.  The ten months of his illness were agonising, and the months afterwards were very much worse. 

Until my father died, work was a source of great comfort for me.  A place I could escape the gnawing torment of his decline.  A place of relief from the anguish.  I was working as a junior air traffic controller at Moorabbin, which is a busy airport full of training aircraft.  It’s chaos.  Delving into work, my focus was laser sharp and blinkered, all the better to not allow any thoughts of my father to seep into my consciousness.  I was depressed, yes, but I was functional.  In stark contrast, after Dad died, I became catatonic.  I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t do anything.  And I certainly couldn’t work. 

I was off work for three months, and spent all that time at our family home with my Mum and sisters.  I slept in the living room on a foam mattress which I made up every night, and packed away every morning.  Sleep was elusive; my head filled with swirling memories and jagged thoughts that were so painful I would just sob into my pillow for hours.  I was eventually prescribed sweet, merciful Temazepam to help with the debilitating insomnia, which was a life buoy thrown to me when I was drowning in a tempestuous sea of grief.  My waking hours were spent staring into space.  Aimlessly shuffling from room to room.  I was completely numb and I don’t remember much from that time.  I lost a lot of weight.  I rarely left the house.  I cut myself off from all my friends.  My father’s death knocked me out.  It was a king-hit that took me more than 18 months to emerge from.    

My mother never resurfaced from her loss.  When Dad died, a very large part of her did as well.  She never stopped loving him with all her heart, and she stubbornly refused to live a full life without him.  To my Mum, Kon’s ashes embodied his soul, and until the day she died she kept a lit candle beside his urn on the mantelpiece in the living room.  She said goodbye to him when she left the house, and hello when she returned.  Goodnight when she went to bed, and good morning when she woke up.  It was her way of staying connected to him, even though he was gone.  It was her way of keeping him alive, and that gave her comfort. 

My mother’s death hit me very differently.  Firstly, even though I knew she was sick, I didn’t know that she was at death’s door, so I was totally unprepared.  Secondly, she was my mother, not my father.  And thirdly, after Dad died, I still had my Mum around for another 15 years.  But when she died too, suddenly they were both gone and I experienced not just the loss of a very important person in my life, but the loss of my roots, my anchor, my family unit, and my very foundation.  And the loss was profound.  I didn’t get depressed, like when Dad died.  Instead I succumbed to an extreme and overpowering sadness, the depth of which I could never have imagined possible.  The sadness that I felt was not normal.  My whole life leading up to this event, sadness was a room on the ground floor.  Maybe when things got really bad, it went down to the basement.  But suddenly, when my Mum died, I realised that it was not the lowest, or the worst, that I could feel.  I learned that there were twenty cavernous levels below the earth that could fill up and overflow with my sadness.  It’s like when people say you don’t know how much love you can truly feel until you have a baby.  Well, maybe you don’t know how much sadness you can feel until you lose your mother. 

I’ve spent the last four and a half years since my mother’s death fiercely grieving her.  I miss her deeply and still sometimes cry myself to sleep when it just hits me in the chest that she’s gone and that she’s never coming back.  I think of her every single day.  I see her picture on my bedroom wall every single day.  And every single day something reminds me of her, and I’ll say emphatically, “I love my Mum”.  Because I really fucking do.    

Conversely, in the last four and a half years, I have hardly thought about my Dad at all.  Deplorably, I haven’t had any room in my heart for him.  And I feel so incredibly guilty that the all-consuming grief I feel for Mum has completely supplanted the grief that I was holding for my Dad.  And of course, intellectually and emotionally, I know (I know!) that I still love my father and I know that I miss him and I know that I grieve for him.  And of course it’s not a competition about who I love or miss the most.  But I am grateful that this, twentieth anniversary of his passing, is an opportunity for me to once again focus on my Dad, and to once again make some room for him in my heart where he belongs. 

My parents were very different people, and had very different parenting styles.  My Mum was all heart, loving, open and warm.  My Dad was more outgoing and filled the room with his personality… which could sometimes be a lot.  He had been raised in a household where the man was in charge, the man was the be-all and end-all, the man wore the pants and the man had the last word.  My Dad’s gentle nature prevented him from becoming the kind of authoritarian parent that his own father was, but still he could be pretty strict and uncompromising, especially when my sisters and I were teens.  I think that when his three daughters started growing up, it triggered an internal clash between his easy-going personality and the stern parental conditioning he’d grown up with.  And this started causing a rift in our family.  Being the first born child, being the one for whom rebellion simply wasn’t an option, I accepted all the rules.  I was the good girl.  And I’m grateful to both of my sisters, for being significantly more ballsy than I was and smashing down the barriers that had been put around us.  I’m grateful because, even though it caused a great deal of heartbreak and strife and tension in the house at the time, it was the catalyst for our father to change.  As a parent, and as a man. 

I have to give my Dad props for being able to shed generations of toxic masculinity, and to look inwards and realise that he no longer had to be so overprotective and controlling of his daughters.  He understood that if he didn’t make changes within himself, he was at risk of pushing us away, or even losing us completely.  And he changed.  He just did it.  He softened, he became more accepting, and he became more affectionate and open and loving.  He became more himself.  It was a truly remarkable transformation.  Over the years, my relationship to my Dad evolved from worship, to reverence, to fear, to shame, to disrespect, to ambivalence.  And then I went back, and I got to know him as a person, as a human being.  And I started loving him again.  And finally, at the end, after all that, we were friends.  I’m so grateful that we had the opportunity to complete that circle while he was still alive. 

I have so many beautiful memories of my extravagant and irrepressible father, whose extraordinary zest for life left an impression on everyone who knew him.  Even though it may seem trivial, a memory that I hold very dearly is of how gentle my Dad was when he put my hair up in a ponytail when I was a kid.  As opposed to my Mum’s confident and efficient method of whisking my hair up and quickly twisting the hair-tie around the ponytail, my entire head fit into my Dad’s enormous hands as he tenderly stroked my hair, trying so hard to not pull even a single one as he lovingly gathered it up on top of my head.  And I knew, I just knew, even then, as a five, or six, or seven year old, that it was a special moment between us.  I cherished that moment when I was a kid.  And I cherish it now. 

One family story that became legend over the years demonstrates how meticulous and fastidious Dad was about certain things.  He always took such great pride in the way that he looked, and in particular the clothes that he wore.  His sisters, Dimitra and Sophia, recently recalled the story for me, setting the scene at a large family dinner.  Dad, Mum, aunts and uncles and friends of the family were all there, gathered around the table.  Someone was carving and serving a large roast chicken, and a few droplets of gravy splashed onto my Dad’s shirt.  As was his wont, he became very upset.  Everyone there was accustomed to witnessing Dad’s over-the-top reactions whenever he got even a minor stain on his clothes.  But this time, apparently, he became so melodramatic about it that my Aunt Sophia (who was up to here with Dad’s histrionics) lost her patience, and lost the plot.  Wild-eyed, she pushed her chair back, walked around the table to where my Dad was sitting, grabbed the chicken drumstick off his plate and furiously started rubbing it all over his shirt, yelling, “It’s just a fucking stain, Kon!!!”  As you can imagine, everyone was so shocked at the unexpected insanity of the moment, they all burst into laughter.  Everyone, that is, except my Dad, who sat frozen like a statue, staring straight ahead with a stony look on his face. 

Hello police, I’m dressed to kill and I’d like to report a murder.

Thinking back, I remember lots of stories from my Dad’s youth.  Like the time a tree he was standing right next to was struck by lightning.  Knocked out by the impact, my father lost his sight and couldn’t see for hours afterwards.  When his eyesight returned, he went back to the tree, which had been cleaved in two, and found a stunning gemstone in the cradle of the split trunk.  The stone was a brilliant azure blue, and I remember seeing it and holding it and being in awe of it when I was a kid.  My Dad treasured that gemstone, and I wish with all my heart that I knew where it was. 

My father’s family were so poor that his parents couldn’t afford to feed all six of their children, so when my Dad was 17 years old, a deal was struck to foster him out to some neighbours, a rich family that lived just down the road.  Until then, my father had never even worn a pair of shoes.  So the pride that he took in his clothes later on in life makes total sense to me.  The couple that “adopted” my Dad were in their sixties and didn’t have any children, but they promised to secure him financially and to love him like their own.  The first few months went smoothly, and Dad helped them on their farm and generally did whatever was needed around the house.  He even used to drive the couple to church every week.  In a village where most families couldn’t even afford a bicycle, this was a big deal. 

After a while though, the couple started talking about weddings, suggesting that Kon marry their niece, but he wasn’t interested.  So the old guy started imposing a curfew, saying that my Dad (who was 19 years old by that time) had to be home by 10pm on Saturdays.  Obviously this was total bullshit and Kon justifiably stayed out until the wee hours of the morning that first weekend.  He did the same the weekend after.  And on the third weekend in a row that he came home late, he found the door to the house locked.  And that was it, that was the end of the deal.  That Sunday morning, his younger brothers and sisters woke up to find Kon sleeping on the floor next to their beds, and the whole family rejoiced that he was finally back where he belonged. 

Beloved siblings (Back row: Roula, Kon & Christos and Front row: Stavros, Sophia & Dimitra)

Kon Stathopoulos was a singularly brilliant man.  He pulled himself out of abject poverty in Greece, and created a whole new life for himself in Australia.  He completely rewrote his destiny.  My Dad was a dreamer and a big thinker!  Sure, he drove trucks, and then later taxis, but my Dad was too big to be a taxi driver forever.  He worked some shitty jobs to make ends meet, but in his spare time he was an enthusiastic entrepreneur.  Bow ties, light up yo-yos, silver screens for cars, decorative ceramic tiles.  He tried a whole bunch of innovative business ideas before finally starting his own company, Plastercraft Contractors. 

A one-man show, my Dad took solid plastering to the next level, turning it into an artform.  Within just a couple of years he had built such a great reputation in the industry that he was asked to singlehandedly restore the exterior of a large church in Ballarat.  He was also commissioned to create a new plaster cast emblem for the Red Eagle Hotel, in Albert Park, the very same bar where Kylie Minogue had her 21st birthday party!!!  He then landed the extremely exclusive job of re-designing and building the beautiful and iconic fountain at Government House in Victoria.  Every year on 26th January, Government House opens its doors to the public, and thousands of people get a chance to peek inside the stately home and to roam through the gardens.  There are also monthly tours of the 11 hectare garden which anyone can book, so why not go along on one of these tours and see for yourselves the amazing sculptural achievement created by my very own father. 

The construction phase.

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The standing ovation phase.

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The current phase.

Later on, due to the success of his business Dad expanded into larger scale projects like apartment building construction sites.  He often invited me to join him and earn a little bit of extra cash, and I once hit the jackpot, making $400 in one week being an elevator girl, asking big burly construction workers wearing hardhats, “Which floor?” for eight hours a day.  It was here that I first saw the man that my father had to be when he wasn’t with his family.  For the first time, I heard him casually throwing around words like, “fair dinkum”, “bloke”, “smoko”, and I even heard him say “fuck” a few times.  My brain exploded.  As a 21 year old I’d never heard my Dad swear at home, yet here he was cursing with such ease and regularity.  It was surprising, but also kind of nice, to discover this other side of Dad that I’d never seen before.  It added yet another dimension to him. 

My Dad left his mark on some pretty important buildings, but his passion project was building a holiday home for our family in Ancient Korinthos, in Greece.  The construction took him several years, and was (mostly) finished just before he was diagnosed with lung cancer in 2002.  His dream was for the five of us to holiday there, as a family.  But tragically, he never lived to see that happen.  The house is still there, an empty monument to one man’s vision. 

Mum and Dad hard at work. Literally building their dream home.

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The dream. With Greece’s only Hill’s Hoist.

I have a cute little blue urn on my bedside table, which holds a little bit of my Mum’s ashes and a little bit of my Dad’s ashes all mixed together.  I thought that having my parents close to me when I sleep would provide me with some sense of closeness to them, like my Mum used to get from having Dad’s ashes near to her.  But I was wrong.  I get nothing from it, except an academic understanding that my Mum and Dad’s cremated remains are next to me when I’m in bed.  I have no response to it at all, emotionally.  Sometimes I’ll shake the urn, and listen to their bone fragments rattling inside.  I know what’s in there, I know that it’s them, but even so, there’s no connection to who they were when they were alive.  I wish there was. 

Hello Mum and Dad, it’s me, Chryss.

My Dad really shaped the first 32 years of my life.  His first job in Melbourne was in the inner-city suburb of Carlton.  So naturally my father was a Bluebagger.  Therefore I am a Bluebagger.  Dad inspired my love of tennis, and I played competitively for years, even aspiring to turn professional when I was sixteen.  He taught me all the tricks of how to play a solid game of backgammon.  When I was 15, he taught me how to drive a manual in a rusty old Land Rover on a hilly farm with no roads.  And once I’d mastered that, he took me to an abandoned industrial estate in Springvale to learn how to drive his crappy work van. The one with the dodgy clutch and the sticky column shift.  And once I could drive that, I could drive anything.  I’m pretty sure that the reason I love to throw epic parties (and I really do love to throw epic parties) is because I inherited my Dad’s passion for entertaining, and showing people a good time, and living large.  It’s funny, what gets passed down from father to child.  Being a sports fan can be one of those things.  Wanting things to be just right, might be another.  A house in Greece, another still.  But maybe a zest for life and knowing how to dream big are the most important things a man can pass on to his daughter. Thanks Dad.