Epilogue

Roslyn Street, Kings Cross, 7 June 2021

In the final month before my exhibition, I realised that I cannot visit all of Sydney’s streets with female names. I would have liked to go to Sandy Glen, Nadine Close, Kerry Avenue or Kim Street because I know women with these names who might possibly visit the exhibition and should find a photo with their name. But this would have meant to do many more trips to far-away suburbs. Looking at some of them on Google maps also told me that these streets are mostly residential and very similar to each other. I took some screenshots from the map, but that was not the original idea. So the most logical moment to stop was with the exhibition Random Discoveries in April 2021.

There were also a few streets in my vicinity that I had missed. One of them was Roslyn Street in Kings Cross. This street has a lot of memories for me as I lived nearby in Macleay Street when I had come to Sydney in 1997. It marks the beginning of my life in this city. That’s why I want to include it here at the end of this journal.

In those days the street was busy by day and night. There was the Café Amsterdam at the corner to a small lane. Smoking was still allowed in cafés and bars then. In the ‘Amsterdam’ people often smoked other stuff than just cigarettes. Next door was the Baron’s, a bar to chill out late at night. On the other side of the street was the Piccolo Bar, an iconic café since 1952. The owner Vittorio himself was always present, making cups of coffee and chatting with customers.

My visit today is not the first one since the heady days of the late 1990s. I’ve been here many times and know that the ‘Amsterdam’ and ‘Barons’ are long gone. Instead, there is a commercial building by the Architects Durbach Block which won the Harry Seidler Award. It is impressive but somehow cold and impersonal. At least on my last visits, Vittorio was still there, sitting outside of his café and talking to his friends.

This time, after lock-outs and lockdowns the street looks sad. The Piccolo Bar is closed, and newspapers boarding up the windows. I heard that Vittorio has retired and wants to sell it.

It is the beginning of June 2021 and I don’t know yet that the longest lockdown is still to come.

Ruby and Harriett

Harriett and Ruby St, Marrickville on Wednesday, 17 March 2021

Ruby and Harriett are neighbours. In between is an industrial strip of Carrington Road. While Harriett is a rather unassuming, residential street, Ruby has an unusual feature. The street has a higher and a lower part which is divided by an old sandstone wall. Above runs a path that reminds me very much of places I have seen in France. It feels like being in a village.

Something to do

Amy Street, Marrickville on Friday, 29 January 2021

When I arrive in Amy Street it was raining heavily. At the end of the street is a playground and beyond an oval which is being resurfaced. The lawn has been removed, bulldozers are lined up. Two teenage girls are making their way down to the oval despite the rain. Maybe they’re going to sit in the Grand Stand under the roof? It’s still school holidays. You need to do something with your time off.

Cecilia

Cecilia Street, Marrickville on Tuesday, 5 January 2021

From the corner of Cecilia Street, the view goes to the Marrickville Town Hall and a winged goddess on a pedestal in front.

The street is a cul-de-sac, ending with a block of units. It looks almost like a gated community. There are two long rows of garbage bins lined up on the side of the footpath. A young man comes out from the property, rolling a bin to join the others. He’s wearing a mask and a turban and looks suspiciously at me. I don’t know why as I haven’t even taken any photos yet. I think it’s this aimless, slow walking and looking around, this loitering in a place without an apparent purpose that is suspicious. I turn around but observe that he is appearing again and again, one bin at a time. A tedious job.

Offerings to Mona

Mona Road and Lane, Darling Point on Monday, 13 July 2020

Mona Road merges with Darling Point Road and at the very end is the beautiful McKell Park. It’s like entering paradise. On this sparkling day, people sit on benches facing the water. A young couple is having a picnic on the grass. A ferry just arrives at the Darling Point wharf.

On an ornamented stone bench, which could be a leftover of the former neo-gothic mansion Canonbury, are small objects like offerings: three green fruits, two snail shells, a golden star and pink coloured discs from a wind charm. Canonbury was built at this location in 1904 and became a naval hospital during WWII. Before there were two other residences, a cottage in 1841 and the Landsdowne mansion in 1879. And before that, the area was called Yarranabbee by the traditional owners of the Gadigal land.

The two people, who sat on the bench when the ferry came in, are leaving. An elegant, old lady with the white stick for the vision impaired and a younger man guiding her, possibly her son. I hear her saying, “Silly Scott…” and think immediately that she is talking about Scott Morrison. I have learned a while ago that the upper middle classes, especially of her generation, use the word ‘silly’ instead of ‘stupid’. Using his first name indicates that she sees him as being on her side of the fence, but she reserves the right to have a critical attitude. This is my interpretation. 

Now in September 2021, after more than a year of pandemic, it seems that we are all on first-name terms with our politicians, at least in our minds. Gladys, Dan and Scott, we see them every day at press conferences on TV. They have become so familiar.

Next to the park is the Gothic Revival residence Lindesay, completed in 1836 for the colony’s treasurer Mr Campbell Drummond Riddell, and had many subsequent owners including Charles Nicholson, a collector of rare books and antiquities and chancellor of the University of Sydney. His collection used to be in the Nicholson Museum on the university’s main campus. The Lindesay is now also a museum and is temporarily closed because of COVID-19. 

Mona Road has some grand houses, but the part near New South Head Road also has quite modest brick residences and flats and a small row of dark-looking Victorian terraces which must have a fantastic view over Rushcutters Bay. 

I once lived in Mona Lane in ‘The Georgeson’ at the time of the Sydney Olympics. My flat was on the upper floor and had an unrestricted view over the bay to the city. I would come home from my job at ‘Opal Fields’ in Darling Harbour and sit at night in the lounge room to watch the laser show. It was also the final year of my Master's Degree at SCA and the self-portraits I took with an old Rolleicord and a long shutter release cable for my project were taken in that flat. It was big and I had it all to myself. 

Next door is a sombre 1930’s brick block of flats that got fitted with new roof tiles in 2000, but now looks deserted. Mona Lane ends with a footpath down to Rushcutters Bay. In those days you could still go to the park on New Year’s Eve with your friends and bring alcohol without having to pay or pass barricades. 

Easter Sunday in the time of Corona

Victoria Street, Redfern on Sunday, 12 April 2020

It’s a tiny street. I couldn’t find it at first, though it’s in an area I always drive past to get to Cleveland Street. There is also a small shopping centre and my car mechanic in this part of Redfern. A yellow corner building used to be an ice cream shop and is now empty. A bit shabby, with faded paint and crumbling mortar. It’s still somehow picturesque. A transparent door on the top seems to lead into the light. Otherwise, there are just back doors and garage doors. Music sounds from an open garage that contains a motorbike.

Esther and Violet Street, Surry Hills

There is a small net of alleys behind the warehouse that used to be the gallery of the legendary Ray Hughes. He died in 2017. According to the Sydney Morning Herald, he bought the building in 1987, “when the suburb was more seedy than trendy.” One of these small streets within this net is Raper Street, where Brett Whiteley’s former studio and living space was in another warehouse. His studio has been preserved as a museum.

Esther and Violet are blending into each other, formerly consisting of warehouses or small factories, now converted into residential and office spaces.

Esther Lane is flanked by a yellow-painted house. It creates a stunning glow in the afternoon light. The windows of the opposite building throw an interesting reflection onto the yellow wall. By coincidence, I photographed that street before, late last year, because I was attracted to this light.

Esther Lane in December 2019

To get to Esther and Violet Street I have to turn into Devonshire Street. I drive past a queue of people outside a corner shop. At present, only one or two people are allowed to be in small spaces. But there are still more people waiting outside than usual. I wonder what the attraction is and then see it’s the Bourke Street Bakery. My friend Elke mentioned it just yesterday. Surprisingly, I hadn’t known that bakery, even though I am a baker’s daughter and call myself an urban explorer. 

The very end of Devonshire just before South Dowling opens up like a brand new territory. The new tramline has created open spaces in the city. At this end, there used to be a small park with a playground. Now there is a long strip of lawn. This Easter Sunday is a bright, sunny day and the grass sparkles in the sunlight.

People are lying or sitting on the grass. Only two or three together at the most and far apart from each group, sticking to the new rules. Children from the row of dwellings bordering the lawn are playing and riding their scooters on the surrounding pavement. 

At the end of the lawn, a multi-coloured older building stands alone which declares itself as the “Surry Hills Art District”, the words written on one wall in between comic book style painted figures playing musical instruments. Two women, one in a canary yellow dress, are taking photos. The yellow one is the model. The building had been there before and it was not visible from this end as far as I remember. They must have pulled down a whole row of houses to create space for the tramline. The former Wimbo Park now seems to have shrunk to a fenced-in piece of land with no gate. It has a few young trees randomly dispersed amid otherwise barren, wood chip covered soil as if they are the sole survivors of an attempted and abandoned gardening project.

Do not push the button

Mary Ann Street, Ultimo on Thursday, 9 April 2020

I am constantly thinking about where to be outside and to go for a walk without causing any trouble or getting into trouble. Centennial Park was still open the last time I looked and ok on weekdays, but on the weekend there are too many people. I thought to check out Pyrmont and the waterfront at the end of Harris Street. I stopped in Mary Ann Street on the way. It runs from Wattle to Harris Street and then has another cul-de-sac end at the top. As a pedestrian, you can walk on from that point up some stairs or along a little passageway at the side. This street has some UTS buildings and the old Sydney Technical College which is now TAFE. There is a row of small sandstone terraces with a history plaque mentioning the surgeon John Harris to whom this land had been granted by the ‘Crown’. Two stonemasons built the terraces in 1869 to use as their family homes and rental housing. Another terrace has a small Chinese dumpling restaurant which is open for takeaway. The ‘Fork and Grind Café’ is closed and cordoned off. There is a small park with rose bushes. Two little girls are playing in the grass.

The street is empty, except for some young people with face masks, carrying shopping bags. In front of one of the UTS buildings is a black couch, either dumped or put there for smokers. A man is sitting on it working with his tablet and phone as if it were his office. But mainly the street in this busy part of the city is very empty and deserted. While walking along all by myself, I happen to come upon the Frank Gehry ‘squashed brown paper bag’ building which I could never find before. This is truly a ‘random discovery’.

At the traffic lights is a cardboard device over the push button, advising not to touch it. The lights will change by themselves.

Dr Chau Chak Wing Building, UTS, Sydney, designed by Frank Gehry

Three more Myrtles

Myrtle Street, Leichhardt on Thursday, 19 March 2020

I came to Leichhardt to install my work for the spontaneous group exhibition The Few and Far Between at Articulate project space because the scheduled artist had pulled out. It turned out to be the last show at Articulate before the lockdown. Myrtle is a residential street with a mix of architecture: new houses with balconies and plaster lion statues, weatherboard cottages, and small apartment blocks. A schoolboy is coming home to one of the new houses, greeted by his dog from the upper balcony. The boy looks at me curiously when I try to photograph the lion statues next door. Rosemary grows in almost every front yard. It’s the Italian quarter. One small grey building has the sign Shellonite written on its front, a small factory converted into a residential place. Almost stereotypical, a Vespa is parked outside. I wondered what Shellonite was and found a mention on the site ‘Alphabet City Press’ from 8 years ago. It was registered as a trademark in Australia in 1930 and manufactured artificial amber, horn and resin products. Now in August, while going over my notes for posting, I have a look at the internet again. There is a new entry: The building has come on the market for sale for the first time after 23 years, just a few weeks after I had visited the street.

At one end of Myrtle Street is a white house that could have been a corner shop once. It has a big red “Stop Adani” sign above the grill door. An invisible dog barks at me from inside the dark room.

Myrtle Street and Lane, Chippendale on Tuesday, 24 March 2020

I went to this street on a grey day in these uncertain times of the Corona Virus. The world has come to a halt: We are told to stay home. I try to find out if we can still walk in the streets. They say that we are allowed to go outside for walks and exercises. Alone or with our household members. Last night on television, the question was posed: Why are people still walking their dogs? This seems to be a ridiculous question. But is roaming other neighbourhoods included? It starts to feel socially unacceptable, like smoking. I think Chippendale is part of my own neighbourhood, so I go for a drive. I first thought not to get out of the car, but I did. 

I know the part of Myrtle near Abercrombie Street quite well. At the corner is a pub named The Chippo, which used to be called The Abercrombie. A group of people I knew at the time were frequenting this pub. Jay, a singer-songwriter friend, was living at some stage next door in a converted warehouse on the top floor.

I walk along the street, ever so conscious about avoiding other people. I come past a few more converted warehouses and some terrace houses. A convenience store is shuttered and displays a handwritten sign: “Sorry about the inconvenience”. At one point, a playground divides the street. One or two children with a parent, a man with his dog, and a girl on a bench. Communal garden projects are advertised on a banner. 

Myrtle Street, Botany on Thursday, 26 March 2020

I am half reassured that we can go outdoors if we avoid other people. I went for a drive. I need to get out of the flat every now and then. I thought to find out what the Botany version of Myrtle looks like.

It is bordered on one side entirely by the Botany Bay Swimming Pool. I didn’t even know it existed. It looks like a nice ground, with lots of trees for shade on a hot day. Of course, it is closed today. On the other side is a row of similar looking, but not uniform newer apartment buildings. Square white blocks, pretty design, lots of plants and trees. Some have louvres, like South European window shutters.

The street ends as a cul-de-sac. A group of small children are playing together. They seem to be too close to each other. Apart from them, the street is almost deserted. The only people around are traders, going about their jobs. At an empty car park is a ‘No Exit’ sign. Don’t go out, stay home. Things start to take on new meanings.

Not quite "The Truman Show"

Myrtle Street, Marrickville on Sunday, 8 March 2020

This street has a row of residential houses on one side and small factory buildings on the other. Many family homes here are neatly renovated, especially the one at the corner coming from Victoria Road. In the sunlight breaking through clouds, it reminds me of the movie “The Truman Show”. Almost too perfect to be true.

I guess the neat houses belong to Europeans, maybe Portuguese or Greek. An old man is pottering around in front of his house, picking up some stray twigs. In the middle of the street is a stormwater canal, coming out from under the footpath on both sides. It has a sign that warns of sewage overflow. There are symbols to tell us: do not swim, do not sit here with a fishing line, and do not let a dog go here. I don’t think anyone would be tempted. A stale smell is wafting from the trickle of water.

One of the factories is a yoghurt manufacturer. Next, a mysterious old house with a rusty corrugated iron roof hides behind a wall and trees.

At the other end of Myrtle Street, I look over to a patch of green hedges and shrubs, a factory chimney and an old, tall house, a bit grander than the ones nearby. That’s where the pedestrian railway crossing is. It looks from far like a remnant from a bygone era. Another sign tells me that the street is subject to flooding.

An unexpected history lesson

Victoria Street, Kings Cross and Darlinghurst on Thursday, 5 March 2020 

The photography class I am teaching at WEA was scheduled for the Kings Cross field excursion. We meet at the Victoria Street exit of Kings X station in spite of heavy rain. I suggest we could stay a while at the Tropicana Caffe and take photos through foggy windows with raindrops, like the American photographer Saul Leiter. Passing Kings Cross Hotel, there is an especially heavy downpour. We stop outside under an awning for shelter. While there, I try to get some specific colour fields into my photos. That was one of the assignments I gave the students: Follow a colour. We go on to the Tropicana in the Darlinghurst part of Victoria Street. This was the place where the international short film festival Tropfest started in 1993. By the time I had moved from Melbourne to Sydney in 1997 the festival had already spilled out into the street. Rows of chairs and a screen were put into Victoria Street next to the café. Later it moved to Centennial Park and then to Parramatta. The Tropicana Caffe dates back to the 1980s and was, some say it still is, a place where local artists were hanging out to chat with friends and develop creative ideas. Or sit by themselves and draw. I remember it from the late 1990s when it still had its original style. Later it was renovated and lost, in my view, some of its flair. Today the creatives present are the students of my photography class. But sadly, no foggy glass panes.

Later we arrive at the Kings Cross part of Victoria Street near Orwell Street. The rain hadn’t stopped all day. By 4 pm it's dark like on a winter’s day. The lit shop windows, the fading light, the yellowing leaves on the plane trees give the street a slightly European autumnal mood. A slim, young man stands in the middle of the street next to a rubbish bin. It looks "compromised", marked with black and yellow security tape. It accidentally matches the man’s runners. He is guiding the traffic around the bin. After a while, he abandons his mission and tells us some of the histories of the immediate environment.

Here are the Butler Stairs, built in 1869 to create access between the higher and wealthier Potts Point and the lower and poorer neighbourhood of Woolloomooloo. That’s where the servants and maids lived who worked for the rich people up on the ridge, climbing up the 103 steps possibly several times a day. I’m disappointed to learn that the stairs are not named after the servants, but after an Irish draper called James Butler. He was an alderman on the Sydney Council and instrumental in the building of the stairs.

Then our new tour guide tells us about Juanita Nielsen who had lived nearby at 202 Victoria Street. She was a journalist and activist in the 1970s, fighting against demolition, redevelopment plans, and the forceful eviction of residents in Kings Cross. She disappeared in 1975. This mystery has never been solved, but it is assumed that she was kidnapped and murdered.

Another local resident of Victoria Street was the Green Ban activist Mick Fowler who was fighting for the same cause as Juanita. He has a plaque in his memory at the side of the stairs.