Slinky has seized on a narrow window of opportunity when artist Denise Faulkner has put down her brushes to make a cup of tea.

But the 49-year-old’s favourite Booths Real Old Willow teacup, often featured in her paintings, rarely gets an outing these days due to the relentless pace of keeping up with commissions and exhibition deadlines. “A pretty teacup just isn’t a big enough cup of tea for me anymore when I am painting,” she says wryly but clearly pleased at the increasing demand for these whimsical watercolours.

Under a window looking out onto the bush, is a bench spread with the tools of her trade. The names of the blues in the Winsor & Newton palette read like a magical mantra with a hint of geography: Prussian, indigo and French ultramarine mixed with cobalt, Antwerp and cerulean, the colour of the clear blue sky soaring above the roof of this 70s weatherboard cottage 35 minutes out of Mudgee in the NSW Central West.

She takes a sip of freshly made English Breakfast (it’s strong with just a dash of milk) in a large mug emblazoned with Sir Frederic Leighton’s Flaming June from the Art Gallery of NSW. It’s a reminder of the 14 years this graduate of the National Art School spent working there as a book buyer. “It was a wonderful place to work,” she recalls as we talk about her favourites in the AGNSW’s permanent collection.

Willow ware with its intricate chinoiserie is a regular subject in Denise’s watercolours. (The old wares shops in nearby Gulgong are a valuable hunting ground for this vintage china.) At first glance, the paintings appear to be following the traditional pattern telling the story of ill-fated lovers with willow trees, pagodas and doves but under closer scrutiny you can spot Snoopy the beagle from the cartoon strip lying on a pagoda roof and Eastern grey kangaroos grazing.

Even the cottage features in one work. The Chinese elm tree grows to one side, the cat sits at the front door, the wombat is in his burrow at the base of the towering pink granite ridge at the back while the three Isa Brown chickens we have just visited in their chook pen roam the front yard.

Denise, who grew up in Sydney’s Drummoyne, is the youngest of four but essentially, she was an only child. Books played a big part in this little girl’s life. Alice in Wonderland was read again and again — “it was the pinnacle for me” — and the Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit and Wuthering Heights quickly followed.

“When I was a child, it was just me and mum. I would spend a lot of time amusing myself — painting, drawing and reading. They were my favourite things to do in the world and that’s how I spent my days,” she says.

In many ways, today she is painting the fairy tales born of this period. After many layers of careful brushwork — “I’m hard on my brushes, I don’t buy expensive ones as I wear them out” — kookaburras with mischievous glints in their eyes emerge on the paper to swoop down to steal from side plates piled high with lamingtons, galahs dance around the palest pink Iced Volvos while a barn owl and a mouse have a standoff across a slice of passionfruit cheesecake. All are clearly a figment of Denise’s imagination but the work which led to them was very firmly rooted in reality a few years ago: a brazen magpie swooping down to steal the cat biscuits in a Japanese porcelain bowl put out for a stray tabby cat who had emerged out of the bush one day.

But it took two decades and a move to this remote 18-hectare bush block between Mudgee and Gulgong for Denise to return to art.

After graduating from art school, where artist Lucy Culliton was one of her contemporaries, Denise had felt daunted by the idea of making a living as an artist.

“I might have gone to the odd life drawing class, but I was working full time and it was hard to find the energy while I was on that treadmill,” she says.

Looking for a break from city life, Denise and her partner Fraser, an IT specialist who was already working remotely, had bought a weekender in 2009. The pair found they were increasingly reluctant to return to Sydney after each visit and made the decision to move there permanently in 2013. “I thought, if we are going to move out of the city, there is no point just moving into another town, even if it was in the country,” says.

Even though it is only a short drive, just 15 kilometres, from the historic town of Gulgong, there was a hurdle Denise had to overcome — she didn’t have her driver’s licence so couldn’t apply for any local jobs. The solution? A return to painting. The surrounding bush and wildlife quickly inspired her, and she now spends her days happily painting.

Her most recent work is part of the annual Michael Reid Murrurundi collaborative exhibition with Country Style magazine: Art of the Garden.

“During the drought a lot of our trees in the bush died, so without the canopy more native shrubs and flowers sprung up changing the whole dynamic of the landscape. This year was our most spectacular year for the flannel flowers. Without the tree canopy, we were able to see them waving in the breeze up high on the ridge in the most hostile and sunbaked conditions,” she says.

“Up close they were a forest of soft fuzzy flowers loved by all the insects, so I decided to include just some of the visitors to my not so still lifes. Flannel flowers have been adopted as the symbol of mental health awareness, something I think we all need to consider in these trying times, but given where I know they grow, I also see them as the symbol of resilience and strength.”

With an exciting project on the horizon, it seems this very modest artist has returned to “the tribe I found at art school” with her new life in the bush, painting whimsical pieces edged with her quiet humour.

“It is often hard to say goodbye to my paintings. They are a part of me, but it also makes me happy to know that someone else likes them enough to take them home and share their walls with them.”

Slinky has seized on a narrow window of opportunity when artist Denise Faulkner has put down her brushes to make a cup of tea.

But the 49-year-old’s favourite Booths Real Old Willow teacup, often featured in her paintings, rarely gets an outing these days due to the relentless pace of keeping up with commissions and exhibition deadlines. “A pretty teacup just isn’t a big enough cup of tea for me anymore when I am painting,” she says wryly but clearly pleased at the increasing demand for these whimsical watercolours.

Under a window looking out onto the bush, is a bench spread with the tools of her trade. The names of the blues in the Winsor & Newton palette read like a magical mantra with a hint of geography: Prussian, indigo and French ultramarine mixed with cobalt, Antwerp and cerulean, the colour of the clear blue sky soaring above the roof of this 70s weatherboard cottage 35 minutes out of Mudgee in the NSW Central West.

She takes a sip of freshly made English Breakfast (it’s strong with just a dash of milk) in a large mug emblazoned with Sir Frederic Leighton’s Flaming June from the Art Gallery of NSW. It’s a reminder of the 14 years this graduate of the National Art School spent working there as a book buyer. “It was a wonderful place to work,” she recalls as we talk about her favourites in the AGNSW’s permanent collection.

Willow ware with its intricate chinoiserie is a regular subject in Denise’s watercolours. (The old wares shops in nearby Gulgong are a valuable hunting ground for this vintage china.) At first glance, the paintings appear to be following the traditional pattern telling the story of ill-fated lovers with willow trees, pagodas and doves but under closer scrutiny you can spot Snoopy the beagle from the cartoon strip lying on a pagoda roof and Eastern grey kangaroos grazing.

Even the cottage features in one work. The Chinese elm tree grows to one side, the cat sits at the front door, the wombat is in his burrow at the base of the towering pink granite ridge at the back while the three Isa Brown chickens we have just visited in their chook pen roam the front yard.

Denise, who grew up in Sydney’s Drummoyne, is the youngest of four but essentially, she was an only child. Books played a big part in this little girl’s life. Alice in Wonderland was read again and again — “it was the pinnacle for me” — and the Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit and Wuthering Heights quickly followed.

“When I was a child, it was just me and mum. I would spend a lot of time amusing myself — painting, drawing and reading. They were my favourite things to do in the world and that’s how I spent my days,” she says.

In many ways, today she is painting the fairy tales born of this period. After many layers of careful brushwork — “I’m hard on my brushes, I don’t buy expensive ones as I wear them out” — kookaburras with mischievous glints in their eyes emerge on the paper to swoop down to steal from side plates piled high with lamingtons, galahs dance around the palest pink Iced Volvos while a barn owl and a mouse have a standoff across a slice of passionfruit cheesecake. All are clearly a figment of Denise’s imagination but the work which led to them was very firmly rooted in reality a few years ago: a brazen magpie swooping down to steal the cat biscuits in a Japanese porcelain bowl put out for a stray tabby cat who had emerged out of the bush one day.

But it took two decades and a move to this remote 18-hectare bush block between Mudgee and Gulgong for Denise to return to art.

After graduating from art school, where artist Lucy Culliton was one of her contemporaries, Denise had felt daunted by the idea of making a living as an artist.

“I might have gone to the odd life drawing class, but I was working full time and it was hard to find the energy while I was on that treadmill,” she says.

Looking for a break from city life, Denise and her partner Fraser, an IT specialist who was already working remotely, had bought a weekender in 2009. The pair found they were increasingly reluctant to return to Sydney after each visit and made the decision to move there permanently in 2013. “I thought, if we are going to move out of the city, there is no point just moving into another town, even if it was in the country,” says.

Even though it is only a short drive, just 15 kilometres, from the historic town of Gulgong, there was a hurdle Denise had to overcome — she didn’t have her driver’s licence so couldn’t apply for any local jobs. The solution? A return to painting. The surrounding bush and wildlife quickly inspired her, and she now spends her days happily painting.

After having such a country childhood, was it important for you to give your kids something similar? 

Yes absolutely. I loved the simplicity of my childhood, which is hardly possible for kids now with social media and other devices like Xbox. Spending time with friends outside, riding bikes, swimming in the river (or Lake Canobolas in our case) is what I think is important to give our kids. I encourage them to get into the garden with me planting vegetables – at the moment we are picking raspberries and tomatoes and they love that, we also bought a flow hive for Christmas, so beekeeping is on the cards for 2022.

It’s easy to say what you want for your kids, but it’s harder to actually do it. I make the effort to give them as many similar experiences as I had, which was lots of bike riding, outdoor projects, helping in the garden, tennis, and getting outdoors. I just wish I could give them the horse riding and polo part, but that’s not really in our lives here. Being in Orange enables us to do that very easily and I feel extremely grateful that my experience as a child has set me up to want to pass it on to my kids.

What inspired you both to move to Orange? 

When I met Shaun his parents lived in Dubbo and we would often drive through Orange from Sydney to visit them. We always said how we’d love to live there (this is back in the early 2000s) because it was so pretty and had a couple of good restaurants Lolli Redini and Selkirks – which was pretty unheard of in the country back then. Then when we were overseas family friends Kathy and Richard opened a restaurant in their vineyard, the School House at Mayfield, and asked us to run it. It was a no brainer, our own restaurant in the country in a town we’d always loved. We weren’t the first foodies to come here, but I feel like we were there from the early days and a lot has happened here since. I’m so thankful to Kathy and Richard for getting us to Orange. It’s the perfect place for us and we love it: it’s a beautiful blend of country and city.

Her most recent work is part of the annual Michael Reid Murrurundi collaborative exhibition with Country Style magazine: Art of the Garden.

“During the drought a lot of our trees in the bush died, so without the canopy more native shrubs and flowers sprung up changing the whole dynamic of the landscape. This year was our most spectacular year for the flannel flowers. Without the tree canopy, we were able to see them waving in the breeze up high on the ridge in the most hostile and sunbaked conditions,” she says.

“Up close they were a forest of soft fuzzy flowers loved by all the insects, so I decided to include just some of the visitors to my not so still lifes. Flannel flowers have been adopted as the symbol of mental health awareness, something I think we all need to consider in these trying times, but given where I know they grow, I also see them as the symbol of resilience and strength.”

With an exciting project on the horizon, it seems this very modest artist has returned to “the tribe I found at art school” with her new life in the bush, painting whimsical pieces edged with her quiet humour.

“It is often hard to say goodbye to my paintings. They are a part of me, but it also makes me happy to know that someone else likes them enough to take them home and share their walls with them.”

And finally, regional Australia has seen a huge shift in the last decade. How do you see the future?

It’s wonderful to see so many city people getting out and exploring the regions and even country people exploring other parts. I have always said that regional areas have been treated like the dumb unsophisticated cousin of the city when it comes to the food scene, but really we are just the smart ones who live this great lifestyle, doing what we love right where all the good food comes from, we are in it, we have access to producers, winemakers and farmers that you don’t get in the city. Loads of great chefs have moved here for a better life and while the concentration of good food isn’t like the city, you can find great food in basically any regional centre or town now that you couldn’t 15 years ago.

I think COVID has opened our eyes to how great regional Australia is and this has certainly been felt in Orange with visitor numbers and the amount of people who have moved here from the city (although Orange was already experiencing this before COVID).  I can’t see that changing too much in the next few years, I think people want to stay local and that will become a habit.

Racine Bakery
166b Summer Street, Orange, NSW
(Entry via the Woolworths carpark)

Telephone (02) 6361 4234 or visit
www.racinerestaurant.com.au

A chestnut mare looks inquisitively over the fence. With her neatly hogged mane and sleek shiny coat, she is one of the many horses you can see grazing in the green paddocks edging the Hawkesbury River at Richmond. Here, in this town nestled at the foot of the NSW Blue Mountains, the rich river flats are home to some of Australia’s best polo ponies — and an increasing number of them are housed in magnificent stables built by Hugh Parry-Okeden.

Originally a sculptor and a furniture maker, Hugh moved into the construction industry after a fire destroyed his Mudgee workshop over two decades ago.

“I pretty much lost everything — all I had left were a few burnt tools,” Hugh explains today as he reflects on this change in his career. “So I decided to move down to Sydney to start a new life with my girlfriend.”

The keen rider, who grew up watching his father and grandfather making furniture, began doing some small building jobs.

“I quickly realised that the craftsmanship of fencing, and general timberwork, was appalling when I started doing a few odd jobs for people. I saw then that there was an opening in the market, and it grew from there.”

And so Giddiup was born in 1999. Originally the fledgling company was all about post-and-rail fencing but Hugh’s decision to build a barn at his Richmond home with his uncle saw the business boom in a new direction. “That first barn was important and again it was that family connection for Hugh, building it with someone in the family,” explains his wife Gendy, an eventer who once rode for Australia and who now works with Hugh on Giddiup’s creative direction.

After travelling the world for her riding career, it would be hard to find someone better qualified than Gendy to help design beautiful stables. “I grew up riding and I was surrounded by professional riders so it was a natural pathway for my sister Nicky and I. We both represented Australia in eventing and spent many years competing internationally. I gave the riding away once I had three small children,” she says.

Today, Giddiup has expanded into bigger building projects and the list of their past work includes the Sydney International Equestrian Centre, Sydney Polo Club, Arunga Polo Club, William Inglis Riverside Stables Complex and, in a step away from the equine world, The Grounds Cafe in Alexandria.

The pair is quick to mention how important their team of craftsmen have been to this success. “We have some incredible people working with us who are just so skilled,” says Gendy. “Giddiup was a name that was just a bit of fun at the time. I don’t think either of us thought it would go on to become the business it has become.”

Listen to Hugh talk about finishing a barn build and you can hear the passion in his voice. “It’s sort of a sad day and a happy day. We have accomplished something that we think is pretty special over the past three and a half months  but now we have to hand it over.

“It’s a bit like a baby lamb, it grows up and leaves its mother — and it has its own life. That’s the stage where we are at today and it is a little bit sad but very satisfying to hand something over that everyone is very proud of. I hope we get to come back in a few years” time and see how she is getting on.”

The little boy who loved to help his dad in the stables and thinks of old buildings aging well like “a bottle of good wine” has clearly found his vocation.

For more information about Giddiup, email info@giddiup.com.au or telephone 0410 456 090
Video credit: Jim Gowing / Awe Vision

Ingrid, who is usually based in Sydney, gives us an insight into her country life.

Did you spend much time in the country as a child?

My grandfather on my father’s side came from Junee.  He was one of three brothers.  During the Depression the farm couldn’t support them all so they drew straws. He drew a short one and relocated to Sydney, becoming a real estate agent in Sydney’s eastern suburbs.  As a child I visited the farm a couple of times. About 15 years ago we had a big family reunion there — Champagne at the lookout, a black-tie dinner at the local pub and a large country lunch in the woolshed!

How important is your life in Hill End to your creative process? 

Very. When I was renovating and decorating the house it was a place to experiment with colour, fabrics and the like. And in the process, learn more about photography. Now I use it more as a place to replenish and renew. I think rest is an important part of the creative process. The downtime lets you process the projects you have been working on. Without thinking about it new ideas rise up to the surface in your relaxed state. A way forward is revealed

How much time do you spend there now? 

Hard to be specific as it depends on work. Maybe about five to six times a year, sometimes with friends, sometimes with family. It could be for three days or 10 days. I always enjoy that moment of getting into a packed car and heading out of the city towards the mountains.

What do you think about the importance of art galleries and residencies based in the country? 

I actively seek out regional art galleries because I have been to some wonderful exhibitions in country towns. Standout galleries include the Art Gallery of Ballarat, Maitland Regional Art Gallery, Bathurst Regional Art Gallery and the Australian Fossil and Mineral Museum in Bathurst. There are two artist residencies in Hill End run by the Bathurst Regional Art Gallery. It gives a richness of texture to a village to have visiting artists, something unexpected and a different perspective.

Did you grow up in the country or have any early rural influences?  

I”d like to be able to say that I was born and bred in the bush but alas I’m a city boy through and through. My father was an outdoorsman however and early trips to the country in Tasmania (I was born in Hobart) perhaps sowed the seeds for my enduring love of the bush. During these formative years I inescapably developed a passion for the natural world, whether it be fossils and minerals, astronomy and the stars, wildlife of all descriptions (and particularly birds), and this has endured throughout my life.

Why did you decide to be an architect?

 I was always been interested in design, in the very early years this was manifest in my passion for what are now considered classic sports cars. I marvelled at the heroic designs of the ‘dream cars” of those years and designed many of my own. This was probably the catalyst that started me thinking about design in general and in time directed me to architecture. More than any other pursuit I could think of it embodied the natural world and the design disciplines with some maths and science thrown in for good measure.

What was a pivotal moment in your career?

Early in my second year of architecture at Sydney University I thought it would be a good idea to earn some pocket money by trying to secure work in an architectural practice. This was far from the norm in that college at the time and I may well have been one of the few to do so. I responded to a tiny SMH advert seeking a draftsperson with, amongst other things, a sense of humour.

Before I knew it I was working for this chap by the name of Espie Dods. It was 1981 and little did I realise it that this would set the direction for the whole of my career. After a very busy few years, during which time I completed my degrees, Espie and I in 1989 established Dods and Zuccon Architects — the firm that has endured all these years and in time became my own. I really do owe much to that wonderful man.

You have done a lot of work in the Hunter region over the years. How did that come about?

One of the wonderful aspects of our client base was that many were from the country. Well that suited me to a tee and I took to these commissions with relish. It’s through a number of these projects that I came to discover and love the Upper Hunter. The rare, if not unique, confluence of established rural families, viticulture, and the mining and equine industries has made for an eclectic mix of people and projects which has helped sustain the practice over an extended period of time. Apart from wonderful opportunities to build new houses and renovate others have been invigorating non-residential commissions.

Scone’s much loved restaurant The Cottage was one of those non-residential projects. Tell us about that brief.

Some years ago we were approached to re-purpose what was originally a single dwelling in the main street of Scone to create a restaurant. Central to the brief was that dining at the restaurant had to be free of pretension and be akin to having dinner in a friend’s country home. This was certainly a new and challenging project on a number of fronts. The building was tired and in places run down.

It was in no way compliant with the applicable codes and standards of today, had no kitchen, no parking facilities, inadequate just about everything. We recognised the opportunity to help deliver to Scone a high quality and enduring establishment and supported by our wonderful client at all times through a long and demanding process, delivered a sparkling re-purposed building which houses The Cottage restaurant.

And of course our own Bobadil gallery at Murrurundi is another important local commission.

When Michael Reid first approached me to design a ‘big shed” I must say I wasn’t sure how that would equate to a gallery. It took just one visit to Bobadil however, to ‘get it”. Michael’s location for the new building was inspired — sitting opposite the existing impossibly handsome stone gallery — and nestled into an intimate forest. This was going to be fun.

Positioned on axis with the existing sandstone gallery building the new gallery creates a courtyard between the two buildings. Courtyards thus formed are achieved for ‘free” and often create wonderful external spaces. The sheer presence and scale of the existing gallery dictated an equally strong new partner.

Rather than relying on masonry Michael was keen to introduce a clean-lined corrugated iron-based new volume — one that smacked of the rural shed. With these ideas underpinning the brief we set about designing a robust yet sophisticated ‘shed” which addressed its neighbour across the courtyard with its own pure geometry and central opening. On the opposite side of the gallery and on the central axis doors lead out to an elevated platform which floats above the ground cover and is thrust into the forest. An external stair provides access to a full-footprint roof terrace — a wonderful bonus space for exhibitions, entertainment and just taking in the surrounds from a unique viewpoint.

Aside from design, you have several other passions — collecting cars and birding.

Yes, I recently did a three and a half week trip to Far North Queensland with my son Xavier (we only just made it out of Sydney and into Queensland ahead of the lockdowns of June 23rd) during which we found and identified 221 bird species (just over one quarter of the birds found in Australia). The grey falcons were one of 22 species of diurnal (daytime) Australian raptors found which is just two short of the total number of species here — a record for us. A great father and son adventure during which we made it to the tip of Australia, amongst other things, and criss-crossed Queensland covering 11,300 kilometres.

When did your interest in cars begin?

Ever since I could remember I”ve had an interest in automotive design, particularly sports cars. I have no idea where this interest came from but I am aware of being sat in a Lamborghini Miura in Newcastle when I was very young. As a child I would often draw imaginary sports cars, and whilst there’s nothing unusual about that my drawings showed the cars in technical elevation and plan views. It makes me think that I was destined to end up somewhere in the design world.

Whilst I didn’t pursue automotive design (which would have meant studying and/or working overseas — not for me!), I have maintained my passion in what have now become classic cars. This enduring interest has over the years resulted in a modest accumulation of eclectic sports cars, almost all of which, I realised many years later, were contained in a local Sports Car World magazine which I purchased when I was 9. I still have that very dog-eared issue somewhere amongst thousands of magazines.

What was your first sports car?

A Lancia Montecarlo — a lovely two seater with a mid-mounted 2 litre engine purchased back in 1986. It was designed by the Italian styling house Pininfarina — renowned in the world of automotive design. My ‘Monte” was personally imported to Australia by one Rupert Murdoch and still occupies space in my garage. Unfortunately, as my interest in sports cars is principally a design one they do tend to sit around and are either impossible to start or soon break down..

Clearly you love the country and undertaking work there has bought with it many benefits.

Yes, undertaking commissions in the country has allowed me to pursue my passion for birding — particularly our eagles, hawks and falcons. No trip is properly prepared for without a pair of binoculars and lots of photographic equipment. The trick then is to arrive at a meeting on time by leaving sufficiently early to allow for the likely bird sightings on that particular journey.

For more information about the architectural practice of Dods and Zuccon, visit dodsandzuccon.com

Let’s get this one out of the way straight away — and residents of Murrurundi will relate to this, as it’s often a subject of hot debate amongst first-time visitors. “The most widely accepted version of Goonoo Goonoo is gunna-goo-noo, but honestly we have heard a lot of interpretations,” explains Sarah Haggarty patiently, who with her husband Simon, are part of the family behind the revival of this historic sheep station. The name means ‘running water” in the language of the Gamilaraay, the language of the local First Australians. Today, the 4000 hectares just 25 kilometres south of Tamworth, NSW, have been transformed into luxury accommodation.

Here, we ask Sarah a few questions about the award-winning restoration.

What were your first impressions of Goonoo Goonoo?

Our first visit was in October of 2011. I was overwhelmed by the scale of the property, and the terrible state of repair that every building was in. I remember that The Inn had no floor and had plants growing inside, and that the Chapel was so rotten and full of junk that you were unable to get more than 6 feet from the door. I think that on the first visit we didn’t really get a good grasp on what was possible, it was more a case of simply trying to understand the buildings and their relationship to each other.

The restoration was such a massive project. Did you realise that when you first took it on?

It was! I don’t think anyone involved realised the scale of the project. Due to the volume of buildings and the size of the building team at this point, we focused on the Homestead and the Office. I think that as we neared the halfway point of completion on the Office, we started to really finalise the plans for the inner staff buildings, the Butchers Shop, the Stone Store and the Inn, and at this point realised we still had half a dozen more buildings to go, along with the construction of the brand new restaurant building, and the remediation of the Woolstore which took over 12 months on its own.

In terms of process, we focused initially on how we wanted the final property layout to work from a functional point of view. Once this was determined and locked in, we focused on on finalising plans and finishes for each building, before moving onto the next. This way we were not spread too thin at any point, and could ensure that the quality was maintained throughout.

What were the highs and lows?

I would say the highs were the completion of each building, and also walking through the Village on days off when there was no-one around, being able to really appreciate the spaces as they came back to life. The lows through the construction would definitely have included the incessant rain. There was no roads or pathways, and the clay that is found all over the property would stick to your shoes and make it a chore to simply walk around.

Any surprising discoveries during the restoration?

We found the original hymn books and Sunday school records in the Chapel from  the 1950s-60’s. These were made even more interesting as we actually became friendly with one of the families who used to live at GGS and their names were in the book!

We also found old envelopes and other historic scraps of paper that had been stuffed in holes behind window frames and the like in an effort to keep the wind out! Unfortunately when the property was sold in 1985, the vast majority of original furniture, fittings etc was sold in a clearing sale. Luckily some of the staff at the time used their own money to buy some items and kept them on site.

What do you love about the time you have spent at GG? I love the Village garden. It is so peaceful to walk around, particularly on an early morning and view the buildings from the outside. It really gives a sense of what the property used to be, and how the buildings related to each other.

What’s your day like when you are there? A typical day would include staff meetings, visiting the restaurant to hopefully sample some new ideas, a trip into town to collect odd supplies, phone calls with suppliers, and a fair bit of time on the computer, making sure everything is running smoothly. Most of my time is spent wandering around, talking to the staff and guests, making sure that standards are being met and that our customers are having the best experience possible.

For more information, visit goonoogoonoostation.com

Now for those that know me (and those legions who would rather not,) it may be apparent from this missive that in my late middle age I have become somewhat of a gardening convert. Displaying, unfortunately, all the signs of the zealous convert – an affliction that is vulgar when it comes to religion and no less so I suspect, when it comes to gardening. I have discovered gardening as an art form. It must also be said from the outset, that I am not a physical gardener as such. However, I do good ‘garden supervision”. My gardeners, Mitchell Black & Hayden Kayne, are a marvel of ability and small country town patience. I tend to water, potter about and contemplate improvements – I think of the Palace of Versailles and work my imagination up. Mitchell and Hayden on the other hand, tend to do.

I like scale in a garden and am fortunate enough to be able to design over nearly six hectares. In its early days the garden layout was dictated by the old garden plantings of the late Trixie Kelleher (my wife’s very distant relative), a garden of large gracious trees that had been slowly abandoned over the decades, too much blackberry (Rubus fruticosus) and privet (Ligustrum lucidum). The bones of the garden were resumed and redefined nearly twenty years ago under the talented eye of the late Sydney garden designer, Kimberly Appleby.

Like much contemporary living, the garden is intended to be an extension of the house. Above all I want the garden to complement the art gallery. Large sculptures will one day be placed in a parkland setting – a joy that one is unable even to consider in Sydney. I want the beauty within the four walls of the former convict cell block and new gallery to be echoed within the garden. The buildings themselves are on the whole old and established. The house and stables were built between 1840-1842, from locally quarried sandstone, for the A.A. Company surveyor, Henry Dangar. When Nellie’s great-great grandfather bought the house, it was called The White Swan Inn.  Later it was known as The Woolpack Inn and then The Mountain View Inn, finally being renamed Bobadil House in the 1860s. Maintaining the architectural simplicity of the buildings, which are early Victorian bordering on the austerity of the Georgian, the garden is straightforward and largely no nonsense.

  I like trees. I think in another life I was an Edwardian tree-hugger. Hopefully a wealthy, privileged, landed and wearing-of-tweed one, but a tree- hugger nonetheless. So, the garden is largely one of trees, with one significant garden bed – populated in summer predominantly by Hollyhocks (Alcea) and foxgloves (Digitalis). In the Long Bed I am not one for colour schemes, preferring a jolly good sprinkling of self-sowns. Self-sown flowers are a bit like self-made people, in the end you reap a vigorous mixed bunch that do not always play well together in the sandbox – their fission however, is most stimulating.

We are fortunate to have a forest of various elms surrounding the house, creating a moody break from the strong western sun. The trees and sun converge to direct much of the gardening action. Take another all too obvious tip from me: you cannot fight a garden’s microclimate. Deeply concerned as I was with my Hellebores over summer, I was nonetheless ruthless in expunging Hydrangeas (Hydrangea macrophylla) from the smaller front beds. Perfectly in keeping with the house they were, but in the wrong, way too hot spot they were a-planted. Their melted grandeur was transplanted elsewhere. In middle age and under the soothing influence of the garden I am learning to bend like the willow. Having said that, if that noxious bastard should end up on my garden, then out by the roots it would go.

So, there I was in January mulching, working with the local microclimate and, best of all, moving all and sundry hither and yonder with a bobcat. Gardens, I have discovered, are moveable beasts capable of being settled only when they are successful. Possibly the most fun boys” toy ever invented, a bobcat is like a highly manoeuvrable toy Tonka tractor on steroids. I truly recommend everyone have access to one. Lose the four-wheel drive.  Bobcats are so much more fun in the suburbs. Darryl Walsh – my almost permanently employed bobcat man – rips, tears, digs, clears, rebuilds, levels-out and repositions the land with swift skill. You see, if you plant a tree and then want to move the whole thing elsewhere- then a bobcat is for you. With said bobcat, and some care and skill you can almost do anything.

The entire architecture of a garden can, and possibly should, be continually honed and defined. Good gardens require constant reinvigoration and improvement. This summer, I moved the fence line closest to the house about four metres to the left. A bobcat and two fencers did this job in four days. You see, when we first took possession of the house we immediately dog-proofed the two hectares of the grounds surrounding the house. Instead of clearing a portion of dense forest adjacent to the house, we fenced in front of the forest, and the result was just a tad too close to the house for comfort.  So it has been moved. Oh the joy of a bobcat – simple and quick in achieving its goal!

Seventy-five eucalypts of varying species have been planted in the Creek. Eucalypts are a selfish species by nature- so big, and yet they throw so little shade. On the topic of blood and bone alone, one could bang on for days, and in the next article I do.

In terms of application, the light sprinkling of dead animals is a rather namby-pamby conservative nonsense, for, as anyone will tell you, if steroids work a treat at the Olympics then an excessive use of Blood & Bone in the garden is guaranteed to bring home a gold medal in horticulture. Throw the stuff around; I buy 20 kilo sacks of the wonder.

As for the gardener, dutifully watering-in Blood & Bone, that is so yesterday. Any web-literate gardener in their right mind will tell you to log on to weatherzone.com.au, punch in your postcode, follow the weather map and throw around the Blood & Bone on the days designated to 90% rain. Remember it is upstairs for dancing, and if you use just a little web nous, all your effort and your subsequent water bill will be greatly reduced. Natural fertiliser combined with natural watering-in methods work for me.

Blood & Bone smells – death generally does. In regards to sensitive issues of the nose, you need to let this one go. If the somewhat sweet pungent reek of carnage is a problem for you, then I suggest you book a holiday in Rome around about the time your gardener gets down and dirty. It is surprising however, how nostalgic many gardeners are about the lingering waft of pong. The stench of Blood & Bone is to many- like the smell of Napalm in the morning – one of victory.

Take a few tips from me; do NOT liberally apply Blood & Bone to the garden in the midst of summer, on the day friends are popping over for a BBQ. Like the eyes of the Australian Taxman turned towards a Cayman Islands revenue shelter, the application of Blood & Bone attracts the attention of others. Our Border Collie loves to eat the stuff, and although doing so does save on dog food overheads, their little paws do tend to leave the ‘ground-in body of a cow look” on the bedroom sheets. Flies, flies, and more flies can also be expected to attend the party. Oh, and having ‘sprinkled” the vegetable garden with Blood & Bone, do not forget to thoroughly wash that little green salad before serving it up at the BBQ. There was the little episode of the slightly tinged pink, crunchy garden salad, but let’s not go there.

Deciduously yours,
Michael Reid OAM

Our intended Murrurundi Argus photo-essay this month, on Belltrees Public School, has been upended by the dreaded Second Sydney lockdown swiftly halting our regional travel plans. And so, in order to keep the presses rolling I bring to you my recollected ramblings and culinary tips from my mother Pat’s Narrandera Kitchen.

Bear with me on this one, there is a nice synergy here. I grew up in a small town in the 1970’s reading the Narrandera Argus. Beneath a heavy Gothic Masthead, twice a week, our 1881 finger-staining independent paper was delivered with a thwack at our front fence, at the gate, near the door, towards a tree or at the cat. My dad, Gordon, as a farm machinery dealer advertised locally and my mum, Pat, as Deputy Shire President appeared in the paper every now and then, standing in front of a burst water pipe or amidst a locust plague. Always with a refreshed hairdo. 

When I grew up, in a world of three television channels and home milk deliveries, local news was an important adjunct to what little news there was. Strangely enough, in an increasingly global and coldly transactional world, I believe once again local news and knowledge will be as important to communities today, as it undoubtably was when cigarettes were advertised on the small screen and hair shampoo smelled of a Norwegian pine forest.

Pat, being Head of Home Economics at Narrandera High School, had many fingers in many Narrandera pies. From Children’s Medical Research, through to the Shire Council and onto Soroptimist International (which despite the term International, is not a Stalinist front). And so as I conjure up for you 1970’s regional Australia, I hope these two family feeding favourites of days gone by will feel as at home in the newly minted Murrurundi Argus.

Pat’s Caramel Pie

Ever since my sister Jane & I were teenagers growing up in Narrandera, our mother has always been Pat. It started one evening when mum came home from visiting her very good friend Mrs. Lee. Mum complained and yes it was a complaint, that the four Lee boys always called their mother “Gwen”. Mum did not think that this was right. It made her feel uncomfortable. It was the 70’s. Well, on hearing this Jane & I both looked at each other and Pat it has forever been.

Download Pat’s Recipes

Anyway, Pat’s Caramel Pie is a firm family birthdays and Christmas favorite. It’s embarrassingly simple to make. You must however, remember never to let the can of Condensed Milk boil dry AND there can be absolutely no off the shelf buying caramel, from the supermarket substitute. It’s the boiling can-to-caramel method or it’s nothing at all.

Watch the pot.

I say this because one morning, Mum (pre-Pat when she was still just Mum), wanted to make a telephone call on our ever-so-smart molded plastic wall-mounted mustard-coloured Telecom phone. You know the one with a kilometer of curled phone-cord. Well, I had literally just swung through the Saloon-style half doors and was standing amidst the glory of our Burnt Orange and Mission Brown family breakfast spot. Whilst I was, shall we say marinating in this vision of a colour-saturated linoleum, the near-bye pot had indeed boiled dry. The can of condensed milk, dancing to a crescendo, exploded, Caramel across the kitchen. Thousands of brown splotches circumscribed the room – splatter patterns reminiscent of a Hitchcock bathroom. At the Bang!, Mum really screamed, and she screamed from the Good Room;

“What have you done!”

other than nearly dying from flying serrated tin shards whipping past my young neck, I had done nothing. I stood there in silence, Pat’s Pie filling sliding down the abstract red and black wallpaper and into the 1970’s colour chart of my mind. It never leaves you.

So, peoplewatch the boiling pot.

Death Has its Rewards. Sometime in the early 1970’s, my parents attended the Narrandera funeral of the good Catholic Monsignor, Patrick Galvin. Even as a child this had me somewhat perplexed, as the family has never identified – to use contemporary parlance – as either Catholic or religious. My parents who had united in wedlock in the late 50’s were by the standards of the day, “a mixed marriage”. Dad was Catholic and mum was Anglican. In the day, the Catholic authorities refused to marry Gordon & Pat in the local church. I think the Anglicans did allow the marriage, but not at the front bit of their church. They were I believe, married in one of the side bits of the Anglican Church. I think. I wasn’t there.

So Jesus’s Dad is not that big of a deal in my family. But anyone who has lived through a small country town will tell you; attending funerals has nothing whatsoever to do with God – they are a high visibility communal recreation. And a good feed. Spreads were judged.

Pat went to Monsignor’s funeral and at the Wake, the good ladies of the Narrandera Children’s Medical Research Foundation served up a well-received repast. I can just picture it; everything checkers with tinned pineapple. There may have been a Margaret Fulton, Balinese theme. One can only dream.

To the delight of all, Pat returned triumphantly from the Wake with the recipe for a family chicken dish that is still to this day refereed as Monsignor Galvin’s Chicken Dish. It can be made in a Crock Pot and if you put some bamboo boats next to, I am sure Margaret would have embraced it as Balinese. Bless.

The bikes mounted on the corrugated iron fence lining one of Murrurundi’s side streets are the first clue that the woman residing behind it is a little out of the ordinary. Charlotte Drake-Brockman first visited the town in 1979 and bought a building on the main road a year later — “It was only $7,000,” she exclaims delightedly. At the sound of the 87-year-old’s voice, a small brown and white dog emerges from under a chair to see what all the fuss is about and spends the rest of our visit gazing devotedly at Charlotte. On a wall nearby hangs a painting of this loyal canine companion, flanked by a drawing of an elephant on one side and a racehorse in full flight on the other.

With weatherboards painted a vibrant Caribbean turquoise on one side wall, the house is a creative maze that reflects the multi-disciplinary approach of its owner. Inside, nearly every surface is home to a collection of objects artfully arranged — something many wouldn’t notice at first glance. Pieces of coral and a bear made from shells sit on a pine meat chest with a small menagerie of other figurines near the kitchen. On the living room shelves, the orange spines of Penguin paperbacks sidle up to blue ceramic carp, all mixed together with art magazines and the odd crime thriller.

Born in England, Charlotte came to Australia in 1964 after studying at the Farnham School of Art and working at the Byram Shaw School of Art (which was later absorbed into Central Saint Martins). After working in Sydney, she eventually moved to Murrurundi with her partner Viv Carter, the well-known jazz drummer, in search of a more sustainable lifestyle. Charlotte returned to art school — this time at the University of Newcastle and then taught at TAFE until her retirement.

In her first year in Murrurundi, Charlotte got a job handing out the census and met another artist, Fran Wachtel, and so began a creative partnership that was to last decades. The pair made the large steel sculptures at the town’s entrance and collaborated on several exhibitions together while also running Chicken in the Window, a gallery specialising in recycled tin work.

To step into Charlotte’s studio, is to enter a magical place. Cardboard galleons sail across the floor and metal pirate ships with rigging made from beaded necklaces lean on a table. Puppets hang against a weathered cupboard, painted the colour of storm clouds rolling in, and canvases thick with layers of paint are propped on old chairs. Metal figures stand mounted on tuna tins while, a battered corrugated iron sheep is adorned with a royal blue and gold rosette for first prize at the Scone Art Prize in 2015. A crucifix, studded with costume jewellery, hangs on a wall nearby and a panel hung with spanners looks like an installation piece — and perhaps it is.

“Tall, angular, warm and inquisitive — all the very elements of Charlotte herself -— can be found in some small way in her cottage cum warehouse,” says Michael Reid when asked to describe one of his visits to Charlotte’s studio.

“There are circus posters and a marionette, illuminated by shafts of roof light. All these things are the layers of an honest and creative life. Fine dust raises up like floating dots before your eyes as you walk through her sheds. Charlotte lives in a raw and magic world, beguiling to young children and adults alike.”

Her strong character led to another local artist, David Darcy, painting her portrait for the Archibald in 2018. “I thought why not when Dave asked me and it was a lot of fun,” she says. A second portrait painted by Darcy won the People’s Choice Award at the 2021 Muswellbrook Art Prize.

Later, after my visit with Charlotte, I came across this observation from artist Inga Girvan Hunter about her friend’s work that she wrote for Balance?, the 2012 exhibition Charlotte had with Fran Wachtel at the Maitland Regional Art Gallery.

“I”ve known Charlotte since the 1970s when she came into one of my dye workshops and made a huge piece of painted batik the size of a large wall. That’s Charlotte: larger than life, and an unusually imaginative and versatile artist,” writes Hunter in the catalogue.

“She works in a large variety of media — from classical paintings to welded iron. She makes insane insects out of plastic bags and beads, which are so filled with character that you can’t help laughing. She makes cats out of electrical gadgets and hair curlers, books out of beer cans, and can paint a mean cabbage, a frequent artist’s model. I own a lot of her works, but my very favourite is a large lead ship with beaded copper rigging. The crew is made of sardine can lids and consists of Charlotte and I — both with literally silicone breasts  —  my husband and several others, together with two haughty cats [made from the pop-tops of drink cans] who sit in the rigging. There are not enough artists who can make you laugh with joy, and we must treasure them — as I treasure Charlotte.”

Actor and clown Jean-Paul Bell, who moved to the town a few years ago, agrees. “Charlotte is one of Murrurundi’s living treasures and the arts community is keen to help her continue to thrive knowing that it takes a village to support an artist.”