In the blink of an Eye

I’ve been going to Camberwell Trash and Treasure Market near Camberwell junction most Sunday mornings for thirty odd years. My friend, Paul was going in the 1990s and sometime in that decade, I joined him. In those early days he’d pick me up at around six in the morning; way too early for me, but in good time for him. His main interest was finding records, primarily to sell on eBay, but also for himself. This required the early start. I liked looking for music too, but I was also collecting pottery and books, paintings and drawings, glassware and, for some reason, old phones. ‍ ‍

An unsigned watercolour by a very good painter. When I first saw it, I thought it was a print. I don’t remember what I paid John for it, but it’s a beautifully executed work of art.

When it comes to collecting art, I’ve always called myself a bottom-feeder. I’ll consider art that others may not because of its level of wear and tear, damage (like a chipped pot) and the like. This usually makes the item cheaper and often, more interesting. I only look for what I like and not who made or painted whatever it is. Being interested in the Boyds and always liking their work, finding some of their pottery was always a good thing. In the early days, you could find the odd Merric Boyd vase, but those days are gone. I did collect the Boyds’ ramekins for a long time. Ramekins were made by the Martin Boyd Pottery, David Boyd and at the Arthur Merric Boyd Pottery in Murrumbeena. When asked why I collected their ramekins my reply was always the same; ‘It’s the cheapest thing you’ll ever get with the Boyd name on it’. In more recent times, I’ve been able to spend a little more on art, but I’m not after any more. I’m happy with what I’ve got and my walls are full.

An oil painting by John Yule. Yule was born in Melbourne in 1923 and died in 1998. He was a friend of the Murrumbeena Boyds, in the Heide circle, exhibited with Doris Boyd and decorated pottery at the Martin Boyd Pottery in Sydney. Yule was also a writer and teacher. He was one of a crop of underrated Australian painters who, in the post second world war period, were surrounded by painters such as Arthur Boyd, John Perceval, Sidney Nolan and Albert Tucker. In a field like that, it’s hard to be noticed. I can’t remember what I paid John for this but it was incredibly reasonable. I am very pleased to have it and enjoy it immensely.

There is an amazing level of expertise at Camberwell Market. You get the sellers who are there to move unwanted household items or are going overseas and unloading their possessions, and then you get the regulars. The regular sellers are a certain type of person. They’re often a little older than the average seller, been in their respective trade for a long time, are retired or semi-retired, and have held positions of responsibility in a professional capacity in an industry related to what they’re selling. Often, and for whatever reason, they’ve had enough of being organized by the organized world, bailed from it and are making ends meet at the market. Interesting people, all of them.

This fantastic painting is by Gabriel Namatjira (1942 – 1969). He was a grandson of Albert Namatjira. When I bought this, John said to me, “Congratulations. You own a Namatjira”. I still can’t quite believe that I do.

Regular sellers are very often experts in their field. Whether it’s Murray, Jeremy and John who sell music (Murray and Jeremy are no longer selling), Des, John and Geoff who sell books, Leo who sells jewellery, Martin who sells ceramics and glass, Bill who makes and sells belts or Adam who sells something of everything, these people have a lot of life experience and know their subject areas well. Over the years, they’ve become friends; not close and personal ones, but friends who are sincere. Friends who when they ask you how you are, mean it. And over those same years, when you see these people for 10 or 15 minutes a week, you get a feel for their lives and who they are and vice-versa. With these people who you don’t really know but you know, you can talk about family issues, health, money problems and all the rest. And of course, there’s always football. It’s anything and everything. You get a slice of their life and they of yours.

This unsigned landscape from John caught my eye. I like its simplicity, rawness and spontaneity.

For a very long time I went to John’s stall. John sold art and was there every fortnight. He’d arrive early like most sellers do in his white van, drill a couple of dozen screws into the timber paling fence of the electrical substation that the market backs onto, and hang his art. Other works he’d lean against the fence. He often shared his site with Fred, a well-dressed older man who sold pottery, glass, small sculptures and antiques, and knew a lot about all he sold.

John had worked in the art industry for a long time, initially as a dealer and then a restorer. He was 60ish, a good-looking man with a fine build and a good head of hair. He was friendly, sincere and spontaneous, and talk came easily with him. His stall was popular. He sold the best art at the market and always at a very reasonable price. He wasn’t an art-dealer as such; he was a person who dealt in art. He loved art and knew a lot about it. As a former professional dealer, some amazing works had passed through his hands and he told good stories about them; works by the likes of Arthur Streeton, Penleigh Boyd and Brett Whitley. There were many others but those are the ones I remember.

Another unsigned landscape by the same painter as above. There is a naturalness and flow to it that is very appealing.

When I would arrive at the market, I always went to him first to see what he had. It was like visiting an art gallery. If he had customers, I’d leave him alone. When I had him to myself, we’d greet each other warmly, ask how the other was doing, and then look at his art and talk about it. He always had a good cross-section on display; modern and old, abstract and figurative, big and small, expensive and less-so, and painted in an array of mediums. He had something for everyone. Sometimes I would buy some art from him and often didn’t buy anything from him because there was nothing I was looking for or wanted, but there was always something to talk about.

John sold me this print by the German painter and printmaker Christian Rohlfs (1849 – 1938) titled ‘Callas’. The title is associated with the Greek word kallos meaning beauty. I had never heard of the artist before, but I liked the print and still do.

Because John came to the market every second week, I made sure that I was there when he was there. Then, maybe eight months ago, for several very good reasons, my visits became irregular. I missed some markets I would normally have been there for and I stopped seeing John. For a while, I thought that our weeks just weren’t aligning, before realizing that John wasn’t coming to the market at all. I had been missing him because he wasn’t there. I asked some regulars I know about him and discovered he’d died of cancer. Of the people I spoke to, no one knew anything else. I asked around some more with no success, and since then have checked the web for an obituary or funeral notice, again without success. Why I can’t find him is anyone’s guess; it may be his family’s wish and if it is, of course that’s entirely their business.

I bought some really nice art from John over the years. But more importantly, I got to know a good man and made a friend. I’m sorry I know he was sick and I’m sorry I never got the chance to thank him for his friendship and for the art I got from him.

Life is such a temporary and fragile thing and we are here for such a short time. In this man’s opinion, when you’re gone, you’re gone ‘til the end of time and a while after that. In the short time we have here, connecting with other humans is the most important and worthwhile thing we can do with our lives. Connections built not on seeking advantage, power and self-interest, but on empathy, understanding and kindness. After all, beyond being born, living and dying, what is the point of life if it isn’t to connect with others and help one another. Surely, it’s not something as shallow and meaningless as becoming a zillionaire. I’m not naïve, innocent or inexperienced. I well and truly know how cruel and unkind the world can be and often is, and I’m very hard to surprise. I just know how important human connection is; that and trying to save this poor damaged planet of ours.

I will always think of John and I’ll always think of him warmly. That doesn’t go for everyone I’ve known, but it goes for him. RIP ‍