About Geoff
Preface: Colonists, artists and the Australian bush
What is the dominant note of Australian scenery? That which is the dominant note of Edgar Allen Poe’s poetry – Weird Melancholy… The Australian forests are funereal, secret, stern. Their solitude is desolation. They seem to stifle, in their black gorges, a story of sullen despair. No tender sentiment is nourished in their shade… From the melancholy gums strips of white bark hang and rustle. The very animal life in these frowning hills is either grotesque or ghostly. (Marcus Clarke, 1876 in Watson, 2016: 63) Australian colonists stamped an attitude of thinking about Australia as a place of ‘civilisation versus chaos’. If only they could have seen nature through the eyes and hearts of the indigenous peoples but this vain hope cannot be applied retrospectively. Until the 1830s, most colonial art placed townships – as a measure of the progress of the colony – at the centre of the landscape (Neville, 1997: 61). Painting a visual landscape was akin to creating a moral landscape (Neville, 1997: 68). Some colonists despaired of finding aspects of Australian landscape worthy of painting because they were concerned to exploit what they saw for financial opportunism (Neville, 1997: 65–68). The unruly bush distressed those used to viewing subjugated European landscapes. It is significant to note that by 1837, the word ‘bush’ derived from the Dutch word ‘bosch’ had replaced the English words ‘woods’ and ‘forest’ to designate country outside of the cities (Barker, 1945 in Watson, 2016: 23–25). The word ‘bush’ morphed into a multiplicity of forms; for instance: to go bush, bushfire, bush telegraph, bushwhacker, and the derisive idiom ‘What’s this, bush week?’ (Barker, 1945 in Watson, 2016: 23–25). Certainly, photos of Geoff Bromilow in his twenties through to his forties may tempt the viewer to call him a ‘bushy’. After his divorce in the mid-1990s, he was forced ‘to go bush’ to survive, and he may have had a taste of the harshness of the life of his forebears, especially his great-grandfather Joseph Lake, who had, for example, walked hundreds of kilometres in Western Australia searching for work. What’s worth noting is that although most Australians live near the coast, many of our cultural artefacts refer to inland Australia. Today, indigenous artists have come to the fore in areas such as painting, and more recently as actors, filmmakers and playwrights, but in the early 19th and 20th centuries, poets and visual artists often celebrated their inner life’s connection to the imagined landscape of the bush. Creative people seemed to turn inward to the centre rather than outward to the sea. The Blue Mountains is a perfect paradigm of the idea that two ‘separate moral universes’ reign in the Australian psyche: the city and the bush (Davison, 1992: 192-204). It is titled: The Inaugural City of the Arts and The City within a World Heritage National Park. Here the juxtaposition, and/or intersection, of ‘city’ and ‘bush’/‘culture’ and ‘nature’, is obvious.
In The Blue Mountains, where Bromilow once lived, the place was (in the late 20th century) and still is, a haven for artists. Many sculptors, painters, fibre artists, ceramicists, playwrights, actors, musicians, filmmakers (etc) enjoyed and still do enjoy living in a ‘city’ within a national park. When I met Geoff in 1998/1999, he was the ‘new kid on the block’ in a cohort of artists who lived and/or worked there, including sculptors Michael Mansell, Gabriella Heyges, Terrance Plowright, Conrad Clarke, Mark Murname, Nick Dörrer, Michael Byrt, Marco Grilli, Anna Baird, Peter Baird and Alexis Apfelbaum. The ‘new kid’ was not always welcomed warmly into the ‘community’ of artists. The insecurity of a life in the arts was perhaps to blame for petty jealousies and competitive behaviour. Making a mark in a place where many claimed the title ‘artist’ was never going to be easy. However, make a mark, he did. From the Blue Mountains as a home base, (1998–early 2005), Bromilow launched two overseas exhibitions in New York, several local exhibitions and created garden sculptures. He became a well-known personality in the mountains’ arts scene. Close to the bush, he was able to nurture his creativity without the extra pressure of running a physically demanding small business, as he had done in South Australia. Here, he lived off art sales and an overstretched credit card. Here, close to the natural world, he had the time and space to dream. Here, people knew him only as a sculptor. In fact, Bromilow also made his mark on the Sydney art scene. One day, while having drinks with a few other artists, he told them that he intended to go to ‘the big smoke’ the next day and find a gallery to represent him. The artists laughed as though what he was suggesting was totally impossible. True to form, Bromilow proved the strength of his self-belief. Barham Habibi of Gannon House Gallery in The Rocks took him aboard, taking four sculptures and selling one within 24 hours to an American buyer. More than 20 years on, Geoff Bromilow is still represented there. In a matter of a few years, Bromilow transformed his life into an active testament to strong spiritual and aesthetic values. He once said: When I stand on the cliff edge at Narrowneck I feel at one with the great void before me. I feel myself projected into an imaginative sea. I am exhilarated by the sense of openness; of not being encased by any man-made structures. Born at Sea
O, many a sad, sad wreck there’s been Upon the raging main, And many a noble ship’s been lost, We shall ne’er see again… (R.H. Shaw, 1888 in Christopher, 2009: 78) There’s a saying: ‘Worse things happen at sea’. It’s an idiom that means something like ‘things are not that bad’; if you are on dry land, maybe you shouldn’t be complaining. Historically, sailors were extremely superstitious because the sea is a dangerous place, and there was a time when taking women aboard was regarded as something that would attract bad luck. (Perhaps this was because there were many males and not many females.) As travel by sea became highly desirable in the early part of the twentieth century, the idea that women should not be welcomed aboard faded, though I imagine not many ships’ captains looked favourably on heavily pregnant women joining the passenger list. Certainly, in the nineteenth century when travel across the world from Europe to Australia was very slow, birth aboard was not uncommon but in the mid-twentieth century, when travel from Australia to the UK by ship took about six weeks, it may have been a rarity to give birth at sea. Sculptor Geoff Bromilow was born at sea, on a British ship in the Indian ocean. His family were leaving Australia temporarily, heading over to the UK. In 1955, travel by ocean liner was the way most folk travelled long distances. No-one seems able or willing to reveal the truth of the matter. Perhaps Bromilow simply burst forth early because his mum suffered terrible sea sickness. Who knows? In any case, birth at sea is something we hear very little about these days. When sculptor Bromilow goes through passport control in his overseas travels, it’s not unusual that his There is a deal of confusion/obfuscation in family stories about his birth. Was he born prematurely, or did his mother tell a white lie about the due date of her 3rd son? Nobody place of birth is regarded as a source of fun. Try filling out government forms, however, and you will discover that there is no official space for ‘born at sea.’ In an increasingly bureaucratised world, one would think that somebody would consider that he is surely not the only person on the planet to be ‘born at sea’. In his time in 1955, he was recognised as a British citizen because he was born on a British ship, the SS Oronsay. (See certificate re: equatorial crossing.) Nowadays, the liminal space that is not ‘on land’ is more contested territory for refugees who may give birth at sea. Countries like Australia have excised the right of ‘others’ to claim Australian citizenship, should a refugee give birth, for instance, on a naval vessel rescuing her, or in a leaky fishing boat in Australian waters. Conceptually, Bromilow’s birthplace seems to mirror well the day on which he was born, which writers Goldschneider and Elffers have named ‘The Day of Unpredictable Fate’ in ‘The Week of the Enigma’. They say: ‘Those born on September 6 are extremely vulnerable to the hidden workings of chance (1994: 418) Bromilow’s personality (even for a person who has known him intimately for about 20 years) can be allusive. Indeed, like many artists, perhaps he would prefer his work to speak for him for much he has to say about the world is expressed through his art. On the other hand, this somewhat reserved man can also suddenly spring to life in a dramatic fashion if called to defend beloved people or deeply-held beliefs. Like many artists, politically Bromilow identifies as a ‘leftie’. In Australia, where political shifts over the 21st century seem to have been more to the ‘right’ generally, the ‘leftist’ space seems like a wasteland populated only by the outspoken few, who regard access to the arts and humanities as fundamental to a meaningful life, as well as living in an egalitarian society as a core principle rather than some long-lost dream from Gough Whitlam’s era. Being a teenager in the seventies has left its mark. Geoff Bromilow embodies the rebellious, music-loving, willowy long-hair of former times. His hair maybe grey-turning-white now but he is still a fluidly energetic soul who makes the most of every moment of his days. He is amused when his adult son tells him: ‘Dad, you never gave us anything to rebel against.’ For his part, rebellion – against inadequate social equity, against poor government policy, against outmoded social convention or for a healthier environment, are all par for the course. He may not be quite so visible in the protest space now, but his life journey has included a brief stint as a political candidate in NSW for the ‘Ordinary Decent People’s Party’. Indeed, it’s hard to find time for marching when you are still working full-time in your mid-60s. Mostly, the activism takes place online or in conversations with people he encounters in his local area or in the course of his work. Indeed, he’s not afraid to say what he thinks and offer a reasoned explanation of his point of view to those who will listen. For a person whose early education was impeded by vision problems, one would never know that he is not highly educated in any formal sense. The confidence he exudes in this part of his life has been fostered in the more liberated atmosphere of a second marriage when his early responsibilities in raising children and providing for a family are (mostly) behind him. The idea that very few artists can financially survive by their art alone is worth mentioning here because he has had to blend his arts career with the somewhat arduous life of a tree contractor/timber miller. What this life has offered though is access to a wide range of timbers, which he began sourcing initially after the early 1980s Adelaide Hills’ bushfires. His knowledge of timbers seems encyclopaedic and he’s often asked for his advice from a range of people from homebuilders to other artists. Unlike many contemporary artists, Bromilow has not been a recipient of arts’ grants. He’s made his own way in the world and the stamp of pragmatism that has been a necessary tool of his survival stands him in good stead. Mostly, his knowledge base has been forged in the hothouse of lived experience. He loves books on art, woodwork, sustainable building, architecture etc but he rarely reads them. Occasionally, he references his large home library or online references; generally, his skill set is well-developed enough that his sensory knowledge/body memory are all he uses, alongside his mathematical and technical proficiency. To be continued… A pound of carpenters
Perhaps we’d all like to think we are unique; that we’ve come into the world with our own special personality and talents. If we know anything about our ancestors, however, we might have to immediately challenge that notion. Indeed, when one reads about Geoff Bromilow’s family history, one can only take the view that he is carrying on skills gleaned from a long line of carpenters and builders on his mother’s side of the family. At least five generations of Lake men used their hands as makers. And the tactile sensibilities that have been honed by them are carried through to Geoff Bromilow and his daughter Beccy Blue Bromilow, a shoemaker. Daughter Alexis Hannah Bromilow could also be said to be continuing the family line in her profession as an interior architect working on large public projects, as her great-great-grandfather Joseph Lake had done. (As for Ivan Bromilow, the name which popped into his dad’s head when he was born and seemed so wholly unique, turned out to be a family name on the Lake side of ancestors.) So, let’s look a little at the Lake family history. I’d like to mention here that I am deeply indebted to Peter Lake, Geoff Bromilow’s cousin, for detailed written information, photographs and several warm-hearted conversations about the Lakes. The Lakes came from parishes near the county of Essex, to the north-east of London, and the name may stretch back to Saxon times in that area. It’s meaning, rather than being geographical, is connected to the Middle English ‘leyk’ – to play, sport or gambol. Today, we might say ‘to lark about’. The name could even be connected to a family who held a place in a regular medieval morality play, in the sense of ‘joker’. James Lake (b. 1766) could be considered the patriarch in this story as the first in a line of carpenter-builders. As a trade, carpentry reinforced certain characteristics: attention to detail, and a sense of self-containment in personality. Village carpenters did work that was closely connected to village life: both householders and farmers relied heavily on the carpenters. As I read more about the Lake family history, I am reminded of Geoff Bromilow’s own workshop: ‘The carpenter’s shop. A strong odour of wood pervaded the place, a mingled scent of newly cut pine, oak and elm…’ (Rose, 1990: (37): 52) James’ grandson Abraham Lake (son of Joseph b. 1793) was the founding father of the Lakes in Australia. Within Australia, the Lakes also moved around from state to state, including South Australia, Victoria and Western Australia.
Joseph Lake, son of Abraham Lake and Mary Anne Rusher was born in 1855 amidst the gold rush in Australia. His son Harold was born in 1883. The work and life of these two men and their successive families created a foundation on which successive generation of the family have prospered. To be continued… Excerpt from Born at Sea The Life and Art of Wood Sculptor Geoff Bromilow Moonglow Publishing © Dr Kathryn Pentecost 2021 Born at Sea
The Life and Art of Wood Sculptor Geoff Bromilow Moonglow Publishing soon to be released. References
Christopher, Peter (2009) Australian Shipwrecks, Axiom, Australia Mack, David (1985) Timber Milling in Australia 1849–1984, Hyde Park Press, Camden Park, South Australia Neville, Richard (1997) A Rage for Curiosity, State Library Press, Sydney Watson, Don (2016), A Single Tree – Voices from the Bush, Hamish Hamilton, UK, USA, Australia |
All photography by Kathryn Pentecost, unless otherwise attributed.