Tears of the Moon - Di Morrissey [22]
‘Not really, people or cattle, they all have to be fed and watered,’ he chuckled. ‘Was hard to leave our property but this is a big challenge; my wife, Lola, is in the office side of things. But Broome is going to go through the roof with tourism in the next few years.’
He told her of his own plans and those of the town. Lily listened with some sadness.
‘I hope the town hangs on to its heritage as much as it can,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry about that. Broome is still a bit wild and woolly, the past is close on your heels here.’
Lily arrived at the Cable Beach Club with Deidre and her handsome young husband. There, she found little that recalled the old days. Walking through the lush landscaped grounds and over tiny bridges they passed oriental-inspired bungalows containing suites decorated with fine antiques and objets d’art. The main building maintained a tasteful style despite its brilliant lacquer red and gold trimmings. Soft lights, citronella flame torches, candles and a caressing breeze that carried the sweetness of flowers followed her echoing steps along the wide wooden verandah to the reception room and art show.
Early arrivals from Broome’s eclectic social set milled about the spacious room, sipping champagne and talking to each other. While Deidre saw to selling catalogues and introducing invited hotel guests to local identities, Lily strolled about the room. Spectacular framed prints, painted canvases, cloth and bark hangings of contemporary Aboriginal art were well displayed. Lily thought the work wonderful, full of energy and mystery.
Deidre was suddenly beside her, tapping her arm and saying, ‘Lily, meet our artist, Rosie Wallangou.’
Lily reluctantly dragged her gaze away from the paintings to congratulate the artist, expecting to meet some wise old lady, but was taken aback to see an attractive Aboriginal woman about her own age. She was dressed in a dramatic Aboriginal print silk long dress and wore unusual wood and stone jewellery. Her wild curly hair tumbled about her shoulders, and was caught to one side by a shell comb. The impact of her looks, her wide smile, deep eyes and charismatic presence was stunning.
‘I really love your work, I don’t know what to say. It’s just magic,’ said Lily, trying to find the right words to convey the impact the pictures had on her.
‘Magic,’ repeated Rosie thoughtfully, looking Lily in the eye, then added softly, ‘Yes, there’s magic in them all right.’
‘They’re not easily understood, even after reading the notes you’ve put with each painting,’ said Lily. ‘But there’s something about them that keeps me looking, even if I’m not sure what they mean.’
Rosie chuckled. ‘Well, maybe that’s part of the magic. You’ve got to study them a bit … sort of discover things for yourself. They’re not all Dreamtime stories you know.’
‘Rosie has just had a big show in New York. They’re wild about her work over there,’ broke in Deidre.
‘That’s wonderful,’ said Lily, who was impressed but not surprised. The work was powerful and she knew how collectible high quality Aboriginal art had become.
Rosie shrugged. ‘New York is a faddy place. What’s hot today can be cold tomorrow.’ She gave a hearty laugh and Lily couldn’t tell if Rosie wasn’t bothered about being a big deal in New York or was confident she’d remain ‘hot’. There was no doubt her work—drawn from her own roots and knowledge and interpreted with artistic skill—would last.
Deidre excused herself to greet the former premier and Rosie took Lily by the arm. ‘Come and I’ll give you a conducted tour of my favourite pieces in this show.’
Lily was absorbed and fascinated as she listened to Rosie explain the inspiration behind each painting. Slowly, as if a curtain had lifted, she began to see something of the story and message in each painting. She tried to explain this awakening to Rosie but ended up by saying shyly, ‘I feel so clumsy trying to express myself.’
‘No, you’re just starting to learn the language,’ laughed Rosie. ‘The more you look at them, you either start to “read” them and go