Rose Briar

In case you thought I had forgotten her

2010-11-02T18:48:00.000-07:00

No way... Tricia continues to be such an important part of my life... its just that we are both busy - but here are some photos from a recent visit with my friend..

July

2010-07-22T19:07:00.000-07:00

Tricia's long hair is streaming down her back as she greets me at the front gate. She has been sitting on her front verandah, letting the winter sun dry her freshly washed hair. It has been six weeks since we saw each other and I sit down with her to catch up on her news. Her hopes of focusing more on her painting have been put to one side for the moment. Her grandson is living with her until he completes his HSC later in the year and looking after him is her main priority for the moment.

She winds her hair into a bun and we spend some time wandering around the garden together which is deep in its winter sleep. It is looking fantastically orderly though and I can only imagine the hours and hours of work Tricia has put into it in the past few weeks.

I am to see her next week to photograph some of her work. She has been contacted by an Italian count who lives in Melbourne and has a friend in Italy who is interested in purchasing some paintings. We need to email the photos to him.

As I leave I comment on how well she is looking.

"That's because I am eating!" she grins at me. "I have to cook for my grandson and so I am eating as well!"

I may never have mentioned that Tricia might only eat a piece of fruit and a drink of milk all day when she is absorbed by her art or her garden or both...

....and she is constantly absorbed by these things.

some early winter photos

2010-06-06T21:10:00.000-07:00

May

2010-05-07T17:34:00.000-07:00

School holidays and sick children have meant that I have not been able to spend time with Tricia other than the occasional quick drop in as I race home.

We know Tricia as a wonderful gardener. Her garden has been part of the Australian Open Gardens scheme for some years. When I saw her yesterday she told me that she has decided to close the garden for a while so that she can concentrate on her painting.

She did well at Botanica and her botanical art remains important to her. She has also produced a number of exquisite graphite drawings of pugs and cats.

The mighty pull for her though is her surrealist work. She is keen to produce a body of work which explores her love of surrealism. I was privileged to look through a book containing old transparencies of surrealist paintings which are in the possession of private collectors around the world. They are amazing! Pomegranates , tomatoes, butterflies and magpies are her totems and the human form is a powerful emblem too.

In this space I will be able to post photos of the now private garden, and also photos of Tricia's works in progress.

The book "Tolerance" by Chris Mars, is one Tricia has lent Scott Marr , as he deals with the grief of losing his brother.

And so two worlds collide.

Early Autumn

2010-03-21T18:00:00.000-07:00

Autumn is coming. The streets of the mountains are lined with trees whose leaves are yellowing and floating to the ground. In the next few weeks the leaves will be bronze and red and orange and so we will be in one of the most beautiful times of the mountains' year.

I took Plum to visit Trish. It was Trish after all who inspired me to buy her. In fact she actively encouraged me to buy her. The garden was being prepared to be opened for the Australian Open Garden scheme. It of course looked beautiful - Trish is nothing less than a perfectionist when it comes to her garden and her plants and flowers respond in kind.

Most of our visit was spent discussing pugs and their habits.

I almost felt badly to be taking Plum with me. Especially after seeing her curled so peacefully in Tricia's arms.

Tricia's Summer Garden

2010-02-20T13:04:00.000-08:00

Tricia on the phone to Val

Early November

2009-11-16T23:57:00.001-08:00

A couple of weeks (and I apologise for this shamefully late post) I met Tricia's mother.

Trish has always described her mother as being small enough to pop into Tricia's pocket and I found this to be a very accurate description! She is in her early nineties and despite recent illness is spry and quick with the alertness of a tiny bird.

We had a cup of tea and cake together and then wandered around the garden for a while. As we walked I listened to the conversation between mother and daughter. It was very quickly apparent that Tricia's mum knows a lot about gardening too.

We had a short conversation before I left.

"I remember when Trish was three she brought me a bunch of "fairies" from the garden. They were mostly dandelions but I loved them anyway. She also at the same age asked me for paper and pencil. These were expensive and rare during the war but I managed to find some old scrap paper for her. She drew me a puppy!"

Tricia's mum looked at me with bright eyes.

"I still have it," she added.

Gardens, drawing and dogs - important to Trish at the tender age of three.

I am sad to report that Old Dog was put down two weeks ago. She was very sick and Tricia felt her time had come.

October

2009-10-25T00:46:00.000-07:00

The bliss of being with Trish again.

She looks well although her poor hands are very sore - a combination of stress and much work in the garden which was open this weekend. Her hands have been so sore that it has been hard for her to prepare meals and her normally nimble rolling of cigarettes is much slowed down by having to wear a glove to protect the worst affected hand.

She has been down to the Southern Highlands to deliver art works for an exhibition there. She is delighted by a woman she has made contact with there -

"One of us!" she exclaimed - a gardener with a natural sense of balance and a passion for growing.

Her garden is looking amazing - her efforts in lugging tons of mulch and compost up and down steep terraces during the winter months amply rewarded by the wealth of colour in her spring garden.

We plan a visit to the exhibition in early November and our talk flows round tales of Shanghai and Greece and dogs and grandsons.

Bliss.

Early August

2009-08-09T18:05:00.000-07:00

Look who is still with us!

Old Dog continues to hang in there - the only one who could keep her alive is Trish. She is arthritic and Trish usually has to carry her outside but she still manages to enjoy sniffing around the garden and the company of the other dogs.

Spring is coming to the garden and every time I visit a new treasure has unfurled. Tricia's garden is full of rare plants and to see them starting to emerge from their winter sleep is like finding diamonds in the mountains.

Work continues both in the garden and on her painting.

We go on regular adventures Trish and I but on another day this same week Tricia came over to look at her blog, look at photos and wander round the garden with me, advising on placement and choice of plants.

How easy it is to be with her, talking away the hours.

Mid Winter

2009-07-28T23:21:00.001-07:00

Tricia was lugging pots around the garden. She has been working incredibly hard, mulching, pruning and weeding and readily admits to exhaustion.

Even though this is the quietest season in her garden there is a lot of preparation to be done to be ready for Spring's onslaught.

We sat on her front verandah as she rolled a cigarette. She has not only been busy in the garden, but also busy getting commissions for her work.

She has been invited to paint a rare blue poppy as the emblem for a major botanical art exhibition next year. Other works have been commissioned, mostly involving her gorgeous botanical art.

She took me into her kitchen to show me some photos of the poppy. The particular form she has been asked to paint is a bizarre mixture of cactus like foliage and exquisite flowers. She has written an accompanying article already and showed me the first pencil sketch of what she will produce.

I noticed Old Dog panting under her blanket. Tricia got her some water which she lapped up eagerly. Poor Old Dog. Trish is not sure how much longer this lovely girl will survive.

"It's no life for a dog," she said. "Old Dog is simply being alive."

They were sad moments in the kitchen we shared.

White Dress Red Dress

2009-07-02T21:05:00.001-07:00

Trish knew all about the photographs I had taken of the debutante ball a few weeks ago. A couple of weeks ago when I last visited her she gave me two very special, very different photos.

The first is of her own debut. She is sixteen. Her partner is her brother - in - law. A tall Dutchman who spoke very little English. She had her haircut - a very rare event for Trish even then - and swept into a pageboy. She woke up the next day and the style had fallen out. Her beauty is evident.

Her whole extraordinary life lay ahead of her.

This photo of Trish was taken at an exhibition at Sydney University. She is in her early thirties so this would have been taken in the early 1970s. She is magnificent - her red dress, her painted red nails, the cigar she is smoking. She is holding a red rose.

The photo is a little heartbreaking for me. If you look closely at her hands you can see that they are a gardener's hands. She still can' t believe she painted her nails for the occasion.

"If you really look at my face," she said to me, "you can see how nervous I am."

And you can. " I was a gardener," she said.

"Dressed like that though I was just someone to sleep with. Certainly no - one took my art seriously."

She was married at the time and my understanding is that she was expected to dress like that for such an event. It was the seventies after all.

She was relaxed about me publishing the photo though.

"It's not me," she said.

And sounded glad about it.

Early Winter

2009-06-16T21:53:00.000-07:00

Trish was brushing and plaiting her long, long hair when I arrived.

Although the top photo is of her spare bedroom, I thought I would start showing you her home.

These photos are from her kitchen.

Her dogs keep warm under the stove where she has placed a bed for them.

Here is what we discussed today

- The full moon and the impact it can have on exacerbating underlying conditions - anxiety, love, skin complaints.

- A garden at Mt Tomah

- Christopher Lloyd and Great Dixter and his dachshunds Daisy and Canna

- An exhibition in Canberra

- A garden bookshop in Glebe

- Higo Camellias

- Bereavement

- Hurt

- A young up and coming artist whose work she considers brilliant

- Her desire to paint

- Her inability to paint due to circumstances somewhat beyond her control

- Buying houses

- A dahlia exhibition in Melbourne.

2009-05-29T22:18:00.000-07:00

A long visit where we talked of this and that.

Of mice and men really.

I am still mulling over whether this is the best forum for Trish to launch her book. Perhaps snippets of the beautiful drawings she is doing?

We looked at dozens of photos of a garden Trish maintained outside Sydney and of the house she and her family lived in. There is one photo of a young Trish that I want to see what I can do with to publish here. Oh my word!

She has always gardened. During the 1960s when she gardened it was interspersed with gallery openings and exhibitions and travelling.

During the winter months whilst RoseBriar is sleeping I am going to be taking more photos of the interiors of Tricia's home. It was amazing to see how closely this home replicates her taste in her previous home.

2009-05-18T02:38:00.000-07:00

When I arrived this morning Trish was raking the leaves. We had very strong winds in the mountains last week and her garden was covered in drifts of leaves. Knowing Trish by this afternoon her garden would have been restored to its usual immaculate self. Her garden has a fantastic orderliness but plants and flowers grow with wild abandon. Does that make sense?

She spent some time with me teaching me about growing daffodils in pots. We are going out west in the spring time to pick up daffodils for me. We share a love for white daffodils.

We went inside briefly so she could lend me a catalogue. Her beautiful 16 year old dachshund "Old Dog" was looking very poorly. Trish carried her outside to give her some air.

She laughed as she told me that she had had Old Dog for all of those 16 years.

"That's longer than any of my marriages!" she exclaimed.

I look at the photos of her cradling Old Dog and see her love for that dog so clearly.

I rang her tonight.

Old Dog is fighting on.

Thursday April 30th - mid autumn

2009-04-30T18:50:00.000-07:00

I had a long visit with Trish. I had only seen her briefly on several occasions since February. This was a chance to have a long catch up.

We spoke of Botanica and flowers and dogs and collections.

We spoke of love and loss and physical intimacy.

We spoke of addictions and consequences.

We also spoke about her work. She is working on a graphic novel and the intention is to share it here - it will be about her life and be accompanied by her exquisite drawings.

So this space will become a collaborative space which we will open up for comments as Trish reveals those parts of her life she wants to share. We are happy to let it unfold as it will. The main focus will be her writing and drawing, with my photos (and possibly words) intertwined (somehow!).

February 13th - Late Summer

2009-02-12T18:44:00.000-08:00

Tricia was at her desk in her studio today, painting the leaves of a rare lily. Her submission to Botanica was due in today but she has been granted an extension. The dogs played at her feet and she smoked as she painted, making me uneasy that the ash might drop on the painting. She seemed unconcerned though - it is probably something she has grown very competent at preventing over the years.

She wears glasses to paint - not because she needs them to see, but to ensure that each tiny detail is precise and correct, such is the requirement of this kind of art.

Tricia is a surrealist at heart and she is surrounded by the products of her imagination. The botanical art and its sale pays for her life and garden , the surrealist works allow her to paint with a much greater degree of freedom.

A couple of weeks ago she said to me that she wished we could all be women until we were thirty and then transform into men.

"There would be no wars then!" she said and laughed...

January 21st - Mid Summer

2009-01-23T19:20:00.000-08:00

"I made myself a banana smoothie and a cup of tea. I showered, washed my hair and put on the loosest, most comfortable clothes and sat on the banana lounge with two puppies squished on my lap, sleeping."

So said Trish.

As I left she stood, a human stake, holding a white lily taller than herself. I took a photograph.

Of course.

January 13th - Mid Summer

2009-01-18T13:19:00.001-08:00

Another hot day when I visited Trish, this time with Joe tagging along. He grew bored quickly and went back to the car but I lingered a while longer, talking and taking photos. Often our conversations are meandering and mostly about the garden and several times it is only as I reach the front gate to leave that we will suddenly find ourselves talking more deeply about our lives or what is currently on our minds.

Tricia's daughter had been visiting the day before and they had talked about aging. Trish and I agreed that 28, the age of her daughter , was a pretty good age. You are starting to feel more comfortable and confident in your own beliefs and value systems.

I said that I had never been able to see past 30 when I was younger. It was an empty landscape to me - I had no closely held dreams of what my life might be be like at that age. We both agreed that turning 40 had been fine.

"But fifty," said Trish. "Fifty is another thing altogether. And sixty! Sixty is something else too!"

She had clearly found these birthdays quite confronting.

"Seventy I'm not sure about," she continued. " I already say I am seventy anyway."

"You could always have plastic surgery Mum," her daughter had said to her.

"Who knows what I might do," said Trish to me. " I always could!"

I laughed as I watched her moving round in the garden. She is tall and slender as a girl. Her face, to me, retains great beauty and vitality.

"See you next week," I said.

"See you Mary," she called and I closed the gate and left her in her garden.

January 7th - Mid Summer

2009-01-08T17:35:00.000-08:00

It was a very hot, still day when I visited Trish. She was watering her garden, legally, before the 10.00am Wednesday cutoff. The clear colours of the begonias were almost too bright on such a warm day.

I wandered to the bottom of the garden but could still hear Trish at the top of the terraces, murmuring endearments to her dogs. She had impulsively bought two little pug sisters she saw in a petshop in Penrith just before Christmas and is absolutely enchanted by them. When I walked back up to the top of the garden she had twisted her hair into a knot on the top of her head.

We talked about my road trip to Adelaide. I mentioned driving along the Murray River. In 1985 Trish had written a children's book about the increasing salinity of the river. At the time she felt it was potentially the worst catastrophe challenging Australia. This was before global warming had become a major environmental issue.

The book was rejected for being too depressing.

The scent of lilies, which can be so overwhelming inside a house, delicately perfumed the air.

Leaf shadows formed on a brown dog's back.

Early Summer - December 10th

2008-12-10T19:58:00.000-08:00

It was a very brief visit to Trish today. I had Margot with me and she was tired.

Trish did take her to look at tadpoles though. I loved watching the two blonde heads bent over the container the tadpoles were swimming in.

We looked at the lilies - tall in the garden and swaying gently on deep green stems.

As we were leaving Trish told me that her son had brought back some pink oleander he had picked whilst out for a walk.

"Pink oleander in a blue and white striped jug," she said, her eyes sparkling. "I cooked him dinner. We are being nice to each other!"

She waved goodbye - slender in her pale green clothes.

Early Summer - December 3rd

2008-12-03T19:09:00.000-08:00

I went to Tricia's in the morning and walked around the garden, noticing that many flowers had lost their blooms but that others were in bud. The bottom of the garden was alive with bees and butterflies. The buddha in her garden looked as though he might fall over he was laughing so hard.

We agreed to go on an adventure to Mt Tomah Botanical Gardens. Before we left Trish undid her hair, ran a brush through it and rebraided it deftly. All this done with a rollie in her mouth! As she packed some fruit and some fruitcake I admired her collection of frogs.

She was wearing bright pink jeans. She told me later that when she was a painter she wore gay colours all the time. Since the painting has not been as big a part of her life she has taken to wearing more greys and blues. She has mentioned a couple of times that she intends to start painting again.

As we drove to Mt Tomah we discussed Christmas recipes - chocolate ginger, rum balls. She told me recipe after recipe for cakes, slices , lollies and jams. She discussed making a scone recipe but making it savoury. Bacon, spinach, cheese. A green salad. A tomato salad of layers of tomatoes, red onion, basil - slightly salted. Drizzled with oil and a splash of vinegar. She wants to come over and teach me how to make a sponge cake properly - eight minutes in the oven is all she says it takes. We might make jam as well.

We wandered around the marvel that is Mt Tomah - she showed me plants and foliage and flowers. We admired the grey and gold koi in the ponds. She told me a strange tale of her daughter falling asleep in a yellow rubber dinghy afloat on an industrial canal in inner west Sydney. Police were called and she was woken. After explaining herself to the police she went home and slept for 12 hours. When she awoke she mentioned to her flatmate that she had had the strangest dream.

"Would that be the one where you fell asleep in your yellow dinghy and the police were called?" he asked.

Her daughter had been completely sober.

We went to Blackheath and had a milkshake together. Trish advised me to eat nuts instead of sugary biscuits. She is extremely slim so I think I should heed her advice. We looked at antiques together - she admired a yellow jug. It would go perfectly with her yellow breakfast set she said.

She bought a skirt.

It was navy and white.

Late Spring - November 24th

2008-11-25T19:32:00.000-08:00

When I got to Tricia's house on Monday it was clear that she was in a vibrant, happy mood. She later revealed that she had been feeling quite sick over the weekend but felt reasonably recovered by the time I got to her home.

She had a friend with her who owns a nursery west of the mountains and whilst I was there another friend of hers turned up who shares her passion for gardening. The four of us wandered around the garden, three of us trailing her as she pointed out exceptionally beautiful and healthy plants and flowers. Her friend David calls her a Queen and that is exactly how it felt - as though we were her loyal subjects, listening intently to her gardening wisdom.

Several years ago a Canadian film crew made a documentary on Trish, a copy of which she lent to me. In it she talks about being "the controller of order" in her garden. "I'm god! " she exclaims.

You need to know Trish to know that she does not say this with any arrogance. She does not truly mean that she thinks she is God! It is just that in her garden she is completely in charge of her own little kingdom. She plants, tends, weeds, digs, nurtures and ultimately admires the beauty that surrounds her. She understands nature as the creative force with which she is working so intimately.

The documentary was illuminating in another sense. Trish has referred often and generally humurously to her three failed marriages - the last one to the love of her life. What she has not talked to me about - but I suspect was keen for the documentary to clarify for me - was the main reason why that last marriage ultimately broke down.

You see, Trish lost two children in that marriage - one to cot death at the age of six months.

So. I will just let that sadness of hers sit with me awhile.

One of the great joys of her life however, given to her from that marriage, is her daughter - who appears in the documentary - a tall, slender, blonde beauty who counts on her mother as her rock.

Trish let her hair out briefly whilst we were all there - a long blonde and grey mane of hair that cascaded down her back.

Within minutes she had tied it back neatly into its usual braid.

Late Spring - November 18th

2008-11-18T22:07:00.000-08:00

We talked about being alone today. Trish lives largely on her own, with her son living with her from time to time.

"I am alone," she said. "I have very good strong relationships. I have my children. I have my painting. I have my garden. The way I live though would not suit everybody.

Sometimes I miss the physical side of things. That doesn't go away. If I spent half the day rolling around in bed though I would not get done the things I get done!"

"I would love to live in Greece eventually," I said to her.

"I thought the South of France or I always thought I would go back to Canada," she said. "It has changed though. I have changed."

"I've been here for 15 years," she went on. " That is the longest I have been anywhere. Even when I was a little girl we moved a lot."

She paused for a moment.

"It occurs to me that I am happy," she concluded, simply.

The sun shone intermittently. I walked down her terraces. I heard her cutting down greenery in her garden, giving shape and scale to the lushness. Classical music played on the radio.

It occurred to me that I was happy.

Late Spring - November 10th

2008-11-09T19:51:00.001-08:00

"It needs to be a mural," Trish said. "The background has to be plain white and then black stylised hills painted on it," her hands swooping to describe the shape of the hills.

" There should be a moon. A half moon.

There will be bees. A swarm of bees - black and white striped bees. Rabbits, not stylised, but one with a very big pocket watch. There will be a tree, a lollipop tree. Perhaps there will be owls. There could be a cheshire cat in the tree. Or a monkey in the tree. Eating a pomegranate - its seeds falling to the earth. If possible and if needed there might be some vermillion in there somewhere.

And two people in the foreground. They will be wearing masks. Long ribbons will float away from the masks. Maybe the ribbons could be red. Yes, they could be red."

"Will the ribbons be attached to anything other than the masks?" I asked.

"No," she said firmly.

"Each person seeing this mural will see different things in it and draw different conclusions," she added.

Thus I was privileged to sit with Trish and listen as she described a project to be undertaken by a loved one.

We sat together for a long time talking about this and that. Another friend joined us briefly and we yarned companionably.

"Barrington Tops is where I would like to go," said Trish. "Perhaps we could go together?"

"Yes we should," I replied.

She told us an extraordinary story yesterday. Her mother had been in a terrible car accident with fractures to 80% of her body. She was lying "like meat on a slab" according to Trish. She could not bear to think of her wonderful, vital mother in pain. The doctors said she would have brain damage, would not walk. Tricia wanted to "pull the plug", her sister did not, her brother was not sure. "It had to be unanimous," she told me today. Any decision had to be agreed on by the three of them. And so they did not pull that plug.

Her mother survived. Her mother can remember hearing someone say, whilst she was still unconscious,"Geez Nan, there's not a wrinkle on you. (Her face was so swollen). That was a hell of a way to get a face lift!"

That of course was Trish talking to her unconscious mother. Every Christmas she goes to her mother's for lunch. Trish picks her diminutive mother up and hugs her tight and says "Geez Nan. I'm glad we didn't pull the plug!"

Her sister is in fact her half sister. According to Trish, given they each spent time in the same womb, they are full sisters, no half about it.

I have asked and received permission from Trish to not only document her garden but to write down her stories and show glimpses of her home.

I hope I can do her justice.

Late Spring - November 5th

2008-11-05T01:11:00.000-08:00

Tricia lives on a very busy road. To walk past her old Federation house you would not guess at what lies behind her gate. Go through that gate and you enter a magical world, complete with a pack of small brown dogs who let Trish know someone is around.

Today I wandered down the paths and terraces she has created over the past 15 years. The day was one of grey skies and raindrops on roses. Trish is getting ready to open the garden this weekend to the public and has been rising at dawn to work through the day until dinner time.

She drinks black tea, several mugs a day, which often grow cold as she focuses her huge energy on another part of the garden. The garden is full of colour and every where you turn there is something lovely to look at. Tricia will generally accompany me as I wander, pointing out all the different flowers and plants and trees. Words spill from her that sound like old fashioned song titles - clematis, peonies, roses. Poppies, hostas. When she uses the botanical names an ancient language falls from her mouth.

As I turned to go I suddenly realised today was the day.

Today I would start to write about my friend Trish and her romantic, tumbling down terraces garden.