Paris Dreaming Read online

  ‘That’s fine, but boring.’ Lauren was gentle, never one to be the bitchy stylist. ‘Just make sure you see what they do in the film with the plain blacks and greys if you can. Check out how they accessorise.’

  ‘All right,’ I said, frustrated as Lauren sat there. She had it all going on in terms of how to look super hot and cool at the same time, despite shopping in family department stores.

  ‘Scarves, my dear sister, will save you, and colourful bags and a belt or two with detail.’

  ‘Oh yes, trust me, French women have a million ways to tie scarves,’ Caro chimed in. ‘Pity I didn’t learn to tie one tightly around the Bastard’s neck,’ she added.

  ‘Can I go now? I feel like I’ve been at Sunday school.’ I hoped I didn’t sound ungrateful.

  ‘Yes, you are dismissed, and here are some other films to take with you.’ Lauren handed me two movies: Cyrano de Bergerac, and the French version of Beauty and the Beast.

  ‘Me too.’ Denise reached into her tote again and handed me The Man Who Loved Women, My Wife is an Actress and An American in Paris.

  ‘Well, that’s a mix,’ I said, juggling the DVDs and feeling overwhelmed by the generosity of my friends.

  ‘Yes, my film taste is eclectic. I’ve been collecting them from the markets and the video store for years. Always get them on sale,’ Denise said.

  ‘This is really so considerate, thank you, girls. I’m really, really grateful for all the effort.’ And I was.

  ‘And from me, take these, if you don’t mind passing time watching endless family dramas with various levels of infidelity.’ Caro handed me a film called Inside Paris. ‘And my favourite, Le Divorce with Kate Hudson and Naomi Watts.’

  ‘Nothing better than hearing about other people’s dysfunctional families and relationship woes. Perfect.’

  Lauren held the door open as I walked through balancing my new film collection.

  I had a typical Sunday night organising my standard tunic dress for the morning, before sitting down to make some notes for the week ahead. I focused on Nancia, the new staffer starting under my watch. I double-checked her activities for the week and went through my own priorities.

  I was a woman of routine: schedules, lists and lots of items to be checked off – that’s how I liked to have my life sorted. I liked to be organised. I needed to be efficient. I wanted to be cost-effective, and I hoped that Nancia was the same, knowing that neither of us would cope if she wasn’t.

  I lay in bed drifting off to sleep and felt physically relaxed after the lazy weekend watching films. But although my body was completely rested, my mind was frantic with visuals, sounds, characters, history and French food.

  As I sat at my computer at 8 am on Monday morning, I acknowledged that the effective education program I was running meant that the gallery was getting more and more requests for tours and lectures. This was the reason Emma decided we needed to employ Nancia: so I could mentor her to take over the tours and let me focus on planning and further growth.

  I was looking forward to working with our new employee after she had interviewed well in a competitive field. She was from Rockhampton but lived in Melbourne for the past two years, working at the National Gallery of Victoria. She had a degree in teaching and some training with NAISDA, a contemporary Indigenous dance college, but she hadn’t pursued a career in that area. At the interview though, she said her interest remained strong.

  Emma and I thought that employing Nancia might help us realise our shared vision of using some of the NAG space not only for dance performances but workshops as well, an idea Nancia responded to with enthusiasm. I didn’t imagine my mentoring role would last long since she came to the NAG with plenty of experience and drive.

  ‘The key to a successful business,’ Emma once said, ‘is to surround yourself with capable staff who share your vision.’

  Emma was right: the NAG was thriving because of the people Emma had employed over the years. She led by example in terms of her work ethic, manner of speaking to her team and even her dress code. Although she made us feel like we worked in a collective as opposed to a hierarchy, she didn’t participate in mufti day on Fridays with the junior staff, preferring to always dress professionally. Lauren and I tried to follow her lead, and judging by Nancia’s outfit at the interview, it looked like she’d do the same.

  From the moment Nancia started, the week promised to be intense. I walked her through every aspect of the education program and was thrilled when she picked up the specifics about the gallery and the collections quickly. By Friday, she began to run tour groups by herself. Emma was as pleased with our new recruit as I was when we shared a table at the Café in the House at the Old Parliament – a sleek, newly renovated space with white tables and chrome chairs and locally produced artwork on the walls – and debriefed.

  ‘I hope you realise, Libby, that Nancia’s ability to settle in so well and so quickly is due to your mentoring style.’ Emma sounded impressed.

  I was humbled by her words, and knew my way of working with staff simply mirrored hers. It was a rare occasion to sit and have coffee with Emma and it was too good an opportunity to miss, so I broached the P4P plan that had been consuming me for weeks.

  ‘Emma, with that in mind, I’d like to talk to you about my professional development, if I may.’

  ‘Of course. Now?’ She looked at her watch, and as she did I registered my own surprise that my boss even had time to sit in the café. I’d only ever seen her drink coffee at her desk or in meetings or walking the corridor with a takeaway. She was undoubtedly the busiest woman I knew, with Lauren and me close seconds.

  ‘No, we don’t have to talk about it now, I can make an appointment through Veronica if you like.’ Veronica was the most efficient executive assistant in Canberra. Emma poached her from a government department, not through financial incentives, but rather through the NAG’s reputation for being the organisation that everyone wanted to work for.

  ‘Good, I’ll tell Veronica to expect a call from you then.’ She stood up. ‘And Libby, I’m glad you’re on top of it all. It means I don’t have to monitor what you’re doing. Lauren’s back and staffing is steady. So it’s time to get you to the next level. I’m actually glad you raised the issue of your development now.’

  I couldn’t believe Emma’s words and I couldn’t have scripted it better myself. It was time to take me to the next level, and that level was running an education program at Quai Branly! Those five minutes with the boss left me feeling more psyched than ever and I felt I was in the exact position needed to do the pitch.

  As soon as I got back to my desk I called Veronica and made an appointment for Thursday morning at 8.30 am. Emma had fifteen minutes free and they were all mine. I knew I could do the pitch in that time and answer any of the questions Emma might have about the proposal.

  But I needed to practice it on Lauren to ensure I was slick on the day. She was at an off-site meeting at AIATSIS discussing the running of a series of temporary exhibitions in the Mabo Room there, so I texted her:

  I panicked as I culled my ten-page P4P, trying to maintain the concept and my case at the same time. But Lauren was right: be concise, be clear, be certain of what it was I wanted to achieve and how I was going to do it.

  I structured my notes to include a summary of my career path at the NAG, my goals, my strengths and weaknesses in my current role, and detailed the proposed project at the musée, including the temporary exhibition, human resources and budget. Finally, I listed the benefits of the project to me personally and professionally and to the NAG and the Indigenous community generally.

  As my P4P finished printing, I went back to the thirty-five emails that had come in overnight. They were the usual research enquiries, although one was from a cheeky student asking me on a date, which I ignored. There were also requests from six primary schools for visits, and the usual enquiries about things unrelated to the NAG altogether: questions on land rights, native title, the NT intervention and
my favourite, Aboriginal spirituality.

  Sometimes they weren’t even from students, sometimes they were enquiries from journalists who were just too lazy to do the research or find someone working in the specific field. I never fobbed anyone off though, always referring people to the right person or resource. On the odd occasion when I was really stuck for a diplomatic response, I’d forward the email to Emma, who would cc me in on her response to the enquiry so that I knew how to respond the next time.

  At lunchtime, I met Lauren in the staff room.

  ‘Let’s eat,’ she said, opening the lid on her salad.

  ‘Can I just do my pitch first, please, and then I can relax.’

  ‘Okay, you do the pitch and I’ll do the salad,’ Lauren compromised, taking one piece of tomato out of the box, biting into it as she sat at the kitchen table. ‘I’ll be Emma. You’ve walked into my office, we’ve done the pleasantries. I’m flat out with meetings all day and you know it. Go.’

  ‘You’ve already made me nervous, and I don’t get nervous at work.’

  ‘Stop it, you know the job backwards, you know the pitch. Just do it.’

  And so I did it. I recited the script I had written out word for word and memorised. It was how I prepared for all important meetings and presentations. Public speaking was where I felt the most comfortable which was why I was glad to move out from behind the desk and into working with the public on the tours and lectures.

  I was ready for a new challenge. I had to raise my own professional bar higher. All I needed to do was make sure it worked for the NAG as well.

  At 8.30 am on Friday I walked nervously into Emma’s office. What if she said no to my idea, my dream, my plan for my own and the gallery’s internationalisation?

  ‘Thank you for seeing me today, Emma.’

  I sat down opposite her at her huge desk which was incredibly tidy compared to mine. I always had three piles of paper going at any one time, with differing levels of urgency, and a fourth pile for filing. Emma’s desk was clear of papers except the one she appeared to be working on when I walked in.

  ‘Don’t thank me, Libby, I wanted to talk to you anyway, given Nancia started this week and so many new things are happening. I’ve just read the final draft of the proposed marketing strategy and there’s quite a lot we need to move on in the next six months, especially in terms of the educational program.’

  It was like Emma was reading my mind and all the planets had lined up at that moment, ready for me to do my pitch.

  ‘I agree, and that’s partly why I wanted to talk to you. In regards to marketing, I’ve thought about ways of further internationalising our education program and working on my own professional development at the same time.’

  Emma pushed her chair back, crossed her trousered legs and had a look of interest on her face. ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve been employed here for four years now and love my job. When you promoted me to manager of educational programmes I hit the ground running and even implemented the new masterclasses. Now I’ve got another initiative that I think will take us to another audience and another level.’ I put my written document on the table.

  ‘Go on,’ Emma moved from interest to excitement.

  ‘I’d like to propose a working relationship between the NAG and the Musée du Quai Branly in Paris, where we offer one of our more successful exhibitions to them for their temporary space and include an education program as well. We would pitch it as something to complement the permanent collection there, to be exhibited for three to six months.’

  The tone at the end of my sentence was almost a question and I hoped Emma hadn’t noticed. It sounded a little like I wasn’t sure it would work, or I wasn’t sure about the idea. I hated myself at that moment but didn’t have time to backtrack and didn’t want to draw attention to it.

  ‘Go on,’ Emma said again, shifting on her seat and moving forward to lean on her desk.

  ‘As you know, the musée has a temporary exhibition space on the third floor that has had numerous international exhibits with an Israeli photographic exhibition currently running. It’s groundbreaking, from what I have read online.’

  ‘I’ll have to check it out.’ Emma wrote a reminder to herself on a yellow post-it note.

  ‘I think something that could act as a companion exhibition to the permanent exhibit would be sensational. As you know, in the permanent collection there’s Paddy Nyunkuny Bedford, Tommy Watson and Lena Nyadbi from WA. John Mawurndjul, Gulumbu Yunupingu from the NT and Ningura Napurrula from the NT and WA. And of course there’s the deadly Judy Watson from Queensland and the late Michael Riley from New South Wales.’

  ‘Such a stunning combination of work,’ Emma said. ‘Hetti and Brenda excelled in getting those commissions up. How I’d love to get some of those artists’ work here.’

  Emma looked to the ceiling and I knew she was imagining the possibilities. She looked back to me. ‘You have something in mind for the musée then?’

  ‘There are a couple of options. We could offer our permanent portrait collection hanging in Kings Hall to them for several months.’

  I could see Emma take a breath and I wasn’t sure if it was a gasp of disbelief at the suggestion or she just needed to breathe deeply.

  ‘Go on,’ was all she said.

  ‘I think there are two benefits to doing that. Firstly, it demonstrates the absolute faith and desire we have in building a serious relationship with them, offering works that are part of our everyday existence here at the NAG. Secondly, each portrait tells a story of the civil rights movement in this country. It is the perfect springboard to talk about the history and consequences of colonisation and the political landscape we’ve existed in,’ I took a breath, ‘In fact, we still exist in.’

  I could see Emma’s mind ticking over but I couldn’t tell if she liked the idea or not so I continued. ‘Or, we could offer to exhibit works from this year’s NAG Art Awards. Collectively, the pieces provide a great range of voice, style, stories. Everyone loves Tony Albert’s “Welcome to Australia” series …’

  Emma nodded slowly, but didn’t offer any comment so I just kept talking. ‘And the French particularly would love the parody of Cook’s landing, the mythologised foundations of White Australia, which reappropriates apparently neutral illustrations from a children’s book made to commemorate the Bicentennial.’

  Emma nodded again because she knew as well as I did that the French loved stories that showed up how bad the Brits were to us, often forgetting their own role in colonisation.

  ‘And I know we’re not worried about boundaries and so forth, but I think it’s good that this year’s sculpture prize went to George Nona for his Ceremonial dhoeri. Culture from the western Torres Strait is something that needs to be brought to the attention of the French, and why shouldn’t we do it?’

  Emma still said nothing, but scribbled down notes in the huge black diary that sat on her desk. I couldn’t stop talking, my mouth just kept moving.

  ‘Then, of course, the pièce de résistance …’ I opened the NAG awards catalogue to page three. ‘Roy Kennedy’s Mission series 2 was the overall winner for a reason. In lay terms, it’s the bomb!’

  I turned the catalogue to face Emma and we both looked at the Wiradjuri artist’s painting of Warangesda Mission where his mother grew up. The green landscape, the fences, the houses and church, a stark contrast to the other works to be displayed and a reminder to me of my own grandparents’ mission life in Moree.

  Emma sighed. ‘Well, Libby, this is rather a grand idea of yours.’

  Was being ‘grand’ a good thing or a bad thing? Damn! I thought to myself. I’d been raving non-stop and probably big-noted myself ad nauseam and Emma just thought I was grandstanding.

  Emma spoke again. ‘And I’m impressed by the thought you’ve put into this.’

  I still couldn’t tell if she really was impressed or just prepping me for a gentle ‘thanks but no thanks’ speech. My self-esteem demons were
playing havoc with my sense of professional track record and I got on the defensive, believing that one last effort couldn’t hurt if she was going to say no anyway.

  ‘I won’t lie to you, Emma, I am proposing this as much for me as for the gallery. I want another challenge. Lauren’s fellowship really inspired me. And when I saw the work she did there, I was blown away. I want to contribute something to the internationalisation of the NAG, and I need some professional development beyond what I’m doing here right now. I want to learn more. And, to be absolutely honest, I think it’s a great idea.’

  There was a silence. Finally, Emma spoke. ‘It is a great idea, Libby.’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘You really think so?’

  ‘Yes, I’m pleased that your thinking is in line with mine in terms of internationalisation and ways to benefit your own career. I like the sound of your proposal. We weren’t around to support the original commission at the musée, but the National Gallery of Australia and the Art Gallery of New South Wales were. We need to do something at that level now ourselves.’

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Still, the battle wasn’t won yet.

  Emma frowned as she continued, ‘It is time, but like everything, it’s about the budget, the personnel, the politics that exist between all the major arts bodies. This all needs to be considered. And of course, the mob at the musée will have the final say. They may not have a space in their program for years, as you can imagine.’

  I was conscious that Emma was the boss, she had the knowledge and the nous and I didn’t want to seem cocky, just keen. I pushed my three-pager towards her.

  ‘I’ll leave this with you, Emma. As you can see, I’ve done a rationale for the board, a timeline, and have written how I see the exhibition working. Lauren has been through this with me as the curator, of course. We came up with the complete plan together, just so you know that the curatorial expertise is covered.’