Impressions of life

We recently spent an afternoon down at Coogee. It was beautiful, radiant, immersive.

Of course, to get there involved typical Sydney busyness: the hustle of arterial roads; the desperate search for a cark park – somewhere preferably in the same suburb! And there were people everywhere. Some were out walking (in designer lycra); groups of young people gathered and socialised; people were walking the family pet; and some brave souls were swimming.

There was movement and colour, relationships and chatter, the embodiment of the Australian ‘good weekend.’

But as we lingered and observed, and ate our fish and chips, I also noticed something else: some people were sitting quietly, meditating on the scene before them, or slowly reading a book. Every now and then, someone paused to take a photo. You could see people drinking it in; leisure and life combining in a gentle way.

In front of us was an intriguing bench. It was high off the ground. Kids were enjoying clambering up and sitting on it. Apparently it is the the Impressionists’ bench, put there in honour of the great artists Streeton, Roberts and Condor, who worked from that spot. These Australian ‘Impressionists’ worked there allowing the land and water, the play of light and colour to enter their souls in such a way that they could pay attention to what was there, and what they were immersed within. They saw the miraculous beauty in what was before them: the ‘Pacific Blue’. Out of this came beautiful palettes and brush strokes that rippled with the abiding energy of the ocean’s tides and sparkle of sun on wave. You can see these paintings in any good art book, or in our galleries. They capture the very spot our neighbours were enjoying on this weekend.

And yet, on the cliff, on one of the very places they painted and were impressed with all of this beauty, is a Lifeline sign imploring people to make a call if they are in crisis. Call 13 11 14… It is a reminder that life can lead us to places of leisure and gentle immersion, but also to darkness and crisis where we cannot feel the hope or joy to keep on going. And those emotions can inhabit the same place, and even the same soul or body. Yes, we are all crammed in together. We live a city life. Sometimes that life is hard. For some, too hard. And yet my little visit didn’t leave me without hope. Can we see again the beauty? Can we still and quieten ourselves, and even find treasured moments of solitude in the midst of the swirling eddies of our city? Can we support and encourage our friends and neighbours to make room for that needed solitude and quiet; to take time to witness, to observe, to look with eyes of love and wonder, just as those Impressionist painters took time to see with fresh eyes the country and time in which they lived.

What I saw convinced me we can. I saw people who still yearn to be touched, to be ‘impressed’ by something grand or beautiful, to be touched and healed by nature and the spirit of a place, to be but humble creatures who are truly present and can turn what they witness into art, into song, into poem, into life; into the will to walk with grace among strangers and busy roads.

Yes, we can still dwell on country, we can sit still by the waters and watch gulls sweeping over rocks; witness the tides’ sweeping rhythms.

The ability to be still and witness is put deep within us. We can practice that gift, just as those Sydneysiders were doing on the headland at Coogee, on a Saturday afternoon. We also need to do so, in order to have any chance of turning around the crises of our age. We need to do so, to remake our life together in this city, and others, as liveable as possible. We need to practice the art of solitude and witness, of contemplation, wherever we are, believing that a gift lies in the land and waters, and within us.